Ildaer’s eyes looked Corban up and down. ‘You have a new armring since Gramm’s hold, I think.’ He cocked his head to one side, frowned. ‘Are you their lord?’

‘Come any closer and I’ll be your death-giver,’ Corban said.

‘Ah, I like that.’ Ildaer nodded, looking at his warriors about him. ‘Good spirit.’

There was a hissing sound and a spear punched into Ildaer’s shoulder. He cried out and staggered back, fell against a tree, slid down it.

Two men burst out of the trees behind Corban: Atilius and Pax.

‘Corban,’ Atilius yelled, and Corban didn’t need calling twice, he turned and scrambled over the dead bear, slid down the other side and set off running, Storm bounding beside him, red tongue lolling. They caught up with Atilius and Pax in a dozen strides and then they were all sprinting through the trees.

There was some shouting and snarling behind them, then more crashing as bears lurched into motion.

‘This way,’ Atilius said and veered left, taking them into thicker cover, squirming beneath and around a clump of huge trees that had fallen in some great storm, roots exposed like the husks of great wyrms.

‘Bears can’t follow us here,’ Atilius said. Beyond the fallen trees lay a thicket of long-thorn, Corban discovering how aptly it was named as he tried to navigate his way through, following a narrow fox trail that Atilius seemed to know well, the sound of water growing louder all the time. It was a long time later when they spilt into an open glade that edged a sharp drop to the river. They all paused to fill their lungs, Atilius passing Corban his water skin. Storm stood staring into the undergrowth.

‘My . . . thanks,’ Corban breathed.

‘We heard the bears,’ Pax said. ‘Didn’t know what they were when we heard them, mind, but we knew it wasn’t good, and that you were out here somewhere.’

‘We need to get back to Drassil,’ Corban said, suddenly remembering the horns he’d heard from the hill, the sounds of battle.

‘Aye. We’ll follow the river, takes us close to the trapdoor,’ Atilius said.

Storm growled.

There was a whistling, sound, a whump, whump, whump, as of something huge spinning through the air. They all had a moment to look up, then Atilius was hurtling backwards, blood and bone spraying in his wake, crunching into a tree, where he remained, pinned by the giant axe that had carved him near in two.

Pax screamed and a giant thundered out of the undergrowth.

Corban grabbed Pax, shook him, the lad’s eyes fixed on his da’s body.

‘Drassil. Pax, you have to get back to Drassil. Get help if you can.’

Pax looked at him, crying, then nodded and ran.

Corban drew his sword and turned to face the giant.