He turned back to study the land. To the east the undulating moors dropped and flattened, glistening as sun reflected on a marshy peninsula that continued into the horizon, patches of it darkened by woodland. Here and there pillars of smoke marked holds, farm-steads, a small village. None close enough to worry about, though. And I am supposed to lead this rag-tag band to Dun Crin, ruined fortress of the giants. Is it even out there, in those marshlands? During their voyage Edana had spoken of this with him, of how King Eremon had received word that a resistance was growing in Ardan against Evnis, and that it was based around the ruins of Dun Crin, in the marshes. Well, there are the marshes. And if there’s a ruin out there, I’ll find it. What happens then, I’m not so sure. One step at a time. Vonn climbed, panting, to stand beside him and they both looked northeast. Towards Dun Carreg.

It was too far away to see, but Camlin could make out a dark stain on the horizon. Baglun Forest. Been there. Not my best memories. That had been when he was part of Braith’s crew, come to the Baglun to cause some mischief in Ardan. Little had he known at the time that it was all at Rhin’s behest. He’d ended up with a knife in the back, put there by one of Evnis’ sworn men.

And now here he was, a refugee on the other side, playing guide to the fugitive Queen of Ardan and the fugitive King of Domhain. He peered over the cliff, saw them labouring up the twisting path behind him. He’d followed his own twisted path to this spot. From bandit to shieldman. What next?

Warriors emerged from the path, Edana with Baird. Camlin saw she was grinning.

‘The cry of gulls, it sounds like home,’ Edana answered his questioning look.

‘Home is fifty leagues that way,’ Camlin said, pointing along the coast. Dun Carreg was there somewhere, and between them a host of Rhin’s sworn men, led by Evnis, the man who had slain Edana’s father.

Edana’s smile evaporated as she stood staring into the distance. Men crouched, drank from water skins. Warriors in a strange land, thought Camlin. They were all hard men in Roisin’s company, battle-tested and loyal, hand-picked by Rath.

‘Why have we landed here?’ Roisin said, frowning at the countryside. She was no longer dressed in her fine velvet dresses, instead wearing dun breeches, a linen tunic and leather vest, over it a dark cloak, but to Camlin she looked just as beautiful as when draped in her court finery. And as dangerous.

‘We are too exposed here, too close to Dun Carreg,’ Roisin continued. ’We should have landed in the marshes. Less likely for us to run into Rhin’s followers, and it would be harder to track us. This is a mistake.’