She felt a smile twitch at her mouth, then scowled at herself. I’m not a bairn to blush at praise.

‘I’ll see you after,’ she muttered, and reined in at the side of the road, Dath and Kulla silently joining her. Together they watched the warband sweep past, three hundred of the Jehar, Gar and Tukul leading them, a cluster of giants, Balur with his black axe at their centre. Brina and Cywen rode by, heads close in conversation. The bird Fech sat on Brina’s saddle, his head bobbing, beak opening and closing as if he were joining in their discussion.

Craf won’t be happy about Fech getting a ride while he’s off working for his supper.

‘You’re supposed to be our rearguard eyes,’ Coralen called out to the raven.

‘Fech is educating me,’ Brina said to her.

The last of the warband passed through, the Jehar Akar riding rearguard with a score of his warriors. Coralen waited a moment and then followed.

She rode away from the settlement and into the treeline, pausing to look back at the village beside the river. A flicker of movement drew her eyes upwards, to a bird high above. For a moment she thought it was Fech, but then she saw the bird hovering, raptor-like, and then it dived, hurtling towards the meadow and scooping up something in its talons. Coralen heard a faint squeak, a spray of blood and the hawk landed, its beak ripping into flesh.

In the village a huddle of people had emerged from their homes. One of them raised a hand to Coralen – the woman from the river. She returned the gesture with a smile and rode into the woods.

Two nights had passed since Coralen left the village behind, the warband ploughing deeper into Narvon. The terrain was similar to the north of Domhain where she had spent most of her life: leagues of rolling moor and black rock, shifting slowly towards greener vales, the horizon to the south carpeted with dark woodland and twisting rivers. Storm loped alongside, the rest of her scouts spread in a half-circle either side of her across a league or so of ground.

Domhain. Home. She felt a flash of guilt at the thought of her homeland, its warbands broken, her father King Eremon murdered. And now Rhin was sitting upon its throne. And Conall, her puppetking. The thought of her half-brother ruling in Domhain would have been ludicrous, if she had not seen him at Dun Vaner, if she had not looked into his eyes and seen the rage and pain radiating from them. What has happened to you?

And what of Rath and Baird, of the Degad? Rath had near enough raised her. Fech had told them of Eremon’s death and the fall of Domhain, and periodically guilt would rise up and consume her. I should have been there, fighting beside Rath.