And what would that have achieved? Me dead as well? It was Rath who had sent her from Domhain, Rath who had ordered her to guide Corban north through the mountains, but she knew that she had not been unhappy about that order. Another pang of guilt spiked at that. But somehow the guilt would always retreat, overcome by another emotion entirely. There was something about riding with this crew that felt different. As if she had been around them all her life.

And then there was Corban. She found her thoughts straying to him more and more often when she rode alone. She tried to convince herself: It is concern, for a friend, over the choices he is being forced to make.

A flapping from above drew her attention, Craf swooping down from a slate grey sky. He was flustered, squawking as he descended.

‘Warband, warband, warband,’ the bird screeched as he alighted on her saddle pommel.

‘Where?’ Coralen demanded.

‘Ahead.’

‘How many?’

‘A forest of spears and swords,’ he croaked gloomily.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CORBAN

Corban crawled across spongy grass, through red heather and fern, Coralen’s boots just in front, Gar and Meical right behind him. After a quick discussion with Meical about Craf’s sighting of the warband Corban had called a halt so he could take a look at what faced them.

‘Down there,’ Coralen pointed down a long slope to where the land levelled. First he saw the scouts, a score of horsemen strung out across the incline, making their way steadily uphill. About half a league behind them a warband was emerging from woodland, halting upon the banks of a wide stream to refill water skins and barrels. The broken branch of Cambren fluttered on banners, framed in black and gold.

‘Rhin’s,’ Corban muttered.

‘Who else?’ said Meical. ‘She’s defeated every other realm within a hundred leagues.’

‘At least three hundred swords,’ Gar whispered as he drew alongside Corban. More warriors were still emerging from the trees, a steady flow. The first ranks crossed the stone bridge that spanned the stream. From this distance it was a slow-moving forest of leather and iron. A line of wains rumbled into view, shaggy-haired aurochs pulling them, bellowing as they climbed. Steadily they crossed the bridge, continuing along the wide giants’ road.

What are we going to do?

It was one thing to lead three hundred warriors across a remote countryside, through small villages whose inhabitants hid or ran. It was another thing entirely to be marching towards an enemy who probably outnumbered you. But they are not Jehar warriors or Benothi giants, a voice whispered in his mind. If we fought them we would win.

And how many of those who are following me would die?

Gar tapped his shoulder and signalled they should move back.

They crawled away, stood when the ridge hid them and mounted in silence.

‘Craf, keep an eye on them,’ Corban said to the crow.