“Will you be happy?” he asked her gently, trying to hide his sorrow, but betrayed by his tears. “Tell me you will be happy. I need to know.”

Blink looked at him with her large, round eyes. She nodded. Another promise.

He wanted to embrace her, but promised himself he would not, for fear if he did he would never let her go. Of the three of them, he broke his promise, pulling her close and smelling her hair for the last time.

“Take her,” he said without moving his eyes off the face he loved. “Please. Take her now.”

Madigan lifted Blink up, and Deglan felt her fingers slide away. He knelt on the ground a long time before finally turning. Madigan had already walked a fair distance across the plain. Blink rode on his shoulders, reaching down to tease Sweat and Panic as they followed, jumping excitedly. She did not look back.

All two hundred warriors were ahorse and assembled in formation by the time Deglan got to his feet. Rosheen and the two coburn waited nearby, watching as the huscarls inspected their battle lines.

“They are going to fight?” he asked Rosheen when he drew near.

“They are,” the piskie replied. She looked at him for a moment. “You made the right choice.”

He shooed her words away with his hand. “Don’t nursemaid me.”

She allowed him his gruffness, and he was grateful. They all watched as Orvin addressed the men.

“They have our Thegn!” he cried over the ranks, gesturing to Castle Gaunt with his spear. “I mean to ride in there! And I will not ride out unless it is with Kederic Winetongue! Follow me if you be men!” He spurred his horse forward, and the ground thundered as every man followed, screaming their war cry and galloping for the bridge.

“We best get moving,” Sir Corc said, and began making his way swiftly towards Penda’s rock. Bantam Flyn followed.

Rosheen looked at Deglan. “You coming?”

“No,” he replied, nodding at the column of warriors. “I will be of more use here when the blood spills.” He looked at the piskie. “Good luck.”

She winked at him, and flew off after the coburn.

Deglan barked some orders at the camp followers, making sure they had a field tent ready to receive the wounded. Checking his satchel, he ambled over to where Acwellen lay in the mud. The man’s eyes rolled in his head, his breath coming in choking gasps, his tongue pushing blood from his mouth in gobs. Deglan squatted down next to him, looking impassively at the damage the dogs had done, and then at the knife wounds in his elbow and gut.