Two reavers screeched past, out of glaive-reach, then swung around, splitting and arcing back in a pincer manoeuvre. Rennic lunged with the glaive and retreated, snarling, as they sailed gleefully past. They really seemed to be enjoying themselves.

‘You tell me, little man.’

‘We can’t stay here. We’ve got to get off the ice.’ Chel was already looking around, searching for a landmark that would betray the distant shore.

‘No shit. Which way would that be?’

Lemon’s shout from the other side of the terrified animals curtailed his search. ‘Aw hells, they’re coming again! A wet ton of the fuckers!’

Chel ducked beneath the mules again. Two sets of frantic eyes met his.

‘We’re going to run,’ he said. ‘Get ready.’

‘Which way are we going?’ Tarfel was shaking all over, whether from fear or cold was immaterial.

‘Not sure yet. Stay behind the mules, or between them at least.’ He paused, eyes on Kosh’s lumpen sack, cradled in her stringy arms. ‘You know, now would be an excellent time for some revelatory alchemy.’

She glared at him, defiant with terror. ‘I am not an alchemist—’

‘Yes, yes, but if you’ve got any more spontaneous infernos in there, then this would be an excellent moment.’ The howls and whoops were coming again, loud over the skate-scrape.

She gestured with a trembling hand. ‘It’s too cold for that reaction, but …’ The fear left her eyes for a moment, their gaze distant. She whirled, delving into the saddlebags of the mule behind her. She fished out one of the wine-skins, labelled by Loveless a travelling necessity. Unstoppered, its contents hissed against the ice, splashing scarlet.

‘The fuck’s going on there?’ Loveless had seen the splash. Her tone suggested restitution for her lost wine would feature urgently once their current situation was resolved. Kosh ignored her, now adding powders and liquids from small containers fished from her sack. The smell was appalling, and the mules began to honk with displeasure beyond their current alarm. The Nort jammed the stopper back on the skin, then held it out with a tremulous hand.

‘Throw that.’

He lunged for it, and she pulled it back from his hand.

‘Gently! And far, far away.’

He took the sagging skin with care. Already its surface was beginning to discolour, the skin bloating in his grip.

‘Fast! Get rid of it!’

He squeezed through the mule wall, to where Lemon and Foss faced half a dozen cavorting reavers, swirling patterns on their bone-skates as they swept forward in ones and twos to swipe at them. Her shield was a splintered wreck, his was hacked and scored.