Shafts of sunlight had cracked the silver canopy of cloud, narrow streaks of gold drifting across the snow-streaked landscape. The battlements were busy, but not packed; it triggered memories of Denirnas Port for Chel, of the arrival of the black ships of the Norts all those months before, and the witchfire assault that had followed. His fingers trembled with familiar foreboding.

The new force was approaching over the ridge that Foss had marked, coming from the north-east. A narrow column, maybe a few hundred in number, marching on foot, with heavy wagons at their rear. At the head of the column came two riders, one huge on a plodding beast that looked better suited to dray work than battle, the second smaller, but astride a magnificent charger, and dressed from head to foot in gleaming golden armour.

Tarfel gasped. ‘It’s Corvel. He’s here.’

‘And he brought Brother Hurkel and friends,’ Chel added, feeling the trembling reach his jaw. ‘How did they find us?’

Whisper was beside them, hands moving, gesturing to Tarfel. The prince nodded. ‘I don’t think they were looking for us, but they reached the same conclusion we did. The free companies are a risk.’

‘Have they come to negotiate? Surely that’s too small a force to take on “the cream of professional soldiery”.’

Rennic grunted. ‘Depends what else is over that ridge.’

Riders were crossing the bridge, supported by liveried infantry in the colours of the Keys. Most of the riders, on reaching the gatehouse, took to the north road and rode hard out of view. Chel was shocked.

‘They’re running? They’re not heading out to face the confessors?’

Rennic grimaced. ‘To their mind, it’s not their fight, not if they can get away from it. Nothing a mercenary hates more than unfunded violence.’

‘Do we head for the bridge too? The others are still on the far bank, we could catch them up, bring them across.’

Whisper pointed to where a group in shabby armour loitered near the bridge’s end, just outside the stronghold. Look. Not friends.

‘Nadej.’ Chel peered down. ‘And the rest of the Gold Peak delegation, presumably. What are they doing there?’

Whisper gestured again. Waiting for Tarfel.

‘Five hells,’ Chel breathed. ‘You mean …’

Rennic nodded. ‘The moment we step back on the bridge, our hospitality is at an end. I’d say there’s a good chance that Nadej intends to collect our princeling to take to his brother.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘Can’t blame her for direct thinking.’

‘What do we do? If we try to cross the bridge, we end up tangling with Nadej and anyone else who fancies following her lead. And if Corvel isn’t here to parley … Modest force or otherwise, if he lays siege and we’re stuck here, our plan withers on the vine.’