‘Sound a withdrawal!’ Vanion bellowed to the leader of the Genidians. ‘Blow your heart into that Ogre-horn, man! Get our people clear!’

The carnage was ghastly. Horses and men were being ripped to pieces by Klæl’s inhuman army. Vanion drove his spurs home, and his horse leapt forward. The Pandion Preceptor drove his lance through the steel breastplate of one of the aliens and saw blood – at least he thought it might be blood, thick yellow blood – gushing from the steel-lipped mask. The creature fell back, but still swung its cruel weapon. Vanion pulled his hand clear of the butt of the lance, leaving the beast transfixed, skewered, as it were, and drew his sword.

It took a long time. The thing absorbed blows which would have dismembered a human. Eventually, however, Vanion chopped it down – almost like a peasant chopping out a tough, stringy thorn-bush.

‘Engessa!’ Betuana’s shriek of rage and despair rang out above the other sounds of the battle.

Vanion wheeled his horse and saw the Atan Queen rushing to the aid of her stricken general. Even the monstrous creatures Klæl had unleashed quailed in the face of her fury as she cut her way to Engessa’s side.

Vanion smashed his way through to her, his sword flickering in the chill light, spraying yellow blood in gushing fountains. ‘Can you carry him?’ he shouted to Betuana.

She bent and with no apparent effort lifted her fallen friend in her arms.

‘Pull back!’ Vanion shouted. ‘I’ll cover you!’ And he hurled his horse into the path of the monsters who were rushing to attack her.

There was no hope in Betuana’s face as she ran toward the rear, cradling Engessa’s limp body in her arms, and her eyes were streaming tears.

Vanion ground his teeth together, raised his sword, and charged.

Sephrenia was very tired when they reached Dirgis. ‘I’m not really hungry,’ she told Xanetia and Aphrael after they had taken a room in a respectable inn near the center of the city. ‘All I want is a nice hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep.’

‘Art thou unwell, sister mine?’ Xanetia’s voice was concerned.

Sephrenia smiled wearily. ‘No, dear,’ she said, laying one hand on the Anarae’s arm. ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all. This rushing around is starting to wear on me. You two go ahead and have some supper. Just ask someone to bring a small pot of tea up to the room. That’ll be enough for right now. I’ll make up for it at breakfast time. Only don’t make too much noise when you come up to bed.’

She spent a pleasant half-hour immersed to her ears in steaming water in the bath-house and returned to their room tightly wrapped in her Styric robe and carrying a candle to light her way.

Their room was not large, but it was warm and cozy, heated by one of the porcelain stoves common here in Tamuli. Sephrenia rather liked the concept of a stove, since it kept the ashes and cinders off the floor. She drew a chair close to the fire and began to brush her long, black hair.

‘Vanity, Sephrenia? After all these years?’

She started half to her feet at the sound of the familiar voice. Zalasta scarcely looked the same. He no longer wore his Styric robe, but rather a leather jerkin of an Arjuni cut, stout canvas trousers, and thick-soled boots. He had even so far discarded his heritage that he wore a short sword at his waist. His white hair and beard were tangled, and his face was haggard. ‘Please don’t make a scene, love,’ he told her. His voice was weary and devoid of any emotion beyond a kind of profound regret. He sighed. ‘Where did we go wrong, Sephrenia?’ he asked sadly. ‘What tore us apart and brought us to this sorry state?’

‘You don’t really want me to tell you, do you, Zalasta?’ she replied. ‘Why couldn’t you just let it go? I did love you, you know – not that way, of course, but it was love. Couldn’t you accept that and forget about the other?’

‘Evidently not. It didn’t even occur to me.’

‘Sparhawk’s going to kill you, you know.’

‘Perhaps. To be honest with you, though, I no longer really care.’

‘What’s the point of this then? Why have you come here?’

‘I wanted to see you one last time – hear the sound of your voice.’ He rose from the chair in the corner where he had been sitting. ‘It all could have been so different – if it hadn’t been for Aphrael. She was the one who took you into the lands of the Elenes and corrupted you. You’re Styric, Sephrenia. We Styrics have no business consorting with the Elene barbarians.’

‘You’re wrong, Zalasta. Anakha’s an Elene. That’s our business with them. You’d better leave. Aphrael’s downstairs eating supper right now. If she finds you here, she’ll have your heart for dessert.’

‘In a moment. There’s something I have to do first. After that, she can do anything to me she wants to do.’ His face suddenly twisted into an expression of anguish. ‘Why, Sephrenia? Why? How could you bear the unclean touch of that Elene savage?’

‘Vanion? You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.’ She stood, her face defiant. ‘Do whatever it is you have to do and leave. The very sight of you sickens me.’

‘Very well,’ His face was suddenly as cold as stone.

She was not really surprised when he drew a long bronze dagger out from under his jerkin. In spite of everything, he was still Styric enough to loathe the touch of steel. ‘You have no idea of how much I regret this,’ he told her as he came closer.

She tried to struggle, clawing at his face and eyes. She even felt a momentary sense of triumph when she seized his beard and saw him wince with pain. She jerked at his beard, sawing his face this way and that as she called out for help, but then he jerked free, roughly shoving her back from him. She stumbled back and half-fell over a chair, and that was what ultimately defeated her. Even as she struggled to regain her feet, he caught her by the hair, and she knew that she was lost. Despairing, she drew Vanion’s face from her memory, filling her eyes and heart with his features even as she attempted again to claw at Zalasta’s eyes.

And then he drove the dagger directly into her breast and wrenched it free again.

She cried out, falling back and clutching at the wound, feeling the blood spurting out between her fingers.

He caught her in his arms. ‘I love you, Sephrenia,’ he said in a broken voice as the light faded from her eyes.