The assassin nocked the better of the two arrows, licked his fingers and ran them along the feather guides. There was little gain in elaborate planning. He had eight men to kill.

Still concealed by the high grass, he rose into a crouch, drawing the bowstring as he took a deep breath. He held both for a long moment.

It was the shot he needed. The arrow entered the troop commander’s left eye and went straight through to the back of the skull, the iron point making a solid crunching sound as it drove into the bone. The man’s head snapped back, skullcap helmet flying from his head.

Kalam was drawing for his second shot even as the body rocked, falling forward from the waist. He chose the man fastest to react, a big warrior with his back to the assassin.

The arrow went high – betrayed by a warped shaft. Sinking into the warrior’s right shoulder, it was deflected off the blade and up under the rim of the helmet. Kalam’s luck held as the man pitched forward onto the fire, instantly dead. Sparks rose as the body swallowed up the flames. Darkness swept down like a cloak.

The assassin dropped the bow and closed swiftly on the shouting, frightened men. A brace of knives in his right hand, Kalam selected his targets. His left hand was a blur as he threw the first knife. A warrior screamed. Another caught sight of the assassin.

Kalam unsheathed his long-knife and close-work dagger. A tulwar flashed at his head. He ducked, stepped close and stabbed the man under the chin. With no solid bone to bite down on the dagger blade, he was instantly able to withdraw it, in time to parry a lance thrust, take another step and stab the long-knife’s point into a man’s throat.

A tulwar skidded across his shoulders, the blow too wild to penetrate the chain under Kalam’s telaba. He spun, a backhand slice opening the attacker’s cheek and nose. The man reeled.

The assassin kicked him away. The three warriors still prepared to fight, and Bordu’s guard, all backed off to regroup. Their reaction made it clear that they imagined that a whole squad had attacked them. Kalam took advantage of their frantic searching of the shadows to finish off the man whose face he’d cut.

‘Spread out!’ one of the warriors hissed. ‘Jelem, Hanor, get the crossbows—’

Waiting for that was suicide. Kalam attacked, rushing the man who’d taken command. He backed off desperately, the tulwar in his hand twitching in every direction as he tried to follow the assassin’s intricate feints, hoping to catch the one feint that was in fact the genuine attack. Then instinct made the man abandon the effort and lash out in a counterattack.