‘A gift with words, you say. A gift for you, but it may well be a curse for her, one that has little to do with freedom. Some people invite awe whether they like it or not. Such people come to be very lonely. Lonely in themselves, Sha’ik.’

Leoman reappeared, reining in on the crest. He did not wave them to a quicker pace – he simply watched as Sha’ik guided her army forward.

A moment later another party of riders arrived at the desert warrior’s side. Tribal standards on display – strangers. Two of the newcomers drew Sha’ik’s attention. They were still too distant to make out their features, but she knew them anyway: Kamist Reloe and Korbolo Dom.

‘She will not be lonely,’ she told Heboric.

‘Then feel no awe,’ he replied. ‘Her inclination will be to observe, rather than participate. Mystery lends itself to such remoteness.’

‘I can feel no awe, Heboric,’ Sha’ik said, smiling to herself.

They approached the waiting riders. The ex-priest’s attention stayed on her as they guided their horses up the gentle slope.

‘And,’ she continued, ‘I understand remoteness. Quite well.’

‘You have named her Felisin, haven’t you?’

‘I have.’ She turned her head, stared into his sightless eyes. ‘It’s a fine name, is it not? It holds such ... promise. A fresh innocence, such as that which parents would see in their child, those bright, eager eyes—’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said.

She watched the tears roll down his weathered, tattooed cheeks, feeling detached from their significance, yet understanding that his observation was not meant as a condemnation. Only loss. ‘Oh, Heboric,’ she said. ‘It’s not worthy of grief.’

Had she thought a moment longer before speaking those words, she would have realized that they, beyond any others, would break the old man. He seemed to crumple inward before her eyes, his body shuddering. She reached out a hand he could not see, almost touched him, then withdrew it – and even as she did so, she knew that a moment of healing had been lost.

Regrets? Many. Unending.

‘Sha’ik! I see the goddess in your eyes!’ The triumphant claim was Kamist Reloe’s, his face bright even as it seemed twisted with tension. Ignoring the mage, she fixed her gaze on Korbolo Dom. Half-Napan – he reminds me of my old tutor, even down to the cool disdain in his expression. Well, this man has nothing to teach me. Clustered around the two men were the warleaders of the various tribes loyal to the cause. There was something like shock in their faces, intimations of horror. Another rider was now visible, seated with equanimity on a mule, wearing the silken robes of a priest. He alone seemed untroubled, and Sha’ik felt a shiver of unease.

Leoman sat his horse slightly apart from the group. Sha’ik already sensed a dark turmoil swirling between the desert warrior and Korbolo Dom, the renegade Fist.