‘Finally. Yes.’

‘The Adjunct is selfish,’ said Tanakalian.

Krughava’s head snapped round. ‘Excuse me?’

‘She could invite others to share in this glory—this Evertine Legion of the Queen’s, it looks to be a formidable army. Well-trained, capable of marching in step with us—unlike the Conquestor Avalt’s soldiers. Were they to stand at our side in Kolanse—’

‘Sir,’ cut in the Mortal Sword, ‘if the Adjunct is selfish—for what you clearly imagine to be a glorious achievement—then it may serve you better to consider that selfishness as one of unprecedented mercy.’

‘I am aware of the likely outcome of this venture, Mortal Sword. Perhaps more than even you. I know the souls awaiting me—I see their mortal faces every day. I see the hope they settle upon me. Nor am I regretful that what we seek shall be unwitnessed, for with our brothers and sisters, I am their witness. When I spoke of the Adjunct’s selfishness, I did not mean it as a criticism; rather, I was indicating the privilege I feel in her permitting the Grey Helms to share her fate.’

Krughava’s bright blue eyes were fixed on him, calculating, thoughtful. ‘I understand, sir. You await the death of the Grey Helms. While you look upon them and see naught but their souls soon to be gifted to you, what do they see in the eyes of their Shield Anvil?’

‘I shall honour them all,’ Tanakalian replied.

‘Will you?’

‘Of course. I am Shield Anvil—’

‘Will you embrace the soul of every brother and sister? Free of judgement? Unsullied in your love for each and every one of them? And what of our enemies, sir? Will you take them into your arms as well? Will you accept that suffering defies boundaries and that pain carves no line in the sand?’

He was silent. How could he answer her? She would see the lie. Tanakalian looked away. ‘I am Shield Anvil to the Perish Grey Helms. I serve the Wolves of Winter. I am the mortal flesh of war, not the sword in its hand.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Do I crowd your throne, Mortal Sword? Is that what all this is about?’

Her eyes widened. ‘You have given me much to consider, Shield Anvil. Leave me now.’

As he walked back into the camp, he drew a deep breath and shakily let it out. She was dangerous, but then he’d always known that. She actually thinks we can win. Well, I suppose that is the role of the Mortal Sword. She is welcome to the delusion—no doubt it will serve well our brothers and sisters when the Wolves howl. As for me, I cannot be so blind, so wilfully defiant of the truth.

We can manage this between us, Mortal Sword. I will follow your will in not choosing a Destriant. Why share the glory? Why muddle things at all?

A difficult, searing conversation, but he’d survived it yet. Yes, now we understand each other.

It is well.