‘You misunderstand, Tathe Lorat. The Legion is frail enough since Captain Sharenas’s betrayal. It will not do to have you invite favours, jealousy, and unbound lust among my soldiers. It is bad enough you pimp out your own daughter – and speaking of which, that must end as well. Immediately. Win your alliances by less despicable means.’

‘The ways of my kin are not for you to determine, Mortal Sword.’

He’d finally stung her awake, he observed, and this led him to consider the hidden fires of Tathe Lorat’s hatred for her own child. The simple fact was, together, Tathe Lorat and Hallyd Bahann posed a potential problem that could present to him, at some future point, an outright rivalry to his ambitions. Although they were for the moment sworn to him, he would be a fool to believe that things wouldn’t change once Kharkanas was in the Legion’s hands.

‘You are a Child of Light now, Tathe Lorat,’ he said. ‘But it appears that the significance of that transformation still eludes you. Very well. Consider this.’

The sorcery that erupted from him flung her from her feet. She struck the tent wall, bowing the canvas and bending the poles on that side. She slid down amidst broken stools and a crumpled cot. From outside came a shout and the rattle of weapons being drawn. In answer to that, Hunn Raal extended his power, creating an impenetrable dome of light around his command tent. Even the soldiers’ cries of alarm could not pierce the barrier.

Imagining Syntara, in her temple, struck so suddenly by this distant conflagration of power made Hunn Raal smile as he watched Tathe Lorat climb weakly to her knees, her hair hanging in disarray and drifting to unseen currents of energy. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘In matters of kin, why, you are mine. We are all Children of Light now, after all. Our family has grown, but your protector remains one man – the man you see before you. Thus, Tathe Lorat, the title of Mortal Sword. And a sword, as you know, cuts both ways.’

She staggered to her feet, fear undisguised in her expression now as she regarded him.

Hunn Raal nodded. ‘Send Sheltatha Lore to the keep. Assuming we get past Syntara and her temple cronies, we shall make this a poignant charge, in setting the child’s care at the feet of Lord Urusander’s adopted daughter.’

‘As you command, Mortal Sword.’

‘Now,’ he continued as he relented his magic, the dome of light beyond the tent immediately vanishing, ‘be on your way. Inform the guards beyond that all is well, but that my tent is in need of repair.’

Saluting, Tathe Lorat departed.