‘It is the laxity that so offended me,’ she said, angling her mount to ensure that he could not reach her a second time. There had been something uncanny in his touch even through the coarse fabric of her uniform.

They rode out on to the concourse. Dusk was deepening to night, and everywhere lanterns were being extinguished, inviting darkness into the city. From one of the Citadel towers, a bell tolled sonorously, dull and slow, as if announcing a dirge.

Resh grunted. ‘At last, some ritual attends this faith.’

The streets before them were mostly empty. Finarra wondered if some kind of exodus had already started. Perhaps Urusander’s Legion was already on the way. She knew too little of the present state of affairs, and the ignorance she had once welcomed now stung her. ‘Let us waste no time in this,’ she said, ‘and ride straight to the Citadel. If anything, the day’s end should have enlivened the Terondai.’

‘An astute observation,’ Resh said.

A short time later they reached the first guard post upon the north shore of the Dorssan Ryl, and once again were waved onward on to the bridge. Upon the other side, the Citadel’s massive doors stood ajar, and from within there was a commotion, and the hint of many people gathered.

‘Something has occurred,’ Caplo observed. ‘Priests and priestesses mill within—’

‘Do they attend the Terondai?’ Resh demanded.

‘No,’ the assassin replied. ‘A fallen comrade, I think.’

The three newcomers dismounted at the arched entrance, left the reins of the horses to hang untethered. There was no one to collect them.

With growing unease, Finarra followed Resh and Caplo through the portico and emerged into the main chamber. Though no torches flared and not a single lantern remained lit, she found she could easily pierce the gloom. As Caplo had described, a score or more priests were gathered in a circle around one of their own – a man lying prone, splashed in blood. Priestesses moved about the periphery of this rough circle, agitated and frightened. Few took notice of the new arrivals.

Warlock Resh stepped forward. ‘Make way,’ he said. ‘If none among you has the skill to heal, I will see to the wounded man—’

‘There is nothing to heal,’ said one priest, but he and the others moved apart nonetheless, and Resh reached the figure. Crouching, he stared down for a time, saying nothing.

Finarra moved up behind him. ‘His hands are pierced,’ she said. ‘The wounds do not close.’

Resh grunted.

The same priest who’d spoken earlier now said, ‘None of this is for you – any of you. This is Endest Silann, chosen among all the priests. Mother Dark has blessed him, raised him above the rest of us. He has just performed a miracle. We were witness to dead creatures returned to life. To hundreds of citizens kneeling before him.’ The man hesitated, and Finarra saw something wild and loose in his gaze. ‘He banished a dragon.’