Sagander, in the meantime, was clutching at his throat, where a large shard of wood jutted out, and blood pumped in fast spurts, spilling down into his lap. Syntara frowned across at the historian. That was too much blood, and there was horror in the man’s eyes.

Unscathed, Sheltatha stared at Sagander too, expressionless, watching as the man choked, and then drowned in a welter of red.

The carriage had rocked to a halt moments after the flare of magic, the horses screaming in shrill fear. Now the battered door was yanked from its weakened hinges, and Infayen Menand leaned in. Her flat eyes scanned the wreckage within, and then, as Sagander sagged down in his seat, she reached out and dragged the historian outside.

Syntara saw the woman drop the old man’s body to the cobbled road, glance down at it briefly as others quickly gathered round, and then lean back into the carriage, her gaze fixing on the High Priestess.

‘Not blinded? Lucky you. But really, unleashing magic inside a carriage? What possessed you to display such stupidity, High Priestess?’

When Syntara struggled for an answer – still shocked by the blood on her hands, the wet trickles upon her cheeks – Sheltatha Lore said, ‘Captain, I think I’d prefer to ride my horse, painful as that might be.’

Infayen blinked at the young woman. ‘While you are untouched. Curious.’

‘Her temper missed its mark. Now, will you lend me an arm, captain?’

With another glance at Syntara, and then a shrug, Infayen reached up to help Sheltatha climb out of the carriage.

Leaving Syntara alone with her wounds, and the soaked cushion seat opposite her, which still dripped.

In near hysteria, the High Priestess screamed for her servants.

* * *

Renarr remained on her horse while Lord Urusander dismounted to crouch down beside the dead historian. From her vantage point, she could see Hunn Raal riding back from the vanguard.

A half-dozen priestesses had crowded into the carriage, from which Syntara’s harsh voice still rang out its shock and fury. Captain Infayen Menand was helping Sheltatha Lore to a waiting horse, but the limping woman seemed otherwise unharmed and free of blood-spatter, and nothing of her comportment evinced the horror of what had just happened within the carriage.

Renarr’s eyes narrowed on her student for a moment longer, and then Hunn Raal reined in alongside Infayen. Low words were exchanged, before the Mortal Sword dismounted and moved to where Urusander was now straightening above Sagander’s corpse.

‘Commander, the High Priestess?’

Urusander frowned. ‘A few cuts, I am told. Nothing more.’

‘To her face, one presumes,’ Hunn Raal said, something in his tone hinting at amusement. ‘I have sent for a Denul healer – it wouldn’t do to have such beauty permanently marred, would it now? Especially on this auspicious day.’

Urusander seemed to study Hunn Raal before saying, ‘Auspicious, captain? Poor Sagander here marks the first tragic, meaningless death on this day, but not, unfortunately, the last.’