Her own blade was silent. Drawing off her helm, she felt the blessed cold wind on her brow, and the low moan of the iron that had filled her head was suddenly gone. ‘I made them take her away,’ she said. ‘Under guard. Galar Baras died from a broken neck, when his wounded horse threw him. She wanted to fight, you know. She wanted to throw herself into the fray, so that someone could kill her. I would have welcomed that, and indeed, I would have joined her. Instead, she was too drunk to stand.’

Dathenar nodded. ‘We are vulnerable, one and all, Faror Hend, to the madness of our desires. So much of the longing in our lives is revealed as a longing for death. These guises are myriad, but none are available to us now, nor for our lives to come.’

‘Absent the sweet and lustful lies,’ added Prazek, ‘the future appears bleak.’

‘Too eager with the wagging finger, the iteration of old warnings renewed one more time. All our secrets lead us to grief.’ Dathenar grunted and then slowly climbed to his feet. ‘I am soaked through.’ His eyes shifted and he half turned to the west. ‘They must be drawing near the city by now.’

Faror Hend felt like weeping, for what she knew not. There was no lack of reasons; rather, there was a vicious crowd of them, so many before her she was unable to choose among them. Betrothed. Kagamandra Tulas, hear my confession. I cannot love a hero, cannot love an honourable man, cannot give myself to him as one should. I have nothing to match your worth, and should I try, I will die. It may take centuries before my flesh catches up, but it will, eventually. The soul is weak. It can wilt to a chilled breath. But the husk abides, with few hints to the hollowness it hides.

‘We should gather the Legion,’ said Prazek, rising to join Dathenar. ‘Midnight draws near, I should think. We must march to our train, to the wagons.’

‘Prazek,’ said Dathenar, turning to face his friend. ‘We abandoned the bridge. A step taken, one to either side, and into the benighted waters we did plunge.’

‘It’s said none ever rise again from the Dorssan Ryl.’

‘I feel the same, friend.’

Faror Hend looked to the south, and saw there a small group of riders. They were still distant, but the man in the lead looked tall, sitting straight in the saddle, with a mane of grey hair.

Of course. ‘I will leave you to it, then,’ she said to Prazek and Dathenar.

‘Faror Hend?’

‘You spoke of a bleak future. I go to meet mine.’

* * *

Unaccompanied, Lord Anomander, First Son of Darkness, sat on his horse, gaze fixed on the valley below. He merely tilted his head for an instant in Kellaras’s direction as the captain rode up to halt beside him.

‘Milord, your brother has set out for Kharkanas. He is walking. We should be able to catch him.’