No. Instead, let us set sorcery aside. Every weapon will be met, by sword or shield. Fear and defiance, failure and triumph, the miserable dance is all played out. But even that is yet to come. Return us to Draconus and Anomander. The priests have answered Hunn Raal. Nothing has changed.

‘I despise sorcery,’ the First Son says in a faint, brittle tone. ‘Is this what awaits us? Will Hunn Raal and his kind make mockery of battle?’

Lord Draconus glances across at Kellaras, his expression unreadable. He walks to Anomander’s side, and Kellaras edges his mount closer to the two men.

The two lords face the valley, where sleet is gathering in ribbons of dull white across the ravaged basin. Here and there, steam or smoke still rises from ruptured earth.

Draconus speaks. ‘Will you deny me, friend? Have we not fought side by side before?’

Anomander seems to tremble a moment, before turning to the Consort. ‘You seek my leave, Draconus? To what end?’

‘If you command me to withdraw, I shall. But understand me, Anomander. I will have Ivis and my Houseblades.’

‘You would break his heart, then.’

Draconus turns, slightly, to squint at Ivis in the distance where he remains at the head of his mounted company – and the captain’s gaze is fixed upon his lord, as if but awaiting the summons. ‘I see it. The fever has taken him. I should not be surprised at that.’

Anomander nods. ‘Urusander’s Legion prepares to advance.’ He studies the enemy ranks, and then asks a most fateful question. ‘How fares Mother Dark?’

Draconus seems to flinch at Anomander’s simple question. ‘She refuses my presence. I fear she knows my mind, and what lies between us is now wounded.’

‘Fatally so?’

‘I cannot say. Would you have it so?’

Anomander shakes his head. ‘No, never that, Draconus.’

A few moments pass, while both armies hesitate, while the sky loses its will and the sleet falls away to nothing, and a strange, exhausted silence takes hold of the dusk. Then Draconus says, ‘I can make it right.’

Something passes over Anomander’s face, as if he has just weathered a slap, but he slowly nods and then says, ‘Draconus, I must name this love, this courage of yours.’

‘I shall make it right,’ Draconus says again.

‘Take command of your flank, then, sir. Ivis and Silchas Ruin await you.’

‘I shall lead my Houseblades,’ Draconus says. ‘Your own I leave to your brother, of course.’

‘As you wish.’

‘Anomander?’

‘Yes?’

‘We shall not yield.’

‘No, Draconus, I expect not.’

‘She will see that, won’t she?’

Anomander makes no reply.

Draconus passes a hand over his face, and then adds, ‘There is the matter of your brother, Silchas Ruin.’

‘Draconus?’

‘I rode here, friend, wondering if you had commandeered my Houseblades. If you had simply taken them from me.’

‘Ah, I see. And if I had?’