Before he could speak, she said, ‘Get under cover, tutor. This could get messy.’ And then she was past him, up the steps and inside.

Sagander glared after her, feeling a fool. He’d thought she was coming to speak to him, but the truth was, he’d simply been in her path. Another slight. One of many. These things add up. Ignoring her command, he set out across the compound, towards the gate.

Horses thundered briefly on the other side, but the sound quickly drew away. The delegation was retreating back to Abara Delack. He cursed under his breath and then reconsidered. No. Better this way.

Only one monk remained at the gate itself and he regarded Sagander curiously. ‘Nothing to see any more, sir,’ he said.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘Sir?’

‘You have all been most gracious to me. Do convey my appreciation to the mistress and to all of your brothers. But I have no desire to be trapped in a siege. This is not my battle and I am needed in Kharkanas.’

‘I see that you have none of your possessions, sir—’

‘Send them on when you next have the opportunity. Is it safe beyond this gate – there is no risk in lifting the bar for me?’

‘None, sir. They have left for the moment. Tutor, I feel I should perhaps speak with the mistress first.’

‘I just did, brother – did you not see? She has given me leave. Now, you must understand, the walk into the town will be arduous enough for me. I would venture it now, while I still have the strength, for I tire greatly once dusk arrives.’

‘Then fare you well, sir. I regret we cannot take you down in a wagon.’

‘I fully understand, brother. Do you not all insist I take as much exercise as possible?’

‘But you refused more often than not, sir. I wonder if you are ready.’

‘I eschew exercise for its own sake, brother. Necessity is all I need to become fit.’

The monk lifted the latch and pushed open one of the gate doors.

His smile fixing against all the aches and the misery, Sagander made his way past the man, hobbling through with as much haste as possible. He feared at any moment a shout from the compound, and then hands dragging him back. Instead, he heard the door shut behind him, followed by the heavy settling of the bar.

As easy as that. Mistress, your children are fools.

If servants of Mother Dark were eager to spill Denier blood, they were welcome to it. They could spill all they wanted here, until the blood ran in rivers down this treacherous cobbled road. But the river god was old, appallingly old. It had power and it would understand rage, and vengeance. I have read enough to know. The old cults are blood cults. They thrive on it. They feed on savagery and violence. The god’s river will hold ten thousand bloated corpses on its bosom, and still yearn for more.