‘Won’t they fight each other all over again?’

‘Hostage, everyone who leaves a battlefield enters a land of bogs, a swamp that sinks them to their knees. They’ve not the will to fight on, nor the strength neither. In exhaustion and silence, they will scour the bodies of their fallen comrades, looking for friends and kin. I will wager the captain offers his healers and cutters as soon as our own are taken care of … perhaps tomorrow.’

‘And will the Borderswords accept them?’

He shrugged. ‘I cannot say, since we know not their grievance with us.’

She studied the field, and the few figures now staggering among the dead. ‘It seems such a waste, horse master.’

‘War is a shout against futility, hostage, but its echo never lasts long.’

She considered his words, and shivered against their chilling touch.

‘There will be wounded animals,’ said Venth.

‘Of course. Let us head down then.’

The horse master led the way down the ladder. Sandalath followed. As she joined him on the landing below she drew close to the locked door. A moment later she gasped. ‘Venth!’

‘Hostage?’

‘Someone paces behind this!’

He came close. Then he shook his head. ‘I hear nothing.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not now. But when I first came close – I heard footsteps. Heavy, shuffling.’

Venth hesitated, and then he reached for the latch. He tried lifting it and failed. Stepping back he shrugged. ‘I am sorry, hostage. Perhaps it was your imagination. Heavy, you say? Then not the girls.’

She thought back. ‘No,’ she said. ‘They were heavy.’

‘Only Lord Draconus possesses the key to this chamber, hostage. There was dust on the latch, and this marks the only entrance – you can see as much. The room’s walls here are a single layer of stone, and the chamber beneath this one has no trap in the ceiling. And no windows, of course.’

‘I know, horse master. Yes, perhaps I imagined it. Mother always said I was prone to such fancies. Come, let us continue on. I have no liking for this place.’

* * *

Drifting back from some timeless abyss, she opened her eyes.

A Houseblade was above her, his seamed face hovering close. She saw him lift a hand and then set its palm against her forehead. It was warm but rough with calluses. She should have despised that touch, but she couldn’t. Above the man, thin clouds were stretched across the sky.

‘Can you hear me?’ he asked. ‘I am Captain Ivis. Your companions have … departed. They left to us their wounded. I did not imagine they would find defeat as bitter as they did, to so abandon you.’ He glanced away briefly, eyes squinting, and then looked down at her again. ‘You were knocked unconscious, but seem otherwise uninjured. We have gathered up a few Bordersword horses. When you feel able, we will send you back to your people. But I need to know – why did you attack us?’