He had his bow drawn, about to loose an arrow. Chloe knew she had the briefest instant to react.

She dropped the sword and ran at Tomarys.

His eyes widened with shock and surprise as she struck. Chloe hit him with her shoulder tucked in, shoving him forward. She felt the whistle of the arrow as it missed her head by an inch. Tomarys grunted, but although knocked back he stayed standing. Chloe’s mad lunge meant she fell to the ground, tumbling onto the sand.

She rolled on to her back and saw Tomarys spy his assailant and make a swift assessment. The archer fitted another arrow and drew and released in a single smooth motion.

But Tomarys was aware of the attack now, and weaved as he ran directly at him. The second arrow flew past the big warrior’s shoulder. Realizing he didn’t have time to release a third shaft, the bowman dropped his bow and charged.

The two men crashed into each other and went down in a mess of flailing limbs. The archer got on top and smashed a fist into Tomarys’s jaw, but the bodyguard merely grunted and brought the heel of his hand into his opponent’s chin.

The strike resounded like an axe splitting kindling. The bowman fell backwards and his eyes rolled. Tomarys shook his head to clear it and climbed to his feet as his opponent moaned, on his back and senseless.

Tomarys scowled and rubbed his jaw. He reached down and with his left hand grabbed hold of the archer by the throat, lifting him into the sky. The bowman’s feet were now dangling and he gurgled as the bodyguard looked into his face.

As Tomarys held him high, squeezing his neck, he clenched his right fist and smashed it into his opponent’s chest.

Chloe winced, hearing ribs crack. Another strike hit the bowman’s face, near his eye.

Breathlessly, she managed to get to her feet as Tomarys pounded the bowman again and again. She saw that his face was turning red; his struggles were now pitiful. Tomarys was going to kill him.

In that instant, despite his foreign clothing, Chloe suddenly recognized him.

Her face drained of color.

Tomarys was beating Dion, prince of Xanthos, the second son of King Markos. He was the last person she expected to see.

The pieces fitted together. He had used the boy to pass Chloe a message in the street. He had seen Chloe holding a sword pointed at Tomarys. Dion had come here to rescue her.

‘Stop!’ Chloe screamed. She ran to Tomarys and pulled at the arm holding Dion by the throat. ‘Stop! Don’t kill him!’