‘Plenty of killing going on lately,’ he muttered, staring down at her with amber eyes. ‘All those loose threads being knotted, I expect.’

She watched him reach down with that glowing, taloned hand. It settled, palm-downward, warm between her breasts. The tips of the claws pricked her skin and a tremble ran through her.

That spread, coursing hot through her veins. That heat grew suddenly fierce, along her throat, in her lungs, between her legs.

The man grunted. ‘I thought it was consumption, that rattling breath. But no, it’s just too much durhang. As for the rest, well, it’s an odd thing about pleasure. Something Bidithal would have you never know. Its enemy is not pain. No, pain is simply the path taken to indifference. And indifference destroys the soul. Of course, Bidithal likes destroyed souls – to mirror his own.’

If he continued speaking beyond that, she did not hear, as sensations long lost flooded into her, only slightly blunted by the lingering, satisfying haze of the durhang. She felt badly used between her legs, but knew that feeling would pass.

‘Outrage.’

He was gathering her into his arms, but paused. ‘You spoke?’

Outrage. Yes. That. ‘Where are you taking me?’ The question came out between coughs, and she pushed his arms aside to bend over and spit out phlegm while he answered.

‘To my temple. Fear not, it’s safe. Neither Febryl nor Bidithal will find you there. You’ve been force-healed, lass, and will need to sleep.’

‘What do you want with me?’

‘I’m not sure yet. I think I will need your help, and soon. But the choice is yours. Nor will you have to surrender ... anything you don’t want to. And, if you choose to simply walk away, that is fine as well. I will give you money and supplies – and maybe even find you a horse. We can discuss that tomorrow. What is your name?’

He reached down once more and lifted her effortlessly.

‘Scillara.’

‘I am Heboric, Destriant to Treach, the Tiger of Summer and the God of War.’

She stared up at him as he began carrying her along the path. ‘I am afraid I am going to disappoint you, Heboric. I think I have had my fill of priests.’

She felt his shrug, then he smiled wearily down at her. ‘That’s all right. Me too.’

Felisin awoke shortly after L’oric returned with a freshly slaughtered lamb for his demon familiar, Greyfrog. Probably, the High Mage reflected when she first stirred beneath the tarpaulin, she had been roused to wakefulness by the sound of crunching bones.

The demon’s appetite was voracious, and L’oric admired its singlemindedness, if not its rather untidy approach to eating.

Felisin emerged, wrapped in her blankets, and walked to L’oric’s side. She was silent, her hair in disarray around her young, tanned face, and watched the demon consuming the last of the lamb with loud, violent gulps.