L’oric’s steps slowed as he drew near. There would be no hiding the truth from this man, and Heboric smiled as he saw the High Mage’s eyes widen.

‘Aye,’ Heboric muttered, ‘I was reluctant. But it is done, and I have made peace with that.’

‘And what is Treach’s interest here?’ L’oric asked after a long, uneasy moment.

‘There will be a battle,’ Heboric replied, shrugging. ‘Beyond that... well, I’m not sure. We’ll see, I expect.’

L’oric looked weary. ‘I was hoping to convince you to leave. To take Felisin away from here.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

‘Move her camp a league, out beyond the northeast edge of the oasis. Three saddled horses, three more pack horses. Food and water sufficient for three, to take us as far as G’danisban.’

‘Three?’

Heboric smiled. ‘You are not aware of it, but there is a certain ... poetry to there being three of us.’

‘Very well. And how long should she expect to wait?’

‘As long as she deems acceptable, L’oric. Like you, I intend to remain here for a few days yet.’

His eyes grew veiled. ‘The convergence.’

Heboric nodded.

L’oric sighed. ‘We are fools, you and I.’

‘Probably.’

‘I had once hoped, Ghost Hands, for an alliance between us.’

‘It exists, more or less, L’oric. Sufficient to ensure Felisin’s safety. Not that we have managed well in that responsibility thus far. I could have helped,’ Heboric growled.

‘I am surprised, if you know what Bidithal did to her, that you have not sought vengeance.’

‘Vengeance? What is the point in that? No, L’oric, I have a better answer to Bidithal’s butchery. Leave Bidithal to his fate ...’

The High Mage started, then smiled. ‘Odd, only a short time ago I voiced similar words to Felisin.’

Heboric watched the man walk away. After a moment, the Destriant turned and re-entered his temple.

‘There is something ... inexorable about them ...’

They were in the path of the distant legions, seeing the glimmer of iron wavering like molten metal beneath a pillar of dust that, from this angle, seemed to rise straight up, spreading out in a hazy stain in the high desert winds. At Leoman’s words, Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas shivered. Dust was sifting down the folds of his ragged telaba; the air this close to the Whirlwind Wall was thick with suspended sand, filling his mouth with grit.

Leoman twisted in his saddle to study his warriors.

Anchoring his splintered lance into the stirrup cup, Corabb settled back in the saddle. He was exhausted. Virtually every night, they had attempted raids, and even when his own company had not been directly involved in the fighting there had been retreats to cover, counterattacks to blunt, then flight. Always flight. Had Sha’ik given Leoman five thousand warriors, the Adjunct and her army would be the ones retreating. All the way back to Aren, mauled and limping.