Uzzia glanced across at the bearers. ‘Our companions are looking fretful again. I think it is the scholar’s claim that he can predict the eclipse. As if he controls the moment the moon is to be devoured by the wolf god, according to the local beliefs.’

‘But it is only a question of simple numbers—’

‘These men know nothing of your numbers, scholar. All they know is that their gods are angry with them. They must be, or else why would they send down drought and floods and rock falls and tongues of ice? Now, perhaps they believe you are challenging the gods, angering them further. I think it would be better if you kept silent.’

‘Ah, but I’m not one for silence,’ the scholar said. He lifted his gaze from the oracle dials to the sky. ‘And as for the prediction—’ He pointed dramatically to the sky. ‘There! It begins!’

Looking up, Avatak saw that a sliver had been cut out of the moon’s round dish, just a fingernail, sharp and distinct in the clear sky of this place. Avatak had been drilled for this moment. He grabbed a stylus and began making a precise measurement of the time as recorded in the hourglass.

Pyxeas stood with a single lithe motion that belied his years, lifted his arms to the disappearing moon, laughed, and did a kind of jig of celebration – or desperation, Avatak thought, for even now he thought he could see the bleakness hidden inside the old man’s bluff character.

But his antics were disturbing the rest of the party.

‘Sit down, you fool,’ hissed Uzzia.

Jamil muttered, ‘This isn’t good, this isn’t good.’

The other men were moving around them, dimly seen in the moonlight. Avatak put down his journal and stood up—

There was a tremendous slam, and the world fell away.

He was awake.

He was alive.

He was lying on his back. He opened his eyes cautiously. He saw blue sky, the deep blue of morning. There was the moon, still full, still high though it was daylight. The eclipse must be over. He had missed the moment of last shadow. Pyxeas would be furious. He tried to rise – but pain burst in his head, and he cried out. He managed to reach a sitting position, though the world spun around him.

‘Take it easy.’ Somebody before him, a low, gentle voice. Uzzia. ‘Drink this.’

His vision seemed to pulse, as if his blood was pressing at his eyes. But he saw the mug before him, the glistening water. He took it, managed to lift it to his lips, drank. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, you missed all the fun. Some protector you are. You didn’t even see the rock that knocked you down, did you? Good shot, actually.’

‘One of the men?’