An Immortal rushed at him, sword swinging. Viktor hurled the man into the horsewoman’s path. The rowan horse vaulted the flailing unfortunate and the white fire surged for Viktor’s throat once more.

Again he parried, eyes slitted against the hissing, sparking metal. The woman’s sword scraped free and she passed away behind, carried clear by the momentum of her charge.

Viktor pinched his eyes shut. He clasped a hand to his head to block his shadow’s scream. The shriek reverberated through his skull. He could no longer tell where the shadow’s pain ended and his began. He’d never known it react thus. His whole life it had been wilful, predatory. Terror was new.

His shoulder struck unyielding metal – a kraikon, its colossal sword frozen in arcing descent. Viktor set a hand against the kraikon’s leg and steadied himself.

“Ashanael Brigantim!”

Hooves gouged dirt. The woman came again, fire billowing before her and the moon-banner streaming behind.

Viktor threw himself aside. The blazing sword bit deep into bronze with a tortured, squealing hiss. Molten metal oozed from the wound. Wheat-stalks blazed at Viktor’s feet.

The falling kraikon blotted out the sun.

A cold fist closed around Calenne’s heart. She felt a stranger in her own skin, trapped in a waking nightmare. And as had ever been the case, the Black Knight was at the heart of her fears . . . Though this time for very different reasons.

A twitch of reins sent her horse trotting forward past the nervous block of infantry of the tiny reserve. She reached the serried ranks of the Knights Essamere, resplendent in hunter’s green. Captain Tavor Lavirn alone had his visor up. His eyes bore a worry as great as her own.

In the distance, the leading outriders caught up to the fleeing militia. Spears thrust. Calenne swallowed hard and glanced away.

“We have to help them.”

Lavirn shook his head. “We can’t.”

She flung a hand across the waiting ranks. “Do I imagine this host of knights at our back?”

“What host? I have fifty lances, no more.” His expression darkened. “It’s not enough. Their outriders alone outnumber us, and what infantry we have cannot keep pace.”

“So we abandon them?”

“There’s no choice.”

“I don’t agree.”

“With respect, Lady Trelan, it doesn’t matter. The command is mine. The responsibility is mine. Whatever regard you command in the South-shires – even with Lord Akadra? It doesn’t matter. You’ve no authority over a Knight of Essamere.”

“And what does this Knight of Essamere intend?” she bit out. “To cower beneath the redoubts?”

“Not cower.” Lavirn spoke with strained patience. “We’ll ride out to cover any who get this far. When the pursuit’s fury is spent, maybe we can forge a ceasefire, recover the wounded. But I won’t risk what strength we have over a few . . .”

He broke off too late, the scowl confirming Calenne’s rising suspicions.