Calenne spun around. Fingers tightened about a missing sword. A black-robed, swarthy Hadari stood a dozen paces away. His arms were folded, though she’d no doubt he could draw his weapons soon enough if called.

“I don’t know that name.” Calenne edged away upstream.

He shook his head. “Please. A phoenix should not conceal her light. Especially when it might yet save her followers. My name is Haldrane. I have the honour to serve his majesty Kai Saran. I offer you his . . . hospitality.”

“Really.” Calenne offered the reply in a flat, level tone. “I’ll have to refuse.”

She feinted left. When Haldrane drew a sword and moved to intercept, she turned heel and ran headlong for the dell’s far slope. Black cloaks appeared among the trees.

With no other choice remaining, Calenne drove hard for the cave. She charged across the threshold and into the gloom, risking uncertain footing and injury in her bid to escape. Alas, the hoped-for warren of tunnels didn’t materialise. Only bare rock walls, and a floor eaten away by the long centuries of the stream’s passage.

“I admire your spirit, Lady Trelan, but this serves no purpose.”

Calenne turned. Haldrane and two of his companions stood silhouetted against the cave mouth.

He made no attempt to advance. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, or wary of a trap? Biting back a snarl of frustration, Calenne examined the cave once more.

She’d been wrong. There was another opening deeper in. Wide enough to climb through, and better than nothing. She’d take uncertain darkness over the certainty of capture.

She scrambled back into the darkness, pebbles skittering away from her boots. Behind her, Haldrane issued a snapped command to his companions. Footfalls echoed out.

Rock lurched beneath Calenne’s feet. Stones splashed into the streambed. Others cracked away into the darkness. She picked up her pace, clutching at stalagmites for purchase.

A hand closed around hers. Spinning around, she yanked free. Balance lost, Calenne went to brace feet against stone, only to find there was none to be had.

With a last startled cry, she fell into darkness.

Silence reigned. Anastacia rearranged her shawl across her shoulders. She plucked free a quarrel that had snagged amid the weave.

Josiri felt as though he were back atop the shifting stones of Branghall’s observatory. One false move, and there’d be no recovering from the fall. Crovan’s reluctance to fight the invaders he deemed selfishness in disguise: ambition, clouding conscience. For the rest? Even those in wolf-garb? Fear. Uncertainty. Maybe even disappointment. He could work with those.

“I don’t want to fight alongside Akadra,” he said. “I hate everything he represents. Were this a just world, we wouldn’t need him. But it isn’t, and we do.”

No one spoke. Sword-points remained undipped. Josiri took a deep breath and pressed on.