“You want to stay here and fight one another? I can’t stop you. I can’t promise anything will change if you come with me. I can’t promise that we’ll finally have the freedom we deserve. All I can offer is a chance to make a difference. How will you look back on this day, knowing you let that chance slip by?”

Nervous glances were exchanged. Swords sheathed. The silence remained, but held the first glimmer of determination. Of hope.

A low, bitter chuckle split the air.

“You’re all going to die,” said Crovan.

Josiri nodded at Gavamor. The older man scowled, but rose to his feet, setting Crovan loose.

“It’s a risk,” said Josiri. “But one worth taking. You can still be part of it.”

Crovan sneered and clambered upright. “A duke’s generosity?”

Josiri shook his head, wondering what had happened to the man. Crovan had always been opinionated and ambitious, but somewhere along the line those traits had soured. He knew better than anyone that disappointment was sometimes the hardest burden.

“The promise of a comrade.” He extended his hand. “You’ve been part of this fight in a manner forbidden to me. Be part of it again now.”

Crovan stared off into the distance, then gave a reluctant nod. “It seems I’ve no other option.”

His right hand closed around Josiri’s. The thoughtful expression melted into a snarl and his eyes darkened in sudden malice. His hand jerked. Josiri, off-balance, stumbled forward. Crovan’s left hand came about, the dagger’s blade angled upwards.

[[Josiri!]]

Josiri caught Crovan’s wrist. Bracing his feet in the soil, he tried to pull free. He succeeded only in drawing them together at greater speed. The two men collided in a macabre embrace. The ridged metal of Crovan’s armour dug into Josiri’s belly. Crovan shuddered. When his lips parted, the laughter was little more than a ragged gasp.

“Congratulations, your grace.” Flecks of blood spattered Josiri’s face. They felt cold as ice. “You’ve killed the first of those you once called friends. How many will follow?”

His grip slackened. Josiri released his own. The shadow passed from Crovan’s eyes and he fell back into the dell, the dagger lodged deep beneath his breastbone.

Pain woke Calenne into darkness. Hot, sharp and urgent, it ran the length of her right forearm and spiked when she tried to flex her fingers. Once again, the Trelan luck had failed her. Or perhaps not. Judging by the huddled and motionless form of the Hadari at her side, she was fortunate to have fetched only a broken wrist. Give or take a handful of other knocks and bruises.