“Saran’s emissaries. Not the kind of folks you want to be beholden to.”

She let the branch fall. “Weren’t you at Blackridge?”

His expression soured. “Blackridge is gone. Bunch of the lads and lasses made it back to the Kevor redoubt. Not enough.”

“But not you?”

“Got cut off, didn’t I? Times like that, you find whatever hidey-hole presents itself.” He rubbed a filthy brow. “Shadowthorns were so intent on the pursuit that I slipped away. Thought I’d stand a better chance in here. Tripped – and I mean tripped – over you not long after. Couldn’t exactly leave you there for the Hadari, now could I?”

Revekah grunted. She’d heard variations on Kurkas’ tale over the years, most often from deserters justifying cowardice. Nonetheless, she couldn’t imagine the one-armed northwealder giving up so easily. If easily was the word. His black uniform was torn and bloodied. And deserters weren’t known for their kindnesses.

And did it matter if Kurkas had fled? She’d fled.

Belatedly, she realised how quiet it was. If battle still raged, it did so a long way off. The sun, barely visible through the forest canopy, was lower than she’d expected. Much lower. She’d been out for hours.

“How bad is it?”

Kurkas’ lip curled, and his eye fell. “Bad. Lord Akadra, Lady Trelan? Reckon they’re dead or taken.”

Revekah hung her head, her breath stolen by the feeling of utter failure.

“Last I saw, there was still fighting off to the north,” he said. “The redoubts are holding, but they’ll crumble as soon as Saran sends in his Immortals. Might not even do that. Bugger’s got catapults. No sense wasting lives to prove a point.”

“Why not?” asked Revekah. “We did.”

“Fortunes of war.” Kurkas held up the remnant of his left arm. “Some you win, others you lose.”

She glared at him. “Easy for you to say. You’d nothing at stake.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that if it makes you feel better. I lost a lot of lads and lasses back at Blackridge. And Lord Akadra? I’d have died for him. Still might, before I’m done.”

With those words, Revekah was back in the rain of Zanya as the silver swan broke apart Katya Trelan’s dreams. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because he’d do the same for me. The best kind of loyalty goes both ways. You used to be a soldier. You should know that.”

Used to be? The gall of the man. “I want to see for myself.”

“I don’t advise that.”

“Did I ask for advice?”

“All part of the service. Physician, beast of burden, sage counsel . . .”

“Physician? For all I know, my arm’ll rot and drop off!”

“At which point you’ll only owe me an eye, won’t you?” Kurkas growled. “Ungrateful besom. Would it kill you to offer a word of thanks?”

She glowered at him. “Thank you. Better?”