At least, that was the intent. But Revekah had seen every trick under the sun. This one, she’d seen many times in preceding minutes. She’d bled for the first, but only the first. The cloak’s edge slipped away. She stepped back, her shoulder blades pressing against Kurkas’. Her sword teased the dirk’s point aside, and her riposte slit the icularis’ forearm to the bone. Her backswing cut off his scream almost before it began.

A wet thud sounded behind. Kurkas grunted in pain and sank against her shoulders.

“Don’t embarrass me in front of the shadowthorns,” she said.

“Just getting my . . .” Another thud. A scream. “. . . second wind.”

Revekah worried at the breathiness of Kurkas’ protest, then wondered why she cared. Of the two icularis still facing her, one mistook concern for lack of focus. He died with her sword in his throat.

Kurkas groaned. His weight slipped from Revekah’s shoulders.

“Kurkas?”

Revekah spun on her heel. He lay at her feet, eye closed and tunic marred by fresh, bloody rents. Another corpse to join the half-dozen icularis they’d dispatched.

Three remained. Two of Kurkas’. One of hers. Manageable odds, fighting back to back. Now?

Revekah threw herself at the nearest and bore him to the ground before he’d a chance to scream. Her sword sliced up under his breastbone. She rolled away, gaping in pain as the motion jarred her injured shoulder.

Another icularis stabbed down. Revekah struck the blade aside and staggered to her feet. A swirl of robes and the wicked dirk came again. A second parry, a third, a fourth – the timing of each cut finer than the last as her strength failed.

The icularis thrust at her heart. Revekah twisted aside, burning the last of her reserves in the process. She slammed her head forward. Cartilage crunched. The icularis yelped and reeled away, blood streaming from his nose.

Revekah plunged her sword into his back. It had taken too long. The third would finish her.

She spun around at the high-pitched scream.

The last icularis stood motionless above the prone Kurkas, his mouth agape. The hearthguard’s sword was buried almost to the hilt in his groin.

Dry, wheezing laughter crackled up from Kurkas’ bloodied lips. The icularis slid sideways, taking Kurkas’ sword with him.

Chest shuddering with exertion, Revekah fell to her knees. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not . . . Not yet,” he croaked. “Now bugger off and save your precious duke.”

Revekah stared out through the trees towards the distant battle. Did Josiri still live? Could she even reach him in time to make a difference?

Josiri’s life or death wasn’t in her gift. But Kurkas . . .

She swore softly, tore a strip of cloth from an icularis’ cloak and pressed the bundle against the wound in Kurkas’ chest. “Here. Hold this tight while I take a look at the rest.” She set to work unbuttoning his tunic.