Masnar went howling past on his left, her cutlass a blur of bloody steel. A pack of marines followed on her heels, their short swords brutally efficient in the press of bodies. A proctor came with them, sun-stave flaring like fire as it struck shield and flesh.

A heavy shove sent Josiri sprawling. A war hammer whirled. Anastacia’s head cracked back. Her shawl’s hood fell open to reveal a jagged black line across her right cheek.

Josiri hacked at the hammer-wielder’s legs. With a cry, he fell to his knees. Anastacia’s return blow all but struck the man’s head from his shoulders.

Josiri clambered to his feet. “Are you all right?”

[[I’m fine. Be more careful.]]

The deeper they pressed into the Hadari formation, the stiffer the fight. The crowd heaved and bore him from Anastacia’s side. A shard-spear flashed to his left to down a moustachioed marine. The lunassera galloped on. Her ethereal steed shimmered as its straining limbs ghosted through Tressian and Hadari alike.

Josiri threw himself to the ground. A scream sounded as the spear flashed over his head.

The circle of Immortals pressed in. A wolf-cloak gurgled and died, his throat torn away by a spear. Masnar’s cutlass shattered beneath a hammer-blow. She died with her hands around an Immortal’s throat, screaming defiance at the faceless helm.

Josiri fought back-to-back in the shrinking knot of Tressians. He snarled as savagely as any as he fought to survive. But for every Hadari that fell, another came forward to take his place.

A war hammer battered at Josiri’s sword and drove him to his knees.

Steel screeched. The Immortal shuddered. He jerked aside as if struck by the flat of a colossal hand. The mighty claymore swung again. It clove a second Immortal and swept a lunassera from her dissipating steed. Viktor Akadra stood in the widening gap, his ragged surcoat gaping to reveal buckled armour beneath. The glower on his bruised face sent a chill shuddering along Josiri’s spine.

A bloody gauntlet reached forth. “Rise, brother. There is work yet to be done.”

After the briefest hesitation, Josiri took the hand of the man he’d hated half his life.

The wolf-cloak twisted away, his hair ablaze and his face blackening beneath the flame.

“Ashana! Ashanael Brigantim!”

Only a handful of voices echoed Melanna’s cry. Too many had died in the grip of the shadow. Melanna had felt its coils about her, the light sucked from her eyes. But then her sword had blazed anew. The shadow had bled from her sight. But it had claimed too many others.

She stared across the sea of strife, her throat souring at how little green and gold remained. Frustration burned away the heavy throb in her brow. She hammered at shield and helm. Spat and cursed until her throat was raw. But with each blow, there was less and less of her in the wielding.