For the briefest instant, Qen and Kyky stared into each other’s eyes. Hui couldn’t tell what silent communication was travelling between them – perhaps a prayer of thanks for the friendship they had shared, perhaps a recognition that they would meet death together, brothers in all but blood.

Qen gripped Kyky’s shoulders, in what must have been one final embrace . . . and then spun him around and heaved him towards the mob.

Hui was astounded. Qen had never shown cowardice before, nor a disregard for any other life, certainly not that of a friend as close as any kin.

‘Brother, what have you done?’ he whispered to himself, struggling to comprehend what was unfolding before his eyes. He’d always looked up to Qen, for his bravery, and his strength. But this was not the brother he knew!

Kyky spun backwards, arms flailing. Hui watched his friend’s features crumple with horror when he realised his fate.

Hui half-stepped forward to help, and then caught himself. What could he do? It was hopeless.

The Little Monkey snagged his foot on a guy-rope and fell onto his back. The Shrikes pounced on him, howling.

As he scrambled away, Hui felt a spasm of revulsion. His friend’s screams sliced through the victorious baying. Kyky had been hauled to his feet. A muscular arm snaked around his throat, ready to snap his neck. His wrists were grabbed and yanked back, and the tips of swords stabbed against his chest to run him through in an instant when the moment came.

Qen bounded to Hui’s side. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother. And when Qen grabbed his arm to drag him away, he threw the hand off. He was frozen, unable to flee and leave his friend to his fate, knowing he would surely die if he stayed.

The Shrikes seemed to sense his torment. Grins flickered across faces and they slowed their step now they knew they had the upper hand, edging forward with Kyky in their midst. Taunting. Urging Hui and Qen to come to them.

‘Stand your ground!’

The voice boomed across the camp and every man fell silent. The Shrikes stumbled to a halt, a spear’s throw away from where Hui and Qen stood.

A path opened among the horde of Shrikes. Hui watched a figure striding along it. Tall and lean, his skin was burned to mahogany by the desert sun. Hui took in those black eyes and beaked nose and saw habiru blood in him. The man grinned, his white teeth shining among the black bristles of this thick, curled beard

When he came to a halt beside the quavering Kyky, he said, ‘Do you know who you have challenged?’ The voice rang with arrogance. Here was a man who was never challenged. ‘My name is Basti the Cruel,and I bear that title for good reason.’