‘You are a great deal of trouble, my lady,’ he whispered, then his eyes closed and his breathing steadied.

She jumped suddenly – a loud bang, a grating sound. She turned, saw a grapnel hooked about the edge of the window’s stone sill. A rope dangled from it, disappearing over the sill’s edge. A hand appeared, then a head, shoulders, and in a heartbeat a Vin Thalun corsair was crouched on the wide sill, breathing hard. He drew a sword. All along the room grapple-hooks appeared in other windows.

Alben was the first to move, powering forwards, sword appearing in his hand. A flick of his wrist and it was buried in the Vin Thalun’s throat. The warrior fell backwards with a gurgle, spinning into nowhere.

Screams echoed through the hospice as more Vin Thalun appeared, leaping into the room, stabbing at healers and wounded alike.

‘Out of here,’ Alben snapped at Fidele. Even as he said it another figure was appearing in the window behind him. Before Alben could turn the Vin Thalun was leaping forwards, crashing into the old swordsmaster, both of them tumbling to the ground. They came to a stop, the Vin Thalun on top of Alben, a knife in his hand.

Fidele grabbed one of the iron bars heating in the fire-bowl and rammed it into the corsair’s face. He screamed, flesh sizzling as he rolled away from Fidele, from the pain, clutching at his face. Alben rose, sword flashing, and the Vin Thalun stopped screaming.

‘Come on,’ Alben said as he gripped Fidele’s shoulder, steering her to the door.

‘Maquin,’ she breathed, pulling free and staggering back into the room.

Vin Thalun were everywhere, slaughtering those about them like wolves in a sheep pen. Maquin was still lying on his cot, though he had pushed himself up onto one elbow, sweat and pain staining his features. She reached him and wrapped an arm about his torso, helping him to stand.

He grunted with pain but got his feet under him.

‘Thought you’d—’ His face twisted in a grimace. ‘Gone.’

Then Alben was there and they both had him, half-dragging him into the corridor. The sunlight failed to reach here, torches illuminating the hall in a sequence of light and shadow. Screams drifted down the corridor, echoing from other rooms. A figure crashed into them, sending them smashing into a wall. Alben’s sword was at the man’s chest before his panicked cries told them it was Ektor. A handful of Vin Thalun were just behind him.

‘Run,’ Alben said as he stepped into the corridor. Ektor ran on, calling for them to follow. Fidele grunted under Maquin’s weight as Alben stepped away on light feet, his arm straightening to skewer the first Vin Thalun. He kicked him back into his comrades, slashed across the eyes of one that avoided the dead man, and then the corridor was momentarily jammed with the dead.