‘As you say. But . . .’ He fell silent.

Wise man. No point arguing with her.

‘The good news is his gut wound seems to be healing. It is rare, but it can happen. Now, if he could just beat this fever.’

‘He can.’

An indrawn breath.

‘My lady, you should prepare yourself.’

‘No. You told me that a ten-night gone, and yet he is still here.’

‘But look at him. There is little more than skin and bone left of him. He has fought hard, but unless this fever breaks . . .’

‘He is the strongest man I have ever known. In flesh and in spirit. He will beat this.’

‘Perhaps. If he is as strong as you say then he has a chance. But I must warn you, my lady, it is very slim. If he is a fighter . . .’

Fidele snorted. ‘He is the definition of the word.’

‘I shall call in before sunset.’

‘Thank you, Alben. I do not mean to sound ungrateful.’

‘You do not, my lady. You stand vigil over a friend who straddles the line between life and death.’

The door closed, footsteps receding.

A hand closed about his. Squeezed.

‘Live, damn you.’ A soft breath brushed his ear.

The Ben-Elim was staring at Maquin; it felt as if he was staring into him, viewing his soul.

‘You have a choice to make,’ the Ben-Elim said. ‘Most who reach this place have no choices left to them. A rare few do. You are one of them.’

‘What choice?’ Maquin breathed.

‘Go forward, or go back.’

Something moved behind the Ben-Elim, beyond the bridge, a figure forming in the mist. Maquin frowned, something familiar about it. He froze, not believing his eyes.

It was Kastell. He was as Maquin remembered him, a shock of red hair, face pale, freckled. They stared at each other.

The sight of him set a flood of memory loose within Maquin, coursing through his body like heady mead in his blood. The day he had sworn his oath to Kastell, so many years ago, standing upon a palisaded wall within sight of Forn Forest. Carrying him from his father’s hold as it went up in flames, giants chasing them, bellowing their war-cry, silhouetted by flame. Joining the Gadrai. Walking into the catacombs of Haldis, fighting side by side. Maquin felt tears wetting his cheeks.

He called out, dropped to his knees. ‘I am sorry, my friend. I have failed you, Jael still lives.’

Kastell stared at him, head cocked to one side.

‘It was not your fault,’ Kastell said, the words sounding like wind rustling through dead leaves.

‘I swore an oath to you,’ Maquin said, tears blurring his vision.