Other figures appeared around Kastell – the first bent and twisted, like a wind-blasted tree. He had not seen him for a score of years, but Maquin knew him instantly. His da. Beside him there was a woman, a warm smile upon her face; his mam. Another man, broad and red-haired. Aenor, his first lord, Kastell’s da. They all stood at the bridge’s edge, watching him. Maquin felt his heart lurch, a longing flow through him to be with these people.

‘Join us,’ they said. ‘There is peace here.’

‘Peace?’ Maquin breathed.

‘Have you tired of the world of flesh?’ the Ben-Elim asked him.

‘Tired? Aye, I am tired. Of the pain, of fighting, always, of the blood, the misery. I am tired of failing.’

‘Is there aught you would return to the world of flesh for?’

Maquin opened his mouth, lips forming the word ‘No,’ but then he hesitated. He closed his eyes, images forming in his mind. He saw Jael plunging his sword into Kastell’s belly, the moment frozen forever, seared into his brain. He remembered being taken by Lykos. Being branded, forced into the pits, his humanity stripped incrementally away. Jael and Lykos, their faces floating in his mind’s eye, merging, separating. Rage coursed through him, cold yet burning.

And then another face, a woman, hair of jet flecked with silver framing pale, milky skin, a warm smile from red lips. Fidele. Somehow she had made him feel human again, something more than a trained animal. A voice echoed through his mind. Live, damn you, it said, and something else rose up within him, battling with the rage that consumed him, warring for his soul.

He opened his eyes.

The Ben-Elim towered over him, flaming sword held loosely, wings flexing.

‘You must choose,’ it said. ‘Go forwards or go back.’

He climbed to his feet, wiped the tears from his eyes. Kastell and the others were standing as still as the stone carvings in Haldis, watching him.

‘Peace,’ Maquin breathed. Then louder, ‘I shall see you again. One day. But not yet.’

He turned and strode back across the bridge.

Maquin opened his eyes, blinking in the light. He moved his head. He was alone. Slowly he grew accustomed to a flood of sensations. His fingers tingled, his back ached. Everywhere aches. His throat was dry, constricted. He opened his mouth, felt his lips tighten, skin pulling close to cracking. After a while he tried to sit up and managed it on his second attempt. A jug of water sat on a table beside him and he poured half a cup and sipped, the effort draining him. He looked about, saw that he was sitting on the only bed in a spacious room. A single chair rested beside the bed. It was dark; a window opened onto the bay of Ripa, stars flickering into life on a velvet canopy.