Sumur smiled at him. ‘Your heart, I can almost taste it.’ He licked his lips.

If I’m going to die I’ll make a song of it, at least. Don’t want Tukul waiting for me on the bridge of swords without a smile on his face.

He hefted his sword, taking the weight in one hand, striking like a smith at the forge with both arms, blade and claw, on his fifth or sixth stroke he felt his blade slam into Sumur’s chainmail, caught Sumur’s sword between the blades of his claw, punched him in the mouth, pulled away, pivoted on a heel, taking two blows in quick succession upon the shield across his back, as he spun, catching fragmented glimpses of the world around him – men in red cloaks, silent and staring, a horse stamping a hoof – as he came out of the spin swinging his sword low at Sumur’s calf, Sumur jumping over it, Corban using the brief moment Sumur was weightless to step in close, hook his foot behind Sumur’s ankle as he landed and push with all his strength against the Kadoshim’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Corban swept forwards, his sword rising and chopping down, into the churned dirt as Sumur rolled away, rising smoothly to his feet. Corban could hardly breathe, the exertion of that last attack draining him of all energy and will. He stood staring at Sumur, leaning on his sword, tip buried in the ground, heart thumping in his chest, mouth hanging open as he sucked in great lungfuls of air.

He is too good, too fast, too strong. They call me Elyon’s champion? Where is he now?

Sumur walked towards him. His left arm and shoulder were hanging oddly, his clavicle was clearly broken, but it did not alter his movement, the pain not even registering upon the Kadoshim’s face.

‘You’ve done well,’ Sumur said, his voice a demonic rasp, ‘better than I’d ever have imagined, but the end is, has always been, inevitable.’ Corban saw the coiling of muscle in his legs, the bunching of tendons in his wrist as Sumur prepared for the death lunge and knew exactly what the once-Jehar was going to do; he also understood that he could not stop him. At the same time he remembered another duel, one he’d watched so long ago, in a feast-hall on Mid-winter’s Eve.

Tull.