‘Then here we must say farewell,’ Vonn said. ‘And for my part, I hope that I do not meet you upon the field of battle.’ He turned and walked away.

That is highly unlikely, Evnis thought, hardening his heart as he drew his knife from his belt, quickly following his son, a few paces behind, knife rising.

Please understand, I cannot allow my own son, my only son, to openly oppose me, to stand with Rhin’s enemies. It will bring me shame and ruin in this new life I am carving.

Then something hit him in the chest, felt like a punch, and he staggered, stopped.

Vonn spun around, seeing Evnis’ raised fist, the knife in it.

They both looked at Evnis’ chest together.

A long-shafted arrow stuck from it, blood welling about the entry point, right above Evnis’ heart. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t get his lungs and vocal cords to work together. Breath hissed out of his mouth. His legs felt weak and he stumbled forwards, felt a numb jolt, realized he had dropped to his knees.

Is this dying?

He toppled onto his face, his son’s boots filling his vision, darkness like a tunnel shrinking in upon him. He heard a voice, distant but terrifying, whispering, calling to him, remembered it from a night long ago when he had sworn an oath in a forest glade.

Asroth.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

CYWEN

‘You’re joking?’ Cywen said to Farrell, almost feeling angry with him that he would make up such a stupid thing at such a serious time.

The hospice was full to overflowing with injured warriors. Cywen, Brina and the team they’d put together numbered nearly three score and they were still hard-pushed to treat everyone who staggered in or was carried through the wide doors.

Farrell was the first person to enter the hospice without an injury that needed treating, although that wasn’t quite true. He had his fair share of cuts and scrapes and bruises, just nothing that would lead to imminent death or disablement if he wasn’t treated immediately.

‘I’m not, I swear it,’ Farrell said. Cywen paused in the act of bandaging the leg of a Jehar warrior she was treating and looked up at Farrell.

‘If this is a jest I will get my own back on you, Farrell. The chances are that someday I’ll be wrapping a bandage around some part of you, remember. I know how to ease pain, and also how to increase it.’ She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I would swear an oath if it helped you believe me,’ he said, looking worried now, and also slightly hurt by the level of Cywen’s mistrust.

‘You really mean it, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Farrell burst out, looking relieved. ‘Dath and Kulla are to be wed. He’s walking around with a grin on his face that the Kadoshim couldn’t remove.’