She didn’t bother replying, just pushed herself to her knees, realized her hands were bound in front of her.

She was still in the great hall, sitting on the wooden trapdoor she’d been so desperately trying to reach, though now it was mostly populated by the dead. Further away she saw Meical, pressed and held to his knees by three Kadoshim. He was covered in blood, no way of knowing if it was his own or his enemies’. Cywen suspected mostly the latter.

Calidus walked away from Cywen, towards Meical.

‘Hasn’t turned out quite as you’d hoped, has it?’ Calidus said cheerfully.

Meical just looked at him, stare flat, emotionless.

‘So. Let’s get to the heart of this. Where is your puppet? Your champion? Your Bright Star?’

Just more silence from Meical.

A group of Kadoshim strode up, one stepping forward, flies buzzing about him in a cloud. He held something out in his hands. A black axe. Cywen had to stop herself from grinding her teeth when she saw it.

The starstone axe, taken from Balur.

‘Excellent,’ Calidus grinned. ‘Most satisfying. That makes two Treasures in one day.’ He glanced at Skald’s spear, still sunk into the great tree, the giant’s skeleton draped about it. ‘Now, all I need to make my day perfect is your Bright Star’s head on a spike. So . . .’

There was a crashing, pounding rumble from behind Cywen, the now-familiar scrape of a draig’s claws on stone.

‘Where is he?’ Nathair cried from the draig’s back as he drew near, glaring down at Meical. ‘Where is your Bright Star?’

‘I was just asking the same question,’ Calidus said. ‘And now it’s about time for an answer.’

‘Safe,’ Meical said. ‘He will come for you – he is a force of nature, Elyon’s own wrath. You’d both best be looking over your shoulders from now on.’

‘Oh, please.’ Calidus laughed.

‘This is far from over,’ Meical growled.

‘Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong.’ Calidus sighed. ‘At least for you. I must admit that I’d hoped for more, Meical, and I’m sad to say it, but you’re boring me. Legion, take his head.’

Meical struggled in his captors’ grip, but the three Kadoshim held him fast, two dragging his arms wide, the other pushing on his back with a booted foot until Meical’s cheek ground into the stone floor.

The Kadoshim holding the axe raised it high and swung it down. There was a crunch and a resounding crack as the axe cut through Meical’s neck and buried itself in the stone floor beneath him. His severed head rolled in a half-circle, eyes bulging. A mist formed in the air above his twitching torso, a stern-faced warrior, great white wings spread about him.

‘See how it feels,’ Calidus said.