A boy, wheezing and panting for breath, his face scarlet with the exertion, collapsed on the Guildhall steps.

‘Did you hear?’ Khassian said to Valentan and Azare. He went to the door; the other two followed, Valentan picking up the manuscript.

The boy was gesticulating wildly, jabbing his finger towards the foothills.

The Mayor appeared on the steps.

‘S-sieur Mayor –’

‘Now, lad, get your breath. What do you mean, soldiers?’

‘Allegondan soldiers. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Coming d-down the mountain road.’

“The Rose,’ said Khassian. ‘Of course. They’ve come to take the Rose.’

‘Send for the garrison!’ shouted the Mayor in a panic.

“They’re twenty leagues’ ride away,’ called someone.

‘Then call out the Militia! The Constabulary! Get the women and children into the Undercity!’

People ran to and fro in confusion. Constables appeared clutching ancient weapons.

‘I have to stop them,’ Khassian said.

‘Stop the Commanderie?’ Azare said with a bitter laugh. ‘You might as well try to stop a thunderstorm.’

When word reached the Temple Court that Allegondan soldiers had been seen approaching the city, Orial went directly to the Priestess.

‘They have come for the Rose.’

‘It is not theirs to take,’ the Priestess said. ‘And we shall tell them so.’

Orial set out with the Temple cortège; as they approached the river, she heard someone calling her name.

She paused, then looked around.

Amaru Khassian was running towards her, weaving through the growing crowd of onlookers. She whispered to the Priestess… and then moved aside from the cortège to wait for him.

A dust-cloud shimmered on the brow of the hill; the soldiers were approaching.

‘He was one of the Commanderie,’ said Orial, ‘so they have come to claim their own…’

‘As far as the Commanderie is concerned, he was a rebel, a traitor,’ said Khassian.

‘I would not have them desecrate his grave,’ she whispered.

‘You know they are capable of perpetrating all manner of atrocities in the name of the faith.’

Orial stared up into Khassian’s eyes and saw that he was afraid.

‘Let me speak to them.’ She was afraid too. But she would not let the Guerriors of the Commanderie intimidate her. Acir’s last gift of life had restored the springs to the city. His rightful resting place was in Sulien.

A hastily mustered band of the Sulien Constabulary assembled on the bridge under the command of the Commissaire, brandishing muskets.

Khassian held one hand to his brow to shield his eyes against the hazy sunshine of late-afternoon. What he saw stirred up sick, chill feelings of fear, only half-buried since his escape from the Sanctuary.

Guerriors.

A mounted cohort of the Commanderie was coming towards the bridge. In their midst was a gilded carriage, drawn by a team of greys.

‘Ilsevir,’ breathed Khassian.