“If the forces of Darkness are marching, we might not even get to try this shortcut business,” Harathes would try portentously. “It’ll be too late then for anything other than sword-work.”

She nodded glumly.

“Darvezian has tens of thousands of Ghants, Ost-men, Bone-Constructs and even a handful of Claw-Behemoths, they say,” he put in later. “Not to mention whatever nameless abominations he’s been breeding in the vats beneath his lair.” Then he sent Lief off for more beer.

“Mmm.”

“I’ve been speaking to some of the defenders,” Harathes announced, still in that rather boding tone of voice. “They do not feel the walls will hold this time, against the might of the Dark Lord’s magics.”

He had been looking pointedly at Cyrene as he said it, but it was Lief who answered, returning with another round.

“Oh well, that’s jolly. Almost makes you glad we’ll be out on the wrong side of the gates then. No point worrying about the walls if we’re not inside ’em.”

“But it could be the end for the Light,” Harathes pressed. “If Cad Nereg falls, that is the end of everything.”

At last she looked at him. “And…?”

Harathes bolted his beer and reached for her hand, which she made sure was nowhere near him. “Come with me, Cyrene.”

“What?”

“I have a chamber prepared. This could be our last night of life and freedom, for tomorrow we brave the Dark. My heart is yours, enslaved by your beauty. Pray, grant me this one boon before we step into Darvezian’s shadow.”

She stared at him levelly. “You are invoking the Dark Lord as a way to get into my britches.”

“No, but surely this is our last chance. Before the Dark…”

Cyrene stood, clutching at the wall for balance. “Harathes, this is the last chance for a great many things ‘before the Dark.’ It’s the last chance for me to streak naked through the halls of Cad Nereg or to eat human flesh or to lift up Penthos’s robe and see what he wears underneath it, none of which I have any inclination to do. It is also the last chance ‘before the Dark’ for me to kick you repeatedly in the groin until your balls merge with your brain physically as well as metaphorically. So piss off.”

Harathes kicked over his chair as he bolted upright, which would have been a threatening moment had he not then fallen over it. “I am a knight of the church!” he insisted from the floor.

“Then go seek forgiveness from Dion for your lustful thoughts,” she suggested.

“Lust? It is not lust!” He was on his feet again, kicking to get free of the wreckage of the chair. “I love you, woman!” And there he was, the big, bluff, handsome knight, broad as a barn door and shallow as a puddle. So consumed by lust that there was virtually a heat haze coming off him.