Thrushchurl lies where left him, on his back, his spine curving off to one side. I go round to where I can face the door and straighten him out. I fold his hands on his chest, but then I take back the right one, and hold it.

Rattling—Saskia stops short in the doorway, bending over Silichieh.

“Where’s Makemin?” she asks, her voice ragged.

I haven’t heard any shooting for a while, it seems.

“He’s there,” I say, indicating with my head.

Saskia jerks at the sound of my voice, peers and sees me—“Who’s that? Low?”

I come forward.

“He’s there,” I repeat my words and gesture.

She straightens and takes two steps. Silence. Saskia whips off her helmet and dashes it to the ground. I can see half her shadow there in the strip of light from the door, see the helmet roll.

“Thrushchurl gone, too?” she asks.

I can’t see where she looks. It wasn’t a question. I hear the scrape of her boots as she turns in place—“His secretary?”

Silichieh’s voice is weak, “Makemin killed them both, for no reason. I came with your message, and he shoots me too. If Nikhinoch hadn’t been falling all over him just then, I’d be dead ... and Low as well.”

Although I can’t see her, I know Saskia is looking at me.

“You shot him?”

Silichieh answers—“He was coming to kill me. What else could I do?”

I hear her head swing to listen to him, then, again she addresses me.

“Why—did he shoot ...?”

“There’s no help here,” I say.

“That’s impossible. We’re in the right.”

“What does this look like to you?” I ask, spreading my hands, still clasping Thrushchurl’s in my left.

“They wouldn’t help?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, even if they heard us or noticed us. What about the others?”

“We’ve lost. We must retreat.”

Saskia crosses slowly to retrieve her helmet. I see her put it back on.

“Let’s get him out of here. Hurry.”

She points to the bodies with a sweep of her finger.

“Take their rations.”

We lift Silichieh between us and carry him outside, hastening down to lower ground almost headlong. Saskia tosses her head to the left and we begin to make our way through the side streets. A plume of smoke comes from the direction of the prominence.

“The others?” I ask jerkily, Silichieh’s arm around my neck, looking across his shoulders to Saskia. She does not take her eyes from the path.

“... There are no others.”

We go as fast as we can. Over us, the sky is growing darker.