“And what about you, Valyn?” il Tornja asked, cocking his head to the side. “Where have you been while we battled back the Urghul?” He gestured toward the fighting still raging below. “What role did you play in saving Annur?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“And while you waited,” Adare snarled from behind him, “people died. Were you huddled up there the whole time? This is about more than your own personal vendetta.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Valyn said, trying to still the sudden trembling in his hands, “about watching people die.” Memories of the night before filled his mind, of Laith fighting on the bridge, of the flier falling, spears buried in his flesh. “While you’ve been primping and playing emperor, I’ve been fighting my way across this whole fucking continent—”

“You were sent here,” Adare protested, “by Long Fist. By the bastard who just attacked the empire.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Valyn said. “I’m here. And I’m going to kill your pet general.”

“In fact,” Il Tornja said, “you may decide that it does matter. When you know the truth.”

“What truth?” Valyn snarled.

More than anything, he wanted to be finished talking, but talking gave him time to probe, to test, to study the kenarang’s responses. Il Tornja was a swordsman as well as a general, that much was already clear. If Valyn was going to kill him, to be sure of killing him, he needed to know more. Somewhere behind him, Adare was still sobbing, still trying to stanch the hole in Fulton’s flesh. Valyn blocked out her cries.

“You left the truth behind long ago,” he said, moving as he spoke, studying il Tornja’s response. “Left it when you killed my father.”

“This is bigger than your father,” the general said.

“Save your breath. Adare already fed me this line. We need you to defeat the Urghul, to defeat Long Fist . . .”

“And have you paused to wonder,” il Tornja asked, “just where your friend Long Fist has been during this whole bloody battle?”

“Elsewhere,” Valyn spat. “Who cares?”

“You might, if you hope to save Annur.”

“We saved it already. Right here. The Urghul are broken.”

Il Tornja smiled, a careless, easy expression. If he was nervous to be facing one of the Kettral, he didn’t show it. “It might be more accurate to say that I saved it. Put up your blade for a moment and I’ll tell you why. I’ll explain where Long Fist is.”

Valyn tested a low feint. Il Tornja stepped aside easily.

“He is in the Waist,” the general said.

“That’s impossible,” Valyn said. “Unless he has a bird, he couldn’t have made it out of the northern atrepies.”

“He has something better than a bird,” il Tornja replied slowly. “He has the kenta. I take it you’ve heard of the Csestriim gates? From your brother perhaps?”