Chel peered over Rennic’s shoulder into the chest. Under the grotty collection of mail and broken blades piled within lay something long and slender, one end thick and tightly wrapped. Rennic reached in and levered up one end, sliding it out with great care. The shaft was carved, inlaid and ornate. And under the wrapping would be a long, sharp blade, inscribed with swirling patterns.

‘Dalim’s glaive,’ Chel murmured, his gaze fixed on the gleam of the day’s grey light on the shaft’s carvings.

‘He won’t be needing it.’ Rennic hoisted it over his shoulder.

‘Anything else in there? My good knife?’

‘Come on, let’s get back to the battlements while those dick-heads are rifling the stables. Keep a tight hold of that sword, eh?’

Armour hanging open, wrapped glaive over his shoulder, Rennic strode back toward the door, waving for Tarfel to bring the crossbow, quarrels, and lever. The prince stumbled along behind them, bent double over his load, and Chel went back to assist him. Rennic sighed, turned and marched out through the doorway and straight into Esen Basar, Grand Duke of Denirnas.

Both stood in shocked silence for a moment, agape. Then recognition bloomed in the young duke’s eyes, an instinctive hand going straight to the puckered scar across his otherwise perfect cheek. Rennic had given him that, Chel remembered with satisfaction.

‘You!’

Rennic unfroze, swinging the glaive off his shoulder and tearing at the blade’s wrapping. The duke’s eyes moved from Rennic’s face to the weapon and back, his nostrils flared, then he turned and ran, jostling past the two guards filling the hall. ‘Kill him!’ he screeched as he fled, soft boots slapping against the flagstones. Chel tried to step in to help, the sticky sword heavy in his hand, but Rennic blocked the door. The wrapping wasn’t coming free. The two guards closed, shields up, swords drawn.

‘Fuck,’ Rennic snarled. ‘Fuck, fuck fu—’

Chel lunged forward and swiped at the last of the bindings around the glaive, narrowly missing Rennic’s fingers. The blade abruptly freed, the big man feinted a back-step then pivoted, slashing the razor-sharp blade in a tight arc below the shield-line. Both guards, caught mid-advance, buckled and squealed. One managed to keep his shield up, the other took the blade’s driving point in his neck. As he fell, Rennic was already shifting, spinning the haft around to crunch the pommel into the surviving guard’s helmet, then slashing the blade again to his undefended legs. He collapsed, and Rennic moved fast to cut both throats.

‘Can we—’

‘Shh!’

Rennic cocked his head, and Chel did likewise, trying to quiet the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He could still make out the soft slap of the duke’s boots, now half-muffled by straw.

‘He’s back downstairs. Crossbow!’