He got a tenuous grip on the wrist, then an elbow crashed between his eyes, sending him reeling. Bright spots of colour danced before him as a numbness spread across his face, blood thumping around his head. Frantic blinking cleared his vision in time to see Rennic clear the knife from its sheath, drawing it back to slice. Chel lunged, throwing himself at the bigger man, taking him sideways, splashing the pair of them into the quagmire swirling around them. He grabbed at Rennic’s arms, at his wrist, trying to capture the knife-hand, trying to pin him in the slick muck. The whole time he was shouting, screaming, hoarse. ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

Strength, size, and a lifetime of dirty fighting shook him off, another blunt thump to the nose his reward. Then he was on his back in the mud, Rennic’s foot on his neck, struggling with both hands against the boot on his windpipe. Thick wet earth oozed around him, splattering his face, engulfing his struggles, as the life was crushed from his throat. With Chel still anchored, Rennic reached out and grabbed Tarfel up by the scruff, dragging him up from his scuttling crouch. Rennic yanked the prince back by the hair with a snarl, and another knife cleared its sheath.

‘Rennic …’ Chel struggled to breathe, to speak. ‘It wasn’t his fault … He wasn’t to know …’ He fought against the boot, sliding and slapping in the oily mud, rain still speckling his face. He changed tack. ‘We need him, remember …?’

Rennic paused, his breath coming in great snorts. He’d not spoken during the assault, producing only grunts and snarls. The boot lifted from his neck a fraction, and Chel sensed an opening.

‘Think about it … We need him for the kingdom … She knew that, gave her life to save us.’

Rennic had the blade at the whimpering prince’s neck, his knuckles creaking as his grip clenched and flexed. ‘He did this,’ he rumbled. ‘He did this.’

‘She … saved … him.’

Still Rennic didn’t move, the boot on Chel’s neck as immobile as a tombstone. ‘Rennic … we need him … alive,’ Chel gasped from the mud. ‘He’s our only shot at … peace. We have to do … what’s … right …’

‘Twelve hells, boss, what are you doing?’ came Foss’s voice from somewhere above.

Rennic released Tarfel as if he had forgotten he ever held him, then walked with heavy steps through the rain to the road’s far side. Chel breathed long and deep as his neck re-inflated, as Tarfel slumped beside him in the mud and sobbed.

Lemon appeared overhead, her hair a sodden orange halo around her freckled face.

‘Lemon,’ Chel croaked, one hand on his neck, the other exploring the throbbing damage to his face. ‘He thinks … He blames Tarfel … for what happened.’