‘Pentarch Hurkel!’ the giant roared, leaning forward on the staff, bending to Matil’s level. ‘Crowned with the fires of God’s vengeance, and serving his divine will. This afterbirth—’ Hurkel jabbed his trident-hand at Chel’s chest, falling barely an inch short, ‘—I can thank for my unusual walk. Is that pretty piece with you, sand-crab? That vulgar harlot owes me a hand with interest, and I’ve a mind to collect.’

Chel shook his head. ‘Gone.’

‘We shall see, sand-crab. We shall see!’

Matil took half a step, interposing herself between Chel and Hurkel. ‘And I am—’

‘I know who you are. Where’s the rancid old cow? I’m not here to bandy with withered fruit.’

Chel shot a glance to Vashenda. She remained silent, impassive, her face held tight and still, her gaze straight ahead.

‘My mother is indisposed.’ Matil’s voice was calm, cold. ‘I speak as Keeper.’

‘She’s fucking dead at last? Now? Hilarious. And in her place … you?’ Hurkel burst into barks of rough, aggressive laughter. Matil watched him through narrowed eyes.

‘Do you, perhaps, have a proposal?’

Hurkel fought down his laughter. For a moment, Chel thought he might wipe away a tear with his hand-fork, and was disappointed when Hurkel caught himself.

‘I do. From the forces of the Chosen-Emperor-in-Waiting, Anointed by God, Ruler of Land, Sea and Sky, Commander of the Armies of the Merciful Shepherd, I give you this message: Give us the princeling.’

‘Or?’

‘OR BE DESTROYED.’ Hurkel waved his stump. ‘You have seen what our divine wrath did to your precious fortress. Your city is next. You have until dawn!’

‘Let’s save you the wait.’ Matil turned to Chel. ‘Our prince’s response?’

Chel didn’t hesitate. Perhaps he should have.

‘The answer is no,’ he growled.

‘Now leave this place,’ Matil said with a small smile, ‘or be destroyed in turn.’

Hurkel smiled again, a hideous smile, then turned and stomped away, back to his chariot.

‘Until dawn!’

The confessors began to withdraw, Fest and Vashenda with them. Chel caught her eye as she turned to leave, and she paused.

‘I’m surprised you’re still going, sand-flower. Impressed, even.’

Hurkel bellowed for her, and her eyes narrowed. As she went to follow, Chel said, ‘You’re what, his pet now?’

‘The Shepherd moves in mysterious ways,’ Vashenda muttered as she departed. ‘I hope we’ll get to speak again.’

The confessors rolled away, the wind blowing their dust cloud after them. Chel and Matil stood alone beneath the awning, the Keeper chewing her lip and staring into the middle distance.

‘I like you, Chel of the South,’ she said at length. ‘I hope you don’t get us all killed.’

***