He was standing behind the door and, when the three figures had entered, he barged it with his shoulder and slammed it in the faces of any others who might still be outside. The assassins jumped and spun to face him, but Pilos’s club had already crushed the skull of the man closest. He pushed the falling corpse into the arms of the second.

The third leapt sideways, avoiding the scuffle, and then lunged with a short spear. Pilos parried it diagonally downwards with the club and let out a bellowing war cry that would alert any of his household still alive. She pulled the spear back and jabbed again; again Pilos batted it away, but he was a step further from the wall now and the second man scrambled free of the corpse and advanced on his other side. If one of them could get at his back, out of his eyeline, it was over.

Pilos drew the knife with his free hand; the man hesitated, but then came on. He, too, carried a short spear. Good for them, bad for Pilos.

The woman thrust high and the man low. Pilos blocked the stab to his head with the club and tried to bat the second away with his knife; not fast enough. The spear tip sank in just above his right knee and then tore out through the side of his leg. Hot blood pumped and the limb trembled. He roared as pulsing, searing pain shuddered in sick waves up into his groin.

Pilos threw the knife. The blade lodged high in the man’s chest and he let go of his spear to clutch at it. Pilos caught the falling weapon in his free hand and smacked it into the woman’s arm, battered her spear down with the club and then smashed it into her sternum. It was an awkward move, a jab more than anything, but the club’s head was a smooth polished ball of granite and it had all of Pilos’s bodyweight behind it.

The woman stumbled backwards, fighting for air, giving Pilos the space he needed. He reversed the spear in his off hand and sliced it through the man’s groin and belly.

The door slammed open and Elaq staggered in, bleeding heavily, three house guards behind him. Pilos fell back against the wall. ‘Take them alive,’ he gasped, the pain beginning to work its way past his barriers. ‘I want to know who ordered this before I peel their skin from their bones.’

‘High Feather, are you sure?’ Elaq fretted as dawn bathed their faces with pink and gold. A glare was enough to prevent further protest.