Above on the walls, arrows began to flicker down and the Melody warriors pushed forward, pressing Tokob and Yaloh away from their city and towards the slave warriors and eagles. Another pincer, bigger but still lethal.

Out of arrow range, Ilandeh paused to breathe, her battered left hand pressed to her sodden salt-cotton. The blood had soaked through the stiff layers and rendered them useless. She was wearing nothing more than a padded tunic. Someone barged into her from her left, slamming her into the ground with a roar of animal rage. The back of her head hit mud hard and stars burst in her vision. When they cleared, there was a woman snarling in her face, a woman both familiar and armed.

‘Lutek of the Tokob,’ Ilandeh croaked and smiled a death smile as her hand scrabbled for her axe.

Lutek’s lips peeled back from her teeth and the knife flashed as it began its downward arc. Ilandeh grabbed with her right hand and pushed; she jerked her left knee up and Lutek’s weight shifted to the side; Ilandeh threw herself in the same direction. She lost her grip on the warrior’s wrist and Lutek punched her in the face and slipped her arm free, her knife scoring through the base of Ilandeh’s thumb. She stabbed again, but a warrior’s sandalled foot connected with her ribs and tumbled her over. A hand dragged Ilandeh to her feet and by the time she’d found her balance in their grip, Lutek was gone, swept away by the swirl of the battle.

The Whisper fought for air. She’d known what would happen when her old friends, all those she’d betrayed, saw her, she just hadn’t expected the flicker of guilt that had made her hesitate, a tiny fraction of a heartbeat only, but enough. If the dog warrior who’d dragged her to her feet hadn’t intervened with a well-placed kick, she would have died. It could never – would never – happen again.

The Tokob had rallied once more and were again fighting a retreat towards the eastern gate while archers and darters on the walls shot over their heads, forcing the Melody back. The Yaloh streamed uphill towards the northern entrance. Splitting up, forcing the attackers to split too if they wanted to chase them down. Her macaws were still at the northern wall under Beyt’s command, supposing the Second Flight was still alive, but if they had archers there, too, it would make it difficult to close with the Yaloh without being cut to pieces. More defenders appeared on the city walls with arrows, slings, and spears.

Ilandeh looked for Feather Calan, to see whether she’d order the slave warriors to storm the walls regardless, but then drums began echoing from above and behind. The retreat. Pilos must have decided they’d bled the city enough for the first day.