Xessa laid Otek’s body gently on the stone and picked up the knife again. She slashed it through the leg nearest her, and then again up into the groin of another and then hands, filthy fucking slave hands, were on her arms and there were ropes around Ossa’s muzzle and a big fist in the scruff of his neck and more ropes around his paws and she wanted to tell them about his wounded shoulder, but they were hauling her back, away from Otek, away from Ossa, a sticky hand wrapped around her jaw and her head wrenched back and up until she had to stand, arms tight behind her.

A man faced her, older than her, forties, a little silver in his hair, lots of eagle feathers standing proud at the back of his head. He had a war club and wooden squares sewn onto his salt-cotton that reminded her of a Drowned’s back and belly armour.

He pointed the club at Otek. ‘Brave,’ he said and then he nodded and the hands let her go. Xessa tightened her fingers on the knife they hadn’t taken from her and saw the warrior’s face become still, ready, the rest of him relaxed. Hate. Feel nothing but hate, eja.

Nothing but hate.

Xessa rammed the blade at his throat. The point nicked skin before his empty hand shot out and punched her unconscious.

PILOS

Sky City, Malel, Tokoban

34th day of the grand absence of the Great Star

He had them. While thousands were no doubt hiding in houses and buildings elsewhere, Pilos had most of the defenders contained in one huge ceremonial plaza.

Scores began to surrender, those civilians trapped with their offspring among the fighters giving up first. And once it began, it spread faster than fever. Control the children; control the council.

The warriors began to drop their weapons and plead for clemency and the Melody switched smoothly from fighting to capture, disarming and herding together Tokob and Yaloh, forcing them to give up their armour and their sandals. A barefoot, unarmoured, frightened captive was less likely to run.

There was still fierce fighting in the western part of the city, but the dogs had it under control. By dusk tonight – tomorrow night at the latest – the Sky City would be theirs. But what would be the cost to his beloved Melody? The dead were everywhere, and everywhere eagle feathers stirred in hair, twisting on bodies that would never move again.

This might have felt like the decisive battle, and likely was, but there were thousands of sticks of jungle still to comb. The Melody would be desperately under-strength by the time Tokoban and Yalotlan were fully subdued.

Under-strength but with no enemies left to fight. The whole of Ixachipan will live beneath the song and all its people will know its glory.

If it still has any.