Broad bent, grabbed his ankle and yanked it up. He screamed as he went over, flailing at the air.

“No!” shrieked Judge. Half fury, half wounded disbelief.

Orso had stabbed Halder, knife buried under his jaw, blood squirting over the king’s clenched fist and soaking his dirty lace cuff. Savine stood beside him, framed by the blue sky, eyes huge in her pale face, a dotting of blood on her white dress.

One of the other Burners was coming at Broad with a mace. Luvonte was his name. A Styrian. Strange, that he’d be a Burner. But then who’d have thought Broad would ever be one, either?

He swung as Broad ducked and the mace caught him a glancing blow, bounced from the top of his head. Broad came up, caught Luvonte by the breastplate, lifted him off his feet and rammed him into the roof head first.

He felt a jolt, a pricking in his back. Hardly any pain. Surprising, to see a dagger sticking out of his shoulder, Sarlby’s fist around the grip.

Broad gave a great roar, twisting around. Sarlby punched him. It bounced off his cheek but his knuckle caught Broad’s lenses and knocked them skewed, hanging from one ear. Suddenly the world was all fog. A sparkly blur.

Broad tried to catch Sarlby’s throat but he was slippery as a fish. He lashed blindly with both fists but Sarlby dodged. Broad tripped over something. Luvonte, groaning as he rolled onto his back, face a red smear. Broad shook his head, squinted, managed to catch his lenses and pull them back on. One was cracked. A crack in the world.

He saw Halder sat against the parapet, hand clutched to his throat, blood squirting between his fingers, black as tar.

Then he saw Sarlby, with Bannerman’s sword in his hand and his teeth bared. He swung and Broad dodged back. The blade clanged into the parapet and sent up a puff of stone dust. Sarlby lifted it to swing again but Broad stepped into him, caught the hilt with one hand before it came down, blade waving at the sky between them.

Broad punched at him but Sarlby got his free arm up, fending him off. Broad rammed him back against the parapet and drove his breath out in a wheeze. Sarlby dropped the sword and it fell twinkling, tumbling, spinning towards the bloodstained moat far below. Tiny figures down there, looking up.

Broad could hear Orso swearing at the top of his voice.

He punched again, spitting, snarling, grunting, the strange and beautiful view spread out beyond, snapped Sarlby’s head back so it smacked into the parapet, left blood on the stone. How many times had they fought side by side?

He’d been a good man, Sarlby. Better than Broad. Maybe he still was.

Broad did his best to smash his face in even so.

It all happened so fast.

Savine turned from the long drop to see that two Burners had gone off the tower. A third sat staring with his throat slit. A fourth lay groaning, face covered in blood. Broad had Sarlby half-pinned over the parapet, one arm going up and down like a piston as he punched him. Orso spat curses while he struggled with the last.