Sakir pulled himself up to his full height, limned in red against the wall of flames. He raised his sword, unmoved, as if he had decided that his time was done and they would both die together here. He did not seem to fear death. Piay, too, had given up on life, now that there was nothing to keep him in this world.

Piay breathed in a blast of hot air. His lungs seared and his skin bloomed. For a moment, he was back in that burning field, fleeing for his life with Hannu and the captive he had saved. It seemed like an age ago, when he had been a different man.

His skin still smoking from where the embers had burned him, Sakir pounced. Piay clashed his sword against the barbarian’s weapon. With the inferno flaring all around, they pressed together in a furious dance, their faces close as their swords locked and ground.

Piay thrust with all his strength and Sakir spun back two steps. At each other again, they came, weapons ringing together as they swept back and forth across the benches. Piay fixed his mind on that blur of bronze while trying not to lose his footing. The burning ship continued to turn in the currents so that the wind blasted the flames in different directions. His skin was scorched and he was sure he was on fire. The flames roared so high he could see nothing of the riverbanks; the sky was a black cloak overhead.

The Red Hawk lowered his shoulders, ready to drive forwards again. Sensing an opportunity, Piay hurled himself, slamming into the barbarian. They careered over the benches, Piay shifting his weight to keep his advantage, until he glimpsed the black square of the open hold.

Thrusting with all his strength, Piay bowled Sakir over the edge and they both crashed down into the belly of the vessel. The barbarian hit the floor, Piay thudding on top of him. He felt some of the Hyksos warrior’s ribs shatter beneath him.

Piay lurched to his feet. Here and there, the boards of the deck had burned through and fire rained down from above. Though he desperately tried to suck in air, he found himself choking on smoke.

Piay staggered a few paces, feeling as if he was drowning in the heat. As Sakir lumbered upright, Piay sensed another movement towards the rear of the hold. Half-turning, he felt a wave of shock that cut through the seething furnace.

Myssa was sprawled on a heap of sailcloth, her hands bound behind her back, her ankles tied, a gag across her mouth. Her eyes were wide and she was trying to scream to catch his attention, but the muffled cry was lost beneath the roaring of the fire.