Tom bristled. ‘You wanted to kill me! That’s why you brought me here. Not to keep me and train me up, but because I’m the only one who can kill you!’

Jack smiled. ‘Clever. Clever indeed. But you cannot stop me, Thomas.’

The Samdhya laughed. The two of them were squaring up to each other now. ‘You are the breaker of things, James Swinton. This has continued too long. You must have noticed, as you wandered in places not meant for you. You have lived beyond the normal order. It is only for the Samdhya to live like this. It is time for you to end.’

‘And I kept you here for long. You were not powerful enough to stand against me.’

‘You had the help of Christopher. The one who had the power. You could not have done it without him.’

‘It is true. That is why I kept him with me all those years.’

‘I didn’t want to do it. You made me.’ Kit sobbed. He looked so weak, so young.

‘Kit, Kit, Kit. That isn’t true, is it? You loved it just as much as I did. You loved the power.’

The old man knelt, stroked Kit’s cheek and cradled him, as if he were a father holding a wounded son.

Kit sobbed, his whole body tensing. As Jack drew a strand of hair away from his face, Tom saw that attached to a string around Jack’s neck was a wooden flute.

It was the one Tanenwod had given him.

If only he could get to it!

Jack looked up, as if sensing the direction Tom was looking in. ‘You may think you’ve freed her. But she cannot get over the moat. She can only kill us. And that she will not be able to do. Kit will stand with me against her, will you not, my boy?’

In answer, Kit simply shook with sobs.

‘I won’t,’ said Zita. ‘I won’t fight the Captive.’

‘Then you’ll die.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Tom. ‘She needs one of us to take her over the moat. She’ll keep one of us alive.’

‘Then let it be you, Tom.’ Zita’s voice was dull. ‘I’ve lived too long. I have nothing left.’

‘We’ll live,’ said Tom. ‘All of us. I promise you, Zita.’ He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. The pressure was returned. A look of determination had come into her eyes, a look that he now knew well. If he could only get through this and be with Zita, it would be all right.

‘So is this to be the final battle?’ mocked the Samdhya. ‘Is this how we array our forces? On a wasted plain. On one side, I, a Swinton and one of your slaves. On the other, James Swinton, who has kept me captured so long, and your boy, whom I have already all but killed?’