It was impossible to tell who was winning. The black ribbons had long since fallen off, and the white were dark with dirt and blood. Only Zune I recognised: he wore all black, and a firelord’s scarlet sash. I looked for Amasai and Alejandro. I found only Amasai, fighting hand to hand with three of Zune’s supporters. He was breathtaking to watch – and he was victorious. While I watched him, willing him strength, he raised his sword high above his head, and roared a command to his men. I don’t know what it was he said, but soldiers gathered about him, stood straight, and fought like men renewed.

And while they fought, inspired, their enemies seemed to shrink and fail. Amasai’s men began to slaughter them, one after the other, coldly and methodically. I saw Zune fall, rise again, and fall a final time. Only twenty of his men were left. When they saw that he did not rise again, they all knelt and placed their swords on the bloodied ground in front of them. Amasai’s men, their swords raised, surrounded them. But they did not strike those final blows. For a while no one moved, and in the silence of ceased battle, the wind brought to us the groans of the dying, and calls for mercy and help. Amasai stood tall and still, the wind blowing his dark cloak about him, and tearing at his golden hair. His stillness was more frightening that his fight.

I turned to Maelmor. His face had gone deadly white, his eyes distended and wild with disbelief.

“Zune and his men are surrendering,” he said. “By God, harsha, this day our world ends.”

He faced Kasimarra, and I saw that he wept. He started walking back, passing so close by me that I felt the heavy brush of his cloak, and all his grief and hate. His priests and temple staff went with him. The people of Kasimarra stayed, silent now.

I looked at the battleground again. Amasai and his men were gathering up the relinquished swords. They stood in a circle around Zune and his surrendered men, and sang a victory song. It was a verse from a Quelled myth, one that Lesharo had taught to them, and one I had always loved.

The images blurred. I was conscious of people around me moving, beginning the long walk back to Kasimarra. There were subdued sounds of horror and bitter disbelief. Some of the people, families and lovers of those fallen, went down onto the battleground to find and carry back their wounded and their dead. The sound of wailing filled the air.

I wiped my face. Amasai stood in front of me. He was very white and strained, and blood ran black and scarlet down his side. He knelt and touched the ground at my feet He stayed there a long time. When he rose again, his eyes were moist.