‘So, what's the objective here?’

Hurl motioned him back down the hillock. ‘Annihilation.’ They jogged back down to the copse of woods where her troop waited with Rell, Liss and the three brothers. Hurl came to Liss's side. ‘You'll keep us hidden?’

The shamaness nodded. ‘As well as I can, but I'll confess, the magic unleashed on the far side of those hills is like a return to the old campaigns where the mage cadre ruled the field. And I fear we'll see much worse through the night.’

‘We're just here for Ryllandaras.’

‘Oh? What of relieving the Empress?’

‘Keeping him occupied would be more than enough of a contribution, don't you think?’

Liss's gaze skittered aside and she pursed her lips. ‘Too true.’

Hurl came to Rell who had dismounted, out of necessity, for Hurl had never before seen a more awkward rider – other than herself. ‘Regret coming?’

The man edged his helmet and gilded visor side to side. ‘No, I do not. Though I do regret not having the chance to match swords with the Avowed. I have heard much of them.’

Hurl studied the man for a time, his repaired armour, the twin milky spheres serving as the pommels of the swords at his sides – said by Silk to have been the very weapons carried by Li Heng's ancient Protectress. ‘Why did you ever leave your homeland, Rell? All these years it's been obvious to me that you miss it greatly.’

The man clasped his hands at his back, his visor sinking as he peered down. ‘I had no choice. I was exiled – no, that is not true. I left of my own choice, for to stay would have been untenable.’

‘I don't understand.’

‘No.’ In Rell's tone Hurl imagined a regretful smile. The man turned half-aside as if he could not bear to speak aloud to her – or to anyone. ‘I was young. Very full of myself. I had been promoted to the highest martial body of my people. One of the youngest ever to have been so honoured. I fought many duels – but not as you and your people seem to understand them, to the unnecessary death or sloppy exhaustion. At the level I fought, blood was rarely spilt. All could be decided by the judging body in a mere one or two passes. Speed, technique, execution. Perfection of form and precision of application. Indeed, some matches were lost merely because of what one contestant failed to do. An opening overlooked. A technique not pursued to its uttermost realization. For us, in short, fighting had become a form of religious dedication and expression.’

Hurl's mouth had gone dry. Ye gods! This would explain a lot. She swallowed to speak, said, her voice rough, ‘Well, then, why leave?’

‘As I said. I was full of myself. I did the unthinkable – I disputed a ruling. The judges, all my superior in rank of course, re-emphasized their judgment. I, then, dared to question their interpretation. For this presumption I was expelled from the martial order of my society. Forbidden to carry arms. All that was left to me was a life as a craftsman, farmer or servant. I would remain free, but would never fight again. Well, you can imagine… How could I in my hot youth bear to watch my peers – men and women far less skilled than I – walk by exalted in rank while I bowed before them? No. I chose exile instead. Now, however, I would return if I could. I think I would farm. Raising something from seed to fruitful crop would, I think, prove very satisfying.’

Yes, Rell, you have come a long way. But perhaps your only failing was being too headstrong in a society too rigid to accommodate it. ‘You could think of Heng that way.’

A tilt of the helm. ‘My thanks, Hurl.’

A grating shriek echoed through the twilight from hill to hill and Hurl's back shivered, the hair on her arms rising. She ran to Liss. ‘What was that?’

‘Another summoned creature met an ugly end over there. Things are heating up. We can expect Ryllandaras soon, though I suspect that even he would think twice before stepping out on to that conflagration. Mage duels, I think, to the misery of all, will settle that engagement.’

Hurl looked to the east where the crests of hills flashed in silhouette lurid red and yellow and where the echoes of sharper bursts staccatoed like falling rocks amid the roar of battle. Above the field swirled an eerie reflected glow such as that of the green and blue banners that sometimes flickered in the northern sky. Earthquake, firestorm and typhoon all rolled into one. Gods aid the common soldiers in that maelstrom! All they can hope to do is keep their heads down and avoid notice while the Avowed mages flex their muscles to clear the field.

‘What in the name of stinking Poliel was that!’ May called out from down the trench.

‘I don't know and I don't wanna know!‘ Nait shouted. ‘Just keep firing!’ A gaggle of skirmishers ran past, heads down, and Nait called to them, ‘Over here! C'mon, take cover!’

They dived into the trench. ‘Gettin’ hot out there,’ one said, an idiotic grin on his smoke-smeared face.

‘Just fire!’ Nait told him. As far as he could see all order had been lost. The lines were intermingled. No clear front remained. But hanging smoke, real and damned Mockra illusion blocked his vision of portions of the field – he knew when the smoke was Mockra because he couldn't smell it. Crimson Guard Blades stalked the field breaking all resistance where they found it. Since May's lucky toss with that melter took out that demon they'd been getting a lot of unwanted attention. So far the focused fire of Nait's squad had driven off three attempts upon them, blunted and deflected the Guardsmen to seek out softer targets. That, and the Moranth Gold who showed up out of nowhere to help defend their position. And speaking of fire, it appeared to be thinning to his left – Nait rose up out of the trench to squint down the line. Heuk was there, talking with Jawl and the boys at their lobber. What in the name of Hood's all-too-close breath was the damned fool up to? The mage then headed to him. ‘Will you get down!’ Nait yelled.

‘Drink this,’ the old drunkard said, shoving his jug at him.

‘Go to the Abyss.’

‘Drink!’ and crouching he pressed it into Nait's hands.

‘All right!’ Nait took an experimental sniff and pushed it away. ‘Gods, no!’

Heuk was unsympathetic. ‘You want help? This is it.’

Reluctantly, Nait raised the jug to his mouth, forced himself to take a mouthful of the cloying fluid, swallowed, gagging. He swiped his leather-palmed gloves across his mouth. ‘Gods! What is that?’

‘Horse blood, mostly.’

‘Horse blood? What're you trying to do? Poison us?’

The mage slapped him on the back, chuckling. Since the battle began the fellow seemed to come into his own; where everyone else ran ducking and wincing he strode straight and unconcerned. He motioned Nait up out of the trench. ‘Come with me. There's someone who wants to talk with you.’

‘Talk with me? What'd you mean?’

‘C'mon.’ And the man took hold of Nait's arm and lifted him from the trench.

Nait stared, rubbing his wrenched shoulder. ‘Take it easy…’ Heuk pushed him up the hill.

The wind that had been blowing constantly down the hillside now intensified. Something came throbbing overhead, a pressure, and he ducked, but Heuk gestured, muttering, and the pounding retreated. Nearby, the ground shuddered, dirt and ash flying into the air along with a few fleeing irregulars.

‘What in the Abyss…’ Nait gaped.

‘Never you mind – just keep the boys firing,’ Heuk said. ‘Here we are,’ and he pushed Nait forward. Suddenly, the air stilled and he saw that someone sat in the grass at the crest of the hillock. A very broad and heavy Dal Hon woman, a fan in one hand waving furiously at her sweaty, glistening, dark face. Sweat also drenched her silk clothes, darkening them and draping them over her wide bosom. Despite being absolutely terrified for his life, Nait was instantly captivated. Dear Gods, what a figure of a woman!