The screaming agonies of the dying enchanters faded but slowly. Temar could still feel the scarifying pain through the shreds of his untutored warding as he scrubbed cold tears from his face. Down on the shore, he saw some were recovering faster than others.

Muredarch was one. The big man was charging up the slope towards the edge of the trees where Darni stood swaying over a fallen figure that could only be Larissa. Intent on his prey, the pirate leader didn’t realise Halice was pursuing him, mercenaries behind her dragging themselves to their feet with desperate determination.

“Look after Allin.” The effort of leaving her behind nearly broke Temar’s resolve but he drove himself to a cable hanging over the side of the ship. He welcomed the burn of the rope on his palms, the throbbing ache of the gash in his forearm; any pain to distract him from his frantic worry for Allin.

He ran past pirates and mercenaries stirring and senseless, the echo of the enchanters’ death pangs lessening with every step. Determination to exact full penalty from Muredarch filled him with new energy. The pirate leader had reached Darni now and was hacking at the warrior’s guard. The big man was defending himself but with nothing like his customary skill, every block weaker, every movement too slow for safety. Temar nearly cried out to give Darni new heart but seeing Halice was there, he held his tongue. Darni fell and Muredarch roared with triumph but Halice cut his jubilation short. The woman fell on the marauder’s unprotected back, her clotted sword sweeping across to lay open bloodied flesh and the white gleam of rib bones.

With a roar like a wounded bull, Muredarch turned on her, great two-handed sword wheeling round. Halice took a double grip on her hand-and-a-half blade and met the stroke with a block that stopped it dead. She stood braced then jabbed at Muredarch’s eyes with the pommel of her weapon, sliding out from beneath the killing arc of his sword as he recoiled. He swung at her again, to cut her legs from under her but Halice met the blow with a low parry that turned into a slicing thrust of her own. She moved lithely out of danger and spat at Muredarch.

Temar wanted to shout, to let Halice know he was coming to her aid but dared not lest he distract her. Muredarch raised his mighty blade above his head but the mercenary didn’t stay to be poleaxed. She darted forward and sideways and brought her own sword upwards to slice beneath Muredarch’s armpit. Temar couldn’t restrain a breathless cheer as he saw fresh blood bright in the sunlight.

Halice’s move had taken her past Muredarch and the pirate looked murderously at Temar. One arm was clamped to his side but he could wield that colossal sword single-handed. He lunged towards Temar, madness in his eyes. Halice stabbed him in the back, the point of her sword emerging just above his hip. Muredarch fell to his knees and Temar swept a single fluid stroke to cut his mighty head clean from his shoulders. The warm gush of blood from the stump of the pirate’s neck soaked Temar’s side and thigh. He barely felt it in the hot exultation at the black-hearted villain’s death.

“Nicely done, Messire.” Halice wrenched her own blade out of Muredarch’s corpse and saluted Temar with it. Beneath the sweat and grime of battle, she was pale. “I take it that was enchanters trying to split all our skulls?”

Temar grimaced. “Sharing their death agonies when they were caught in the fire.”

“Did Allin fire the stockade?” asked Halice.

Anguish closed Temar’s throat for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s hurt.” He moved to head back to the ships. A groan halted him.

“Shit, Darni.” Halice dropped to her knees by the fallen warrior. His face was a ghastly mask of blood, cheek sliced and broken teeth white where a blow had shattered his jaw. Muredarch’s second blow had hit lower, cutting a huge gash into the big man’s shoulder, muscle and sinew severed. Darni’s blood soaked a crumpled figure beneath him.

“Help me,” commanded Halice. “That’s Larissa.”

Temar’s hands shook as he stripped off his jerkin and tore off his shirt, damp with sweat and stained with his blood and others‘. Darni groaned, chest labouring as they laid him flat on the gory turf. Temar winced as he did his best to staunch the warrior’s grievous wounds. “Will he live?”

“It might be better for him if he didn’t.” Halice was grim faced as she felt for the beat of Larissa’s heart. “This one’s making her excuses to Saedrin. Shit. Darni could have taken Muredarch. It was trying to defend her body did for him, the fool!” But the woman’s tone was more sorrowful than angry.

Temar frowned. “I can’t see any wound.” All the blood on Larissa was Darni’s; spent in defence of his master’s beloved. He had half expected to find the mage-woman a blackened, contorted corpse.

Halice shook her head in bemusement as she searched the mage’s body with careful hands. “Poldrion only knows what killed her—and he won’t tell.”

Darni groaned again, eyes rolling in his head as he tried to blink away the blood blinding him. He hauled his uninjured arm up to point at the still blazing circle that was now the Elietimm’s pyre.

Temar groped for his meaning. “Larissa fired the stockade?”

Darni’s closed his eyes in unmistakable confirmation.

Temar looked at Halice. “She took the full force of their hatred. I felt it.” He found himself on his feet. “I have to see Allin and ’Sar.”

He stumbled, running for the ships without waiting for Halice’s answer. Mercenaries recovering from the assault of Artifice were slaughtering still-stunned pirates with brutal desperation, not even a thought of offering any chance to surrender. Rosarn on the shore was directing her troop to strip fallen and captive alike of every weapon and anything of value. Temar didn’t care. Halice could order division of the spoils as she saw fit. All Temar cared about was Allin.

Every joint and bone in his body protested as he hauled himself up the side of the Dulse yet again. The cut in his forearm was a burning gash. “Demoiselle Guinalle, where is she?” he barked at a sailor slowly coiling a rope more from habit than need.

“Aft cabin,” the man answered in deadened tones.

“Does she live?” Temar demanded as he flung open the door.

Guinalle knelt on the floor, face cupped in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Allin lay motionless in one bunk, face turned to the wall. Usara had been laid on the other side, hands folded neatly on his breast, head tilted back, cheeks hollow and bloodless in the gloom.

“Does she live?” Fury born of terror hardened Temar’s tone.

“Barely.” Guinalle scrubbed tears from her face, leaving smears of dirt. “I can’t get them warm,” she sobbed suddenly. “Neither of them. No matter what I do. I can’t get them warm.”

Her eyes rolled up in her head and Temar only just caught her before she crashed to the unforgiving floor.