“I need clean linen and water!” Sorgrad’s urgent shout roused me from these incoherent thoughts.

“What?”

“Where?”

Sorgrad was kneeling over ’Gren. He was face down on the filthy floor as Sorgrad sliced off his jerkin, already ripped through and soaked in blood. “One of them got him as he turned,” he explained tersely.

“Shit.” Ryshad tried to wipe away the blood coating ’Gren’s back but there was just too much, soaking his breeches, pooling on the floor around Ryshad’s knees. Sorgrad was already bloodied to the elbows.

I lifted ’Gren’s head out of the muck, cradling his face, biting my lip so hard I drew blood, welcoming the pain as it cleared my mind enough to still my shaking hands.

“Just hold on.” I told him with a smile that hid pain twisting inside me like a hot knife. Drianon, Halcarion, Saedrin, Poldrion, any cursed god who might be listening, please don’t let this happen, please don’t let him die. We’d won, hadn’t we? Why couldn’t we just walk away with our victory? Why did it have to be stained with blood?

’Gren squinted up at me with one blue eye glazed with pain. ”It hurts, girl. Curses, it hurts.” He tried to grin but could only manage a puzzled grimace.

“Give me some room.”

Ryshad moved to let Shiv get closer and water poured from the wizard’s hands on to ’Gren’s naked back. Washed clean, we all saw a deep, ragged gash slicing deep into his side just above his hip. It vanished again as ’Gren’s lifeblood came welling out. Ryshad ripped off his jerkin and shirt, Sorgrad doing the same and bundling the linen tight.

“Come on, you skinny little bastard,” Ryshad muttered. “Put that bloodymindedness to good use for a change. Tell Poldrion where he can stick his ferry pole.”

’Gren meant precious little to Ryshad but Aiten had been his closest friend for ten or more years and I could see the memory of that loss darkening my beloved’s brow.

“Let me see him.” The grandmother was at my side.

“You don’t touch this wound with those foul hands,” snarled Sorgrad and if he hadn’t been fully occupied trying to staunch the flow, I swear he would have hit her.

But she didn’t want to touch the wound. Rather she laid a gentle hand on ’Gren’s head as it rested in my hands. “What manner of man are you?” she wondered softly.

’Gren was barely conscious. ”What Misaen made me.”

“And that is—”

I knew the reason for the grandmother’s sharp intake of breath. I loved ’Gren like a brother but that didn’t blind me to his blithe lack of conscience. Then there was the uncomplicated delight he took in bedding any girl willing and fighting any man fool enough to think ’Gren wouldn’t kill him just for the excitement of proving his prowess and filling his purse by way of a bonus.

“He’s my friend,” I begged her. “And he risked his life to save you all.”

The woman looked at me stony faced. “Which might count for something if he valued what he risked, if he valued what he fought for, if he ever looked beyond the moment he dwells in.”

All at once I was furious with the skinny old crone. What did she know about ’Gren and what he meant to me, no matter what he was? Nor was I about to leave someone else dead on these god-cursed rocks, not after losing Geris and Aiten to this horrible place and its cruel people with their ice-coated hearts.

“Whatever you can do, you just do it.” I wasn’t begging now, I was telling her and I started to rack my brains for some way of forcing her to act. Unfortunately all I could think of was knocking her on her bony arse, which didn’t promise to be either effective or overly safe for the rest of us.

She tried to rise but stumbled. Frala caught her arm, helping her to her feet and something passed between them that replaced Frala’s look of confusion with one of wary distaste. “Who are you to make such demands on us?” she snapped curtly. “Outdwellers all and tainting true magic with your corrupted touch.”

Shiv’s distress turned to bitter rage. “Without our wizardry, my lady, Olret would have ripped your head off!”

“Silence!” The grandmother cut off Frala’s reply with a sweep of her hand.

“It’s slowing, the bleeding’s slowing.” Relief and disbelief mingled in Ryshad’s voice.

I looked from the old woman to the horrible wound and saw that the blood was indeed lessening. As I watched, it stopped altogether; gore clotting around the ugly gash already beginning to knit together, swiftly closing to a lumpy purple scar.

“Thank you,” said Sorgrad tightly.

“I don’t want your thanks.” The grandmother fixed him with a cold glare. “I would not have his blood stake any claim to this land, not even though it be that of my worst enemy. Nor yet will I condemn mine own hargeard to have such ill-omened bones entombed within it.”

“The life of your friend settles all debts between us,” Frala declared with finality and a hint of hostility. “Make no more claims upon us.”

“They’re here, Vadesor and his men.” Gyslin had managed to drag herself to the window and was peering out to the court below. I realised I could hear a distant commotion. “Olret’s men are surrendering.”

The younger women looked towards the windows and at each other, their fearful expressions saying more plainly than words that they’d rather take their chances with whatever army had turned up downstairs than the four of us still standing.

“You may leave,” said Frala, uncompromising. “As soon as you may.”

“Then we will.” Sorgrad threw away the blood-soaked remains of his shirt and nodded at ’Gren, still prostrate and unconscious on the floor. “Help me get him up.”

Ryshad laid a firm hand between ’Gren’s shoulder blades. “No. We don’t want to move him any more than we can avoid.”

I began to shake again, exhausted, too tired to deal with any quarrel between Ryshad and Sorgrad, too scared and too angry to tell these ungrateful bitches what I thought of them, too furious with myself for ever suggesting we come back to these god-cursed islands.

“Shiv,” I forced the words out. “Just use that pissing nexus to get us home.”

Even as my gorge rose within me under the assault of the magic, I welcomed the nausea.

To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam,

From Casuel D’Evoir, residing in the House of D’Olbriot, Toremal, by the grace of the Designate.

Esteemed Mentor Tonin, my compliments.

My researches into those archives that reach back to the Chaos continue to turn up documents of considerable interest. I copy to you an open letter circulated at the final Convocation held in the reign of Nemith the Seafarer, by Hafrein Den Fellaemion. I am not surprised that Nemith the Last looked askance at such radical aspirations for the Kel Ar’Ayen colony but perhaps the time has come for Temar to realise something of these wishes. I have accordingly sent a copy for the Sieur D’Alsennin to include in his own archive.

Your humblest of associates Casuel, Esquire D’Evoir

I bring news of an empty land across the seas where broad grasslands rich in deer and deep for the plough stretch between generous rivers offering safe harbour in their wide mouths and giving easy access to thick forests, flush with game and timber ripe for felling. Beyond rise hospitable hills where we have already found stone for cutting, ores for milling and even gems in the gravels of the streambeds.

Let us turn to this new land, revealed by Dastennin’s grace and Saedrin’s bounty rather than struggle to shore up the crumbling bounds of our old provinces, in the face of rebellious ingratitude and selfish spite. Let us not squander the strength of our youth on ventures that Talagrin and Raeponin alike have turned their faces from, leaving our cohorts with scant choice but retreat in disarray.