Powis stepped back then gazed down at the corpse upon the floor. 'Do it now!' ordered Innicas.

Powis stumbled back and ran from the tent.

'There is another pass, Lord, thirty miles to the north,' said Innicas.

'Take one hundred men – the best we have. The Nadir will try to reach Kar-Barzac. Catch them in the valley. They will be stretched thin, some already at the fortress, others trying to fight a rearguard. The women and children will be in a column on open ground. Destroy them! We'll see how well the Nadir fight when there is nothing left to fight for.'

'As you order it, Lord, so will it be,' said Innicas, bowing.

'Have you reached Gracus and the others?'

'No, Lord. But Zamon is waiting in the mountains with their horses. He said they arrived safely. They are planning to move below ground. Perhaps the magic of Kar-Barzac prevents communication.'

'They are there – that is what matters,' said Zhu Chao. 'All is as we planned it. The Ventrians have landed in the south. The Drenai, without Karnak, have fallen back in disorder. Our own troops are waiting to sweep down on to the Sentran Plain. But much of what we need for future control lies in Kar-Barzac. Do not fail me, Innicas!'

'You may rely on me, my lord.'

'Let it be so.'

The Gothir, dragging and carrying their wounded with them, fell back as the sun drifted low behind the mountains. Senta slumped to the ground, Belash beside him. 'I hate to admit it, but I'm getting tired,' said the swordsman.

'I also,' admitted Belash. The Nadir leaned his head back against the black rock of the wall. 'The attacks were more fierce today.' He rubbed his tired eyes. 'We will fall back in two hours.'

'How far is it to this fortress?'

'We will be in the valley by the dawn,' said Belash glumly.

'You don't sound too enthusiastic, my friend.'

'It is a place of much evil.' Belash opened the pouch at his side and removed the bones, which he held pressed between his palms. He sighed. 'I think Belash will die there,' he said.

'What are those things?' asked Senta, seeking to change the subject.

'The right hand of my father. He was killed, a long time ago now, and still I am no closer to avenging him.'

'What happened?'

'He had ponies to sell and rode to the market at Namib. A long way. He went with my brother and Anshi Chen. Only Anshi survived the attack. He was behind the herd, and when the raiders struck, Anshi fled.'

'That's why there is such anger between you? Because he was a coward?'

'He is no coward!' snapped Belash. 'There were too many of the raiders, and it would have been stupid to fight. No, Anshi and I loved the same woman. She chose him. But he is a fine chieftain, may my tongue turn black for admitting it. I tried to track the raiders. I found my father's body, took these bones and buried the rest. But the tracks were too old. Anshi watched as my father was struck down. He saw the man who dealt the death blow; he described him to me. I have lived since then in the hope of finding him – a white-haired warrior, with eyes the colour of blood.'

'There's still time,' said Senta.

'Maybe.' Belash levered himself to his feet, and wandered away along the wall, speaking to the defenders, kneeling beside the wounded and the dying.

Senta stretched himself out, lying back with his head on his hands, watching the stars appear in the darkening sky. The air was fresh and cool, the bonded rocks below his back feeling almost soft. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again Miriel was beside him. He smiled, 'I fell asleep,' he said. 'But I dreamt of you.'

'Something lascivious, I have no doubt.'

He sat up and stretched. 'No. We were sitting in a field by a stream, beneath the branches of a willow. We were holding hands. Like this.' Reaching out he took her hand, raising it to his lips.

'You never give in, do you?' she said, pulling back from his touch.

'Never! Why don't you kiss me, beauty? Just the once. To see if you like it.'

'No.'

'You cut me to the bone.'

'I think you'll survive.'

'You are frightened, aren't you? Frightened of giving. Frightened of living. I heard you with Angel last night, offering yourself to him. It was a mistake, beauty, and Angel was right to say no. Insane, but right. What is it you fear?'

'I don't want to talk about this,' said Miriel, making to rise. Reaching out he lightly touched her arm.

'Talk to me,' he said softly.

'Why?' she whispered.

'Because I care.'

She sank back and for a while, said nothing. He did not press her, but sat beside her in silence. At last she spoke. 'If you love someone you open all the doors into your heart. You let them in. When they die you have no defences. I saw my father's pain when . . . when Mother was killed. I don't want that pain. Ever.'

'You can't avoid it, Miriel. No one can. We are like the seasons – we grow in spring, mature in summer, fade in the autumn and die in the winter. But it is foolish to say, "It is springtime but I will grow no flowers for they must fade." What is life without love? Perpetual winter. Cold and snow. It's not for you, beauty. Trust me.'

His hand stroked her hair and he leaned in close, his lips brushing her cheek. Slowly she turned her head and his mouth touched hers.

An arrow sailed over the wall, and the sound of pounding feet echoed in the pass.

'The Gothir have immaculate timing,' he said, rising up and drawing his sword.

Angel was uneasy as he stood on the rim of the valley, looking out over the moonlit grassland and the gentle hills. In the distance he could see the turrets and walls of Kar-Barzac, close to a wide flat lake the colour of old iron. Nadir women and children were moving down into the valley in a long, shuffling line, many of them dragging carts piled high with their possessions. Angel switched his gaze to the rearing mountains that circled the valley, scanning the twisted peaks. This was all open ground, and he thought of the defenders manning the three passes, and prayed the rearguard would hold. For if the Gothir forced their way through any one pass . . .

He closed his mind to the pictures of carnage.

Most of the Nadir warriors had ridden ahead to the fortress, the majority of those remaining defending the passes. Only thirty men rode with the women and children, shepherding them towards Kar-Barzac. Angel swung into the saddle and rode down the hill, his mood lifting as he saw the mute Nadir boy marching beside an overloaded cart, Angel's cloak upon his scrawny shoulders and in his right hand a length of wood, shaped like a sword. The cloak was dragging in the dust. Angel rode alongside the boy and leaned down, lifting him in the air and perching him on the saddle behind him. The boy grinned and waved his wooden sword in the air.

Touching heels to the gelding Angel galloped the horse towards the front of the line where Belash rode beside the Nadir war chief, Anshi Chen. The two warriors were deep in conversation. Anshi looked up as Angel approached. He was a stocky man, running to fat, and his dark eyes showed only hostility as the Drenai reined in.

'We are moving too slowly,' said Angel. 'It will be dawn soon.'

Belash nodded. 'I agree, but many are old. They can move no faster.'

'They could if they left those carts behind.'

Anshi Chen sniffed loudly, then hawked and spat. 'Their possessions are their lives,' he said. 'You would not understand that, Drenai, for yours is a land of plenty. But each of those carts carries far more than you see. A lantern of bronze may be just a light in the dark to you, but it might have been made by a great-grandfather a century ago, and prized ever since. Every item has a value far greater than you can comprehend. Leaving them behind would be a knife in the soul to any family here.'