“Every soul slaughtered,” Juhlina said, casting spit on the ground. “Children too.”

  “Why?” Wilhum wondered, his gaze lingering on the sight of a charred body hanging half out of a window. “Punishment perhaps? A refusal to avow the Ascendant Queen’s cause?”

  “More base than that,” I said. “Evadine can’t afford witnesses to the Algathinets’ end.”

  “These folk probably didn’t even know where they are,” Juhlina said.

  “Even so. Whoever she sent to see to this business wasn’t willing to take the risk.” I strode to where Tiler was crouched in examination of the settlement’s westward track.

  “Forty,” he told me. “Maybe more. Heading due west.”

  “In which case,” Juhlina put in, “someone here gave them misleading directions.” She nodded to the track snaking through the marsh to the north. “The shrine is that way.”

  “They’ve at least an hour’s start on us, Captain,” Tiler advised. “Won’t be long before they realise their error.”

  “Then let’s not tarry,” I said, hurrying to mount Blackfoot.

  Despite my urgency, attempting to move through marshland with any haste is a fruitless enterprise. Discomfited by the infirm ground, Blackfoot proved unwilling to rouse himself to more than a half-trot, and the other horses were even more cautious. It wasn’t until late afternoon that the spire of Martyr Lemtuel’s shrine resolved out of the thinning mist.

  Knowing this as a place of considerable importance in the tale of Sihlda’s life, I had expected more than a collection of mean, one-storey buildings with walls that hadn’t seen a lick of whitewash in many seasons. The shrine itself was just a slope-roofed barn adjoining a spire that looked ready to topple over at any second. There were a few outbuildings, all fallen into disuse, and a livestock pen lacking most of its fence, not that there were any animals to keep it in. The place would have appeared absent of all life but for the thin pall of smoke wafting from the shrine’s only chimney. I thought Leannor would have at least kept sufficient kingsmen around her to form a picket line, but there was nothing to bar our progress across the causeway of sunken logs.

  The shrine’s door opened when I reined Blackfoot to a halt on the firm ground beyond the causeway. Sir Ehlbert Bauldry had done me the courtesy of greeting us in full armour, the sheen of it indicating a good deal of recent polishing. His longsword gleamed brighter still as he twirled it before coming to a halt a dozen paces off. He said nothing, simply reversing his grip on his sword, setting the point on the earth and resting his hands on the pommel. He wore no helm and his bearded face was set in stern expectation rather than accusation.

  The shuffling of feet drew my gaze to the shrine’s doorway. Princess Leannor clutched the two children to her side with firm hands. Unlike Ehlbert, her expression was dark with righteous condemnation.

  “I should have known she would send you, Scribe!” she called out. “Once a cut-throat, always a cut-throat!”

  King Arthin, although still a boy, clearly possessed enough understanding of the circumstances to stand in regal defiance. Next to him, Lady Ducinda seemed guilelessly unperturbed, raising her small hand in a wave and smiling shyly. I returned the wave and climbed down from Blackfoot’s back, provoking Lord Ehlbert to swing his sword to readiness.

  “At least you’ve the guts to face me alone,” the King’s Champion grunted, settling into a fighting stance.

  I ignored him and strode towards the shrine, unbuckling my sword as I did so. Ehlbert stood in perplexed indecision for a moment, then hurried to bar my path. “Hold there, villain,” he said, sword point hovering just a few inches from my throat. The sound of creaking bows snapped his eyes to my rear, where I assumed Desmena’s archers were training their arrows on him.

  “Don’t,” I said, raising a hand. Fixing my gaze on Ehlbert’s face, I saw to my amazement that he was genuinely afraid. I knew it wasn’t on his own account, for I doubted such a thing was possible. After Tomas’s death he had been reduced to a grieving shell of a man. Now, it appeared he had found others worthy of his protection.

  “I would have words with the king, my lord,” I said with a formal bow of my head. “If you would permit me.”

  Ehlbert’s face continued to twitch as he stayed in place, sword as straight as a knight of his skill and strength could make it. Still, I saw a glimmer of understanding as his eyes met mine. “If you’re not here for blood,” he said, “why are you here?”

  “To keep my word,” I told him, stepping to the side before proceeding to the shrine. I knew I risked him cutting me down in mid-stride, and could have done nothing to prevent it. Yet, he didn’t raise his blade against me, instead moving alongside until I came within a few feet of Princess Leannor and the children, sword poised all the while.

  “Your Royal Majesty,” I said, sinking to one knee and addressing my words to the boy king. “I come to honour my oath sworn before Crown and Covenant, and beg humbly that you will accept my service.” That said, I raised my sheathed sword above my head in offering.

  “What is this, Scribe?” Leannor demanded. “Do you play with us now? Are you so cruel?”

  “Would that we had time for explanations, Majesty.” I looked up, meeting her gaze, hoping she perceived the grave intent in mine. Her attire and bearing were no longer that of a princess, one who had held sway over an entire realm. She wore a plain dress of brown wool with a shawl wrapped about her bodice. Her hair was tousled, and I saw for the first time, streaked with grey. This was just a woman scared for her life and the lives of the children she pulled closer to her side.

  “But we do not,” I continued. “Suffice to say that my allegiance no longer resides with the false Martyr Evadine Courlain, and I’ve the scars to show for it. I offer myself and my company to the king’s cause. I also bring warning that our enemies draw near and we must depart this place forthwith.”

  Leannor simply stared at me in baffled consternation while her son harboured no such reticence. “Your service is neither wanted nor requested, traitor,” he told me, face tilted to an imperious angle. “I’ll have no truck with turncoat churls…”

  “Oh, shut up, Alfric!” This crisply spoken instruction came not from the boy king’s mother, but from his betrothed. Lady Ducinda twisted free of Leannor’s grip and skipped towards me. “He’s a nice man,” she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “He saved me, you know. You said so yourself, Auntie,” she added with a defiant pout at Leannor.

  “It gladdens my heart to see you, my lady,” I told the girl, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

  “Get away from him!” her guardian hissed, coming forward to take Ducinda’s hand, dragging her back. Until now, I had thought Leannor’s attitude to the girl mostly one of basic self-interest. But the way she crouched to clutch Ducinda to her breast bespoke a deep and genuine affection.

  “Majesty…” I began, struggling to conjure the words that might overcome her justifiable prejudice, but an urgent shout from Tiler forestalled further persuasion.

  “Captain!”

  Turning, I found him pointing to the befogged reed banks beyond the causeway. I saw nothing, but soon heard the muted splashes and snorts that told of a mounted party making its way through the marsh.

  “We’ve no time to flee,” I said. Rising, I fastened my sword to my belt and glanced at Ehlbert. “No hope you’ve a company of kingsmen hidden about the place, I suppose?”

  Ehlbert’s eyes narrowed as they shifted from me to the as yet unseen enemy in the mist. “The last of my knights is buried over there,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the livestock pen. He hesitated, reluctant calculation furrowing his brow until I saw decision dawn and he lowered his sword.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “More than we have.” I nodded to Leannor and the children. “Best if you stay with them.”

  I strode off without waiting for an answer, calling out to Desmena. “If you’ve a mind to flee,” I told her, “now would be the time. If not, I have need of your archers.”

  I expected to see the scowling, vengeful personage of Supplicant Ildette emerging from the fog on the far side of the causeway. So, it was with a welling of disappointment and regret that I beheld the sight of Captain Ofihla Barrow.

  “Scribe,” she said, bringing her horse to a halt. She spoke with typical gruffness, heavy brows drawn in a manner that indicated she had no more love for this outcome than did I. Behind her, riders wearing the dark armour of the Ascendant Host reined in their mounts, which pained me yet further. I saw several faces I recognised among them, some I had fought beside, others who had ridden with Wilhum. He sat mounted alongside the rest of the Free Company, positioned a decent remove from the causeway. Seeing a brief spasm of anguish pass over his features as he beheld his former comrades, I hoped he could find the resolve to fight them. Desmena’s band was nowhere in sight, making the disparity in our numbers even more stark. Still, I exhibited no lack of confidence as I returned Ofihla’s greeting.

  “Captain. I find I lack the words to fully convey how sorry I am to see you here.”

  “And yet you still use ten where one will do, eh?” A grudging smile appeared on her broad, weathered face. I didn’t return it.

  “I thought you above murder,” I said. “The murder of children, in fact. It was you who burned the Knoll, I assume?”

  Ofihla stiffened, jaw clenching. “I did the queen’s bidding. As I am sworn to do. As are you, my lord.”

  “An oath does not bind me to murder, especially one given to a false Martyr. Where in the scrolls is it written that the slaughter of innocents can ever be sanctioned?”

  The captain’s visage darkened, an angry murmur rising from the soldiers at her back. Swords scraped from sheaths as they readied themselves. Any faint hope I harboured that prior comradeship would give them pause faded quickly in the face of their mounting rage. Evadine’s hold on those who chose to stay in her service had evidently grown to the point where once good folk were now willing to massacre the defenceless in her name. The realisation stoked my own temper, Blackfoot nickering in anticipation as he sensed my mood.

  “Did you cheer when she hanged Captain Swain?” I asked Ofihla. “Did you rejoice in the death of the man you followed for years?”

  “Swain died begging pardon for his actions,” she shot back, hefting a mace I recognised as belonging to the fallen captain. “I carry this in his honour.”

  I grated a harsh laugh, shaking my head. “You no longer have any honour. Can’t you see that? All of you.” I raised my voice to a shout, casting it at the soldiers under her command. “Evadine Courlain damned us. Our souls are forever sullied by service in her cause. Join me and at least try to cleanse yourselves before she sets you to yet more crimes.”

  It was a hopeless appeal, but heartfelt. If I, Ayin, Wilhum and the others could unshackle ourselves from Evadine’s influence, why couldn’t they?

  “We live for the Lady!” they yelled back in enraged defiance, weapons stabbing the air with each phrase of this detestable chant. “We fight for the Lady! We die for the Lady!” I understood then that the Ascendant Host were all too far gone, too subsumed in what they imagined to be their queen’s love to permit any hope of redemption.

  “Enough talk, Scribe!” Ofihla brandished her stolen mace at me, teeth bared in a feral snarl. “Surrender the Algathinet brood and face justice for your crimes. In return, I’ll promise you a swift end.”

  “Really?” I took a firmer hold on Blackfoot’s reins, drawing my longsword and resting the blade on my shoulder. “I can’t promise the same for you.”

  In all the time I had known her, Ofihla Barrow had been brave and skilful in battle, but never reckless. Whether it was simple rage that undid her, or the befuddling effects of such deep subservience to Evadine’s influence, I couldn’t say. But her charge across that causeway was the only truly foolish thing I ever saw her do. Kicking her heels hard into her charger’s flanks, she came on at the gallop, marsh water rising in a white froth as horse and rider pounded across the half-sunken bridge of logs.

  Letting out a whinny of challenge, Blackfoot reared, expecting me to spur us forward to meet the charge. Instead, I tugged hard on the reins, keeping us in place as Ofihla charged, her company following close behind. As instructed, Desmena’s archers waited until she was halfway across before rising from their concealment amid the tall reeds fringing the banks to either side. When loosed at such close range, a shaft launched by a longbow will pierce unguarded flesh with ease, sometimes even puncture armour. Sadly, the broad-head hunting arrows used by Desmena’s archers only glanced off Ofihla’s plate as she closed on me. The archers did, however, manage to sink a trio of shafts deep into her charger’s flanks.

  The warhorse stumbled just as Ofihla was about to come within sword reach, bloody froth erupting from its mouth as it went down in a welter of crimson water. The captain rolled clear of the flailing beast before it could drag her down with it. Struggling to her feet, she let out a wordless shout of frustration and splashed towards me, then stiffened as a keen-eyed archer found the gap between her pauldron and gorget. I watched her collapse, thrashing, into the water, then turned my full attention to her oncoming comrades.

  The first, a veteran I remembered from atop the walls of Walvern Castle, came at me with his mouth gaping to issue a rage-filled scream, longsword extended to thrust at my face. Fortunately, he was not so well armoured as his captain and a second volley from the longbows succeeded in felling both horse and rider before they cleared the causeway. Another stroke of luck came when this fellow’s death spasms dragged on his mount’s reins in such a way as to make them fall directly into the path of those charging behind. Soon the causeway became a chaos of struggling, rearing horses whipped by riders who appeared to have lost all reason. It was an irresistible target for the archers, their shafts taking a deadly toll that stained the marsh waters a yet deeper shade of red.

  Despite such carnage, the bulk of Ofihla’s subordinates remained unharmed on the far bank and many were not as devoid of sense as their captain. A dozen or more dismounted and started wading through the water on either side of the causeway. It was slow going and made them targets for the archers, but we had so few. Also, the crossbowmen among our foes soon recovered their wits and began to reply in kind. A shout drew my eye to the sight of a longbowman collapsing into the reeds with a bolt buried in his chest. More volleys followed, forcing our archers to take cover while the wading dismounts struggled on to firm ground.

  I flinched from the angry buzz of a crossbow bolt passing within an inch of my head, then raised my sword high in the prearranged signal for our counter charge. A brief thunder of drumming hooves and Wilhum led half our number against the enemies to my left, Desmena leading the rest to the right. Swords and axes rose and fell in a frenzy, leaving a growing pile of bodies among the reed banks. Undeterred, the Covenant soldiers came on, forcing their way through the water in a dense throng. Our archers were forced back, scrambling clear of the reeds and retreating before turning to resume their barrage, taking a fearful toll before their shafts were exhausted.

  At the causeway, the Covenant soldiers before me soon managed to shove the corpses of horses and comrades aside, then hurled themselves forward. I loosened my hold on Blackfoot’s reins, the signal for him to rear, his hooves lashing our assailants with deadly effect. The first few were sent reeling with cracked skulls or crushed faces before Blackfoot lowered himself to trample another victim. A mounted Covenant rider saw his chance and came at me, axe raised to chop at my mount’s head. I parried the descending weapon with a thrust of my longsword, then pushed deeper, angling the blade to stab into the axeman’s neck. As the rider fell, dismounted soldiers mobbed me, stabbing blades like the steel teeth of a closing jaw. I hacked and slashed at every screaming face while Blackfoot reared again and again, hooves flailing.

  Weight of numbers inevitably forced us back, Blackfoot suffering several cuts. None were deep enough to bring him down, but they did succeed in stoking his rage. Whirling, he began to lash out with his rear legs, succeeding in forcing our foes to retreat a few paces, but also dislodging me from the saddle. I landed hard, only just rolling clear when a soldier darted forward, slashing his falchion and receiving a hoof to the jaw as reward for his courage. Blackfoot’s enraged frenzy caused him to whirl away from me, allowing me to regain my feet, but also giving my enemies a chance to renew their assault.

  I drove aside a longsword thrust, elbowed its owner in the face, pivoted and hacked down a dagger man who leaped at my back. After that, much of this inglorious battle dims in my memory, becoming an ugly melange of merciless combat. I was aware of the surrounding struggle degenerating into a murderous brawl shorn of all order. I caught a glimpse of a dismounted Juhlina, her warhammer lost somewhere, repeatedly driving punches into the face of a soldier pinned beneath her knees. Another reared up behind her, hatchet raised, only to be brought down by Adlar. The juggler descending on the soldier with knives in both hands, stabbing with manic abandon.

  After hacking the legs from under another enemy, I collided with a hard, unyielding figure. Snarling with the bestial animus unique to this kind of fight, I readied my longsword for a thrust and found myself face to face with Sir Ehlbert. His features were far more composed than mine, stern and purposeful, but lacking the mania of battle.

  “Your pardon, Scribe,” he grunted before stepping away from me, his sword blurring into a shimmering arc as he lopped the arm from a Covenant soldier. Striding on, he parried a thrust and hacked his blade deep into the attacker’s shoulder, all in one fluid movement. I had seen Ehlbert in battle before, but never at such close quarters and the next few moments demonstrated in unambiguous terms how utterly foolish I had been ever to consider facing him in personal combat. The Covenant soldiers wilted around him like wheat before the scythe as he maintained a steady progress through their ranks, killing or maiming with each stroke of his longsword. Such controlled ferocity would have put many soldiers to flight, but Evadine’s hold on this lot was not so easily undone. Time and again they threw themselves at Ehlbert, heedless of the doom he promised, and time and again he killed them.