The blade skidded from the mail and she slammed into the man himself. The sharp curves of her own sword’s guard scored a line across her face below one eye and the sentinel fell back against the corridor wall, driving Chyses’ dagger inches deeper into the small of his back.

And then she saw the two soldiers come to a decision at last as they drew blades and headed off in the opposite direction, towards the cells.

They were going to kill the prisoners, and she knew without doubt that those same prisoners must be Salma and Che.

The sentinel roared and hurled her away with the shaft of his glaive as he struggled back from the wall.

Tisamon! she thought again, but there was no Tisamon. There was only her.

He tried to tell the first soldiers he saw that there were slaves loose, prisoners freed. The men backed away from him, staring at his face and his bloody tunic, enough to make him wonder what rumours had been spread about him to anticipate his demise. They would not even stop to listen to him. Deeper in, there were guards who tried to bar his way, heedless of his warnings. He stared them down. He did not need to summon up the name of the Rekef, for te Berro’s agents had done their work well. He was known. It would be a loyal soldier that barred the Rekef’s path and it seemed that Ulther himself no longer inspired such loyalty. The barriers that the governor had put up parted before Thalric: the guards continued staring straight ahead as though he was not there. He hurried on towards the harem.

And it was a harem: the word used amongst the servants and soldiers was not just hyperbole. Ulther had adopted his design and intent from the decadent excesses of the Spiderlands: a large, many-alcoved room at the deep heart of the palace, windowless and lit only by the leaping flames of sconces. The alcoves and the outer edges of the room were strewn with cushions providing the only resting place for the score or so of women Ulther had summoned there. Among them were the slaves that Thalric had seen before, Hreya included, and there were others, of whatever kinden had taken the old man’s eye over the last few years: Spiders and Ant-kinden, Wasp and Grasshopper, even a sullen-looking Dragonfly maid, for Ulther had a roving and acquisitive taste.

He had made this place a Wasp place, even so. Here, amongst the shadows and the lounging women, against the pillared buttress looming dimly at the far wall, he had installed another carved throne as rich as the one in the great hall above. Enthroned, the governor of Myna reclined there and waited. He did not seem surprised when Thalric appeared at his arched doorway, rather than one of his assassins.

Thalric gazed across the assembled beauties, and then towards Ulther, whose reproachful gaze seemed to indicate that there was yet one beauty missing. There was an absence shaped like Grief in Chains, and it stood between them.

‘Captain Thalric,’ Ulther said, taking his time over the words, shaping the consonants with care. ‘You seem to have undergone some recent reversals. A difficult night, perhaps?’

‘I’ve had better.’ Thalric took a few steps in, looking only at Ulther, but sensing the women draw back at the sight of the blood and the bared sword.

‘What’s this about, old friend?’ Ulther inquired.

‘You tell me.’

‘Oh no, none of that. It’s a little late to get coy, isn’t it?’ The big old man shifted himself on the throne, and only then did Thalric see through the gloom that there was a blade laid across his knees, something narrow and wicked looking. ‘You dealt with Rauth and the others, I assume? All of them? A shoulder wound’s a light enough price, for so many dead men.’

‘They were amateurs.’

‘I suppose they were. And why, you ask, did I have to send them?’

‘Because your love of your appetites has become greater than your love of the Empire,’ said Thalric, stopping far enough from Ulther that he would have a chance to duck if the old man loosed his sting.

‘No, because you forced me to it. You made me gather them and give those orders. You know it, Thalric, so why? Not because you needed the Butterfly dancer. You wanted this, then? You’re tired of my friendship? Was I not a good friend to you?’

‘The Empire, Ulther. Always the Empire.’

‘Oh but nobody thinks like that!’ the old man snapped. ‘You think the generals think like that? You think the Emperor does? We drive the Empire like a plough over earth, Thalric, and we do it so we may reap the harvest. You will not find a man out there who serves the Empire simply for the Empire’s sake and no other.’

‘But you will find one here,’ said Thalric sadly.

Ulther’s lip curled as if dismissing the notion. ‘You may say so, Thalric, but I see your plan, nonetheless.’

‘What plan is that?’

‘What a show for the locals, eh? The governor and his old friend shed each other’s blood, and over a woman! I’m sure your Rekef friends will ensure the story is spread.’

Thalric just shook his head, but Ulther chuckled indulgently.

‘No false modesty, old friend. If you’d just cut my throat they’d smell the infighting all across this city, the wretches. Have me removed by decree and it weakens the Empire’s colours here in Myna. The locals are desperate for any excuse to dig up their armour and wave their swords. But now… now it’s personal. Is that what you wanted? Wave my head at the crowds to show that you won’t be crossed, even by old Ulther? Show them that we’re a bunch of hard lads even with our own kind? As if you and I would fall out over a woman, old friend.’ Ulther’s eyes pinned him. ‘When did they make you Rekef Inlander, anyway?’

‘I was Outlander, and I’ll be so again, as soon as I can – but for now…’ Thalric managed a one-shouldered shrug. ‘I don’t need excuses, Ulther. You’re guilty of what they say you are. The reason I haven’t cut your throat while you slept is that I owe you this much. This much and no more.’

‘So…’ The old man levered himself up out of the chair, and the women drew back again, sensing the blood of the near future like a taint in the air. ‘You’ll secure yourself a nice promotion, old friend. See, I always was good for your career. Back to the Rekef Outlander? Don’t fool yourself. Now they’ve taken you in, you won’t look back. They won’t let you. You’re one of them now.’

Thalric said nothing, waited. Ulther held his blade to the light, let the fluid firelight shift across its length. It was not the army’s short straight blade but a rapier, as much a Spider design as the room.

‘You look tired, Thalric. Perhaps you came for an execution. To put an old man out of his misery?’ Ulther mused. ‘If that’s so then I’ve a disappointment for you. I was an Arms-Brother myself. I remember the moves. Care to share a pass or two with me, for old time’s sake.’

‘If you kill me it will make no difference,’ Thalric said softly. ‘You’re finished here. You know that.’

Ulther’s gaze swept the harem’s contours, symbolizing all he had built. ‘So be it,’ he said, and dropped into a ready stance. Thalric did the same, feeling the pull of his wound, trying to calculate, in that uncertain light, for the extra length of Ulther’s blade.

He waited. He was in no hurry just then, so Ulther would have to come to him.

Ulther obliged. With surprising speed he came forward, and the point of his sword was flicking out, drawing a narrow line across Thalric’s chest, scraping on the copper-weave even as Thalric danced back. In an instant Ulther had brought the point up, feigning at Thalric’s face. His hand was quick, his footwork less so. When Thalric bounded past him and lunged, Ulther’s retreat was hurried, awkward. Thalric harried him across the harem floor, hoping to pin him against the far wall, where his shorter blade would finally tell. He took it too fast and his shoulder shot fire through him, pulling him back halfway across. Ulther got to his distance again, eyes narrow. All expression had left his face, making it a jowly, hanging mask.