Kheda slid his hand down to Risala's chin. Bloodied fingerprints showed dark on her skin. 'Any arrows?' he mouthed.

She twisted under him to pull her quiver out from beneath her back. Kheda gathered all the remaining shafts into a single bundle. 'Make for the Amigal,' he told her soundlessly.

Risala nodded, face frozen with fear. He left her crouching beneath the paltry shield of the bush, fumbling to draw her heavy jungle blade. Sheathing his own and crawling on hands and knees, Kheda headed towards the fiercest sound of fighting. The arrows he held caught themselves in the tangled ground plants. He sliced them away with his dagger. Sharp stubs bit at his knees and unexpected puddles of muck soaked his trousers. An invader, falling backwards through the bushes, fell over him, crashing to the ground, an attacker leaping on top of him. Kheda felt a spray of blood warm on his face as he sprang forward to dive beneath a straggling lilla sapling, unnoticed as the two wild men fought to the death.

Yells and abuse echoed around the trees. Kheda strained ears still ringing from the disaster that had befallen the wizards on the beach. He caught a note of command in a guttural shout and slowly rose to his feet, ready to attack any savage who might turn on him, alert for any hint of magelight. There was the wizard with the sharks' teeth necklaces, shouting furiously at the men laden with coffers of loot. Some had let caskets slip from their shoulders as they jostled and shoved in a panicked attempt to flee down the track.

In the same instant that Kheda took in the scene and realised Sharkteeth's unprotected back was towards him, one of the burdened savages saw this unexpected newcomer, raising a pointing hand, mouth opening to shout.

I've no idea if there's any of Shek Kul's powder on these arrows. I have to kill the invader's wizard some way or another. Skewering his kidneys should do it, regardless of his magic. If I die for it, so be it. If I live, all well and good. Let's worry about that later.

All these thoughts ran through Kheda's mind in the time it took the savage's hand to rise to shoulder height. Kheda threw himself forward, stabbing the bundle of arrows deep into the hollow of the shark-tooth mage's back just above his leather loincloth. Reaching round with his other hand, he reversed his grip and thrust his dagger into the base of the mage's throat, hilt deep, feeling the blade grate on bone. He pulled the man close, their bodies matched like lovers, the warmth of the wizard's back pressing the cold muddied cloth of his tunic to him. His nostrils filled with the savage's rank, animal scent. Kheda twisted and wrenched at the dagger. The mage's necklaces broke, sharks' teeth cascading in all directions, hard as little stones. Blood poured over Kheda's hands, down the mage's chest, soaking the moist ground, warm on Kheda's feet. The mage struggled feebly in his embrace, breath bubbling in his throat and his gasps spraying a fine mist of blood into the air.

The ferocious fight raged on, uncomprehending, all around. Those few who had seen the sudden attack stood transfixed with horror at the death of their leader. Kheda forced his way backwards through the undergrowth behind him, the limp mage a dead weight in his arms, a stinking burden as the man's bowels voided, but too valuable a shield to discard.

With cries of anguish, several savages hurled themselves towards him. Kheda threw the wizard's corpse at them and turned to dive through a tangled mess of striol creeper. The thorns pierced him from head to toe but he didn't slow for a moment. Throwing himself to the ground, he fled, wriggling beneath the impenetrable vegetation on belly and elbows, face in the leaf litter, expecting the agony of a spear in the back with every twist and turn.

None came. Kheda rolled on to his side and looked warily around at the blank, unhelpful leaves surrounding him. The sound of fighting subsided as the savages' cries turned to lamentation and audible indecision.

How long before they decide to beat the undergrowth for you, flushing you out like a hook-toothed hog and met with spears just the same? Not long, and they'll get Risala too, if she's still anywhere around. Time to run. But which way?

The ground rose sharply ahead of him. Kheda scrambled to his feet. Uphill was a start. They had come over the rise of the headland so the Amigal must lie somewhere beyond the top of the hill. He struggled up the slope as fast as he could, using hands and feet like a loal. Discovering he'd lost his heavy blade somehow, he skirted around berry thickets, shying away from the thorny tangles of striol.

Which at least means you're leaving no trail and moving more quietly.

Taken unawares by the crest of the rise, he slipped and fell down the far side, a tandra sapling breaking his fall and stabbing him painfully with snapped-off twigs. Panting, Kheda waited. The hue and cry that the savages were raising on the other side of the headland rose into the evening sky. Kheda's breath slowed and the hammering blood in his throat abated a little. The sound of pursuit was scattering, heading away from him, disintegrating into confusion. Kheda took a deep breath and the stench of death that coated him made him retch uncontrollably.

When he was finally done vomiting, he hauled himself upright on a handy lilla tree. Down below, he could see the untroubled sea fading imperceptibly into the distant blue dusk of the evening sky. Over to the west, the afterglow was fading on the horizon. He couldn't see the Amigal but now cold calculation replaced the trepidation of his flight. Calmly, he traced the lie of the land and worked out which clump of trees must be hiding the ship from view. Slowly, picking his path with care, he went down the slope towards it.

'Kheda!' Risala was on deck, jungle blade in her hands, ready to hack the hands off anyone trying to come aboard.

Unable to think what to say, Kheda dived into the water, ducking his head under the cool sea, rubbing his fouled hands over and around each other, scrubbing at his head and body. Rolling and twisting, he struggled out of his tunic, letting it float away, his trousers too. Broaching the surface with a gasp when he could stay submerged no longer, he found the salt freshness had driven away the stink hanging around him.

'Dev's here!' Risala hung over the Amigal's rail.

Kheda wiped water out of his eyes, seeing Risala as no more than an outline against the first shimmer of the rising moon.

The Lesser Moon, just at half, distant and aloof, on the cusp of decline, so soon to be lost in the return of the greater jewel, but biding its time, knowing the next cycle of the heavens will see its full riding unchallenged in an empty sky.

Kheda swam for the rope Risala had thrown down for him. 'Where is he?'

'I can't get any sense out of him.' Risala was bloodied with scratches, dishevelled and exhausted, but there was a light of terrified triumph in her eyes. 'What's happened to him?'

Dev was huddled at the base of the Amigal's mast. Kheda knelt and pushed him upright against the wood. The wizard's head lolled as he grinned crazily at Kheda, dark eyes rolling. The fine silk of his tunic was stained and scorched, his gaudy jewellery clotted with dried blood, the very metal broken and twisted. His arms were scored with deep scratches still oozing sluggishly. Even in the failing light, Kheda could see appalling bruises through the tears in Dev's trousers, one foot darkening and swelling with the hint of broken bones within.

'Didn't realise, did he? What was he was doing, drawing more and more elements into himself? I could do it, though, matching him turning himself wrongways out and upside down.' Dev waved a feeble, broken-fingered hand and Kheda saw all the nails were torn, thumbnail wholly missing. 'He didn't know what I could do. It's all very well, calling that kind of magic, as long as you've got somewhere to send it.' Dev licked ineffectively at the spittle coating his chin. His lip was split, there were bite marks on his chin and his bald head was scraped raw in places. 'You're as screwed as a tuppenny whore on market day if you've nowhere to go with such power. I slammed the door on him good and proper, didn't I? Bet Kalion couldn't have done it, nor yet Planir, not hardly, not likely. What say I challenge one of them to try it? That's how the savages do it, prove who's best. Who's still standing at the end, that's your man, not whoever can make the most friends in the halls and copyhouses.'