shoved him to the very brink, so that only Moaradrid's grip kept him from tumbling into the ether. 'Be careful, thief. Irritation makes me careless.'
I took out the giant-stone, held it out over the edge. 'I have a similar problem. Only in my case, it's blind terror and vertigo.'
There was that smile again. Then, with cat-like fluidity, Moaradrid drew Alvantes back to the centre of the span and gave him a light push, as of encouragement, towards our side. 'You've been paying attention after all. Have your guard-captain then. He's a fair trade for a crown.'
Alvantes started towards me, and with each shambling step I feared he'd topple over the edge. I doubted very much that they'd fed him or given him water since the battle, and that combined with blood loss had left him on the very point of collapse. Alvantes might be a pompous ass, but I knew in my heart he was a decent man, and it appalled me to see how he'd been treated.
It struck me that I truly wanted to hurt Moaradrid, as he'd hurt Alvantes, Panchetto, Saltlick, Estrada and so many others.
Yet what hope was there of that?
I began walking.
There was barely room for Alvantes and me to pass each other. He looked round at the last moment. Though his face was knotted with pain, his voice was perfectly calm when he spoke. 'Don't let him win, Damasco.'
'I don't think I can stop him.'
Alvantes gave me one last glance and stumbled on, towards where Saltlick and Estrada waited. Saltlick would look after them, far better than I could. Stone or no, he'd protect them — I had to believe that. I didn't dare look at them, for fear my resolve would evaporate entirely.
Instead, I kept walking.
I'd half-expected Moaradrid to scythe my head from my shoulders the moment I came close enough. I was a little surprised when he simply held out an upturned hand. His sword hung at his side.
I could fight…
I could wrestle him, force him over the edge…
I placed the stone in his palm.
In that split second, I felt nothing but relief. All I'd done since I first set eyes on it was run, and I was tired out with running. Moaradrid allowed himself a shuddering sigh, as if he too was briefly overcome. Then he drew himself together, held his head high to glare down at me.
'So our business is done.'
I had to ask, for all I knew I shouldn't. 'Isn't this the part where you kill me?'
He laughed. 'I thought you were starting to understand. No, thief, I'm not going to kill you. That's not how power works.'
I nodded, as though I had the faintest idea what he meant. 'Well, then.'
I turned away. Of course I didn't believe him. Of course I expected a scimitar between my shoulder blades. But what could I do? Though I wanted to run, I didn't. There'd been a sense of sympathy between us, almost an understanding. Even if it only existed in Moaradrid's insane mind, it might still last, if only I kept calm. If I ran, I knew he'd change his mind.
So I placed one foot ahead of the other.
I walked across that sliver of rock, hardly daring to breathe.
And I stepped onto solid ground.
Alvantes was sat on a shelf of rock, while Estrada tried hopelessly to unpick the ropes that bound him with only her fingers. Alvantes, for his part, was struggling not to wince every time the slightest impact jolted his mutilated arm. I guessed he'd live, so long as the wound wasn't infected. Saltlick stood a little to one side, still holding the disfigured staff, and though he must have been devastated by the loss of the chiefstone, he didn't show it.
Our fight for the Castoval, for the safety of the giants, was over. We'd lost, and Moaradrid had won. But at least we were all alive, and that was a better outcome than I'd expected.
Of course, the day wasn't over yet.
'Giant.'
The word rang out clearly behind me.
'Giant, pick up your friend there and choke him to death.'
Saltlick jerked to attention. He gazed over my head to where Moaradrid still stood, stone held high in one hand, the other pointing towards me. Saltlick's eyes grew wide, his mouth hung slightly open, as though someone had slapped him.
'I know you heard me. Obey your chieftain.'
Saltlick took a laboured step towards me.
' Obey your chieftain.'
I wanted to back away. I knew there was nothing behind me except a very long fall.
'Saltlick…'
One moment his hand hung at his side, the next it was around my throat. I hadn't even time for a last breath. My lungs heaved in my chest. Pinpricks of light exploded, a waterfall of sound cascaded through my ears. Through it, dimly, I heard Estrada's voice. 'Saltlick, oh no, you don't have to, you don't have to listen to him, not after everything…'
The words continued. It was too much trouble separating them from the sluice of noise. Why listen when Saltlick wasn't? He'd been told to kill me. Killing me was what he was doing.
Only he wasn't. Not quite.
He was strong enough to crush my throat like a bundle of dry twigs. Yet I was alive. It hurt beyond imagination, but I was alive. Maybe Saltlick was having trouble after all — just as when he'd resisted me in Altapasaeda.
Except that in Altapasaeda, he'd given in.
Moaradrid's voice pushed through Estrada's pleading and the roaring surf. 'Once that's done, you can round up your women and children.'
The pressure relaxed, just fractionally.
'I was merciful before.'
I sucked air into scorched lungs.
'Maybe your friends will be more committed with them in tow.'
And suddenly, I was free. I lay still, panting like a sick dog. Saltlick was staring past me once again. There was an expression on his face I'd never seen before. It was like the look of someone waking from a deep sleep, but with something terrible behind it, something fierce and sad.
'Bad chief.'
Moaradrid looked taken aback for the first time. 'What does that matter?'
Saltlick's first stride carried him onto the rock bridge. 'Bad order.' He moved with the slow inevitability of an avalanche.
'It doesn't matter. I have your stupid stone!'
'Bad chief.'
' It doesn't matter!'
But it did.
I couldn't guess at what was going through Moaradrid's mind. He looked more stunned than afraid. Saltlick reached out with one huge hand. Moaradrid stepped back, raising his arms to shield himself.
I wanted to cry out, ' He just wants the stone!' The words fell in a gurgle from my crushed throat. Moaradrid drew back. Saltlick moved forward. It seemed very slow and precise, like a dance: Moaradrid back, Saltlick forward, Moaradrid back.
Until there was nothing left beneath him.
I saw him realise. I watched the knowledge light his face like a beacon fire. Saltlick saw too. He reached out. Moaradrid, even in the moment of falling, pulled away.
There was nowhere to go but down.
He didn't scream, exactly. But he did cry out. It was a guttural, animal noise, something wrenched from the
