determined to take his duties seriously.
Lieutenant Stefanelli used his own sword to bat away Ignacio’s blade.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ignacio. Has the sun got to you? Do you even know how to use that thing? Makennon only sent you on this expedition because of your affiliation with the rogue crew of the Llothriall. Don’t think for a moment that the Faith has any trust in you as a member of the Swords, or that it was ever the intention that you return from this expedition alive.”
Ignacio brought his sword to bear again. “Stand down, Lieutenant Stefanelli.”
The man standing before Ignacio was easily a head taller than he and broader across the shoulders, but he had killed bigger men before. The lieutenant’s anger would work against him.
When their blades met, Ignacio shifted his weight onto his back foot and circled Stefanelli’s sword around his wrist, before forcing it away. For a moment there seemed to be an opening, but the sunlight suddenly blazed from Stefanelli’s weapon, dazzling Ignacio and forcing him to swing blindly. Fortunately he connected with Stefanelli’s attack before it could pierce his belly and forced the tip of the weapon down into the sand.
Ignacio stepped back and circled around to his right, so that the sun was now on his left, and moved to attack.
Stefanelli was a fraction too late to turn Ignacio’s blade and he cried out as a deep cut appeared in his right bicep. Whatever zeal and righteous hatred drove him on enabled him to keep hold of his sword, but his forearm was now soaked with blood and he was visibly pained.
“Stand down, Lieutenant Stefanelli.” Ignacio said again, meeting the man’s gaze with his own, trying to match the look of righteous fury that he saw there.
“Angelo, this is insanity,” Brother Sebastian said. “Please, do what Ignacio says, just until we get this misunderstanding sorted out.”
Lieutenant Stefanelli didn’t respond to the priest’s pleas; instead he moved in on Ignacio again, swinging his sword in low, coming in close and stepping so that Ignacio had to turn to face the sun.
Momentarily blinded, Ignacio still managed to parry Stefanelli’s next few lunges. The lieutenant was weakening now, his face grey. He shifted his grip on his blade and fractionally changed his stance, and Ignacio saw his opportunity.
Ignacio feinted to the right and stepped in close on his left foot. Stefanelli fell for the bluff and Ignacio’s sword went low into his back, the tip emerging briefly from his side before withdrawing.
Ignacio flicked blood from his sword as Lieutenant Stefanelli fell to his knees.
Brother Sebastian came over and prepared to perform the last rites, until a hand on his shoulder stilled him.
“No, brother,” said a petite, dark-haired warrior of the Swords, whom Ignacio remembered was called Susannah. “This one does not deserve your mercy, or absolution.”
Susannah grabbed Stefanelli by the hair and, with one efficient strike from her blade, removed his head from his shoulders.
“Burn the remains, Brother Sebastian.”
Susannah threw the head to the ground and held her hand out to Ignacio; blood slicked her palm.
“The Lord of All chose well, Ignacio, and has revealed to us his chosen warrior. Will you lead us on this expedition?”
Ignacio looked at the headless corpse at his feet and the blood staining the sand. His had been the hand of judgement and it felt right that his sword had been the tool of the Lord’s vengeance.
“Do you see the light, brother?”
“Yes.” Hadn’t this been the glory revealed to him in the cells of Scholten Cathedral? Hadn’t this been the path that the Lord had intended he take all along? “Yes, I see the light.”
“Then lead us. Help us to find Makennon’s heretics and bring them to justice.”
Ignacio took Susannah’s hand. Once the Final Faith had been his enemy, but now he could see that all he had been running from was his own destiny.
Emuel didn’t know how long he had been crawling. Perhaps days. Once he had walked, but his water had run out, the sun had leached the last of his strength and he had been reduced to this — a babbling infant amongst the dunes. Even when the night came there was no relief; the moon burned as hot as the sun, its brilliant white heat searing into the very core of him.
He had come as far as his body would allow and the darkness that was closing in had little to do with the night. Emuel welcomed it, but until it claimed him there was time for one last song.
He took something of the song of the dunes, something of the song of the Stone Seers and something of the song at the heart of the Llothriall, and wove the cadences together. Though his throat was dry and his lungs ached, the quiet music that came from him made the coming end seem somewhat less terrible.
Emuel’s breath faltered and he struggled to draw the air he needed to finish the song; it came only in a whistling gasp. His heart slowed, each beat shaking his body, the silences between them becoming longer and longer.
In one of these silences he heard something moving across the sand towards him. He managed to raise himself on his elbows — though doing so caused him incredible pain — and what Emuel saw filled him with horror.
The thing that had hatched from the obsidian egg had found him.
It moved with its belly low to the ground, crawling on four stumpy legs that seemed unsure of themselves, as though they had only recently learned how to walk. Behind it, it dragged a barbed, whip-thin tail and the evening breeze rippled the paper-thin membranes of its wings. The creature’s hide was jet-black and reflected the moonlight in a golden sheen. It had grown since hatching: it stood almost three feet high at the shoulder, and was approximately the length of a grown man from its snout to the tip of its tail.
Emuel hoped he had outpaced the beast, but now it was clear that it had been following him all along. Sensing his weariness, it was moving in for an easy meal. The eunuch didn’t have the strength to defend himself, so he sent up a prayer for a quick death.
As the beast came, it was accompanied by a sighing that, at first, Emuel took to be the wind, but as the creature loomed over him and its hot breath blasted into his face, he realised that the noise was coming from deep within its throat. The creature swayed in time with its song. It was then that Emuel realised what it was doing; it was repeating the song that had not long since come from his own lips. The music was growing in strength and Emuel felt strangely invigorated by it. His body no longer burned with the dry heat of the desert, his breath no longer scalded his lungs.
The creature looked into Emuel’s eyes as the song came to an end. It unfurled its wings and, as its shadow fell over him, Emuel thought that this really was the end. But instead of being devoured, he was gently plucked from the ground and laid across the creature’s back.
The creature began to sing again as it carried him across the sand, introducing its own variations on Emuel’s theme — singing melodies that the eunuch had never heard before, that had the suggestion of something other, something alien; something vast.
The creature’s back rolled beneath him and Emuel was reminded of the swaying of the deck of the Llothriall. He wondered where his friends were now and whether the Final Faith had finally caught up with them. He hoped not; he would rather they were dead than in the clutches of Makennon or Querilous Fitch.
With the moon and stars gently rocking above him, Emuel found himself being lulled into sleep, and he went with it, grateful for its sanctuary.
He awoke what seemed like only moments later, rolling over and landing heavily on the ground, his right hand sinking into something cold and wet. He looked up to see the creature sitting back on its hind legs, looking down at him almost expectantly, and then he looked round to where he had been brought.
They were by a lake, surrounded on all sides by low, chalky hills. It was still night, though the moon was now on the wane. A great chorus of insects and amphibians shouted their song to the stars. Emuel realised that, beside himself and the strange creature, this was the first real life he had encountered in this arid place, and he found himself strangely moved by this night chorus.
Emuel staggered forward as the creature’s snout prodded him in the back. He tumbled to his knees by the water’s edge and it was only as he did so that he realised how fiercely thirsty he was. He drank long and deep and
