A bang on the door. Tamza pulled the blanket up to her eyes, but Edgar lay naked. He had no care for what another thought of his body.

“What?” he bellowed.

Orpey entered. “The Xayans are gone.”

“What the fuck? We left there a few hours ago!” Edgar got out of bed and started to dress, pulling on his woven leggings, his leathers.

“They left one at the camp, to give you a message. But he refuses to come into town, to the palace. Says he’s not leaving his horse. It’s a Flame, too big for the alleyways, skittish in enclosed spaces.”

“Fuck.” Edgar tied up his boots, then looked at Tamza. “Get dressed.”

She followed behind the King as he marched from the palace towards the brick works. The King walked with Orpey, and behind them an entourage of soldiers.

“What of the lookouts, did they not see them packing up and think to inform us?” Edgar said.

“We’ve not located either soldier yet,” Orpey replied. “Not at their posts, both missing.”

“Zhaz knew we were watching him. Those men are dead.”

“Aye. Bastards.”

Edgar stopped on the threshold of the grasslands where the Xayan camp had been. Tamza came to stand by him, and the entourage paused behind. In front of her, the sun was rising on trampled grass, burning mounds of rubbish, old rags, bones from animal carcasses and broken wood. And dotted in between these bonfires were corpses, all naked. Dead Vaasarian women. Somewhere out there was Yaseena. Tamza’s stomach flipped.

“They took everything they wanted, including our weapons and the Flames, and left everything they didn’t,” Orpey said.

“Could’ve left the women for our men,” Edgar replied.

Tamza turned from Edgar, pulled back her headscarf and vomited.

A Xayan warrior materialised in front of the King, dismounting from a huge horse that appeared when his foot touched the grass. The horse’s eyes glowed a deep red, and its coat blazed and rippled yellow, orange and crimson, as if a fire burned beneath it. Tamza stared at the horse as it snorted and stomped the grass impatiently, tail flicking like a whip.

“King Edgar, my name is Pallaz. Captain Zhaz received word from Xayy that the tribe war has escalated at home. Our tribe has been raided, many killed. He returns with his warriors at the beckon of his Melokaz. He thanks you for your gifts of weapons and Flame horses.” Pallaz smirked.

Edgar drew his sword and had it at the warrior’s neck. “Those weapons and those horses were payment for a job. That job is not finished. Captain Zhaz has left before time. He agreed to stay until either the Drome army arrived or my reinforcements from Fertilian. Neither has come.”

Pallaz didn’t flinch, he glanced down to the blade and back up to Edgar. “He obeys his Melokaz. His Melokaz’s orders come before yours.”

Edgar pushed his sword into Pallaz’s throat, drawing blood. “What’s to stop me killing you right now? That fucker has broken his word.”

The warrior grinned. “I am the messenger. If you kill me and I do not return to my warriors, you will face the wrath of Captain Zhaz. Killing the messenger, in my culture, shows the greatest disrespect.”

Edgar snarled, as he raised his elbow ready to slice his blade through the Xayan’s neck and lop his head off. “I don’t give a shit about the captain’s respect.”

“Maybe not, but Zhaz will come and take this town from you. You know he would. And you know he could. He admires you for taking control from your father, he recounts that clash as one of the best sword fights he has ever seen. And he sees the beauty in the bronze weapons, in the metal you forge. You taught us your language, far more expressive than our own. Zhaz appreciates your bond. The Melokaz has a great desire to remain friends with Fertilian, so the choice is yours.”

Edgar dropped his sword, a vein in his forehead throbbed. “And we want to remain friends,” he spat the word. “The timing is inconvenient, but I will not kill the messenger for that. Fuck off, Pallaz.”

Pallaz grinned, smeared the trickle of blood across his neck and mounted his great horse. As soon as he sat on its back, he and the horse were invisible. Tamza gasped. Edgar listened carefully, to what noise, Tamza could not tell, but moments passed until he yelled in frustration.

“Told you not to trust the bastard,” Orpey said.

Edgar turned back to his men. “Get every soldier not working on the wall on lookout duty, keep eyes on the dunes. If the Drome army attacks now, they will take back the town. Until reinforcements arrive from Fertilian, we have too few soldiers here to hold it. Horace should’ve sent them by now, send a rider to hurry them on.”

The men acknowledged the command, but didn’t move.

“Go,” Orpey thundered, and the soldiers started back to town. Orpey barking orders.

Edgar surveyed the trampled grass where the Xayan camp had been, where they had eaten just last night. Tamza stood by his side as Edgar calmed his breathing.

She touched his elbow and he turned on her, dagger raised in hand. A wave of realisation came across his features and he sheathed the blade, took a deep inhale and started back to the town.

As they walked, Tamza asked, “What was that horse?”

He turned to her, hatred in his eyes, grabbed her cloak under her chin and pulled her face close to his. “You’re not the only people to have magic, you stupid bitch. Keep your fucking mouth shut. I don’t need your whining right now.”

Tamza lowered her head, submissively. The exhilaration she had felt the previous night evaporating.