Her grandmother wiped away the tear that was snaking down her cheek. “No tears, child,” she whispered. “Not for me. We will see one another again. This isn’t the end, I promise.”

Saska nodded, sniffing, wary of the eyes around her. Do not let them see you cry, she thought. Be strong. Weep alone. She took her grandmother’s old withered hand and clutched it tight in hers. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. As soon as my task…as soon as it’s over, Grandmother. I’ll come back to you. I will.”

A wrinkled palm cupped her cheek, cold to the touch despite the heat of the rising sun. She’ll die before I get back, Saska knew. Or I will. That was just as likely. “They are waiting for you, sweetheart,” the Grand Duchess croaked.” She wore black, as though in mourning, black silk with a hairnet dark as jet, embracing her whitening hair. “Go. And do not look back, Saska. When you turn, do not look back.” She smiled and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, pressing at her skin with lips as dry as dust. Two maids lingered behind, to steady the old woman, should she fall. Eyes down, un-listening, to be present but not seen. Shadows, Saska thought. As I was, once before.

She drew back, steeling herself. “I’ll see you…soon,” she said, in a voice that was threatening to break. “Whether here or…” Her eyes turned up, to the blazing blue skies. She could still see the haze of the moon up there, lingering in the firmament.

“In the stars,” her grandmother finished for her, squeezing her hand. “If not on this earth, we shall see one another in the stars. And what a joy that will be…to join Lumo in her light.”

Saska nodded, silent. She had often pondered which afterlife would take her…whether there was an afterlife at all. Her blood was mixed, of steel and sea and light. Would she be called to Eshina’s Grove? The Great Forge? The Ocean Halls of Rasalan? Might Varin make an exception for her and summon her to his Table? If raised to the Eternal Halls, would she be able to cross to the Stars of Fallen Souls, to wander the Blackness Above in search of her Lightborn family? To visit her grandmother and her mother and all those of the light she’d lost?

She didn’t know. How could she know? No one knows, she thought.

But she only nodded and said, “If not here…there, Grandmother. In the stars.” She looked up once again, blinking to stop the tears from welling. The others were all there, behind her, waiting. Turn, she told herself. Turn, and do not look back.

She smiled, leaned forward, kissed her grandmother on the cheek. And then she turned.

And did not look back.

Her host were assembled before her, over a hundred soldiers and sellswords strong, waiting upon the scorched cobblestones inside the Cherry Gate. She paced toward them, leaving the frail form of Safina Nemati behind, breathing deeply, heart fracturing. She wanted to turn, take one last look, call out to her grandmother that she loved her, that she was so happy she had had a chance to meet her, spend time with her, bask in the woman’s fading glow. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. If I turn back now, I’ll never leave.

So on she went, toward her men. Step by step, and strong.

Sir Ralston was awaiting her, with Leshie and Del. “That looked emotional,” Leshie said. Her eyes were swollen with pity. “Are you…all right, Sask?”

“Fine.” The word was bluntly said and that in itself said a lot. It said she didn’t want to talk about it. “Is everyone ready?”

The Wall nodded. “At your command, my lady, we can go.”

“Then let us go,” she said.

She stepped forward, toward her horse. It was not her preference as a steed, though in her heavy plate armour, Joy was not strong enough to carry her. Thankfully, the Baker had managed to procure a number of Bladeborn-bearing horses from the ruin of the Tukoran warcamp - destriers and palfreys and a couple of swift coursers that had bolted during the fighting - that would serve to carry them. There was even one capable of bearing the Wall, a great plodding warhorse with an ill temper and penchant for biting that must have belonged to a huge Tukoran knight once before.

Sir Bernard, perhaps, Saska thought. He was not close to matching Sir Ralston’s size, but was a bull of a man all the same.

Saska climbed up into the saddle of her courser, a handsome mare, chestnut brown, and all about her, others did the same. The Butcher and the Baker had with them three of their best remaining men; Merinius, Umberto, who had ridden with Saska once before, and a man they called the Gravedigger, for his cadaverous appearance. The Surgeon had brought with him the Tigress, Gutter and Gore, and two others of trusted character, he claimed. They better be, Saska thought. The way the Wall was eyeing them made it clear that he would have their heads off their shoulders at the first sign of disloyalty or deception.

The Butcher gave his destrier a kick and rode over, tattered cloak rippling, a broad smile on his lips. “It’s finally happening, then. Exciting, no?”

It was, in part. Exciting, frightening, saddening all at once. Saska only nodded.

A bellow rang out from Sunrider Alym Tantario, the man in charge of the Aramatian escort, calling for the gates to open. Saska knew the Sunrider but barely, though Lord Hasham had assured her he was a formidable warrior, well seasoned in battle, a man of fierce loyalty and noble character who would give his life to protect her if needed. Tantario had with him almost a hundred paladin knights, mounted spearmen, mounted archers, and a small contingent of Sunriders and Starriders as well, all drawn from beneath the great wings of Houses Hasham and Nemati. Their orders were simple - get Saska to the northern coast, see her aboard a ship, and return. Only the sellswords would continue to accompany her when they made for the northern continent.

And how will we be greeted? Saska wondered, as she passed her eyes across the Bloody Traders, all in oddments of armour and mail, with multihued cloaks and strange adornments, and an assortment of savage weapons hanging at their hips and crossing their backs. They were hardly the sort of escort a princess should have, much less the heir of Varin, but what could she do? I have Sir Ralston, she thought. He at least was known for his commitment to duty and his honour in the northern kingdoms. He’ll be able to vouch for me, when we come across great knights and lords.

She sighed, and not for the first time lamented that Robbert Lukar had not stayed a little longer. I could have gone out into his encampment, spoken with him again. I could have told him who I am and what I need to do. The foolish girl in her thought that maybe that would make a difference. That he would swear to her his loyalty and pledge that he would help. That he and Sir Lothar and Sir Bernard and Lord Gullimer and all the rest of the noble men of his army might join her too, and carry her, like a wave, toward her fated duty.

But none of that had happened. Instead she just had the sellswords.

“Form up, form up,” Sunrider Tantario shouted. His men knew what to do. At once they rearranged themselves into columns, lining up to either side of Saska and her men, paladin knights and spearmen to the front and middle, bowmen to the back, with the Sunriders and Starriders prowling about the perimeter.

“Will they be like this the entire way?” Leshie asked. She didn’t look pleased. “I’m not being locked in like this for a thousand miles of baking road. I want to ride and roam. Dread needs to stretch his legs.”

Saska had to ask. “Dread?”

Leshie grinned, patting the shoulder of her little red rouncey. “That’s his name. Dread. Like the dragon everyone’s scared of.”

“You shouldn’t make jests about that name,” the Wall grunted at her. “It may be that Drulgar has already attacked the north, if these rumours of his rise are to be believed.”

They are, Saska thought, a shudder climbing up her spine. They had heard too many reports now, of the breaking of the Wings, of the great shadow ascending amidst the swarm, of the red lightning and black clouds, to doubt that it was true.

Leshie, as ever, wasn’t taking it seriously. Her shoulders bobbed up and down in a carefree shrug, red armour clanking. “Guess we’ll find out when we get there. Though that’s going to take a while. Especially going this way.”

She pointed at the Cherry Gate as it groaned open, causing ash and soot to stir. It was here that the invaders had come storming through, where the inferno had spread, where legions had died. The buildings to the sides were husks of blackened stone and charred wood, the cobbles stained with death. The stink of it was still in the air even after all these days.

“Ersella San Sabar sounds disappointed by the route,” the Butcher identified. He grinned. “I understand this disappointment. The Capital Road will take much longer.”

“It’s the safer route,” Sir Ralston Whaleheart said. “Lord Hasham insists we go this way.”

“Insists. And where is he now? A man cannot insist if he is not coming with us. And the heir of Varin outranks him.”

“Be quiet,” growled the Wall, eyes moving left and right. “Lady Saska may have shared that secret with you, but otherwise it is not for spreading. Too many people know as it is.”

“Strange that you care more than she does, Coldheart. It is her secret to share, not yours.”

“No. It is all of ours. Because her quest affects us all. If that secret reaches the ears of the enemy, every one of us will die before we reach the north.”

“Speak for yourself. The Butcher is unkillable.” He thumped his chest.

“The Butcher is a fool,” said his brother, the Baker. “We have established this already.” He rode up to join them on a horse as stocky as he was, clopping loudly along the cobbles. “And the reason we are going along the coastal road is plain. It is safer, as the steel giant says. And no longer blocked by the coalition army. Lord Hasham is wise to advise we go this way. With fortune we will ride unimpeded all the way to Eagle’s Perch. The crossing to Rasalan from there will be quick and easy. Little time for the sea monsters to seek us out for a snack.”

The Capital Road, Saska thought, sighing. Another long ride to Eagle’s Perch. She had travelled that road once before, when a captive of Elio Krator, and had not expected to do it again. We were meant to go north. To the Everwood. Ranulf was meant to return…

“The coastal road is the sensible course,” the Wall agreed. “It is paved, easy to travel…”

“Boring,” said the Butcher. “The plains will be more fun.”

“More dangerous,” Sir Ralston came back. “The plains are crawling.”

“There is the heat as well,” added the Baker, who probably knew all about heat, with that name. He seemed much more sensible than his younger, bigger brother. “My sources tell me that the wells are drying up across the plains and the rivers are turning to dust. This heat is the sort that kills. Not to my brother, of course…no, nothing can kill him…but to mere mortals like us, yes. Heat is deadly, and a lack of water also. We have no choice but to travel the coast.”

“And who put you in charge, Knuckles?”

“Knuckles?” The Baker frowned at Leshie, one corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. He wasn’t familiar with her penchant for nicknames. “This is me, is it? Knuckles?”

“You have big hands,” she said, pointing at them. “Too big for your little body. And oversized forearms too. They should call you the Blacksmith, not the Baker.”