"Summon everyone."

"Everyone, my Caliph?"

"Everyone!"

"The cities of Beyol and Doronatha may even now be under siege."

"You really are a ray of sunshine, Saldan," the first slight figure told him.

"Thank you, Cullan, I do my best."

"I'm afraid that Caliph Gygax insists you present yourselves to Him before noon – and before you leave the city."

"What? Why?"

"And how did he even know we're here?" asked Cullan.

"The Intelligence Branch of King Dashell may be the most comprehensive and widespread in the North, but within twenty miles of Sinut, it has nothing on the Caliph's spy network,"

"I understand the Doronathan cities are assembling their armies separately – they are not part of the Alliance."

"Yes, we know they're self-interested fools,"

"Do none of you keep track of the time any more?" General Kael asked.

Morgan concentrated. "A quarter past midnight," she said.

"Right. It's the morrow. Just because the sun's not in the sky doesn't mean it's not the seventh of February."

"Kill me then, bitch. See how long Dashell lets you live."

Alys twitched her wrist, and her blade left a fine red line across Pargella's throat. "Cross me, bitch. See how long I let you live."

"We've gotten soft," Alys muttered.

"Yep," Cullan agreed.

"I'm still cold!" she moaned. "Five years ago, this would have been enough to warm me up, no problem!"

"We're getting old," Kenyon told them from in front.

"None of us are even thirty yet," Cullan replied.

"You're thirty-two, Cullan," Morgan reminded him.

"I don't feel it."

"Really?" asked Alys. "You don't feel cold? Or weary? Did your back creak when you got up this morning?"

"Alright, I'm getting old!"

"All right. Who are you, and what do you want?"

"My name is not important. What I want is the same as you – to make sure that the Tiara finds its' way into King Dashell's hands."

"Alright then, Mr Not-important, you can tag along. If you're of any use you might get to screw one of us afterwards."

"We are the Sword Clan of the Orcs! And this! Is as far! As the bastards are coming!"

"Who else feels there's a ghost about to jump out at us?" Cullan called to the others.

"Keep telegraphing your position, when it gets you we can run away," Alys called in reply.

"A dragon!" her eyes gleamed, and she unfolded enough to lean forwards in anticipation, hands braced on the arms of the throne, legs parted. "So my cousin was right, they did sell the egg!"

"If they did, it was some time ago. The dragon that the fanatics call the Sword of M'hush is no hatchling, not by a good few centuries."

"'The Sword of M'hush.' What a pretentious name. And you say they are making war with it?"

Morgan laughed. "Fire is my friend, Ynroh. Fire is my friend."

"Let's tell Kael to keep them pissed off."

"Cullan," Morgan began, "I've just had a very strange message."

"Yes?"

"'Hawk scabbard, acorn rise, flying boot through porridge, seven tables, running angry.' Mean anything to you?"

"Who sent it?" he asked.

"Don't know. Didn't recognise the voice, but it was a Filamo accent."

"General, you have one simple task now – eliminate the enemy army."

"The enemy army that outnumbers us three-to-two?" asked Kael, a huge grin on his own face. "Of course, Sire, nothing simpler! And where will you be in the order of battle?"

"Holding the centre with the Burning Rose and all you lot, of course! Get to it, Kael!"

"Yes, Sire!"

"You will surrender to Us."

"Very well. Terms must inclu-"

"There will be no terms other than those which We lay down,"

"This mercenary stuff – it's kinda fun."