But the God spoke a single word: 'Apostate.' There were no visions this time, no sounds of terror, no slithering sensations or vile scents attacking us. Even Kest gave no sign that he'd heard, at first. He just stood there as if he were planning his next strike.

'Kest?' I asked.

He opened his mouth wide, as if not enough air was getting into his lungs. His sword slid from his hand and he reached up and clutched at his heart.

'There is a price to be paid for challenging a God,' the Blacksmith told him, not ungently. He glanced at me. 'I feel sorrow for you, Falcio. You find good men and women to do what you think is right, but the world you once believed in is long gone it might never have been what you were told.' He hesitated for a moment, then said, 'I offer you this gift, Falcio val Mond: go back to Aramor. Take your people away find a country worthy of your courage. Leave this one to those who might yet be able to redeem it.' He turned and led his God down the path away from us.

'No,' I said. 'No, don't do this. You don't have to-'

Kest's eyes caught mine as he began to slip to the ground and I could see that he understood what had been done to him. There had been no blow, no injury, no illness. At the command of a God, Kest's life had simply ended.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

The Broken Heart Kest fell to the ground, landing so hard on his back that dust and dirt flew into the air. Even an unconscious man would have made a sound as the wind fled from his lungs, but Kest was completely silent, though the emptiness was filled by someone screaming his name. I think it was me.

'What in hells just happened to him?' Brasti asked.

Ethalia knelt by Kest's side. 'His heart has stopped.' She placed both hands just below his chest and pressed down hard, then repeated the gesture several more times before stopping briefly to listen for his breath. When none came, she said to Erastian, 'Help me . . . I can't make it start again!'

The old Saint, still on the ground, was looking more than half-dead himself. He held a hand to his wound and I saw a faint glow around it, the pink of a rose just beginning to bloom. 'Damned knife wounds,' he muttered, then crawled one-handed towards Kest and looked down at the already pale features of the friend I'd forced into a fight he couldn't win because I'd been too weak to do it myself. 'A God's curse weighs heavy on a mortal life,' Erastian said, then added, 'Sons of bitches.'

'Do something,' I begged.

The Saint took Kest's hand in his. 'Did Birgid teach you the calling?' he asked Ethalia. She nodded as she repeated her motions and Erastian looked both confused and disappointed. 'So she taught you how to heal but not to fight? What was the woman thinking?'

Ethalia's eyes narrowed. 'That I had committed enough violence for one lifetime.'

Violence? Ethalia was the most peaceful person I had ever met.

Erastian was neither shocked nor impressed by the heat of her gaze. 'Don't give me that look, woman. I've been stared down by Gods.' He placed Kest's palm against Ethalia's heart and gestured for her to hold it there. 'Come on then, perform the calling. Show me what a coin with only one side can buy.'

She held Kest's hand to her heart and placed her other hand against his chest. Her eyes closed and the skin of her face tightened as if she were trying to push a boulder up a mountain. She started whispering, so softly that it took me a moment to hear that she was calling out Kest's name, over and over.

'The boy's death isn't natural,' Erastian explained. 'This isn't a stab wound or an infection. His heart simply stopped beating. If she can call him back-'

'Call him how?' Brasti asked. 'From where? Will someone please tell me how-?'

He shut up when Ethalia began to glow, the light first manifesting as a sheen as sweat started dripping down her face, then pushing outwards until her entire body looked as if it were cut from polished ivory.

She's so pale, I thought, and Erastian's jibe about her being a one-sided coin filled me with dread. Prove him wrong, sweetheart. Prove to us that there's some purpose to magic and Saints beyond just ruining the world.

'What can I do?' I asked.

'You can shut up,' Erastian replied, his hand still covering his own wound. The old man didn't look optimistic. Brasti and I stared at each other, utterly miserable in our helplessness: there was no enemy for us to fight, no daring action we could take to stop the blow that had already fallen.

'The beat of my heart to yours,' Ethalia whispered. 'You hear me, Kest, son of Murrow. You must answer.' The glow around her grew brighter as her words became more desperate. 'The beat of my heart to yours,' she repeated. 'Kest, by the love you bear this world, you will answer me.'

'Is she really supposed to be glowing like that?' Brasti asked.

'No,' Erastian replied, his eyes still fixed on Ethalia. 'She's got to stop now.' He raised his voice. 'You've got to stop now, Ethalia. It's over. Enough now, girl.'

Ethalia's eyes opened briefly and there was such cold fire there that even Erastian-who-plucks-the-rose knew to stop talking. 'The beat of my heart to yours,' she repeated, her voice stronger now, though her whole body was shaking as if the earth beneath her was breaking apart. 'The Saint of Mercy calls you, King's Blade, and you will answer.'

For just an instant I thought Kest had moved, but it was only Ethalia, twitching under the strain of whatever invisible forces she was struggling with. 'Something's wrong,' Brasti said. 'That glow of hers is dimming.'

'Enough,' Erastian said, reaching out to grab at her wrist. 'You'll kill yourself.'

Ethalia held firm, but she cried out 'Birgid, help me! I can't bring him back!'

The old Saint finally managed to tear her hand away from her chest. 'It's done, girl,' he said softly. 'Let it be done.'

Ethalia began to slump forward, but she stopped herself. Her eyes went to me. 'I'm sorry I'm so sorry-'

'I can thump on his chest,' I said, moving to his side and trying to replicate her movements from earlier. 'He's strong. He can come back.' You don't go out this way, Kest. With a blade, maybe with ten thousand masters of the sword rushing down the hillside at us, maybe. Not like this. We don't go out just because some fucking God says so.

'Falcio, stop,' Brasti said. 'You're going to break his ribs. It's not doing any good. Let him-'

'No.' I resumed pushing his chest up and down, though I had no damned clue what I was doing. Ethalia had been doing it, so it must've had some purpose.

Erastian sounded sympathetic as he explained, 'His heart won't beat for hers.'

The words held such a small, simple truth, that all the strength drained from my body and I found myself repeating them. His heart won't beat for hers. I looked over at the old man, at this useless sack of flesh who called himself a Saint and was doing me no good whatsoever. 'Why?'

Ethalia's eyes were full of pleading, as if she were begging me to forgive her. 'He won't follow my heartbeat he won't come to my call.'

I grabbed Kest's hand and put it on my own chest. 'Then show me what to do. Maybe he'll come back-'

'You don't have the power, Falcio,' she said. 'It's part of the Sainthood. I can't . . . I don't even know how to explain it to you.'

'Just tell me how to save him, damn you!' I reached out and grabbed her arm. 'There must be something else you can try. Anything.'

'You can't!' she cried, 'not without . . . You just can't, Falcio.'

She turned away from me, too quickly for it to just be guilt. I've been a magistrate for a long time and when I look for it, I can tell when someone's lying to me. 'Tell me,' I demanded.

'He has a right to try,' Erastian said, his voice wheezing as his own wounds threatened to overtake him. He turned to me. 'How far are you willing to go to save your friend?'

It took me a while to understand what he was asking. 'Oh,' I said finally. 'I suppose that makes sense.'

Ethalia grabbed me by the shoulders and I could see her eyes were filled with tears now. 'No, you don't understand there's no assurance I can bring you back.'

'Just tell me how.'

Misery and uncertainty clouded her face, but she knew me well. Even with all that had already been lost between us, she knew I wouldn't back down from this fight. Finally she said, 'Lay down next to Kest and place his hand over your heart. Then we must . . . Falcio, I can't be the one to do it.'

'I know,' I said.

'Would someone please tell me what in all the hells is going on?' Brasti asked plaintively.

Saint Erastian sat back heavily on his haunches. 'You aren't going to like it, that's for sure,' he muttered.

I rose for a moment and held Brasti by the shoulders. Before he could speak I shook him. 'Brasti Goodbow, listen to me. I'm not your friend right now. I'm not a fellow Greatcoat. I'm the First Cantor. Do you understand? Do you still remember what that means?'

'What in the name of Saint Zaghev is wrong with you, Falcio? Of course I-'

'No questions, no debate. I'm giving you an order now, so you either follow it, or you walk away. For good.'

He finally understood what was coming next. He looked down at Kest then back at me. 'Please, Falcio, don't ask me to do this.'

'I'm sorry,' I said gently.

I let him go and laid down next to Kest, placing his hand on my heart, then I looked up at Brasti and said, 'Kill me.'

Brasti knelt over me, squeezing his hands into fists, trying to build up his courage. Or whatever it is you need when one of your best friends tells you to murder him.

Ethalia's voice was gentle. 'We're running out of time. He can't go without-'

'Brasti,' I said, locking eyes with him, 'it's going to be all right. I swear to you, I'm not going out like this. Not like this.'

He nodded then, placed a hand over my mouth and with the other squeezed my nostrils shut as I told myself, It's fine. You can do this. You've nearly gone to your death dozens of times. Just go a little further this time.

At first it was no different to holding my breath, then it started to burn, like diving too deep into water and waiting too long to come back up. Then the first convulsion hit me and my body struggled to take in air, resisting Brasti's grip. He let out a great racking sob and held me down even more firmly.

Part of me was thankful that for once in his life, Brasti was following orders. The rest of me was panicking. No, I screamed silently, no, it's a mistake! This won't work! You're killing me! My eyes betrayed me as they tried desperately to lock onto Brasti's, pleading for him to stop, to see that I was dying, to see that he was killing me.

The second convulsion was worse and now I was fighting back with everything I had, but Brasti was now kneeling on me, holding me down and crushing me under his weight.

I cursed him then, cursed how stupid he was. Damn you to every hell there is, Brasti Goodbow, bastard traitor- Then a sudden inspiration hit me and my eyes sought out Ethalia. She would understand she would put a stop to this. But her own eyes were closed as she held one of my hands against her heart. I could feel the beating there. I hated it.

Bitch. Whore. This is what you wanted all along, to be rid of me. You tricked me into this!

I wish I could say I was a better man, that in those last moments I found my courage again, found my Faith.

I didn't.

I went to my death afraid and cursing everyone I had once loved.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN.

The Land of the Dead

Every duellist knows that the only God who really matters is Death. His is the damp, grasping hand you feel reaching into your heart every time a wound cuts a little too deep or a fever rages a little too hot inside your skin. Death is the opponent whose challenge we all must eventually accept and his is the duel that in the end can never be won no matter how skilled the fencer or how noble the cause. All our tricks and techniques are stripped away when we step into his courtroom for that final trial.

Shit, I thought, looking down at myself. I'm naked.

I had always assumed that the land of the dead, if such a place existed at all, would be an endless expanse of darkness and shadows. Instead, what I found was a landscape carved from bone: roads, trees, mountains in the far distance, even the sky above: they were all the same sickly ivory colour. There were no lights, nothing that glowed or burned, and yet there was no darkness, either, only an endless dead whiteness.

Except me, I thought, once again taking stock of my less than impressive figure. Because when you're dead and naked what you really want to do is stick out.

'And people claim my royal staff was of modest proportions,' King Paelis called out and I turned to see him walking up behind me, his robes glistening seven different hues of red. Even in the afterlife the rich get to dress better than the rest of us.

My wife, walking alongside him, wore armour that glistened against the drab surroundings. It was so perfectly shaped to her that were it not for the ridges and buckles it would have looked as though molten steel had been poured over body.

'That's an odd look for you,' I said.

'Really, husband? Was I not always a fighter?'

The King snorted. 'Enough, Falcio. I've gone along with your imaginings as long as I could, but this is too much. You really envision your wife as a great warrior striding across the land?'

'She was to me,' I said, wishing she were real, wishing this wasn't simply the hallucinations that came whenever I slipped too close to death. 'None of this is real, is it?'

Aline stepped close to me and reached out with a gauntleted hand to smooth the hair away from my face. Her touch felt strangely soft. 'Do you remember the oath I gave at our wedding, Falcio?'

The question made me uncomfortable. 'It was something about loving and sharing, but to be honest, I was so busy trying to remember my own vows at the time, it's possible I wasn't paying attention.'

She took both my hands in hers. 'I said you were a silly man, too awkward and earnest to make his way through life in a country that fed on such things.' She squeezed my palms and now I could feel the steel of her gauntlets. 'I said I would always protect you.'

Something felt like it broke inside me and a shuddering sob escaped my lips. 'No that's not what you said. The cleric gave us our vows. I was the one who was supposed to say-'

'How would you know?' King Paelis asked. 'You already said you weren't paying attention.'

'It was my job to protect you!' I turned away from them, wishing them away. 'You aren't her. You're a delusion made from fractured memories and broken dreams.'

'Look at me,' Aline said. I felt her hand on my arm and she repeated the words more gently this time. 'Look at me, Falcio.'

I did. I'd never been able to refuse her.