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Golden Age – brotherhood, honour and duty. Here...
    Tobazim’s stomach rumbled. They’d expended a great deal of energy on the higher plane. ‘We need to eat.’
    They were returning to their chamber when pretty Paravia stopped them. Today, her long copper hair was bound in a single no-nonsense plait.
    Learon lifted the braid and leaned down to kiss the back of her neck, but she danced out of reach. ‘I’ve been asked to sing at the farewelling ceremony in front of the whole brotherhood to honour our dead. I’m so nervous.’
    ‘You’ll be wonderful,’ Learon told her.
    ‘You can’t sing a note. What would you know?’ But she smiled. ‘I must go. I’m helping settle the Malaunje from Chariode’s brotherhood. The things they saw...’ Tears glittered in her wine-dark eyes. She kissed Learon’s cheek, then Tobazim’s. ‘You did a wonderful thing, saving them.’
    Then she slipped away.
    Tobazim flushed as he rubbed his cheek. He felt a failure. He wished he could have done more.
    Learon slung an arm around his shoulder. ‘Come on.’
    ‘Wait.’ Seventeen-year-old Athlyn had found them. Also from the winery, he was the only other T’En survivor. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. If we hurry, you’ll see them.’
    ‘See who?’
    But he was already leading them upstairs, through the brotherhood’s many wounded, who had spilled out of the infirmary. Athlyn led them out onto a second-floor balcony overlooking the street.
    ‘What are we looking at?’ Learon asked.
    ‘There.’ Athlyn pointed, as All-father Kyredeon and his voice-of-reason and hand-of-force left the palace through the gate below. They wore their brotherhood torcs and formal robes.
    Athlyn nudged Tobazim. ‘And there goes All-father Hueryx and his two seconds.’
    ‘What’s going on?’ Tobazim whispered. ‘Where are all the brotherhood leaders going?’
    Ceyne, the sawbones, joined them on the balcony. He looked pale and tired. ‘The sisterhoods have called an all-council to elect a causare. Someone must negotiate with King Charald.’ He stretched and rubbed his neck. ‘The brotherhoods are furious. The sisterhoods have nominated All-mother Imoshen for causare.’
    Tobazim frowned. ‘The one who executed Rohaayel and the gift-warriors?’
    Ceyne nodded. ‘The all-fathers have never forgiven her.’
    Learon whistled. They watched two more all-fathers go by with their seconds.
    ‘Wait a moment,’ Tobazim said. ‘There are nine brotherhoods but only six sisterhoods. The all-fathers can outvote...’
    Ceyne was shaking his head. ‘Two all-fathers have nominated themselves for causare, Hueryx and Paragian. Unless one of them steps down, they’ll split the brotherhood vote and Imoshen will win.’
    ‘Then one of them will have to back down.’
    Ceyne laughed bitterly. ‘Have you ever known a brotherhood leader to back down?’

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    S ORNE WOKE WITH a dry mouth and a full bladder. His head felt fuzzy, as if he’d been drinking all night, but he never took more than one glass of wine; a half-blood could not afford to let down his guard among True-men. He sat up gingerly, trying to recall last night without success. When he tried to force the memory, it felt like prodding a bruise.
    Meanwhile, King Charald’s angry voice carried clearly through the tent walls.
    Sorne rolled to his feet, looking for a chamber pot. He was a little unsteady, but he found the pot and undid the drawstring of the too-short breeches.
    Why was he wearing borrowed clothes? How had he ended up here? And where was he?
    Diffused light dappled the tent walls. He could smell camp fires, hear King Charald in a rage, men shouting as they organised other men and pipers playing... it all added up to an army camp.
    But where was the camp?
    Sorne laced up, poured water into a bowl and washed his hands. He went to wash his face, but caught Charald saying something about the Wyrd city.
    And it came back to him. Finding the standing