‘Take them,’ the revenant said to Setoc, and the undead eyes he fixed upon her blazed—one human and wrinkled in death, the other bright and amber—the eye of a wolf. Setoc gasped. ‘You are not the Reaper’s servant!’ ‘It’s my flaw,’ he replied. ‘What is?’ ‘Cursed by . . . indecision. Take them, camp within the circle. Wait.’ ‘For what?’ The rider collected the reins and drew the beast round. ‘For his war to end, Destriant.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘We leave when I return.’
