[Envinyatar]

Her voice was edged with hatred, and made ragged by exhaustion. ‘What is it that we do with them now?’

Rhûnnaro leaned on his sword, a glint of amusement in his eyes. She caught the look and he could see her anger flare up again. He walked close to where Shivana and Ekatran sat, bound and propped against each other. Holding the flat of his sword against Ekatran’s cheek, he turned the young man’s face to one side and then to the other. Coming round to stand before Shivana, he did the same. His narrowed as he studied them. ‘Yes, this will do,’ he said quietly, holding his hand out to Tenzin.

Tenzin’s hand dropped to his belt, undoing the dagger that was sheathed there. He came forward and kneeling next to Shivana, grabbed her long dark hair in his fist, twisting it tight about his right hand, holding it securely above her head. His left arm went round her neck and he held her tightly, pinioning her head in his grip. She struggled against him, and pain shot through his wounded shoulder. He choked her even tighter and she held still.

Rhûnnaro crouched down before her, looking into her dark eyes. Even in defeat she would not surrender. He put the palm of his left hand against her forehead and pushed her firmly against Tenzin’s chest.

The tip of the dagger carved three, deep wide gashes on each of her cheeks. They ran from chin to temple, the blood from them running freely to join the old blood of the women she had tried to kill. Rhûnnaro carved a last one on her forehead, then scooped some dirt from the ground beside him into his hand, rubbing it deeply into the open cuts to stanch the blood.

‘Seven unworthy slaves defeated you, Huntress. Now each time you see your reflection you will be reminded of the battle. And others, too, will read the story of your defeat in your face, and they will laugh as you pass, whispering loudly to their companions how you were bested in the Hunt.’ Her eyes blazed at him.

‘We will take this, I think, as a sign of victory. It is an old custom in Rhûn, not often practiced now, but for this battle I will claim my right to it.” He took up his sword, and with the sharp edge chopped her hair close to her head, between Tenzin’s fist and her scalp. Tenzin laid the length of hair to one side as it came free, and pushed Shivana roughly to one side.

It was Ekatran’s turn now, and he struggled mightily at his bonds, hatred burning in his eyes. Tenzin grasped him firmly against him as Turos wrapped the fingers of his good hand round the slavemaster’s hair and yanked it up firmly.

The process was repeated, with the same precision and economy of movement as before. Rhûnnaro spoke not a word to Ekatran as he branded him and cut off his dark hair. For his part, Ekatran too was silent, and made no sounds to show he was pained in any way. He too was shoved roughly to the ground when it was done . . .