The blade did not feel so light in his hand. He remembered Teclis’s warning that trying to summon the power within it too often would kill the spirits bound into it and make the sword useless.

‘I still don’t understand how you triggered it,’ Alarielle said.

‘Neither do I,’ said Tyrion. In the distance he could hear more Cold Ones bellowing, and the shrieks of the druchii infantry as they came closer. ‘We’ve got to go.’

They ran, with the hordes of Malekith howling at their heels.

Death looked over the gameboard at Caledor. He smiled appreciatively. ‘A good move,’ he said, ‘triggering the sword.’

‘Tyrion could have done that anyway,’ Caledor said. ‘I merely nudged his hand.’

‘Still, it’s fortunate that you did, or you might have lost one of your most powerful pieces.’

Caledor studied the board and the image of Tyrion sprang into his mind. The poisoned wound was still there, aggravated by Death’s magic. It could kill the elf prince at any time. A horde of pawns was closing in around Tyrion’s position.

‘I still might,’ Caledor said. ‘You have been playing very subtly yourself.’

‘Such is my nature,’ said Death.

He reached down and began moving more pawns. The net of living steel around Tyrion and the Everqueen started to tighten.

Ahead, the wide rushing river swept past Tyrion in a great curve, disappearing under the shadow of titanic trees. The branches of the largest trees overhung the river. Vines dangled down almost to the waters.

Behind them, he could hear the sounds of pursuit drawing closer. Tyrion’s side hurt from the running and the poisoned wound. He knew that he would not be able to go on for much further and still be able to fight – there was no chance of being able to overcome a force of the size that pursued them.

They did not have time to swim. The dark elves would be able to use their crossbows to shoot them before they reached the other bank. They might abstain from shooting Alarielle because she was the Everqueen, but they would certainly kill him.

He would have been willing to let that happen if he thought that it would enable her to get away, but he doubted that it would. They might shoot to wound her and that might have disastrous consequences. A wounded swimmer and a strong current were a recipe for disaster.

He looked over at Alarielle. She was as winded as he was from the long chase. Her breath came out in pants and sweat stained her clothes. Her hair was lank.

‘This is the Everflow,’ she said. ‘We used to come here when I was a girl.’

He smiled sourly. ‘That’s nice. Perhaps you would care to share the story with the dark elves when they get here. I’m sure they will be charmed.’

‘I think I will save my girlish reminiscences for more congenial company,’ she said. ‘We need to get across the river.’

‘A short swim would seem to be in order,’ said Tyrion.

‘You are in no condition to cross this river while wearing full armour. I have seen strong swimmers sucked under by the current here. I would not give a crumb of waybread for your chances.’

‘It is not beyond my wit to take off the armour.’

‘There is another way,’ she said.