Momentarily blinded, Ignacio still managed to parry Stefanelli’s next few lunges. The lieutenant was weakening now, his face grey. He shifted his grip on his blade and fractionally changed his stance, and Ignacio saw his opportunity.

Ignacio feinted to the right and stepped in close on his left foot. Stefanelli fell for the bluff and Ignacio’s sword went low into his back, the tip emerging briefly from his side before withdrawing.

Ignacio flicked blood from his sword as Lieutenant Stefanelli fell to his knees.

Brother Sebastian came over and prepared to perform the last rites, until a hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“No, brother,” said a petite, dark-haired warrior of the Swords, whom Ignacio remembered was called Susannah. “This one does not deserve your mercy, or absolution.”

Susannah grabbed Stefanelli by the hair and, with one efficient strike from her blade, removed his head from his shoulders.

“Burn the remains, Brother Sebastian.”

Susannah threw the head to the ground and held her hand out to Ignacio; blood slicked her palm.

“The Lord of All chose well, Ignacio, and has revealed to us his chosen warrior. Will you lead us on this expedition?”

Ignacio looked at the headless corpse at his feet and the blood staining the sand. His had been the hand of judgement and it felt right that his sword had been the tool of the Lord’s vengeance.

“Do you see the light, brother?”

“Yes.” Hadn’t this been the glory revealed to him in the cells of Scholten Cathedral? Hadn’t this been the path that the Lord had intended he take all along? “Yes, I see the light.”

“Then lead us. Help us to find Makennon’s heretics and bring them to justice.”

Ignacio took Susannah’s hand. Once the Final Faith had been his enemy, but now he could see that all he had been running from was his own destiny.

Emuel didn’t know how long he had been crawling. Perhaps days. Once he had walked, but his water had run out, the sun had leached the last of his strength and he had been reduced to this — a babbling infant amongst the dunes. Even when the night came there was no relief; the moon burned as hot as the sun, its brilliant white heat searing into the very core of him.