‘Cordafin,’ he called back.

‘Where’s that?’

Kyle kept walking. How the fuck should I know? I just made it up.

He continued round the broad arc of the camp. There were enough of them, he decided. But they had to be kicked into shape. Was Lyan the one to do it? He found one larger tent, a possible command tent. It at least was guarded, and almost entirely by Genabackans. This convinced him. As he’d thought; they’d recognized her. He approached the guards before the closed flap.

‘I’d like to speak to the Shieldmaiden.’

The guards, two burly veterans, exchanged annoyed looks. ‘You can’t just saunter up and meet a commander,’ one said. ‘You look like a veteran, you should know that. Chain of command. Who’s your sergeant?’

Inwardly, Kyle cursed. ‘I just arrived.’

‘Thought she’d welcome you personally?’ another commented with a sneer.

‘You know her or something?’ the first demanded.

‘We’ve … met.’

‘When?’

Kyle licked his lips. This was rapidly degenerating and now he couldn’t just walk away. ‘On the … the passage in.’

The first grunted. ‘Congratulations. That’s nice.’ He straightened, pointed off. ‘You just arrived? See that big house, the one with two storeys?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to join, you go sign up there.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘You Malazan?’ the second asked.

Kyle managed a scowl. ‘What d’you mean, Malazan? I’m from Jasston.’

‘Jasston? Where the Abyss is that?’

‘Korel.’

This second guard grunted, only slightly mollified. ‘There’s a guy here from Theft. You know Theft?’

Kyle struggled to appear indifferent, shrugged. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘’Cause you don’t look nothing like him.’

Kyle gave a negligent wave then ended the gesture by tucking his hand into his shirt where he took hold of the grip of the white blade. ‘That’s because Theftians look like rats.’

The guard blinked, then they all broke into huge guffaws. Kyle allowed himself a tight grin. After the guards stopped chortling the first looked to him and frowned. ‘Well? Why’re you still here? Go sign your papers.’

Kyle gave a curt nod, then forced himself to amble off. As he walked away, he heard one say, ‘That Theftian did kinda look like a rat …’

He took care to walk in the direction of the two-storey frame and plaster daub house for a time, then, when he was certain he must be out of sight, he cut to the south and lost himself amid a maze of pitched tents. He had no intention of signing anything. So far no one had pointed him out directly as having quite a resemblance to the southern tribes of this region, but he wasn’t about to push his luck.

He’d almost given up hope of coming up with a plan to reach Lyan, short of storming her tent, when through the crowd of armed and armoured men and women, he glimpsed the slight short figure of a youth – Dorrin. The sight filled him with pleasure, and with hope; the lad would take him to Lyan. But it also twisted his throat, as the lad was walking only with the aid of a crutch: his left leg was gone below the knee.