‘I am unaware,’ Jethiss said, ‘as I have lost many of my memories.’

Badland’s tangled brows rose in understanding. ‘Ah! Well … there’s one old story from another land far to the south and west. Its name’s forgotten, but the story goes of two champion swordsmen from that land who had met and fought numerous times, to the satisfaction of neither. Finally, to settle the matter of who was the greater swordsman, they decided to request that the Forkrul adjudicate.’

The Losts shared savage grins. ‘And they did,’ they announced together. ‘They killed both of them!’ And the cousins roared with laughter and raised their tankards.

Kyle watched the bard shoot his companion, Jethiss, a sideways glance. The Andii appeared to be holding his features carefully neutral.

‘Then neither of them must have been any good,’ a new voice said from the dark and Kyle half jumped from his seat; but the Losts were not startled and waved the newcomer forward.

It was an old man – no, a middle-aged man who had endured a very hard life, Kyle thought. He was startlingly dark, of Quon Tali Dal Hon descent. His close-cut kinked hair was shot with grey. His features were drawn and thin, a rough landscape of wrinkles and scars; a man who had endured a harrowing time. He wore a suit of light leather armour that from its much-worn appearance probably served as under-padding for a heavier banded or mail coat.

Stalker made introductions: ‘Kyle, this is Cal-Brinn, Captain of the Crimson Guard Fourth Company. Cal-Brinn, Kyle, once one of the Guard with me ’n’ Badlands.’

Kyle stood and extended his arm. The captain took his forearm in a firm grip. His smile was small and tight, but appeared genuinely warm. ‘Welcome. So, you were in the Guard with the Losts here?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you helped rescue K’azz?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I am in your debt.’

‘Not at all! I just wanted to do the right thing.’

‘I believe that you did.’

‘What news, Cal?’ Stalker asked, easing back on to his bench.

‘I have a Blade watching the Bain border. They report activity. It looks like they are scouting routes east.’

Stalker nodded grimly. ‘Then they’re coming.’

‘You routed them once,’ Badlands observed.

Kyle spoke up: ‘I don’t think you will this time.’

All eyes turned to him. ‘Oh?’ Cal-Brinn enquired.

He eased back on the bench. ‘I was in Mantle not five days ago. They’re besieging it, and they’re no longer a ragtag mob of fortune-hunters, marauders and thieves. The core of an army has arrived and they’re knocking them into shape.’

‘Soldiery?’ Stalker asked. ‘From where?’

‘Lether, I believe.’

Cal-Brinn grunted. ‘Never faced them. What numbers?’

‘Of regulars? A few hundred, I’d estimate.’

Stalker frowned down into his beer. ‘So they have a spine now. That’s bad for us.’

Fisher faced Stalker directly. ‘Now you must see the foolishness of remaining here in the Greathall. They’ll just surround you, cut you off, and burn you down.’