'Damn fucking pinks,' she whispered to herself. She leaned over and spat onto the track, glowered at their five backs as they rode ahead of her. Why had she let Yulwei talk her into this madness? A voyage way off into the cold west where she had no business. She should have been back in the South, fighting the Gurkish.

Making them pay what they owed her.

Cursing the name of Yulwei silently to herself, she followed the others up to the bridge. It looked ancient—pitted stones splattered with stains of lichen, the surface of it rutted deep where a cart's wheels would roll. Thousands of years of carts, rolling back and forward. The stream gurgled under its single arch, bitter cold water, flowing fast. A low hut stood beside the bridge, settled and slumped into the landscape over long years. Some wisps of smoke were snatched from its chimney and out across the land in the cutting wind.

One soldier stood outside, alone. Drew the short straw, maybe. He'd pressed himself against the wall, swathed in a heavy cloak, horse-hair on his helmet whipping back and forth in the gusts, his spear ignored beside him. Bayaz reined his horse in before the bridge and nodded across.

'We're going up onto the plain. Out towards Darmium.'

'Can't advise it. Dangerous up there.'

Bayaz smiled. 'Dangers mean profits.'

'Profits won't stop an arrow, friend.' The soldier looked them up and down, one by one, and sniffed. 'Varied crowd, aren't you?'

'I take good fighters wherever I can find them.'

'Course.' He looked over at Ferro and she scowled back. 'Very tough, I'm sure, but the fact is the plains are deadly, and more than ever now. Some traders are still going up there, but they're not coming back. That madman Cabrian has raiders out there, I reckon, keen for plunder. Scario and Goltus too, they're little better. We keep some shred of law on this side of the stream, but once you're up there, you're on your own. There'll be no help for you if you're caught out on the plain.' He sniffed again. 'No help at all.'

Bayaz nodded grimly. 'We ask for none.' He spurred his horse and it began to trot over the bridge, onto the track on the other side. The others followed behind, Longfoot first, then Luthar, then Ninefingers. Quai shook the reins and the cart clattered across. Ferro brought up the rear.

'No help at all!' the soldier called after her, before he wedged himself back against the rough wall of his hut.

The great plain.