The man hesitated, then answered with his own smile. ‘You’ve no sense of humour. Perhaps it is due to travelling so long without company that you have forgotten the games soldiers play. Have you eaten? We came upon a party of Mezla only this morning, and they were all too generous with their food and possessions. We shall visit them again, at dawn. There are women among them.’

Kalam scowled. ‘And this is your war against the Mezla? You are armed, you are mounted – why have you not joined the armies of the Apocalypse? Kamist Reloe needs warriors like you. I ride south to join in the siege of Aren, which must surely come.’

‘As do we – to walk through Aren’s yawning gates!’ the man replied fervently. ‘And more, we bring livestock with us, to help feed our brothers in the army! Do you suggest we ignore the rich Mezla we come upon?’

‘The Odhan will kill them without our help,’ the assassin said. ‘You have their oxen.’ Aren’s yawning gates . . . the Jhistal within. What does that mean? Jhistal, not a familiar word, not Seven Cities. Falari?

The man’s expression had cooled in response to Kalam’s words. ‘We attack them at dawn. Do you ride with us, Mekral?’

‘They are south of here?’

‘They are. Less than an hour’s ride.’

‘Then it is the direction I am already travelling, so I shall join you.’

‘Excellent!’

‘But there is nothing holy in rape,’ Kalam growled.

‘No, not holy.’ The man grinned. ‘But just.’

They rode in the night, beneath a vast scatter of stars. One of the bandits had stayed behind with the oxen and other booty, leaving Kalam riding with a party of six. All carried short recurved bows, though their supply of arrows was low – not a single quiver held more than three, and all with ragged fletching. The weapons would be effective at close range only.

Bordu, the bandit leader, told the assassin that the Malazan refugees consisted of one man – a Malazan soldier – two women and two young boys. He was certain that the soldier had been wounded in the first ambush. Bordu did not expect much of a fight. They would take down the men first. ‘Then we can play with the women and boys – perhaps you will change your mind, Mekral.’

Kalam’s only response was a grunt. He knew men such as these. Their courage held so long as they outnumbered their victims, the hollow glory they thirsted for came with overpowering and terrorizing the helpless. Such creatures were common in the world, and a land locked in war left them to run free, the brutal truths behind every just cause. They were given a name in the Ehrlii tongue: e’ptarh le’gebran, the vultures of violence.