The captain shook his head and gestured towards a large farmhouse on the cattle side of the ford road. ‘There, Coltaine’s own Crow Clan are guarding the south side, along the hills, making sure none of the livestock strays or gets plucked by the locals – there’s a village over on the other side.’

‘Did you say Sahul Fleet? Why aren’t you with Admiral Nok in Aren, Captain?’

The red-haired soldier grimaced. ‘Wish we were. We left the fleet and pulled up in Sialk for repairs – our transport was seventy years old, started shipping water two hours out from Hissar. The mutiny happened the same night, so we left the ship, gathered up what was left of the local Marine company, then escorted the exodus out of Sialk.’

The farmhouse they approached was a sturdy, imposing structure, its inhabitants having just fled the arrival of Coltaine’s train. Its foundation was of cut stone, and the walls were split logs chinked with sun-fired clay. A soldier of the Seventh stood guard in front of a solid oak door. He nodded to Captain Lull, then narrowed his eyes on Duiker.

‘Ignore the tribal garb,’ Lull told him, ‘this one’s ours. Who’s here?’

‘Everybody but the Fist, the Warlocks and the captain of the sappers, sir.’

‘Forget the captain,’ Lull said. ‘He ain’t bothered showing for one of these yet.’

‘Yes sir.’ The soldier thumped a gauntleted fist on the door, then pushed it open.

Woodsmoke drifted out. Duiker and the captain stepped inside. Bult and two officers of the Seventh were crouched at the massive stone fireplace at the room’s far end, arguing over what was obviously a blocked chimney.

Lull unclipped his sword belt and hung the weapon on a hook by the door. ‘What in Hood’s name are you building a fire for?’ he demanded. ‘Ain’t it hot and stinking enough in here?’ He waved at the smoke.

One of the Seventh’s officers turned and Duiker recognized him as the soldier who’d stood at his side when Coltaine and his Wickans first landed in Hissar. Their eyes met.

‘Togg’s feet, it’s the historian!’

Bult straightened and swung around. Scar and mouth both shifted into twin grins. ‘Sormo was right – he’d sniffed you on our trail weeks back. Welcome, Duiker!’

His legs threatening to give way under him, Duiker sat down in one of the chairs pushed against a wall. ‘Good to see you, Uncle,’ he said, leaning back and wincing at his aching muscles.

‘We were going to brew some herbal tea,’ the Wickan said, his eyes red and watering. The old veteran had lost weight, his pallor grey with exhaustion.

‘For the love of clear lungs give it up,’ Lull said. ‘What’s keeping the Fist anyway? I can’t wait to hear what mad scheme he’s concocted to get us out of this one.’

‘He’s pulled it off this far,’ Duiker said.