‘The Foolish Dog Clan will join your companies on the other side,’ Coltaine said. ‘If the Guran forces try to take that side of the ford during the crossing, you will stop them.’ The Fist wheeled to Captain Lull. ‘You and the Weasel Clan shall guard this side while the wounded and the refugees cross. I will maintain position to the south, blocking the village road, until the way is clear.’

Captain Sulmar cleared his throat. ‘About the order of crossing, Fist. The Council of Nobles will scream—’

‘I care not. The wagons cross first, with the wounded. Then the livestock, then the refugees.’

‘Perhaps if we split it up more,’ Sulmar persisted, sweat glistening on his flat brow, ‘a hundred cattle, then a hundred nobles—’

‘Nobles?’ Bult asked. ‘You meant refugees, surely.’

‘Of course—’

Captain Lull sneered at Sulmar. ‘Trying to buy favours on both sides, are you? And here I thought you were a soldier of the Seventh.’

Sulmar’s face darkened.

‘Splitting the crossing would be suicide,’ Chenned said.

‘Aye,’ Bult growled, eyeing Sulmar as if he was a piece of rancid meat.

‘We’ve a responsibility—’ the captain snapped before Coltaine cut him off with a snarled curse.

It was enough. There was silence in the room. From outside came the creak of wagon wheels.

Bult grunted. ‘Mouthpiece ain’t enough.’

The door opened a moment later and two men entered. The one in the lead wore a spotless light-blue brocaded coat. Whatever muscle he’d carried in youth had given way to fat, and that fat had withered with three months of desperate flight. With a face like a wrinkled leather bag, he nonetheless projected a coddled air that was now tinged with indignant hurt. The man a step behind him also wore fine clothes – although reduced by dust and sweat to little more than shapeless sacks hanging from his lean frame. He was bald, the skin of his scalp patchy with old sunburn. He squinted at the others with watery eyes, blinking rapidly.

The first nobleman spoke. ‘Word of this gathering reached the Council belatedly—’

‘Unofficially, too,’ Bult muttered dryly.

The nobleman continued with the barest of pauses. ‘Events such as these are admittedly concerned with military discussions for the most part, and Heavens forbid the Council involve itself with such matters. However, as representatives of the nearly thirty thousand refugees now gathered here, we have assembled a list of .. . issues ... that we would like to present to you.’

‘You represent a few thousand nobles,’ Captain Lull said, ‘and as such your own Hood-damned interests and no-one else’s, Nethpara. Save the piety for the latrines.’

Nethpara did not deign to acknowledge the captain’s comments. His gaze held on Coltaine, awaiting a reply.

The Fist gave no sign that he was prepared to provide one. ‘Find the sappers, Uncle,’ he said to Bult. ‘The wagons begin crossing in an hour.’

The veteran Wickan slowly nodded.