Duiker, with the now ever-present Corporal List standing at his shoulder, sat wearily in a camp chair, listening to the commanders make their reports with a dismay that slowly numbed. Lull had lost fully half his marines, and the auxiliaries that had supported him had fared even worse. The Weasel Clan had been mauled during the withdrawal – a shortage of horses was now their main concern. From the Seventh, captains Chenned and Sulmar recounted a seemingly endless litany of wounded and dead. It seemed that their officers and squad sergeants, in particular, had taken heavy losses. The pressure against the defensive line had been enormous, especially early in the day – before support had arrived in the form of the Red Blades and the Foolish Dog Clan. The tale of Baria Setral and his company’s fall rode many a breath. They had fought with demonic ferocity, holding the front ranks, purchasing with their lives a crucial period in which the infantry was able to regroup. The Red Blades had shown valour, enough to earn comment from Coltaine himself.

Sormo had lost two of his warlock children in the struggle against the Semk wizard-priests, although both Nil and Nether survived. ‘We were lucky,’ he said after reporting the deaths in a cool, dispassionate tone. ‘The Semk god is a vicious Ascendant. It uses the wizards to channel its rage, without regard for their mortal flesh. Those unable to withstand their god’s power simply disintegrated.’

‘That’ll cut their numbers down,’ Lull said with a grunt.

‘The god simply chooses more,’ Sormo said. More and more he had begun to look like an old man, even in his gestures. Duiker watched the youth close his eyes and press his knuckles against them. ‘More extreme measures must be taken.’

The others were silent, until Chenned gave voice to everyone’s uncertainty. ‘What does that mean, Warlock?’

Bult said, ‘Words carried on breath can be heard ... by a vengeful, paranoid god. If no alternative exists, Sormo, then proceed.’

The warlock slowly nodded.

After a moment Bult sighed loudly, pausing to drink from a bladder before speaking. ‘Kamist Reloe is heading north. He’ll cross at the river mouth – Sekala town has a stone bridge. But to do so means he loses ten, maybe eleven days.’

‘The Guran infantry will stay with us,’ Sulmar said. ‘As will the Semk. They need not stand toe to toe to do us damage. Exhaustion will claim us before much longer.’

Bult’s wide mouth pressed into a straight line. ‘Coltaine has proclaimed tomorrow a day of rest. Cattle will be slaughtered, the enemy’s dead horses butchered and cooked. Weapons and armour repaired.’

Duiker lifted his head. ‘Do we still march for Ubaryd?’

No-one answered.

The historian studied the commanders. He saw nothing hopeful in their faces. ‘The city has fallen.’