They continued on, winding between the tent rows. Smoke hung heavy in the air, as did the smell of horse urine and boiled bones, the latter acrid yet strangely sweet. Duiker paused as they passed close to an old woman tending one such iron pot of bones. Whatever boiled in the pot wasn’t entirely water. The woman was using a flat blade of wood to collect the thick bone fat and marrow that congealed on the surface, scraping it into an intestine to be later twisted and tied off into sausages.

The old woman noticed the historian and held up the wooden blade – as she would if offering it to a toddler to lick clean. Flecks of sage were visible in the fat – a herb Duiker had once loved but had come to despise, since it was one of the few native to the Odhan. He smiled and shook his head.

As he caught up with Lull, the captain said, ‘You’re known, old man. They say you walk in the spirit world. That old horsewife wouldn’t offer food to just anybody – not me, that’s for certain.’

The spirit world. Yes, I walked there. Once. Never again. ‘See an old man in crusty rags...’

‘And he’s gods-touched, aye. Don’t mock out loud – it might save your skin one day.’

Nil’s hearth was unique among the others in sight in that it held no cooking pot, nor was it framed in drying racks bedecked with curing strips of meat. The burning dung within the small ring of stones was almost smokeless, revealing a naked, blue-tinged flame. The young warlock sat to one side of the hearth, his hands deftly pleating strips of leather into something like a whip.

Four of Lull’s marines squatted nearby, each running through a last check of their weapons and armour. Their assault crossbows had been freshly blackened, then smeared in greasy dust to remove the gleam.

One glance told Duiker that these were hard soldiers, veterans, their movements economical, their preparations professional. Neither the man nor the three women were under thirty, and none spoke or looked up as their captain joined them.

Nil nodded to Duiker as the historian crouched down opposite him. ‘It promises to be a cold night,’ the boy said.

‘Have you found the location of this warleader?’

‘Not precisely. A general area. He may possess some minor wards against detection – once we get closer they will not avail him.’

‘How do you hunt down someone distinguished only by his or her competence, Nil?’

The young warlock shrugged. ‘He’s left... other signs. We shall find him, that is certain. And then it is up to them—’ He jerked his head towards the marines. ‘I have come to a realization, Historian, over these past months on this plain.’

‘And that is?’