A horseman approached from behind at a canter.

Duiker saw the duellist’s eyes dart over the historian’s shoulder.

Corporal List reined in, ignoring the nobleman. ‘My apologies, sir,’ he said. ‘I was delayed at the smithy. Where is your horse?’

‘With the main herd,’ Duiker replied. ‘A day off for the poor beast – long overdue.’

For a young man of low rank, List managed an impressive expression of cold regard as he finally looked down at the nobleman. ‘If we arrive late, sir,’ he said to Duiker, ‘Coltaine will demand an explanation.’

The historian addressed the nobleman. ‘Are we done here?’

The man gave a curt nod. ‘For now,’ he said.

Escorted by the corporal, Duiker resumed his journey through the nobles’ camp. When they had gone a dozen paces, List leaned over his saddle. ‘Alar looked ready to call you out, Historian.’

‘He’s known, then? Alar.’

‘Pullyk Alar—’

‘How unfortunate for him.’

List grinned.

They came to a central clearing in the encampment and discovered a whipping underway. The short, wide man with the leather cat-tail in one heat-bloated hand was familiar. The victim was a servant. Three other servants stood off to one side, their eyes averted. A few other noble-born stood nearby, gathered around a weeping woman and voicing murmurs of consolation.

Lenestro’s gold-brocaded cloak had lost some of its brilliant sheen, and in his red-faced frenzy as he swung the cat-tail he looked like a frothing ape performing the traditional King’s Mirror farce at a village fair.

‘I see the nobles are pleased by the return of their servant-folk,’ List said dryly.

‘I suspect this has more to do with a snatched lapdog,’ the historian muttered. ‘In any case, this stops now.’

The corporal glanced over. ‘He’ll simply resume it later, sir.’

Duiker said nothing.

‘Who would steal a lapdog?’ List wondered, staying alongside the historian as he approached Lenestro.

‘Who wouldn’t? We’ve water but we’re still hungry. In any case, one of the Wickan cattle-dogs thought it up before the rest of us – to our collective embarrassment.’

‘I blame preoccupation, sir.’

Lenestro noted their approach and paused his whipping, his breath loud as a bellows.

Ignoring the nobleman, Duiker went to the servant. The man was old, down on his elbows and knees, hands held protectively behind his head. Red welts rode his knuckles, his neck and down the length of his bony back. Beneath the ruin were the tracks of older scars. A jewel-studded leash with a broken collar lay in the dust beside him.

‘Not your business, Historian,’ Lenestro snapped.

‘These servants stood a Tithansi charge at Sekala,’ Duiker said. ‘That defence helped to keep your head on your shoulders, Lenestro.’

‘Coltaine stole property!’ the nobleman squealed. ‘The Council so judged him, the fine has been issued!’

‘Issued,’ List said, ‘and duly pissed on.’

Lenestro wheeled on the corporal, raised his whip.