There was silence between them for a time. Duiker could make no claim to know the man at his side. If the Fist was plagued by doubts he did not show it, nor, of course, would he. A commander could not reveal his flaws. With Coltaine, however, it was more than his rank dictating his recalcitrance. Even Bult had occasion to mutter that his nephew was a man who isolated himself to levels far beyond the natural Wickan stoicism.

Coltaine never made speeches to his troops, and while he was often seen by his soldiers, he did not make a point of it as many commanders did. Yet those soldiers belonged to him now, as if the Fist could fill every silent space with a physical assurance as solid as a gripping of forearms.

What happens the day that faith is shattered? What if we are but hours from that day?

‘The enemy hunts our scouts,’ Coltaine said. ‘We cannot see what has been prepared for us in the valley ahead.’

‘Sormo’s allies?’

‘The spirits are preoccupied.’

Ah, the Semk godling.

‘Can’eld, Debrahl, Tithan, Semk, Tepasi, Halafan, Ubari, Hissari, Sialk and Guran.’

Four tribes now. Six city legions. Am I hearing doubt?

The Fist spat into the embers. ‘The army that awaits us is one of two holding the south.’

How in Hood’s name does he know this? ‘Has Sha’ik marched out of Raraku, then?’

‘She has not. A mistake.’

‘What holds her back? Has the rebellion been crushed in the north?’

‘Crushed? No, it commands all. As for Sha’ik ...’ Coltaine paused to adjust his crow-feather cape. ‘Perhaps her visions have taken her into the future. Perhaps she knows the Whirlwind shall fail, that even now the Adjunct to the Empress assembles her legions – Unta’s harbour is solid with transports. The Whirlwind’s successes will prove but momentary, a first blood-rush that succeeded only because of Imperial weakness. Sha’ik knows... the dragon has been stirred awake, and moves ponderously still, yet when the full fury comes, it shall scour this land from shore to shore.’

‘This other army, here in the south ... how far away?’

Coltaine straightened. ‘I intend to arrive at Vathar two days before it.’

Word must have reached him that Ubaryd has fallen, along with Devral and Asmar. Vathar – the third and last river. If we make Vathar, it’s a straight run south to Aren – through the most forbidding wasteland on this Hood-Cursed continent. ‘Fist, the River Vathar is still months away. What of tomorrow?’

Coltaine pulled his gaze from the embers and blinked at the historian. ‘Tomorrow we crush Kamist Reloe’s army, of course. One must think far ahead to succeed, Historian. You should understand that.’

The Fist strolled away.