Bult asked, ‘Who was High Fist before him?’

‘Cartheron Crust, who drowned one night in Aren Harbour.’

Kulp snorted. ‘Crust could swim drunk through a hurricane, but then he went and drowned just like his brother Urko. Neither body was ever found, of course.’

‘Meaning?’

Kulp grinned at Bult, but said nothing.

‘Both Crust and Urko were the Emperor’s men,’ Duiker explained. ‘It seems they shared the same fate as most of Kellanved’s companions, including Toe the Elder and Ameron. None of their bodies were ever found, either.’ The historian shrugged. ‘Old history now. Forbidden history, in fact.’

‘You assume they were murdered at Laseen’s command,’ Bult said, baring his jagged teeth. ‘But imagine a circumstance where the Empress’s most able commanders simply ... disappeared. Leaving her isolated, desperate for able people. You forget, Historian, that before Laseen became Empress, she was close companions with Crust, Urko, Ameron, Dassem and the others. Imagine her now alone, still feeling the wounds of abandonment.’

‘And her murder of the other close companions – Kellanved and Dancer – was not something she imagined would affect her friendship with those commanders?’ Duiker shook his head, aware of the bitterness in his voice. They were my companions, too.

‘Some errors in judgement can never be undone,’ Bult said. ‘The Emperor and Dancer were able conquerors, but were they able rulers?’

‘We’ll never know,’ Duiker snapped.

The Wickan’s sigh was almost a snort. ‘No, but if there was one person close to the throne capable of seeing what was to come, it was Laseen.’

Coltaine spat on the floor once again. ‘That is all to say on the matter, Historian. Record the words that have been uttered here, if you do not find them too sour a taste.’ He glanced over at a silent Sormo E’nath, frowning as he studied his warlock.

‘Even if I choked on them,’ Duiker replied, ‘I would recount them nonetheless. I could not call myself a historian if it were otherwise.’

‘Very well, then.’ The Fist’s gaze remained on Sormo E’nath. ‘Tell me, Historian, what hold does Mallick Rel have over Pormqual?’

‘I wish I knew, Fist.’

‘Find out.’

‘You are asking me to become a spy.’

Coltaine turned to him with a faint smile. ‘And what were you in the trader’s tent, Duiker?’

Duiker grimaced. ‘I would have to go to Aren. I do not think Mallick Rel would welcome me to inner councils any more. Not after witnessing his humiliation here. In fact, I warrant he has marked me as an enemy now, and his enemies have a habit of disappearing.’

‘I shall not disappear,’ Coltaine said. He stepped closer, reached out and gripped the historian’s shoulder. ‘We shall disregard Mallick Rel, then. You will be attached to my staff.’

‘As you command, Fist,’ Duiker said.

‘This council is ended.’ Coltaine spun to his warlock. ‘Sormo, you shall recount for me this morning’s adventure ... later.’

The warlock bowed.

Duiker retrieved his cloak and, followed by Kulp, left the chamber. As the doors closed behind them, the historian plucked at the cadre mage’s sleeve. ‘A word with you. In private.’