Duiker found Nether seated cross-legged beneath the awning, her eyes closed. The historian waited, suspecting that she was in sorcerous communication with Sormo. After a few minutes she sighed. ‘What news?’ she asked, eyes still shut.

‘They’ve strung lines across the gorge and are sending archers to the other side. What is happening, Nether? Why hasn’t Korbolo Dom attacked? He could crush us and not break into a sweat.’

‘Coltaine is less than two hours away. It seems the enemy commander would wait.’

‘He should have heeded the lesson of Kamist Reloe’s arrogance.’

‘A new Fist and a renegade Fist – does it surprise you that Korbolo Dom would choose to make this contest personal?’

‘No, but it certainly justifies Empress Laseen’s dismissal of Dom.’

‘Fist Coltaine was chosen over him. Indeed, the Empress had made it clear that Korbolo would never advance further in the Imperial Command. The renegade feels he has something to prove. With Kamist Reloe, we faced battles of brute strength. But now,’ we shall see battles of wits.’

‘If Coltaine comes to us, he will be stepping into the jaws of a dragon, and that’s hardly disguised.’

‘He comes.’

‘Then perhaps arrogance has cursed both commands.’

Nether opened her eyes. ‘Where is the corporal?’

Duiker shrugged. ‘Somewhere. Not far.’

‘The Silanda shall take as many wounded soldiers as it can carry – those who will eventually mend, that is. To Aren. Coltaine enquires if you wish to accompany them, Historian.’

Not arrogance at all, then, but fatal acceptance. He knew he should have hesitated, given the suggestion sober thought, but heard his own voice reply, ‘No.’

She nodded. ‘He knew you would answer thus, and say it quickly as well.’ Frowning, she searched Duiker’s face. ‘How does Coltaine know such things?’

Duiker was startled. ‘You are asking me? Hood’s breath, lass, the man’s a Wickan!’

‘And no less a cipher to us, Historian. The clans do as he commands and say nothing. It is not shared certainty or mutual understanding that breeds our silence. It is awe.’

Duiker could say nothing to that. He found himself turning away, eyes caught and gathered into the sky’s sweeping blurs of pale yellow. They migrate. Creatures of instinct. A mindless plunge into fatal currents. A beautiful, horrifying dance to Hood, every step mapped out. Every step . . .

The Fist arrived in darkness, the warriors of the Crow slipping forward to establish a corridor down which the vanguard rode, followed by the wagons burdened with those wounded that had been selected for the Silanda.

Coltaine, his face gaunt and lined with exhaustion, strode down to where Duiker, Nether and Gesler waited near the awning. Behind the Fist came Bult, captains Lull and Sulmar, Corporal List and the warlocks Sormo and Nil.

Lull strode up to Gesler.

The marine corporal scowled. ‘You ain’t as pretty as I remembered, sir.’

‘I know you by reputation, Gesler. Once a captain, then a sergeant, now a corporal. You’ve got your boots to the sky on the ladder—’