Not by half, Corporal, and we both know it. Worse, we’ll be outnumbered by more than three to one. ‘Likely to be a memorable ride, then.’

List nodded, his attention drawn to the forest. ‘I’ve never seen so many butterflies in one place.’

‘They migrate, like birds.’

‘It’s said the river is very low.’

‘Good.

‘But the crossing’s narrow in any case. Most of the river cuts through a gorge.’

‘Do you ride in the same fashion, Corporal? Tug one way, tug the other.’

‘Just weighing things out, sir.’

‘What do your visions reveal of that river?’

List’s expression tightened. ‘It is a border, sir. Beyond it lies the past.’

‘And the rings of stones here on this hill?’

The man started, looking down. ‘Hood’s breath,’ he muttered, then met the historian’s eyes.

Duiker crooked a grin, gathered up his reins. ‘I see the Foolish Dog’s on its way forward. It wouldn’t do to have them wait for us.’

A loud yapping bit the air at the vanguard, and as the historian trotted to join the gathered officers he was startled to see, among the cattle-dogs, a small, long-haired lapdog, its once perfectly groomed coat a snarl of tangles and burrs.

‘I’d supposed that rat had long since gone through one of the dogs,’ Duiker said.

‘I’m already wishing it had,’ List said. ‘That bark hurts the ears. Look at it, prancing around like it rules the pack.’

‘Perhaps it does. Attitude, Corporal, has a certain efficacy that should never be underestimated.’

Coltaine swung his horse around at their approach. ‘Historian. I have called yet again for the captain of the company of Engineers. I begin to believe the man does not exist – tell me, have you ever seen him?’

Duiker shook his head. ‘I am afraid not, although I have been assured that he still lives, Fist.’

‘By whom?’

The historian frowned. ‘I... I can’t actually recall.’

‘Precisely. It occurs to me that the sappers have no captain, and they’d rather not acquire one.’

‘That would be a rather complicated deceit to carry off, Fist.’

‘You feel they are incapable?’

‘Oh no, sir, not at all.’

Coltaine waited, but the historian had nothing further to say on the matter, and after a moment the Fist sighed. ‘You would ride with the Foolish Dog?’

‘Yes, Fist. However, I ask that Corporal List remain here, with the main column—’

‘But sir—’

‘Not another word from you, Corporal,’ Duiker said. ‘Fist, he’s anything but healed.’

Coltaine nodded.

Bult’s horse surged between the Fist and the historian. The veteran’s lance darted from his hand, speeding in a blur into the high grasses lining the trail. The yapping lapdog shrieked in alarm and raced off, bounding like a ragged ball of mud and straw. ‘Hood’s curse!’ Bult snarled. ‘Again!’

‘It’s little wonder it won’t quieten,’ Coltaine commented, ‘with you trying to kill it daily.’