‘Coastal. Remember? We ain’t officially in the Seventh and I don’t care if you was Kulp’s long-lost brother, if you’re of a mind to use that tone on me, you’d better start telling me about the tragic loss of your uniform and maybe I’ll buy the song and start callin’ you “sir” or maybe I won’t and you’ll get your nose busted flat.’

Duiker blinked – I seem to recall we’ve gone through something like this once before – then continued slowly, ‘You are Marines and Fist Coltaine might well be interested in your story, and as Imperial Historian so am I. The Coastal detachments were headquartered in Sialk, meaning Captain Lull is your commander. No doubt he too will want to hear your report. Finally, the rest of the Seventh and two additional Wickan clans are on their way here, along with close to forty-five thousand refugees. Gentlemen, wherever you came from to get here, here you are, meaning you are back in the Imperial Army.’

Stormy stepped forward to squint at Duiker. ‘Kulp had a lot to say about you, Historian, though I can’t quite recall if any of it was good.’ He hesitated, then cradled his crossbow in one arm and held out a thick, hairless hand. ‘Even so, I’ve dreamed of meeting the bastard to blame for all we’ve been through, though I wish we still had a certain grumpy old man with us so I could wrap him in ribbons and stuff him down your throat.’

‘That was said in great affection,’ Gesler drawled.

Duiker ignored the proffered hand, and after a moment the soldier withdrew it with a shrug. ‘I need to know,’ the historian said in a low voice, ‘what happened to Kulp.’

‘We wouldn’t mind knowing that, too,’ Stormy said.

Two of the Clan’s warleaders came down to speak with Nether. She frowned at their words.

Duiker pulled his attention away from the marines. ‘What is happening, Nether?’

She gestured and the warleaders withdrew. ‘The cavalry are establishing a camp upriver, less than three hundred paces away. They are making no preparations to attack. They’ve begun felling trees.’

‘Trees? Both banks are high cliffs up there.’

She nodded.

Unless they’re simply building a palisade, not a floating bridge, which would be pointless in any case – they can’t hope to span the gorge, can they?

Gesler spoke behind them. ‘We could take the dory upstream for a closer look.’

Nether turned, her eyes hard as they fixed on the corporal. ‘What is wrong with your ship?’ she demanded in a febrile tone.

Gesler shrugged. ‘Got a little singed, but she’s still seaworthy.’

She said nothing, her gaze unwavering.

The corporal grimaced, reached under his burnt jerkin and withdrew a bone whistle that hung by a cord around his neck. ‘The crew’s dead but that don’t slow ‘em any.’