‘Calat Hustain is not here.’

‘Lord Ilgast—’

‘Was given command of the Wardens. Sergeant, who is this “we” you speak of?’

Kullis snorted. ‘Your kin, sir. All of whom are now looking to you. This moment, sir. They are looking to you.’

‘I conveyed Hunn Raal’s words,’ Havaral said, ‘and the lord chooses to answer them.’

‘Yes sir, I see the knife in his hand. But we sacks of blood now bear beads of sweat.’

Havaral looked away. The sickness pooling in his stomach churned. His eyes travelled down the length of the Wardens waiting on their wood-armoured horses, the breaths of the beasts softly pluming, the occasional head tossing amidst the mosquitoes. His kin were motionless in their saddles, their lacquered, banded-wood breastplates gleaming in the bright sunlight. Beneath the rims of their helmets he saw, one after another, faces too young for this.

My blessed misfits, who could never in comfort wear the soldier’s garb. Who forever stood outside the company of others. Could face down a dozen scaled wolves, and not blink. Ride to the Vitr and voice no complaint at the poison air. Wait here now, for the call to advance, and then to charge. My children.

My sacks of blood.

‘Sir.’

‘Urusander’s Legion is eager for this,’ Havaral said. ‘Once at strength, it would have had to march on the Wardens, before closing on Kharkanas. The Legion could not countenance us at its back. We meet it today, on dead grasses and in a bitter wind, and dream of a gentle spring to come.’

‘Sir—’

Havaral turned on the man, his face twisting. ‘Do you think the captains have all remained mute?’ he hissed. ‘Did you fools actually imagine we swallowed down our bile, and did nothing but bow meekly before our commander?’

Kullis flinched slightly at his captain’s words.

‘Hear me,’ Havaral said, ‘I do not command here. What shame would you have me suffer? Do you think I will not be riding down there with you? With my lance drawn and hard at your side? Abyss take you, Kullis – you have unmanned me!’

‘Sir, I did not mean such a thing. Forgive me my words.’

‘Did I not warn you against matters of faith?’

‘You did, sir. I am sorry.’

Voices rose then, drawing their attention to the valley floor, where two small figures had appeared, one pursuing the other.

They then, in silence, witnessed a murder.

Skirmishers arrived to chase away the child, and continued on in their advance.

A moment later, Ilgast Rend’s voice carried clear in the cold air. ‘The Legion ill keeps its tent, it seems. Think well on that misery, Wardens, and the cruelty of childhood. Hunn Raal commands the field of play in the manner of the thug. The bully. And dreams of a place for himself in the Citadel.’ The words did not echo, as the wind was quick to sweep them away. After a brief pause, the lord continued, ‘But you are children no longer. Awaken what memories you need, and make answer!’