Serap laughed.

Settling back in her chair, Sharenas nodded. ‘And this was a man we once followed, unquestioningly. A man we would give up our lives for. Back when the enemy was foreign. Well, as you say, Serap, we were all young once, and that was long ago.’

‘Best you choose your side, Sharenas, with great care. He is not the man he once was. In many ways,’ she added, ‘we’d do better with Osserc.’

‘He has not returned, then.’

‘No. And no word of where he has gone.’

Sharenas glanced away. ‘I have advised against confronting Hunn Raal. For the moment.’

‘Wise.’

‘Things need cleaning up first.’

Serap’s brows lifted. ‘Oh? And how will you manage that?’

Sharenas rose in one fluid motion, the blade leaving the scabbard with a hiss, and then lashing out across the table, taking Serap by the neck. The keen edge cut through, separating the woman’s head from her shoulders. As the head pitched forward to thump hard on the tabletop, blood shot from the stump of Serap’s neck, like a fountain in a courtyard. But the pulsing torrent was shortlived.

Sharenas stepped around the table and gathered up a corner of Serap’s cloak. She carefully wiped down her blade. Behind her, in the tavern, there was absolute silence.

‘Like this,’ she answered quietly. She studied the head lying on the table, the look of surprise fast fading as all life left the eyes, as the nerves of the face surrendered, slowly sagging. It was, she decided, a rather innocent face.

Sharenas sheathed her sword, and then drained the tankard and set it down beside the head. She drew out a coin and snapped it down, and then swung about and strode from the tavern.

It was a start. She had a long night ahead of her.

Outside once more, shivering in the bitter cold night air, she set out for the Legion camp.

* * *

‘Shit.’ Hunn Raal sat up on the bed. The wine was heavy and acrid in his gut, but the sickness suddenly roaring in his skull had little to do with that.

Beside him, the nameless maid stirred, and said in a slurred voice, ‘What is it?’

He twisted round, reached out and took hold of the young woman’s neck. It felt flimsy in his grip. ‘Look at me, High Priestess. Are you there?’ He then grunted. ‘Yes, I see that you are. Blood has been spilled. Blood of my family. Someone has murdered Serap. Down in the town.’

The maid’s childlike face, round and soft, was darkening above Hunn Raal’s grip. Voice now rasping, she said, ‘Best awaken the guards, then.’

Face twisting with disgust, Hunn Raal pushed the woman away, hard enough to send her over the far side of the bed. He quickly threw on his clothes, and strapped on his sword-belt. He paused then, weaving slightly. ‘No, enough of this.’ A pulse of sorcerous power, held inside, made him suddenly sober.