Her aversion to joining the military had guided her into the company of the Wardens. She saw nothing inviting or glorious in battle, and had no desire to seek it out.

Accompanying Aral were Denar and Kalakan, a pair of thieves who had broken into an estate in Kharkanas, only to stumble into what they swore was a father raping all four of his children, with the wife lying dead on the floor in the room’s centre. By their tale, which they still maintained as the truth, the man in question was highborn enough to sell his innocence to the magistrate, and, indeed, to twist the scene around, accusing the thieves of the murder and the rapes. As the four children were, one and all, driven too deep into shock to be capable of responding to anyone or anything, it was the noble’s word against two common thieves.

Denar and Kalakan had been sent to separate pits, only to reunite here in the Hust Legion. Their promotions were earned by the sharpness of their minds, and the cutting precision of their wit. Their sheer popularity made the charges against them seem profoundly unlikely, and, as it turned out, the two men had been partners in love as well as thievery.

A few moments later, Wareth arrived, and with him was a young woman who seemed far from pleased to be in his company, or anyone’s company for that matter. She immediately moved off to stand with her back against canvas, arms crossed and eyes upon the muddy floor.

You have my sympathy. This is a bag full of knives, and here you all are, with your hands plunged into it.

She saw Galar Baras studying the newcomer with a frown, and then he looked away, scanning the others for a moment before nodding and rising. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘we begin issuing weapons and armour.’

Castegan seemed to choke, but it was the quartermaster who said, ‘Commander, you cannot do that!’

‘It’s time, Seltin.’

‘The blades are eager for blood,’ Castegan said. ‘They are stung, each and every one of them. You can hear it, Galar Baras. The betrayal burns them.’

Sighing, Galar said, ‘Enough of that nonsense, Castegan. Yes, the iron has a voice, but you would make those weapons out to be more than what they are. Henarald himself explained how the Hust iron reacts to changes in temperature, and how each blade talks to those nearest it, as would a tuning fork. What we hear is pressure, and tension. These weapons, Castegan, are not alive.’

Castegan scowled. ‘It may be that they weren’t, Galar, but they are now. And I tell you this’ – he rapped the scabbard at his belt – ‘my blade slides into my dreams every night now. Begging for blood. Beseeching me to be the hand of its vengeance.’ He jabbed a finger at his commander. ‘Tell me, does your sword sleep at night?’

Galar met Castegan’s gaze for a long moment, and then he turned away. ‘Wareth, do you have anything to report?’