So he mulled on the lie, even as his body fell into the motions of long held desires. She had indeed been honest, he discovered, in how she had described her new shape, and what in his mind had been soft as pillows now proved impediments to reaching her at all, in any place where pleasure might be found. Curiously, even this challenge proved alluring.

Later, Galar Baras found himself wondering which man he was: the one he both saw in himself and showed to virtually everyone else, or the man she made him into, with such knowing in her eyes, such recognition in her low laughter, that he felt himself reduced to… to a faint script, scrawled across her skin, riding every undulation and curve, every fold.

The night writes me upon her, in a language only she can understand. I stagger away, all meaning undone, all sense stripped away. Where, in this wretched love, is my reason?

He would return her to the Legion. The officers and soldiers would see him as a man of formidable powers, if not an unassailable will. And only in the occasional glance she would send his way would he be reminded of their hidden language, there upon its sweet vellum of stretched skin, unseen by anyone else.

Which man is the truth of me?

To that question, he had no answer.

* * *

As if even metal lips could somehow be soft, the Hust armour muttered like mouths pressed against flesh. But this was a cruel seduction. From the vambraces, from the chain and scale and greaves, came a sound like rain threading through trees, cold streams upon a forest floor, a chorus of whispering. With the helm fixed upon his head, Wareth listened to the faint imprecations and felt an uncanny chill ripple through him. There was something almost suffocating in the weight, with its cloying murmurs, as if he was in the embrace of a woman he did not desire.

Stepping out from his tent, he found himself facing Rebble. He too was armoured, and from the tangle of his wild beard there was the white flash of a rueful grin.

‘Like wearing your fears, isn’t it, Wareth?’ He then rapped knuckles against the scabbarded sword at his hip. ‘And this thing. Abyss take me but she’s eager for my temper.’

‘She?’

He shrugged. ‘As close as I’ll get, I suppose, to having a wife. Beautiful in hand until she cuts.’

Shaking his head, Wareth said, ‘I must attend a meeting with the captains.’

Rebble’s small eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll shadow Rance, then? Well, it was only a matter of time.’

‘What was?’

He glanced away, shrugged again. ‘For me, it’s out to the pickets. I need the walk, need to get used to all this weight. It’s the helm I hate the most – I got enough voices in my fucking skull.’

‘Find Listar for your patrol, Rebble.’