He never saw it coming. That’s why I struck when I did. Old Wareth the coward, well, he’s no fool. An easy mistake to make, one supposes. But fear only paralyses in the possibilities, and on that day it lagged a step. The man was dead before my terror could even wake. Did I know that at the time? Did I, as Rance and the other cats might believe, act before the coward in me had a chance to stop me?

It was questionable, at least in his own mind, whether the distinction was in any way significant.

He approached the command tent. One of the guards, a regular, offered him a sneer, but said nothing when he passed by and entered the tent.

‘Lieutenant Wareth! Join our morning repast, will you?’

The speaker was Captain Prazek. Wareth had halted a stride into the chamber upon seeing the two captains at a table, breaking their fast with Rance. The woman sat stiffly, the food upon the plate before her untouched. A pewter cup filled with mulled wine was in her red hands, held close against her stomach, the steam rising to her face like a veil of smoke. The look she cast him was blank.

Dathenar had leaned to one side to drag another chair to the table opposite Rance, with the two captains positioned at either end.

Wareth remained standing. ‘My apologies, sirs. But your guest is one of my officers. I feel that I should be present if some issue of discipline is involved.’

‘Honourable sentiment, lieutenant,’ Dathenar said, while around a mouthful of food Prazek grunted agreement. ‘Now, do join us. We shall hope, by virtue of imitation and the pressure to conform, that the witnessing of taking food to mouth will incite in our guest the same inclination, thus putting us all at ease.’

‘She is perhaps wiser than we think,’ Prazek observed after making a scene of swallowing. ‘This sausage mocks the pretence. But,’ he added, spearing another piece, ‘I am assured that it lodges in the pit of the belly, and remains silent, if not unobtrusive, until the moment of its rebirth into the world.’

‘Hardly an image to encourage our appetites, Prazek,’ said Dathenar. ‘Unless you know more of the cook’s supply than do we.’

The chair awaiting Wareth was too elaborate for common camp gear, possessing curved armrests. ‘Perhaps,’ he said as he pushed himself down into the seat, which proved uncomfortably narrow, ‘we could discuss the reason for summoning Sergeant Rance.’

Prazek wagged the speared piece of sausage in the air. ‘But I assure you, lieutenant, that issue, despite its inherent complexities, is one in which a sated belly is advised. After all, we must find a means to twist crime into crusade—’

‘Vengeance into virtue—’

‘Obsession into ritual.’ Prazek frowned at the meat, and then slipped it into his mouth. He chewed.

Wareth looked from one man to the other. ‘I do not understand,’ he said.