‘If this fug be air,’ Dathenar said in a growl. ‘Besides, I am too drunk to swim, too bloated to drown, and too confused to tell the difference. We left the bridge – this much I know – and that is a crime in the eyes of our lord.’

‘Fortunate, then,’ said Prazek, ‘that our lord’s eyes are elsewhere.’

‘Unfortunate,’ corrected Kellaras, ‘since I must see in his stead.’

‘That will make any man’s eyes sting,’ Dathenar said.

‘I’ll not deny that,’ Kellaras replied, pointedly.

But neither man was in any condition for subtlety. With a broad, sloppy smile, Prazek waved one hand. ‘Must we take our posts again? Will you berate us with cold promises? At the very least, friend, build us a fine argument, an intricaspy – intricacy – of purpose. Hook fingers into the nostrils and drag out the noble horse, so we may see its fine trappings. Honour’s bridle—’

‘Pride’s stirrups!’ shouted Dathenar, raising his flagon.

‘Duty’s bit between the teeth!’

‘Loyalty’s over-worn saddle, so sweet under the cheeks!’

‘To take belch’s foul cousin—’

‘Friends,’ said Kellaras in a warning hiss, ‘that is enough of that. Your words are unfit for officers of Lord Anomander’s Houseblades. You try my indulgence. Now, be on your feet, and pray the cold night air yields you sobriety.’

Prazek’s brows lifted and he looked to Dathenar. ‘He dares it, brother! To the bridge, then! Torches approach from some dire quarter. ’Tis revelation’s light, to make every sinner cower!’

‘Not the bridge,’ Kellaras said, sighing. ‘You have been reassigned. Both of you. By command of Silchas Ruin. You are to join the Hust Legion.’

This silenced them. Looking upon their shocked expressions offered Kellaras no satisfaction.

‘F-for abandoning our posts?’ Prazek asked in disbelief.

‘No. That crime stays between us. The matter is more prosaic. Galar Baras has terrible need for officers. This is Ruin’s answer.’

‘Oh,’ muttered Dathenar, ‘it is indeed. Ruin, ruinous answer, ruin of all privilege, ruin of life. A command voiced with distinction – alas, we hear it all too well.’

‘Our privilege to do so,’ nodded Prazek, ‘in language less than obscure.’

‘More than plain, brother.’

‘Just so, Dathenar. See me long for sudden complexity. Wish me swathed in obfuscation and euphoric euphemism. I would flee to the nearest lofty tower, worthy of my hauteur. I would sniff and decry the state’s sordid… state, and then frown and announce: the wine is too tart. Too… too, far too… tart.’

‘I’ll whip the servant, brother, if that pleases you.’

‘Pleasing is dead, Dathenar, and dead… pleasing.’

Dathenar groaned and rubbed at his face. ‘Prazek, we should never have left unguarded the bridge. See what fate we let cross, when a mere switch would have sent the hog running. So be it. I yield to simple fate and name her just.’

Prazek pushed himself upright. ‘Commander Kellaras, we are, as ever, at your call.’