The heat was building in Wareth despite the chill, an old familiar fire. It pooled and dissolved his insides. He could feel it burning his face and knew that for shame. His heart pounded fast and a weakness took his legs.

A loud crack startled everyone, and then the squeal of the shed door sounded behind Wareth.

‘Shit,’ someone swore. ‘We’re too fucking late now. Wareth, you’ll pay for this. Cut him down, Merrec. The chase will make it a fine game, hey?’

Men laughed.

Wareth turned to Listar. ‘Not today, then, your justice.’

Listar shrugged, stepping back. ‘Then another. So, best you start running.’

Merrec advanced on Wareth. ‘You’ve killed enough people from behind. All these years. Stand still now, rabbit.’ He raised the shovel.

Wareth tensed, terror rising up from his stomach to grip his throat. He prepared to throw the shovel, before bolting.

There was a solid thud and Merrec halted suddenly, looked down at the arrow buried deep in his chest.

Someone shouted.

Merrec sank to the ground, disbelief giving way to agony on his face.

The guards were now descending from the rim of the bowl, and on the gatehouse ramp there stood a dozen soldiers, and from them came a thin moaning sound.

Wareth knew that sound. He knew it well. He flinched back, dropping his shovel.

* * *

‘That was dishonourable,’ said Seltin Ryggandas, glaring at Galar Baras. ‘By this craven murder, with a hunter’s arrow at that, we are to see the rebirth of Hust Legion?’

Dishonour. Now there’s a word. Dry as tinder, needing only the hint of a spark to flare up, burn bright, rage incandescent. Dishonour. The stake pinning us all to the ground, and see us now. You, Hunn Raal, with your poisoned wine, and me, here, both of us writhing in place. Galar Baras drew off his gauntlets and carefully folded them, before tucking them behind his sword-belt. ‘Quartermaster, even honour must, on occasion, surrender to timing.’

Seltin’s expression of disgust was unchanged. ‘Timing? You waited too long to intervene.’

Ignoring the Legion’s quartermaster, Galar Baras glanced skyward. The chill winter blue was unbroken by cloud, making the vault seem all the more remote. As we see the heavens constrained, by all that we do here. No matter – these are smaller dramas than they feel. He turned to the pit’s overseer. ‘Sir, tell me about those three.’

The elderly man shook his head. ‘If you sought to single them out in the name of decency, your desire was misplaced. No, it was doomed from the start, as I could have told you, captain. Not one down there is worthy of Lord Henarald’s largesse. They ended up here for a reason, every one of them.’