Listar handed the reins of the trailing horses to a nearby soldier and then walked up to Wareth. For a moment, it seemed that the man contemplated closing with an embrace, but at the last instant he halted, and nodded awkwardly. ‘Lieutenant.’ He glanced to one of the Bonecasters who now moved past him to stare up into Wareth’s eyes. ‘Ah, this is Hataras Raze. And here, Vastala Trembler. Bonecasters of the Logros clan of the Dog-Runners.’

Hataras reached out and rested one thick, calloused forefinger against Wareth’s chest. ‘This one, the coward?’

‘So he calls himself,’ Listar replied.

She pushed Wareth back a step with that stiff finger, and then, moving past, said, ‘Bah. We are all cowards, until we are not. Now, where is the tormented woman?’

‘Take your pick,’ a feminine voice offered from the crowd.

Hataras grinned. ‘Good!’

Another woman spoke, ‘You here to kill all the men?’

Vastala replied, ‘In a way, yes!’

Listar scowled, and then turned to Vastala. ‘Please, no more of Dog-Runner humour. Come along, we’re to head to the centre of the camp.’

‘Have the soldiers encircle us there,’ Hataras said, continuing on.

‘I think that is the plan,’ Listar replied, his gaze now searching Wareth with some confusion.

But Wareth was unable to respond. We are all cowards, until we are not. The words thundered through him, as did the easy dismissal with which she had uttered them. He wanted to turn, to set off after Hataras Raze, to demand more from her. Do you offer me hope? A rebirth? If cowardice only before now, then when and how its end? What side of me still hides? Where, in myself, have I not already crawled, or cowered, or searched?

Do not offer me such words! Do not leave me with them, damn you!

The crowd had parted, and closed in again to form an informal escort as the Bonecasters made their way into the camp, Listar lingering between them and Wareth.

‘Sir?’

‘C-can they do this, Listar?’

After a long moment, Listar nodded, and said, ‘Mother help us all.’

* * *

Galar Baras scowled at Prazek, and then Dathenar. ‘You are both addled,’ he said. The three of them stood just outside the command tent. A moment later he waved away the soldier who’d delivered the news of Listar’s return. Stepping close to Prazek, he said, ‘This is madness. We are Tiste Andii. Children of Mother Dark. To bring in foreign witches—’

‘Children we may be,’ Prazek cut in, ‘but of the Hust, not Mother Dark.’

‘Be not deceived by the cast of the skin,’ Dathenar added. ‘That was a summary blessing. The Hust iron now claims these men and women, and it bridles with newborn power. Sorcery and witchery, a dance of the unknown, yet we would face it. We would grasp it. We would make it our own.’

Galar Baras shook his head. ‘The commander will not sanction this.’

‘Our commander lies insensate to the world,’ Prazek retorted.