Her brother took the reins from her, and she set off after Draconus as he strode to the far end of the clearing.

Raskan’s tone was rough and low as he moved up alongside Arathan. ‘I warned you clear enough on this.’

‘My error was in choosing the wrong horse this morning, sergeant.’

‘That’s true enough. You showed your fear of Hellar – to everyone. I feel a fool and I tell you, I do not appreciate that.’

‘Should we not honour each and every beast that serves us?’

Raskan scowled. ‘Who put such nonsense into your skull? That damned tutor? Look at him – it’ll be a miracle if he survives the trek.’

‘The thought was my own, sergeant.’

‘Be rid of it. And if you come up with any more of your own thoughts, Arathan, keep them to yourself. Better yet, crush them. You are not the one to challenge Tiste ways.’

Arathan almost heard the added words: leave that to men like your father.

But he would be free of all this soon enough. He had seen the last of the High House, and the way to the west stretched before him. Leading Besra to the second trough, he glanced over at the remaining Borderswords. If he had expected to meet their hard eyes, he was spared that, as Rint, Ville and Galak were all busy preparing the midday meal. Their mounts stood motionless, reins looped over the saddle horns – not ten paces from the long trough of water, and yet not one animal moved. Arathan looked for hobbles about their ankles but found none.

I think I understand. Before there can be disdain, there must be pride.

One day I will find something to be proud of, and then I will find this taste of disdain, and see if it suits me. Should I not think this, being my father’s son?

And yet, I do not. Pride needs no claws, no scaled armour about itself. Not every virtue must be a weapon.

These thoughts are my own. I will not crush them.

Sagander hissed behind him, ‘When next you turn to me, student, I will see the face of my own humiliation. I wish he had left you behind. You’re useless. Hands from the mouth!’

* * *

Rint hunched down over the embers, watching as the first flames licked the tinder alight. He fed in a few sticks and then nodded over to Galak, who began breaking up a brick of dried dung. Grunting, Rint straightened.

‘What do you think?’ Ville asked, standing close.

Rint shrugged, forcing himself from looking over to where Lord Draconus stood speaking with his sister. ‘She’s her own mind, as if you don’t know that.’

‘He wants a soft body for the cold nights, is my guess.’

‘We’ll see,’ muttered Rint in reply, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from cracking at the thought. ‘He is a High Lord, after all.’