She watched the old veteran walk back to her unit’s camp. Hunn Raal had awarded her the rank of lieutenant and she was well pleased with it. Not her fault the best of the war was over by the time she reached an age suitable to soldiering. It was satisfying giving orders and seeing them followed without question, and this was just the beginning. Soon, they would all stand in the Grand Hall of the Citadel, eyes level with those of the highborn. She and her sisters were destined for the personal staff under Osserc, once he took command of the Legion. And it was clear that, even though Esthala technically outranked her, the real power here was with Risp, as she had just shown. She counted it among her own virtues that she could distil pleasure from the most extreme fiascos and disasters, and this mess was surely both.

Gripp Galas. That was unfortunate. Once footman to Anomander himself and proven in the wars. Anomander should never have let the fool retire.

Frowning, she watched two soldiers of Silann’s troop stagger off with a body between them. They had to hold it carefully balanced as the man had been disembowelled by a single sword cut. Gripp was said to have a temper in a fight. She wagered that was his work. That man had died in pain. She walked over to Esthala.

‘Captain, I am wondering about something.’

Distracted and perhaps, now that she’d cooled down, also embarrassed, Esthala shrugged. ‘Go on.’

‘I am wondering what in the name of the Abyss was Gripp Galas doing with that traders’ caravan.’

Esthala faced her husband again. ‘Silann! Tell me, did you examine Gripp’s body? His gear?’

The man looked over and shook his head. ‘The spear point in the back took him off his horse. His corpse rolled into a damned crevasse, fell right out of sight.’

Esthala stepped towards him. ‘Didn’t you go down after him? To make certain that he was dead?’

‘He left a blood trail thick with gore – and that crevasse was bottomless.’

‘Gore?’ Risp asked. ‘Whose gore? He was stabbed in the back. Silann,’ she continued, struggling to control her panic, ‘bring us the soldier who stabbed Gripp. I want to see the spear point. I want to hear how the blow felt – was Gripp wearing armour? Was Gripp wearing leather, as befits a caravan guard, or chain, as befits a covert agent?’

The blood had left Silann’s face. ‘That man died to the leader of the caravan guards – who was clearly another veteran.’

‘The gutted one or the one with no throat left? That one? Have you his weapon?’