Bursa’s face was reddening. In a tight voice he said, ‘My orders came by messenger from Captain Hunn Raal not three days past.’

‘Hunn Raal? You’re not of his company.’

‘No, we are soldiers under the command of Captain Scara Bandaris.’

‘And where is he?’

‘In Kharkanas. Sir, you ride in ignorance. An uprising is under way.’

‘I see that,’ the stranger replied.

Bursa’s lips thinned into a straight, bloodless line. Then he said, ‘Your name, please, if you wish to pass.’

‘I am Kadaspala, son of Lord Jaen of House Enes. I have been painting your commander’s portrait. Shall I tell you how much I see in a man’s face when studying it day after day after day? I see everything. No dissembling evades my eye. No malice, no matter how well hidden, can hide from me. I don’t doubt you are following Hunn Raal’s orders. The next time you see that smirking drunk, give him this message from me. It will not do to imagine that Lord Urusander is now little more than a mere figurehead, to be pushed this way and that. Manipulate Vatha Urusander and he will make you regret it. Now, we have the measure of each other. Let me pass. It’s getting late, and I ride in the company of ghosts. You’ll not wish us to linger.’

After a long moment, Bursa stepped to one side. Narad did the same, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

As the artist edged past them, he turned to Narad and said, ‘I can see the man you once were.’

Narad stiffened, biting back his shame.

Kadaspala continued, ‘But all I can see is this. What was inside is now outside. I feel sorry for you, soldier. No one deserves to be that vulnerable.’

He then rode on, through the camp and the crowd of other soldiers – all of them silent and hooded, as if cowed by this unarmed boy of an artist. A few moments later, he disappeared into the far end of the clearing, where the trail picked up once more.

‘Shit,’ Bursa said.

Narad wanted to ask a question, but seeing the expression on Bursa’s face silenced him. The corporal had paled, looking to where the artist had gone, and in his eyes there was confusion and something like sick dread. ‘Captain told us to sit tight,’ he muttered. ‘But Hunn Raal’s whore said—’ He stopped then and glared across at Narad. ‘That’ll do, soldier. Back to your tent.’

‘Yes sir,’ Narad replied.

Moving quickly, eyes on the log lying in front of his tent, Narad reached up to brush the lines of his broken face, and for the first time, he felt fear at what his fingers found.

* * *