‘We could encompass the world, commander, and still we would fight one another.’

Toras Redone looked away, seeming to study one wall of her tent, where the silhouettes of insects made a silent audience to this exchange. ‘Perhaps,’ she said in a low voice, ‘this is what Mother Dark is telling us. She embodies a hollowness at the core of all of our beliefs. Some would bask in what they imagine to be fulfilment, when it is in truth absence.’ Her eyes slid back to Hunn Raal. ‘We crowd the rim of an empty bowl, captain, and jostle for footing, blessing those who slide in while voicing our delight at those who fall off and are for ever lost. When that pleasure proves insufficient, why, we begin pushing others off, flinging them away while telling ourselves that these victims lived lives of less worth …’ Her words trailed away, and she drank again, returning her gaze to the tent wall.

‘Commander, all I seek is peace.’

She sighed and then said, ‘The truth of darkness is that it hides everything and reflects nothing. We stumble in blind ignorance and swing at everyone who draws near. Do you appreciate the irony in all this, captain? In our language we voice the Abyss as a curse, but I tell you, I have knelt before Mother Dark in the Chamber of Night, and I have felt the Abyss – when she touched my brow.’

Shaken, Hunn Raal said nothing.

Toras Redone offered him a loose shrug. ‘Yet she sits upon the Throne of Night, and we acknowledge her rule, such as it is. Of course,’ she added, ‘that throne was a gift from Lord Draconus. You would have thought – given his purported ambitions – that he would have offered up two thrones.’

‘Commander, I have no complaint against the Consort. It is the highborn who obsess over that man’s ambitions. You raise an interesting question – have you voiced it among your fellow nobles?’

Toras Redone blinked, and then shook her head. ‘He swims in the bowl and so we hate him. There is nothing complicated in that enmity.’

‘Do you know where he has gone, commander?’

‘No.’ She waved the hand that held the tankard, spilling some wine in the process. ‘West.’

‘Soldiers should not be the objects of resentment in times of peace,’ said Hunn Raal. ‘When that peace was won by our blood and sweat, well, are you not stung by this?’

‘It is not resentment, captain, it is indifference. And I welcome it.’

‘How can you say that? We deserve to be rewarded for the sacrifices we have made!’

‘What sacrifices, captain? You are still alive. So am I. Neither of us lost limbs.’

‘I speak not just for myself! I have friends who have been left crippled, blinded, or who cannot sleep through the night—’