‘While others drink or smoke themselves into oblivion. Because the truths of war broke us inside, and broken we remain. Reparation, then? For the dead, why, let us raise high bold mausoleums. For the maimed, let us entrench our pity and suckle guilt’s bloated tit until we grow fat on remorse. And for the drunks like you and me, captain, why, a bounty of riches to keep our cellars well stocked, and a high seat in every tavern from which we can weave our tales of past glory. Or is it a title you wish? Very well, I proclaim you the Lord of War, and will seek for you a proper estate. In addition, I give you fields of horror to harvest nightly, and granaries filled with wretched memories, which you can daily grind to dust on this millstone you call your life.’

Hunn Raal stared at her for a long time, and then he reached into the sack he had brought into the tent with him, and drew out a jug. ‘My gift to you, commander. A fine vintage I am sure you will enjoy.’

‘I have my own, captain, but thank you anyway.’

‘You refuse my offering?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Shall I refill your tankard, then?’

She shook her head. ‘I am done drinking this night, captain. I must walk the pickets, lest your friends tempted the Nightwatch in their eager, if somewhat forced, generosity.’

‘If they did, commander, it was well meaning.’

‘Your gesture is appreciated and you have given me much to think about, captain, but my rules of conduct are explicit, and if I find even one guard with alcohol riding the breath, there will be the public lash. Discipline is a necessity, even in times of peace.’

‘Indeed it is,’ Hunn Raal said. ‘I am impressed.’

‘Are you? Good. Perhaps it will give you something to think about.’

‘Commander, the Hust Legion is not our enemy.’

‘Barring the Deniers in my ranks.’

‘They are your concern, not mine.’

‘I am relieved to hear you say that, captain. Now, feel free to use the spare cot in this tent. I doubt I will return before dawn.’

‘Have you quit sleep, too, commander?’

‘I save that for my staff meetings. Now, if you will excuse me.’

He rose when she did. ‘It has been a fascinating evening,’ he said.

Toras Redone studied him. ‘You never drink as much as you pretend to, captain. Why is that?’ Without awaiting an answer, she marched from the tent.

Hunn Raal stared at the tent flap, watching it settle following her departure. He sat back down. Well, why should I be surprised? When it comes to drinking, you can’t fool a drunk. The insects had all scattered with the rustling of the canvas, but now they returned. He stared at them. An audience with low expectations, one presumes. Better than that canny bitch of a commander.