'There are worms within your empire's flesh. But such degradation is natural in all bodies. Your people's infection is not yet fatal. It can be scoured clean. The Moranth are skilled at such efforts.'

'How exactly,' Whiskeyjack paused, choosing his words carefully, 'do you intend this scouring?' He recalled the wagons piled with corpses winding out of Pale, and struggled against the ice tingling along his spine.

'Spirit with spirit,' the Moranth answered, returning his attention to the city on the south shore. 'We depart for now. You will find us here in two weeks' time, Bird That Steals.'

Whiskeyjack watched the Black Moranth walk away, pushing through the thicket surrounding the clearing where his riders waited. A moment later he heard the rapid thud of wings, then the Quorl rose above the trees. The Moranth circled once overhead, then turned north, slipping between the bearded boles and heading upslope.

The sergeant sat down on the bedrock again, his eyes on the ground as the members of his squad arrived, hunkering down around him. He remained silent, seeming unaware that he had company, his brow furrowed and jaw bunching as he ground his molars with a slow, steady precision.

'Sarge?' Fiddler said quietly.

Startled, Whiskeyjack looked up. He drew a deep breath. Everyone had gathered with the exception of Quick Ben. He'd leave Kalam to fill in the wizard later. 'All right. The original plan's been scrapped, since it was intended to get us all killed. I didn't like that part, so we'll do it my way and hopefully get out alive.'

'We ain't going to mine the city gates?' Fiddler asked, glancing at Hedge.

'No,' the sergeant answered. 'We'll put those Moranth munitions to better use. Two objectives, two teams. Kalam will lead one, and with him will be Quick Ben and ...' he hesitated '... and Sorry. I'll lead the other team. The first task is to get into the city unnoticed. Out of uniform.' He looked to Mallet. 'I take it the Green delivered?'

The healer nodded. 'It's a local make, all right. Eighteen-foot fisher, four oars, should get us across the lake easy enough. Even a couple of nets included.'

'So we'll do some fishing,' Whiskeyjack said. 'Coming into the harbour without a catch would look suspect. Anybody here ever fished?'

There was silence, then Sorry spoke up. 'I have, a long time ago.'

Whiskeyjack stared at her, then said, 'Right. Pick whoever you need for that.'

Sorry smiled mockingly.

Whiskeyjack pulled his gaze from hers with an oath under his breath. He eyed his two saboteurs. 'How much munitions?'

'Two crates,' Hedge replied, adjusting his leather cap. 'Cussers all the way down to Smokers.'

'We could cook a palace,' Fiddler added, shifting about excitedly.

'Good enough,' Whiskeyjack said. 'All right, everyone listen and pay attention, or we won't come out of this alive ...'