‘Witnessing the slaughter—’

‘He may well claim that and hope that you believe it, but you are wrong to do so. Blistig disobeyed a High Fist’s order. He stands before me, his new commander, and believes I hold no faith in him. From that, he concludes that it would be best for everyone concerned if I were to send him to Unta, to face the Empress.’ She turned away again, was silent.

Gamet’s thoughts raced, but he finally had to conclude that Tavore’s thoughts proceeded on levels too deep for him to fathom. ‘What is it you wish me to tell him?’

‘You think I wish you to tell him something from me? Very well. He may have Captain Keneb.’

A side door swung open and Gamet turned to see three Wickans enter. Two were children, the third one not much older. While the Fist had yet to meet them, he knew who they must be. Nether and Nil. The witch and the warlock. And the lad with them is Temul, the eldest among the warrior youths Coltaine sent with the historian.

Only Temul seemed pleased at having been summoned into the Adjunct’s presence. Nil and Nether were both unkempt, their feet bare and almost grey with layers of dirt. Nether’s long black hair hung in greasy ropes. Nil’s deer-hide tunic was scarred and torn. Both held expressions of disinterest. In contrast, Temul’s war gear was immaculate, as was the mask of deep red face paint denoting his grief, and his dark eyes glittered like sharp stones as he drew himself to attention before the Adjunct.

But Tavore’s attention was on Nil and Nether. ‘The Fourteenth Army lacks mages,’ she said. ‘Therefore, you will now be acting in that capacity.’

‘No, Adjunct,’ Nether replied.

‘This matter is not open for discussion—’

Nil spoke. ‘We want to go home,’ he said. ‘To the Wickan plains.’

The Adjunct studied them for a moment, then, gaze unwavering, said, ‘Temul, Coltaine placed you in charge of the Wickan youths from the three tribes present in the Chain of Dogs. What is the complement?’

‘Thirty,’ the youth replied.

‘And how many Wickans were among the wounded delivered by ship to Aren?’

‘Eleven survived.’

‘Thus, forty-one in all. Are there any warlocks among your company?’

‘No, Adjunct.’

‘When Coltaine sent you with the historian Duiker, did he attach warlocks to your company at that time?’

Temul’s eyes flicked to Nil and Nether for a moment, then his head jerked in a nod. ‘Yes.’

‘And has your company been officially dissolved, Temul?’

‘No.’

‘In other words, Coltaine’s last command to you still obtains.’ She addressed Nil and Nether once more. ‘Your request is denied. I have need of both you and Captain Temul’s Wickan lancers.’

‘We can give you nothing,’ Nether replied.

‘The warlock spirits within us are silent,’ Nil added.