Strings shot the man a glance. ‘What don’t you hear?’

‘Not a question I can answer, is it, Fid?’

The first rider arrived – their fellow sapper, Maybe, from the 6th squad. ‘Flat and clean,’ he said, ‘but you left it too close – what’s the point of making a big explosion when you’ve got your face in the dirt when it goes off?’

‘Any other bright comments to make, Maybe?’ Cuttle growled, brushing himself down – a gesture that clearly had no chance of any kind of measurable success. ‘If not, then kindly ride out there and check for holes.’

‘Slowly,’ Strings added. ‘Let your horse find its own pace.’

Maybe’s brows rose. ‘Really?’ Then he nudged his mount forward.

Strings stared after the soldier. ‘I hate satirical bastards like him.’

‘The Wickans will skin him alive if he breaks that horse’s legs.’

‘That has the sound of a feud in the making.’

Cuttle paused in his fruitless efforts to clean himself, then frowned. ‘What?’

‘Never mind.’

Ranal and Keneb rode up. ‘Nicely done,’ the captain said. ‘I think.’

‘Should be all right,’ Strings replied. ‘So long as nobody starts firing arrows at us.’

‘Taken care of, Sergeant. Well, to your squad, the privilege of first crossing.’

‘Aye, sir.’

There should have been pleasure, in a task well done, but Strings felt nothing beyond the initial rush that had immediately followed the detonation. The broken song whispered on in his mind, a dirge lying beneath his every thought.

‘The way ahead seems clear,’ Cuttle muttered.

Aye. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The land rose steeply on the north side of the Vathar River, with a treeless butte towering over the trail to the west. The army’s crossing continued as the Adjunct and Gamet climbed the goat trail towards the butte’s summit. The sun was low in the sky – their second full day at the ford – and the river was made molten by the lurid streams of light off to their left, although this side of the rock prominence was in deep shadow.

The mud covering Gamet’s leather-clad legs was drying to a stiff, crack-latticed skin that shed dust as he clambered in Tavore’s wake. He was breathing hard, his undergarments soaked with sweat.

They reached the summit, emerging once more into sunlight. A brisk, hot wind swept the barren, flat rock. A ring of stones on a lower shelf, on what passed for the lee side, marked where a hearth or watch-fire had once been constructed, possibly at the time of the Chain of Dogs.

The Adjunct wiped dust from her gloves, then strode to the north edge. After a moment, Gamet followed.

The city of Ubaryd was visible, dun-coloured and sheathed in smoke, to the northeast. Beyond it glittered the Dojal Hading Sea. The city’s harbour was crowded with ships.

‘Admiral Nok,’ the Adjunct said.

‘He’s retaken Ubaryd, then.’