Strings glanced over at another soldier from the 9th squad, a man standing nearby looking as if he wanted to kill something. ‘And what about him? What’s his name again, Throatslitter? Did his ma decide on that for her little one, do you think?’

‘Can’t say,’ Balm replied. ‘Give a toddler a knife and who knows what’ll happen.’

Strings studied the man for a moment, then grunted. ‘You wanted to see me about something?’

Balm shrugged. ‘Not really. Sort of. What do you think of the captain’s new units? Seems a little late to make changes like this ...’

‘It’s not that new, actually. Greymane’s legions are sometimes set up in the same manner. In any case, our new Fist has approved it.’

‘Keneb. Not sure about him.’

‘And you are about our fresh-faced captain?’

‘Aye, I am. He’s noble-born, is Ranal. Enough said.’

‘Meaning?’

Balm looked away, started tracking a distant bird in flight. ‘Oh, only that he’s likely to get us all killed.’

Ah. ‘Speak louder, not everyone heard that opinion.’

‘Don’t need to, Strings. They share it.’

‘Sharing it ain’t the same as saying it.’

Gesler, Borduke and the sergeants from the 11th and 12th squads came over and muttered introductions went round the group. Moak, of the 11th, was Falari, copper-haired and bearded like Strings. He’d taken a lance down his back, from shoulder to tailbone, and, despite the healer’s efforts, was clearly struggling with badly knitted muscles. The 12th’s sergeant, Thorn Tissy, was squat, with a face that might be handsome to a female toad, his cheeks pocked and the backs of his hands covered in warts. He was, the others saw when he removed his helm, virtually hairless.

Moak squinted at Strings for a long moment, as if seeking to conjure recognition, then he drew out a fish spine from his belt pouch and began picking his teeth. ‘Anybody else hear about that killer soldier? Heavy infantry, not sure what company, not even sure what legion. Named Neffarias Bredd. I heard he killed eighteen raiders all in one night.’

Strings lifted his gaze to meet Gesler’s, but neither man’s expression changed.

‘I heard it was eighteen one night, thirteen the next,’ Thorn Tissy said. ‘We’ll have to ask the slope-brows when they show.’

‘Well,’ Strings pointed out, ‘there’s one over there.’ He raised his voice. ‘Flashwit! Come join us for a moment, if you please.’

The ground seemed to tremble with the woman’s approach. She was Napan and Strings wondered if she knew she was female. The muscles of her arms were larger than his thighs. She had cut all her hair off, her round face devoid of ornament barring a bronze nose-ring. Yet her eyes were startlingly beautiful, emerald green.

‘Have you heard of another heavy, Flashwit? Neffarias Bredd?’

Those extraordinary eyes widened. ‘Killed fifty raiders, they say.’

‘Which legion?’ Moak asked.