‘We will be walking into a carefully constructed trap,’ Tene Baralta growled. ‘Korbolo Dom will see to that. He’ll hold every piece of high ground, he’ll command every approach. He might as well paint a big red spot on the ground where he wants us to stand while he kills us.’

‘She is not unaware of those possibilities,’ Gamet said. Leave me alone, Tene Baralta. You as well, Blistig. We are not three any more. We are two and one. Talk to Keneb, not me. He can shoulder your expectations. I cannot. ‘We must march to meet them. What else would you have her do?’

‘Listen to us, that’s what,’ Blistig answered. ‘We need to find another approach. Come up from the south, perhaps—’

‘And spend more weeks on this march? Don’t you think Korbolo would have thought the same? Every waterhole and spring will be fouled. We would wander until Raraku killed us all, with not a single sword raised against us.’

He caught the momentary locking of gazes between Blistig and Tene Baralta. Gamet scowled. ‘Conversations like this one will not mend what is broken, sirs. Save your breaths. I have no doubt the Adjunct will call a council of war at the appropriate time.’

‘She’d better,’ Tene Baralta snapped, gathering his reins and wheeling his horse round.

As he cantered off, Blistig leaned forward and spat. ‘Gamet, when that council is called, be there.’

‘And if I’m not?’

‘We have enough baggage on this train, with all those noble-born officers and their endless lists of grievances. Soldiers up from the ranks are rare enough in this army – too rare to see even one throw himself away. Granted, I didn’t think much of you at first. You were the Adjunct’s pet. But you managed your legion well enough—’

‘Until the first night we fought the enemy.’

‘Where a cusser killed your horse and nearly took your head off.’

‘I was addled before then, Blistig.’

‘Only because you rode into the skirmish. A Fist should not do that. You stay back, surrounded by messengers and guards. You may find yourself not issuing a single order, but you are the core position none the less, the immovable core. Just being there is enough. They can get word to you, you can get word to them. You can shore up, relieve units, and respond to developments. It’s what an officer of high rank does. If you find yourself in the midst of a fight, you are useless, a liability to the soldiers around you, because they’re obliged to save your skin. Even worse, you can see nothing, your messengers can’t find you. You’ve lost perspective. If the core wavers or vanishes, the legion falls.’

Gamet considered Blistig’s words for a long moment, then he sighed and shrugged. ‘None of that matters any more. I am no longer a Fist. Keneb is, and he knows what to do—’