'That's good.' Ardee watched the magnificent new king of the Union striding away, wounded men straining from their cots for the slightest touch of his cloak. 'That one of us can be.'

'Marshal West!'

'Jalenhorm. Good to see you.' West pulled back the blankets with his good hand, eased his legs over the edge of the bed and winced his way up to sitting. The big man reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, clapped him on the shoulder.

'You're looking well!'

West smiled weakly. 'Better ever day, Major. How's my army?'

'Fumbling on without you. Kroy's holding things together. Not such a bad sort, the General, once you get used to him.'

'If you say so. How many did we lose?'

'Still hard to say. Things are somewhat chaotic. Whole companies missing. Impromptu units still chasing Gurkish stragglers across half the countryside. I don't think we'll have numbers for a while. I don't know if we'll ever get them. No one did well, but the ninth regiment were the ones fighting at the western end of the Agriont. They took the worst of…' He fumbled for the words. 'It.'

West grimaced. He remembered that black column of whirling matter reaching from the tortured earth to the circling clouds. The debris lashing at his skin, the screaming of the wind all around him. 'What was… it?'

'I'm damned if I know.' Jalenhorm shook his head. 'Damned if anyone does. But the rumour is that this Bayaz was involved, somehow. Half the Agriont's in ruins, and they've barely started shifting the rubble. You never saw anything like it, that I promise you. A lot of people dead in all that. Bodies stacked up in the open…' Jalenhorm took a long breath. 'And there are more dying every day. A lot of people getting ill.' He shuddered. 'This… sickness.'

'Disease. Always a part of war.'

'Not like this. Hundreds of cases, now. Some die in a day, almost before your eyes. Some take longer. They wither to skin and bone. They have whole halls full of them. Stinking, hopeless places. But you don't need to worry about that.' He shook himself. 'I have to go.'

'Already?'

'Flying visit, sir. I'm helping to arrange Poulder's funeral, would you believe? He's being buried in state, by order of the king… that is to say Jezal. Jezal dan Luthar.' He blew out his cheeks. 'Strange business.'

'The strangest.'

'All that time. A king's son sitting in the midst of us. I knew there had to be a reason why he was so bloody good at cards.' He slapped West on the back again. 'Good to see you looking so well, sir. Knew they wouldn't be able to keep you down for long!'

'Keep out of trouble!' West called after him as he made for the door.