‘Oh, that’s sweet – get one of your few remaining friends to kill you. Seems I was wrong, it’s not just self-pity, is it? You’re not obsessed with the tragic deaths of your family, you’re obsessed with yourself, Buke. Your guilt’s an endlessly rising tide, and that ego of yours is a levee and all you do is keep slapping fresh bricks on it. The wall gets higher and higher, and you’re looking down on the world from a lofty height – with a Hood-damned sneer.’

Buke was pale and trembling. ‘If that’s the way you see it,’ he rasped, ‘then why call me friend at all?’

Beru knows, I’m beginning to wonder. He drew a deep breath, managed to calm himself down. ‘We’ve known each other a long time. We’ve never crossed blades.’ And you were in the habit of getting drunk for days on end, a habit you broke . . . but one I haven’t. Took the deaths of everyone you loved to do that, and I’m terrified it might take the same for me.

Thank Hood the lass married that fat merchant.

‘Doesn’t sound like much, Gruntle.’

We’re two of a kind, you bastard – cut past your own ego and you’d see that fast enough. But he said nothing.

‘Sun’s almost down,’ Buke observed after a time. They’ll attack when it’s dark.’

‘How do you defend against them?’

‘You don’t. Can’t. Like chopping into wood, from what I’ve seen, and they’re fast. Gods, they’re fast! We’re all dead, Gruntle. Bauchelain and Korbal Broach ain’t got much left – did you see them sweat mending the carriage? They’re wrung dry, those two.’

‘Keruli is a mage as well,’ Gruntle said. ‘Well, more likely a priest.’

‘Let’s hope his god’s cocked an eye on us, then.’

And what are the chances of that?

With the sun’s light pooling crimson on the horizon behind them, they made camp. Stonny guided the horses and oxen into a makeshift, rope-lined kraal to one side of the carriages – a position that would give them a chance to flee inland if it came to that.

A kind of resignation descended within the growing gloom as a meal was prepared over a small fire, Harllo electing himself cook. Neither Keruli nor the two sorcerers emerged from their respective carriages to join the small group.

Moths gathered around the smokeless flames. Sipping mulled wine, Gruntle watched their fluttering, mindless plunges into oblivion with a faintly bitter amusement.

Darkness closed in, the scatter of stars overhead sharpening. With the supper done, Hetan rose. ‘Harllo, come with me now. Quickly.’

‘My lady?’ the man enquired.

Gruntle sprayed a mouthful of wine. Choking, coughing, with Stonny pounding on his back, it was a while before he managed to recover. Through watering eyes, he grinned at Harllo. ‘You heard the lady.’