The man’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded. ‘Aye, sir, it will. With all the breaches the enemy’s front lines have lost their cohesion. Chaos claims all, this night. We shall destroy the siege engines as ordered. We shall retrieve the survivors in the redoubt.’

Aye, old friend. I am the one who needs stirring words. ‘Keep your eyes open, sir. I would know the positioning of the Pannion forces to the rear. Specifically, the Tenescowri.’

‘Understood, sir.’

A messenger arrived, stumbling as he cleared the ladder. ‘Shield Anvil!’ she gasped.

‘Your report, sir,’ Itkovian said.

‘From the Trimaster of the First, Seventh and Sixth Manes, sir.’

North Gate. He looked to the north. Most of the Daru tenements there were burning. ‘Proceed.’

‘The Trimaster reports that he has encountered the shocktroops of Urdomen and Seerdomin, They’re all dead, sir.’

‘Dead?’

The young woman nodded, paused to wipe ash-smeared sweat from her brow. Her helm, Itkovian noted, was too large. ‘A citizen rallied the remnants of the Capanthall Guard, as well as other civilians and some caravan guards. Sir, they engaged the Urdomen and Seerdomin in a succession of street battles – and drove them back. The Trimaster now controls North Gate, to which his company of sappers are effecting repairs.’

‘And this impromptu militia and its commander?’

‘Only a few wounded were there to greet the Trimaster, sir. The, uh, militia has set off westward, in pursuit of an Urdomen company that sought to storm Lektar House.’

‘Messenger, send the First Wing to their aid. Upon delivering my command, take some rest, sir.’

‘Yes, Shield Anvil.’

‘That is not the helmet you were issued with, is it, sir?’

Abashed, she shook her head. ‘I, uh, lost it, Shield Anvil.’

‘Have the quartermaster find you one that fits.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Go.’

The two veterans watched the young woman depart.

‘Careless,’ the Trimaster murmured, ‘losing her helm.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Clever, finding another one.’

The Shield Anvil smiled.

‘I shall take my leave now, sir.’

‘Fener go with you, Trimaster.’

Karnadas drew a long, quiet breath, the hairs of his neck rising at the sudden, heavy silence in the Great Hall. Betrayal? His eyes were drawn to one priest in particular. Rath’K’rul’s words were fuel to suspicions the Destriant already held, and the bias led him to mistrust his own conclusions. He held his tongue, but his gaze remained fixed on Rath’Fener.

The boar mask was without expression, yet the man stood as if he had just taken a blow.

‘The age of K’rul,’ Rath’Shadowthrone hissed, ‘is long past.’