The Destriant spoke first, halfway out of the hatch. ‘He insisted he give his report to you first, sir. I can do nothing for the eye, but the pain—’

‘In a moment,’ Itkovian snapped. ‘Messenger, make your report.’

‘Apologies,’ the young man gasped, ‘for taking so long.’

The Shield Anvil’s eyes widened. ‘You humble me, sir. It has been a bell and more since I sent you to the West Gate.’

‘The Pannions had reached through to Tular Camp, Shield Anvil. Senar Camp had fallen – its inhabitants slaughtered. Everyone. Children – sir – I am sorry, but the horror remains with me ...’

‘Go on.’

‘Jehbar Tower was surrounded, its defenders besieged. Such was the situation upon my arrival, sir. Our soldiers were scattered, fighting in clumps, many of them surrounded. We were being cut down, everywhere I looked.’ He paused, drew a ragged breath, then continued, ‘Such was the situation upon my arrival. As I prepared to return to you with said news, I was ... absconded—’

‘You were what?’

‘Apologies, sir. I can think of no other word. A foreigner appeared, with but half a score of Capan followers, a militia of sorts, sir. And a Lestari sergeant. The man took charge – of everyone, myself included. Shield Anvil, I argued—’

‘Clearly this man was persuasive. Resume your tale, sir.’

‘The foreigner had his own soldiers break down the door into Tular Camp. He demanded that its inhabitants come out and fight. For their children—’

‘And he convinced them?’

‘Sir, he held in his arms what was left of a child from Senar Camp. The enemy, sir – the Pannions – someone had begun to eat that child—’

Karnadas moved up behind the young man, hands settling on his shoulders.

‘He convinced them,’ Itkovian said.

The messenger nodded. ‘The foreigner – he then ... he then took what was left of the child’s tunic, and has made of it a standard. I saw it myself. Sir, I ceased arguing, then – I’m sorry—’

‘I understand you, sir.’

‘There was no shortage of weapons. The Tular Capanthall armed themselves – four, five hundred came out. Men and women. The foreigner had sent out his own followers, and they began returning. With them, surviving bands of Capanthall soldiery, a few Gidrath, Coralessian, and Grey Swords, sir. The Trimaster had been killed, you see—’

‘The foreigner rallied them,’ Itkovian cut in. ‘Then what?’

‘We marched to the relief of Jehbar Tower, sir. Shield Anvil, behind that horrible banner, we delivered slaughter.’

‘The condition of the tower?’

‘Ruined, sir. Alas. There were but twenty survivors among the Capanthall defending it. They are now with the foreigner. I, uh, I returned to my responsibilities then, sir, and was given leave to report to you—’

‘Generous of this stranger. What was the disposition of this militia at that time?’

‘They were about to sortie through the rubble of West Gate, sir—’

‘What?’