As the old caravan guard limped his way up the ramp towards it, he was startled by the sudden exit of a tall, gaunt, black-robed man. Stumbling, half hopping like a huge ebon-winged vulture, the man spun round to glare at Buke. His face twisted. ‘I am second only to Rath’Shadowthrone himself! Do you not know me? Do they not know me? I am Marble! Also known as the Malefic! Feared among all the cowering citizens of Capustan! A sorcerer of powers unimagined! Yet they ...’ He sputtered with fury. ‘A boot to the backside, no less! I will have my revenge, this I swear!’

‘Ill-advised, priest,’ Buke said, not unkindly. ‘My employers—’

‘Are arrogant scum!’

‘That may be, but they’re not ones to irritate, sir.’

‘Irritate? When my master hears of this – this – insult delivered to his most valued servant, then, oh then shall the shadows flow!’ With a final snarl, the priest stamped down the walkway, black robe skirling dramatically in his wake.

Buke paused for a long moment, watching until the man named Marble disappeared around a corner.

The sound of fighting was on all sides, but getting no closer. Hours earlier, in the deep of the night when Buke had been helping people from the Camps and from Daru District’s tenements make their way to the Grey Swords’ places of mustering – from which they would be led to the hidden tunnel entrances – the Pannions had reached all the way to the street Buke had just walked. Somehow, Capustan’s motley collection of defenders had managed to drive them back. Bodies from both sides littered Kilsban Way.

Buke pushed himself into motion once more, passing beneath the scorched lintel of the entrance with a firm conviction that he would never again leave Bauchelain and Korbal Broach’s estate. Even as his steps slowed to a sudden surge of self-preservation, he saw it was too late.

Bauchelain stood in the courtyard. ‘Ah, my erstwhile employee. We’d wondered where you’d gone.’

Buke ducked his head. ‘My apologies, sir. I’d delivered the tax exemption writ to the Daru civic authorities as requested—’

‘Excellent, and was our argument well received?’

The old guard winced. ‘The event of siege, alas, offers no relief from property taxes, master. The monies are due. Fortunately, with the evacuation, there is no-one at Daru House to await their arrival.’

‘Yes, the evacuation. Tunnels. Very clever. We declined the offer, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Buke could no longer hold his gaze on the cobbles before him, and found his head turning, lifting slightly to take in the half-score Urdomen bodies lying bloodless, faces mottled black beneath their visors, on all sides.

‘A precipitous rush of these misguided soldiers,’ Bauchelain murmured. ‘Korbal was delighted, and makes preparations to recruit them.’

‘Recruit them, master? Oh, yes sir. Recruit them.’

The necromancer cocked his head. ‘Odd, dear Emancipor Reese uttered those very words, in an identical tone, not half a bell ago.’

‘Indeed, master.’