‘I don’t kneel to anyone,’ Gruntle growled. ‘And that includes gods. And if scrubbing would do it, I’d get these stripes off my hide right now.’

The priest rubbed his bruised shoulder, the eyes within the feline mask glaring at Stonny. At Gruntle’s words he faced the Daru again. ‘These are not matters open to debate, Mortal Sword. You are what you are—’

‘I’m a caravan guard captain, and damned good at it. When I’m sober, that is.’

‘You are the master of war in the name of the Lord of Summer—’

‘We’ll call that a hobby.’

‘A – a what!?’

They heard laughter. Captain Paran, still crouching beside Itkovian, was looking their way, and had clearly heard the conversation. The Malazan grinned at Rath’Trake. ‘It never goes how you think it should, does it, priest? That’s the glory of us humans, and your new god had best make peace with that, and soon. Gruntle, keep playing by your own rules.’

‘I hadn’t planned otherwise, Captain,’ Gruntle replied. ‘How fares the Shield Anvil?’

Itkovian glanced over. ‘I am well, sir.’

‘Now that’s a lie,’ Stonny said.

‘None the less,’ the Shield Anvil said, accepting Mallet’s shoulder as he slowly straightened.

Gruntle looked down at the two white cutlasses in his hands. ‘Hood take me,’ he muttered, ‘but these have turned damned ugly.’ He forced the blades into their scarred, tattered sheaths.

‘They are not to leave your hands until this war is done,’ Rath’Trake snapped.

‘Another word from you, priest,’ Gruntle said, ‘and you’ll be done.’

No-one else had ventured onto the plaza. Corporal Picker stood with the other Bridgeburners at the alley mouth, trying to determine what was going on. Conversations surrounded her, as the soldiers conjectured in time-honoured fashion, guessing at the meaning of the gestures and muted exchanges they witnessed among the dignitaries.

Picker glared about. ‘Blend, where are you?’

‘Here,’ she replied at the corporal’s shoulder.

‘Why don’t you sidle out there and find out what’s happening?’

She shrugged. ‘I’d get noticed.’

‘Really?’

‘Besides, I don’t need to. It’s plain to me what’s happened.’

‘Really?’

Blend made a wry face. ‘You lose your brain when you gave up those torcs, Corporal? Never seen you so consistently wide-eyed before.’

‘Really,’ Picker repeated, this time in a dangerous drawl. ‘Keep it up and you’ll regret it, soldier.’