‘A little. Paran has been used by a god. He’s walked within the sword, Dragnipur. He has the blood of a Hound of Shadow in his veins. And none of us know what changes such things have wrought in him, or even what they portend. He’s been anything but predictable, and he’s almost impossible to manage – oh, he’ll follow orders I give him, but I think if Laseen believes she can use him, she might be in for a surprise.’

‘You like the man, don’t you?’

‘I admire him, Dujek. For his resilience, for his ability to examine himself with a courage that is ruthless, and, most of all, for his inherent humanity.’

‘Sufficient to warrant faith, I’d say.’

Whiskeyjack grimaced. ‘Stabbed by my own sword.’

‘Better that than someone else’s.’

‘I’m thinking of retiring, Dujek. When this war is finished.’

‘I’d guessed as much, friend.’

Whiskeyjack looked up. ‘You think she’ll let me?’

‘I don’t think we should give her the choice.’

‘Shall I drown like Crust and Urko did? Shall I be seen to be slain then have my body vanish like Dassem did?’

‘Assuming none of those really happened—’

‘Dujek—’

‘All right, but some doubt still remains, you have to admit.’

‘I don’t share it, and one day I’ll track down Duiker and force the truth from him – if anyone knows, it’s that cranky historian.’

‘Has Quick Ben heard from Kalam yet?’

‘He’s not told me so if he has.’

‘Where’s your wizard right now?’

‘I last saw him jawing with those Trygalle traders.’

‘The man should be getting some sleep, with what’s coming.’

Whiskeyjack set down the tankard and rose. ‘So should we, old friend,’ he said, wincing as he settled too much weight on his bad leg. ‘When are the Black Moranth arriving?’

‘Two nights hence.’

Whiskeyjack grunted, then swung towards the tent’s exit. ‘Good night, Dujek.’

‘And to you, Whiskeyjack. Oh, one last thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Tayschrenn. He’s been wanting to apologize to you. For what happened to the Bridgeburners.’

‘He knows where to find me, Dujek.’

‘He wants a proper moment.’

‘What’s proper?’

‘I’m not sure, but it hasn’t happened yet.’

Whiskeyjack said nothing for a half-dozen heartbeats, then he reached for the tent flap. ‘See you in the morning, Dujek.’

‘Aye,’ the High Fist replied.

As Whiskeyjack made his way towards his own tent he saw a tall, dark-robed figure standing before it.

He smiled as he approached. ‘I’d missed you.’

‘And I you,’ Korlat responded.

‘Brood’s been keeping you busy. Come inside, it’ll only be a moment before I get the lantern lit.’

He heard her sighing behind him as they entered the tent. ‘I’d rather you didn’t bother.’

‘Well, you can see in the dark, but—’