‘Perhaps there is something we can do,’ Peritus said. ‘I spoke to your scouts earlier.’

‘The ones returned from Sarva?’

‘Aye. They said they saw Vin Thalun in the old ruins of Balara.’

‘Perhaps they are setting up a base of command there,’ Krelis offered.

‘That would make sense,’ Fidele said. ‘That is where we discovered the fighting-pits, is it not?’

‘Aye, my lady,’ Krelis and Peritus said together.

Fidele could remember it still – the stench of death, the haunted looks in the eyes of the pit-fighters they had saved. What they must have been through. Her thoughts returned to Maquin. How has he survived such a thing? She knew, though. You just do. You dig deep into your soul. Endure. But not without cost.

‘You said we could do something?’ Krelis said to Peritus.

‘I think it is time that we took the initiative, instead of sitting in here, drinking wine all day long.’ He looked pointedly at Krelis.

‘Sounds good to me,’ Krelis said, sitting up straighter. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’

‘Night raids. Nothing big – plans easily go awry in the dark. Kill some Vin Thalun on the night watch, break some axles in their baggage trains, maybe burn a ship. And perhaps we should take a closer look at Balara, see what mischief we can perform there.’

‘Is this wise?’ Ektor asked. ‘As you said, plans in the dark easily come undone. We cannot afford to lose more warriors. And who would lead these raids?’ He raised an eyebrow, looking at Krelis.

Krelis raised his cup and grinned.

‘That is a bad idea,’ Ektor said. ‘As much as I know that you are just the brawn in Ripa, your death would devastate our warriors. You cannot go.’

‘Ahh, brother, I didn’t know you cared.’

‘I don’t, really. But I care about Ripa falling, and you are the cornerstone that our warband’s morale rests upon. Cut you out and it would come toppling down.’

‘I’m going,’ Krelis said.

‘That would be foolish – the rewards do not outweigh the risks.’

‘Ektor’s correct, Krelis. You cannot go,’ Lamar said.

Krelis’ mouth twisted but he held any retort in.

‘Help us plan the raids,’ Fidele said. ‘Whatever Ektor says, I know that you have a gift for strategy.’

‘Aye, and you have a gift for diplomacy, my lady.’ Krelis smiled at her.

Fidele passed through torchlit corridors, her footsteps taking her to Maquin’s door. She paused outside, a flutter of excitement in her belly, then opened the door.

Maquin was standing gazing out of the open window, his back to her. A ten-night of recovery had put a little meat back on his bones, his frame not quite as gaunt and skeletal as it had been. He wore a plain linen tunic, belted with rope at the waist.