Taru recognizes the scope of such a compliment, but is ill equipped to respond. Luckily, Captain Staz isn’t awaiting an answer. She summons a deckhand and whispers something in the young girl’s ear before sending her scurrying away. After several moments the girl returns with her hands clasped around a worn binder fashioned from thick horsehide. It’s enclosed by a flap and toggle bound together with a cord of catgut. The binder is large enough to hold a stack of parchment.

Staz takes it from the girl and extends the binder toward Taru. “Go with whatever gods watch over you. And tell Brio he owes his old Aunty Staz a visit… when he returns to us.”

Taru quickly bends down and snatches up the short sword and hook-end from the deck, sheathing both weapons expertly. The retainer reaches out and takes the binder from the small, bundled woman.

“I thank you. I give you my word I will use this as Brio intended.”

Captain Staz refolds her hands and nods.

Taru carefully fits the binder beneath their leather breastplate and bows deeply to the Rok vessel’s mistress. The retainer turns and tromps across the wooden deck. Taru halts just short of the gangplank, uncertain, but in the end the retainer turns back to address Staz.

“I think I should like to visit Rok one day. I would hope to see you there.”

Captain Staz bows her head. “I wish for a world in which this would be possible.”

Taru raps gloved knuckles against their leather breastplate, feeling the binder beneath shift subtly.

“It is coming.”

MARCHING TO A HEADLESS DRUM

THE WASTELANDS ARE TURNING LUSH and green beneath their marching feet.

“Clearest sign we’re nearin’ the Crachian border,” Mother Manai remarks, reaching down to pluck several blades as rich as jade from the ground and rub them between her fingers. She lets the wind take the remnants and inhales against her stained fingertips gratefully.

Evie is marching alongside the Elder Company at the head of a Savage snake composed of blue-runed faces. Their B’ors counterparts follow, silent and stoic and never losing pace. The Sicclunans, on foot and on horseback, round out the column in front of the rogue Legionnaires. A company of Sirach’s outriders and the best of the B’ors scouts have been sent ahead, while more of her stealth warriors flank them from cover to guard against any trace of an ambush.

“The border doesn’t move, does it?” Evie asks, although it’s clear she’s already discerned the answer.

Mother Manai smiles ruefully, shaking her head. “Not since before I was born, I imagine.”

A stallion whinnies and Evie turns her head to see Sirach astride her mount, falling back to join them.

“Continuing to unravel that shiny Crachian tapestry, are we, General?” the Sicclunan captain asks Evie, invoking her unofficial title with relish and a grin.