Acir returned the salute.

‘Where is Captain Marcien? I’ve come from the Grand Maistre with new instructions.’

‘I’ll take you to him. Follow me.’

Clouds of choking dust blew into their faces as they entered the quarry.

‘We’ve been blasting a new tunnel,’ said the Guerrior, taking out a kerchief to cover his nose and mouth.

‘Blasting?’ Acir wiped the dust from his watering eyes. ‘Do you use explosive charges often?’

‘The best stone is in the heart of the mountain. We have to go in deep.’

Acir frowned. ‘Into Tourmalise?’

A look of suspicion flashed across the Guerrior’s face.

‘Have there been complaints?’

They had reached a wooden shack tucked under an overhang. The Guerrior gestured to Acir to dismount and took his horse’s reins.

An officer came storming out. He was caked in stone dust; even his beard and eyebrows were thick with red powder.

‘Who the deuce are –’ He stopped, seeing Acir’s badge of office. ‘Ah, Captain. Welcome.’ His eyes, startlingly green amidst the dust, belied the words of welcome, staring at Acir with overt hostility.

Acir began to relay the Grand Maistre’s message. Before he had finished, Marcien erupted.

‘More stone! Tell him we need more workers. More Sanctuarees. There’s been sickness with the heat. Bad water.’

‘Heat sickness?’ Acir said, suddenly alert. ‘Let me see them. I served in the desert. I have some expertise in these matters –’

“That won’t be possible,’ Marcien said hurriedly.

Now Acir was certain: Marcien was hiding something.

‘Take me to them.’

‘You’ve come at a most inopportune time.’

‘I’ll be making a full report, Marcien. If you have been concealing anything from the Commanderie –’

‘Confound you and your report.’ Marcien glared at him. ‘You pen-pushers – what do you know about the risks of quarrying stone?’

He led Acir towards the entrance to a cave.

In the dank, cool air, he saw forms lying on the cave floor, human forms covered in bloodstained sacking.

Bodies.

Marcien flicked back the sacking from the nearest, watching Acir’s face. He forced himself to show no emotion; he sensed that Marcien wanted to shock him – and yet it was hard not to feel pity at the sight of the twisted, crushed corpse.

‘How?’ he asked.

‘Rockfall. We were blasting deeper into the mountain and the tunnel caved in.’

‘Any survivors?’

‘One. He’s so badly injured he won’t last the night.’

‘I’ll need a list of the names of the dead to take back to Bel’Esstar. For the records.’

‘You and your damned Commanderie records. I need fresh men. Fresh supplies. Tell Girim that. Then he’ll get more stone.’ Marcien went out of the cave towards the shack.