"What about the other men, the ones who aren't legionnaires? There are all sorts in the Black Army."

"That's a good question," Rogan said. "I spend most of my time talking about the legionnaires for two reasons. One is that they're the toughest soldiers you'll face, heavily armoured and well-trained with axes and swords. Another is that they're the leaders here. I don't want you to be afraid of them, I want you to go to them, take them out first. With the Tingarans out of the picture, the other soldiers will bolt. But," he finished, "never fear. I won't go easy on you. I'll also spend some time showing you how to fight against pikemen and macemen, and how to find the weak points on an imperial avenger."

Rogan straightened from the diagrams he'd been drawing in the sawdust he'd scattered over the expanse of the storehouse floor. His leg pained him and he winced, leaning on the walking stick. "Use the wooden swords and fight in pairs. I want to see bruises, but no broken bones, understand?"

As the men chose sparring partners Amelia came over and stood by Rogan, looking worriedly at the strange mixture of young and old men fighting in the makeshift arena. "I hope you know what you're doing," she said.

"He does," said Marcus Toscan, the flaxen-haired soldier Rogan had met in this very storehouse. The Halrana swordsman looked at Rogan but spoke to Amelia. "I've never met anyone like him."

Rogan harrumphed. The few months he'd known Marcus had been long enough for the young soldier to idolise him. Having young Tapel following him around was bad enough. "Are you sure we're safe here?"

"We're safe," Marcus said. "It's a good plan."

With the population of Ralanast and its surrounding areas starving and disease rampant throughout the conquered land, Amelia had come up with a surprisingly cunning strategy for the small army they were building.

The men of Halaran were dying.

The friends of the resistance conducted mock funerals, burying empty boxes in the earth and donning the black of mourning. Inventing causes of death was a simple matter; in fact, the women said it gave them a sense of relief to know their fathers, husbands and sons were being kept hidden, far from the watchful gaze of the occupiers.

The deserted storehouses in Ralanast's once great cargo district provided the perfect refuge and training ground. The buildings were large enough for many men to sleep, eat, and fight, and the district was a warren of buildings and alleys that only a Halrana could find his way through. The Black Army never bothered to patrol.