Rogan saw Tapel's mother, Amelia, up ahead, and for a time his thoughts shifted away from blood and warfare. Now there was a beautiful woman, still handsome in spite of the hardships of war, still determined despite the occupation of her city. The late afternoon sun shone on her golden hair, and she pushed the fringe away from her eyes in a girlish gesture, squinting as she looked to the right and the left. The years had given Amelia a face of strength and wisdom, with more smile lines than wrinkles and deep brown eyes.

Rogan had to be honest with himself — he knew what he had stayed here for. He tousled Tapel's hair. "There's your mother, lad. Let's say hello."

Before he could get Amelia's attention, she darted into the door of a terraced house, quickly entering the building and shutting the door after her. She was only gone a moment, and when she emerged Rogan was surprised to see a basket in her hands, covered in a cloth of patterned red and white squares.

Amelia looked around her again, but she didn't look behind her and so didn't notice Rogan and her son. She walked a dozen paces and then took a hard right turn into an alley.

Rogan's heart sank when he saw two Tingaran legionnaires in black tabards follow her in. He didn't know what she was up to but he knew it was something dangerous.

"Stay here, Tapel. And, lad, this time I mean it," Rogan said.

Rogan started to walk as fast as he could with his gammy leg, hobbling along with his stick out and sandals slapping against the cobbled stones. "Scratch you, boy," Rogan cursed when he saw Tapel following behind him. "Just stay back and stay out of sight, all right?"

Tapel nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

Rogan reached the alley and turned in. Amelia stood terrified, her face white, and the two legionnaires were talking to her.

"What's in the basket?" a thin Tingaran with a sibilant voice said.

"Medicines," Amelia said, her voice shaking. "Woman's things. You don't need to see them."

"Actually we do," the thin man said. "C'mon, let's see 'em."

His companion, a shorter man with a hooked nose, said. "Heard of the prison camp? You want to go there?"

The thin man spoke again, his voice wheedling. "You can keep your basket secret, and we'll take you to the camp so they can question you there. Or you can show us, and we'll decide how bad it is. Maybe it's just some liquor you're trying to keep from us, eh? That what it is? Maybe some valuables you're trying to smuggle out? Maybe —"

The thin man's voice was suddenly cut off as something hit his head with a great crack, splitting the skull with a precision blow. The legionnaire crumpled to the ground without a sound.

The warrior with the hooked nose turned in surprise. "Wha—?"