“So just when did you hope to reach these ruins?” His speech had a well-practised insistence—a first-things-first air—that spoke of many long campaigns.

“The Wards protecting the Coffers are peculiar,” Achamian lied, “geared to the heavenly spheres. We must reach Sauglish before the autumn solstice.”

All eyes raked him, searching, it seemed, for the telltale glow of deceit in the blank coals of his face.

“Sweet Sejenus!” Kiampas cried in disbelief. “The end of summer?”

“It’s imperative.”

“Impossible. It can’t be done!”

“Yes,” the Captain grated, “it can.”

Kiampas paled, seemed to glance down in unconscious apology. Though he was cut of different cloth entirely, Achamian wasn’t surprised to see him sharing Sarl’s reaction to the chest-tightening rarity of their Captain’s voice.

“Well then,” the Nansur continued, apparently searching for his equilibrium in the matter at hand. “The choice of routes is straightforward then. We should travel through Galeoth, up through—”

“That cannot be done,” Achamian interrupted.

The studied lack of expression on Kiampas’s face would be Achamian’s first glimpse of the man’s escalating disdain.

“And what route do you suggest?”

“Along the back of the Osthwai.”

“The back of the …” The man possessed a sneering side, but then, so did most ironic souls. “Are you fucking mad? Do you realize—”

“I cannot travel anywhere in the New Empire,” Achamian said, genuinely penitent. Of all the Skin Eaters he had met thus far, Kiampas was the only one he was prepared to trust, if only at a procedural level. “Ask Lord Kosoter. He knows who I am.”

Apparently the lack of contradiction in the Captain’s glare was confirmation enough.

“So you wish to avoid the Aspect-Emperor,” Kiampas continued. Achamian did not like the way his eyes drifted to the Captain as he said this.

“What of it?”

His impertinent smile was rendered all the more injurious by the dignity of his features. “Rumour has it Sakarpus has fallen, that the Great Ordeal even now marches northward.”

He was saying they would have to cross the New Empire no matter what. Achamian bowed his face to the jnanic degree that acknowledged a point taken. He knew how absurd he must look, an old, wild-haired hermit dressed in a beggar’s tunic, aping the etiquette of a faraway caste-nobility. Even still, this was a courtesy he had yet to extend to any of the others; he wanted Kiampas to know that he respected both him and his misgivings.

Something told him he would need allies in the weeks and months to come.

“Look,” Achamian replied. “Were it not for the Great Ordeal, an expedition such as this would be madness. This is perhaps the one time, the only time, that something like this can be attempted! But just because the Aspect-Emperor clears our way, doesn’t mean we must cross his path. He shall be far ahead of us, mark me.”

Kiampas was having none of it. “The Captain tells me you’re a fellow Veteran, that you belonged to the First Holy War. That means you know full well the sluggish and capricious ways of great hosts on the march.”