The Ainoni nodded in grim deliberation.

“Captain?” Kiampas exclaimed. “You know the stories … Every year some fool leads his compa—”

Lord Kosoter had not looked at the sergeant until he mentioned the word fool. His eyes were interruption enough.

“The Black Halls it is, then!” Sarl exclaimed in a smoky cackle, the one he always used to blunt his Captain’s more murderous inclinations. He seemed to wheeze and laugh at each man in turn. “Kiampas! Can’t you see, Kiampas? We’re Skin Eaters, man—Skin Eaters! How many times have we talked about the Black Halls?”

“And what about the rumours?” the Nansur officer snapped, though with the wariness of a struck dog.

“Rumours?” Achamian asked.

“Bah!” Sarl cackled. “Men just can’t countenance mystery. If companies get eaten, they have to invent a Great Eater, no matter what.” He turned to Achamian, his face wrinkling in incredulity. “He thinks a dragon hides in the Black Halls. A Dragon!” He jerked his gaze back to Kiampas, red face thrust forward, knobby fists balled at his side. “Dragon, my eye! It’s the skinnies that get them. It’s the skinnies that get us all in the end.”

“Sranc?” Achamian asked, even though fire-spitting monstrosities heaved in his soul’s eye. How many Wracu had roared through his ancient dreams? “How can you be sure?”

“Because their clans make it through the mountains somehow,” Sarl replied, “especially in the winter. Why do you think so many scalpers risk the Black Halls in the first place?”

“I told you,” Kiampas persisted. “I met those two from Attrempus, survivors of the High Shields. I’m no fool when it comes—”

“Poofs!” Sarl spat. “Moppers! Trying to soak you for a drink! The High Shields were massacred on the long side of the mountains. Kiampas. Kiampas! Everyone knows that! The Long Side!”

The two sergeants glared at each other, Sarl in entreaty, like the son who always placates his father for his brother’s sake, and Kiampas in incredulous resentment, like the sole sane officer in a host of madmen—which was, Achamian reflected, not all that far from the case.

“We take the Low Road,” Lord Kosoter grated. “We enter the Black Halls.”

His tone seemed to condemn all humanity, let alone the petty dispute before him. The Nonman continued to stare off into the east, tall and broad beneath his mottled cowl. The mountain climbed the climbing ground beyond him, a white sentinel whispering with altitude and distance.

“Cleric says he remembers.”