At last, Rennic emerged from the gloom, hands empty, brows low. Chel felt his relief like a hot rush, and almost skipped over to meet the big man as he came ducking through the doorway. Rennic’s eyes were distant, and Chel noticed spots of blood on the big man’s fists.

‘What happened in there? Did you get what we need?’

‘You know,’ Rennic said, his tone devoid of its customary hard edge, ‘just once … if I could have a way to make people tell the fucking truth about their intentions, or just do what they said they would.’ He looked out over the broken fields, flexing his bloodied knuckles. ‘Do you think the Nort could make something like that?’

Chel tried to follow his gaze, seeing nothing but snow-streaked mud. ‘That’s what an oath is. That’s the whole point.’

Rennic snorted, the hard light returning to his eyes. ‘To the weak-minded, maybe. No words professed, even with great eagerness, can ever focus a man’s actions like physical coercion.’

‘My father always said we could be better. We could make our word as strong as steel, as solid as rock. You say you’ll do something, you do it. No matter what.’

Rennic turned and gestured back through the open doorway to where a figure lay in half-light, its gurgling indistinct. ‘There’s your better, little man. Wonder how rock-solid her intentions were this morning. There’s a reason they say never make promises to children or kings, you know,’ he continued, hands stuffed back into his coat. ‘Eventually the world will make you break one. And when you do, you break yourself in their eyes. No coming back from that.’

‘Rennic, are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘Did you get the leaf?’

Rennic patted the breast of his coat. ‘Let’s get inside this wretched place and do what needs doing. The sooner we’re away from this hole, the better. We’ve got other stops to make.’

With relief, Chel turned his back on the poppy den and took careful steps into what passed for the fresh air of Merenghi’s shadow, anxious to flush the syrupy stench from his lungs, and with it the concomitant edge of nausea. He took a couple of deep, dung-flavoured breaths as they reached the edge of the hut-row. Movement caught his eye, a small boy crouched in the mud between the opposite huts, digging at the old mortar with a pair of short sticks. The child looked up and froze in utter terror on seeing him, then scrambled back between the huts, his trembling gaze locked on Chel.

Nonplussed, Chel raised his palms. ‘What’s up with this kid?’ he muttered over his shoulder to Rennic. Rennic made no reply.

Upset at the notion a child might fear him, Chel walked slowly toward the boy, attempting a calming motion, but the boy shied as if he were about to strike.