‘Victory is all and glory is our purpose. Round up the destitute and make of them what you can. Those who cannot fight can carry supplies and make weapons, cook meals and be offered to the holy Setatmeh to ensure success. Find a use for as many as possible, but the rest take their chances with the cats and snakes and Choosers – they are the visible face of betrayal and it does not do for people to forget what happens if they break our laws. My laws.’ The council bowed again.

‘With grace and humble thanks, great Singer,’ Pilos said. ‘I will leave the Singing City for the Melody’s fortress tomorrow. With your permission, I will order a hundred warriors to begin the process of selection in my absence. They will be sent to the fortress in batches, where their training will be fierce and fast through the Wet.’

‘Do it. This council is over.’

‘Under the song, holy lord,’ they chanted, prostrating until he had left. Whispers surged up in a storm as soon as he had disappeared deeper into the source, his favourites following and several turning to stare over their shoulders with cold eyes. Those ones were Enet’s, he guessed, even as they pretended to be Xac’s.

Pilos waited until most of the council had exited before forcing himself to his feet with a muttered oath. The muscle was throbbing, the leg shaking as the blood flowed back into his feet and bloomed through the bandage. Yana was waiting for him and pointed – there was a fresh red stain on Pilos’s kilt. ‘Cut yourself shaving?’ he asked with a grin.

Pilos clapped him on the back. ‘Little girls playing with knives,’ he said.

‘Ah. I suspected as much. You have my support, High Feather, both against the Yaloh and here in the Singing City.’

‘Still taking risks, eagle?’

Yana’s hand went to the feather plaited into his greying hair. ‘Some habits are hard to break. You be careful. There’re more things with claws in this city than cats.’

‘I know it, councillor, and, truth be told, I am keen to be away,’ Pilos said. ‘But your support means much. Under the song.’

LILLA

Sky City, Malel, Tokoban

165th day of the Great Star at morning

It was time. The peace-weaving would not yet have concluded – would barely be halfway through its course – but the councils had argued, bitterly and at length, and the members of the shamanic conclave, advisers to the council, had journeyed to the ancestors and to Malel herself for guidance. In the end, agreement was reached.