‘I know you are more than just warriors. You are farmers, artists, weavers, hunters, shamans. We are all, at the end of the day, hunters, gatherers, and farmers first. Warriors last. We pick up weapons only out of necessity. Once you and your family have bought your freedom, you will be given a plot of land within the Empire to farm. Half of your crop will be sent as tithe to the local governor of your district; the rest is yours to do with as you wish. Mostly, I recommend you eat it and grow fat and fuck your partners and have more children. But I leave that choice up to you.’

There were a few half-smiles in the throng and Pilos’s grin outmatched them. ‘This is how you earn your freedom. This is how you earn the freedom of your families. This is how you return to the lives you led before, but this time under the song, in its power and glory. Seven years, maybe eight, and freedom and land and family are all yours. Eight years – one Star cycle, no more. Just a Star cycle.’

He paused to let that sink in and then the timbre of his voice dropped, roughened. ‘Refuse this gift, and your families will be slaves until the day they die. Your children will never be permitted to take a partner and any children they do have will belong to the people in whose homes they work. If they disobey or rebel, they will be offered to the holy Setatmeh in ritual. Neither education nor medicine will be theirs, for you show us by your refusal that their lives have no value. Your line will die. They will die.’

The choice that was no choice at all.

‘Attend!’ Feather Atu bellowed. ‘Dog warriors, fall in.’ The four hundred dogs drilling across the yard sprinted into position. ‘When I give the order, ten slaves and ten dogs will fight. We want to see your skill, your aggression, and your footwork. We do not want to see death or crippling. We are here to assess you, not execute you.’

They’d lose a score of dogs, probably, and a quarter or more of the slaves, regardless of the order against killing. But those who were left would swear oaths to the Singer and replenish his numbers. When they could be trusted, they’d be sent into peaceful, happy Chitenec to enforce the Singer’s laws. In the meantime, the Melody would march to Yalotlan and bring it beneath the song. And the cycle would begin again.

It was the end of a very long day, filled with far too many demands on his time, and Pilos would have already been snoring if not for being wound so tight about … everything.