‘High Feather? Anything you need?’ Atu was a shadow against the night as he paused in the doorway. Pilos shook his head and beckoned him in and onto a stool, sloshed beer into a second cup and handed it over. Atu knocked it back and then groaned. ‘Thank you, Setatmeh,’ he breathed and Pilos snorted, sipped at his own cup and gestured for his subordinate to top up his own.

‘How long do you think we’ll have?’ he asked.

Pilos rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s seven weeks, maybe eight, until the Wet begins to taper. Under normal circumstances, we’d set out for Xentiban a week or so after that. But these aren’t normal circumstances, so I think we’ll be moving in four weeks and fighting up Yalotlan’s hills and dying in mudslides a few weeks after that.’

Only because it was Atu, and only because it was late and he was a little drunk, did he allow those words to pass his lips, tight and bitter.

‘The Singer’s will,’ Atu said quietly, and although there was no reprimand in his voice, Pilos sat up straighter.

‘Look at Quitoban,’ he said. ‘A flooded delta in the east, tidal marshes in the south, and the worst Wet in living memory. We won there; we’ll win in Yalotlan.’

‘And the Quitob make up the bulk of our dogs now,’ Atu added. ‘The older ones will be useful in assessing the ground for danger. And of course, we’ll be able to access Yaloh populations that have to stay for the harvests. That will make things easier.’

Pilos nodded; it had been the biggest difficulty they’d faced before the Wet, making significant progress in a society mostly comprising small villages. Even Xentiban had a few decent-sized cities that, once taken, had crippled any cohesive counter-attack. In contrast, the Yaloh had fled his advancing Melody and then returned to their villages and fields once they’d passed by. But harvest time would be different.

‘We can supplement our own travel rations,’ he confirmed as Atu suppressed a yawn. ‘Point taken, Feather. Get some rest. I want twenty good eagles overseeing the new slaves at dawn. We’re in for a tough war season and I want to know we’ve got replacements ready to go if we lose Feathers. Rotate any with promise into training and leadership roles with the hawks in the time we have left and get me a shortlist for review.’

‘As the High Feather commands,’ Atu said and then hesitated. ‘This is my favourite time, you know,’ he added and then blushed. ‘Forgive me.’

Pilos raised his hand to still him. ‘No. Tell me,’ he said, intrigued.

The Feather shifted, uncomfortable, and then said in a rush, ‘When they first swear, High Feather, whether reluctant or not. When the slaves first swear and we have this chance to show them …’