“Reckon there’s more soldiers of Angland here than there were in the army of Angland,” murmured Rikke.

Shivers rubbed thoughtfully at his grey stubble. “Feels more like a city fallen to a siege than one delivered.”

“Don’t trust a one o’ these bastards,” whispered Isern-i-Phail, in Northern, frowning over her shoulder at their escort.

“Aye, but you hate everyone,” said Rikke.

Isern looked shocked to her roots. “Lies! I am all yielding fellowship and good humour! I like Shivers.”

“Everyone likes me,” droned the most feared man in the North, swaying in his saddle.

“And I’m fond of old Hardbread. And the Nail is a man I could be persuaded to hammer, d’you take my meaning?”

“Despite the many layers of cunning I believe I’ve dug it out,” said Rikke.

“I’m taking to that girl Sholla. She surely can slice cheese fine.”

“Like cobwebs.”

“Just melts on your tongue. I’ve been thinking about all the other things she might be able to slice and coming on all aquiver at the prospect.”

“High praise.”

“Hmmm.” Isern stuck out her lips, clearly sorting through the rest of her acquaintance and finding no treasure. “Hardly an army of friends, now I reckon ’em up.”

Rikke cleared her throat, pointing a hopeful thumb towards herself.

“Meh.” Isern scrunched up her face like she’d taken a sup of old ale and had a fear it was off. “On you I remain to be convinced.”

“You said that two bloody years ago!”

“And you’re shifting me in the right direction. Love easily given isn’t worth a thing, d’you see. Another few years and I might like you as much as my brothers.” She twisted in her saddle to look at Scofen and Scenn, gazing about at the great soot-streaked buildings in amazement.

“So… you’ll ignore me most o’ the time, and the rest treat me with open scorn?”

“That’s it!” And Isern clapped Rikke on the shoulder hard enough she had to clutch at her saddle to stay in it.

They passed blackened scars through the city. Whole streets in ruins. Burned-out shells being torn down but some carcasses still standing, too, doors and windows gaping like corpse mouths, breeze whipping stinging ash from inside. There were more beggars on the streets even than there used to be. More homeless and helpless, slinking away as their great company clattered past.

“By the dead,” breathed Rikke, staring at a great set of marble steps with nothing on top but the stumps of huge pillars, workmen battering away at those with picks and chisels, a great crane towering high over the monstrous building site. “Is this where that bank was?”

“Valint and Balk,” said Jurand, with a disapproving frown.

That mighty temple to profits, where the First of the Magi had met his smirking sidekick. Seemed even that could be laid low.

“What’re they putting in its place?” asked Rikke.

“I understand there is an urgent need for loans and investment. For new business and construction. The Lady Regent has plans… to build the world’s largest bank.”