Errant knew, she regretted that now. Better had she let him work on that bastard. Better still were they still carrying him with them. Eyes gouged out, nose cut off, tongue carved from his mouth. And with this knife in her hand she could slice strips of skin from his flesh. She had heard a story once, of a factor in a small remote hamlet who had made a habit of raping young girls, until the women one night ambushed him. Beaten and trussed, then a loincloth filled with spike-thorns had been tied on like a diaper, tightly, and the man was bound to the back of his horse. The pricking thorns drove the animal into a frenzy. The beast eventually scraped the man loose on a forest path, but he had bled out by then. The story went that the man’s face, in death, had held all the pain a mortal could suffer, and as for what had been found between his legs…

She sawed off the last length of greasy hair and dropped it on the fire. The stench was fierce, but there were bush-warlocks and decrepit shamans who, if they happened upon human hair, would make dire use of it. It was a sad truth that, given the chance to bind a soul, few resisted the temptation.

Corlo called to the soldiers and suddenly they were running hard down the hillside towards the farm, leaving behind only Seren and Iron Bars. The Crimson Guardsman strode towards her. ‘You hear it, lass?’

‘What?’

‘Horses. In the stable. The fire’s jumped to its roof. The farmer’s left his horses behind.’

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

He squinted down at her, then crouched until he was at eye level. ‘No, likely the owner’s dead. Strange, how most locals around here don’t know how to ride.’

She looked down at the farm once again. ‘Probably a breeder for the army. The whole notion of cavalry came from Bluerose – as did most of the stock. Horses weren’t part of our culture before then. Have you ever seen Letherii cavalry on parade? Chaos. Even after, what, sixty years? And dozens of Bluerose officers trying to train our soldiers.’

‘You should have imported these Bluerose horse-warriors over as auxiliaries. If it’s their skill, exploit it. You can’t borrow someone else’s way of life.’

‘Maybe not. Presumably, you can ride, then.’

‘Aye. And you?’

She nodded, sheathing the knife and rising. ‘Trained by one of those Bluerose officers I mentioned.’

‘You were in the army before?’

‘No, he was my lover. For a time.’

Iron Bars straightened as well. ‘Look – they’ve reached them in time. Come on.’

She hesitated. ‘I forgot to thank you, Iron Bars.’

‘You wouldn’t have been as pretty drowned.’

‘No. I’m not ready yet to thank you for that. What you did to those men

‘I’ve a great-granddaughter back in Gris, D’Avore Valley. She’d be about your age now. Let’s go, lass.’

She walked behind him down the slope. Great-granddaughter. What an absurd notion. He wasn’t that old. These Avowed had strange senses of humour.

Corlo and the squad had pulled a dozen horses from the burning stable, along with tack and bridles. One of the soldiers was cursing as Seren and Iron Bars approached.

‘Look at these stirrups! No wonder the bastards can’t ride the damned things!’

‘You set your foot down in the crotch of the hook,’ Seren explained. ‘And what happens if it slips out?’ the man demanded. ‘You fall off.’

‘Avowed, we need to rework these things – some heavy leather-’

‘Cut up a spare saddle,’ Iron Bars said, ‘and see what you can manage. But I want us to be riding before sunset.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘A more stable stirrup,’ the Avowed said to Seren, ‘is a kind of half-boot, something you can slide your foot into, with a straight cross-bar to take your weight. I agree with Halfpeck. These Bluerose horse-warriors missed something obvious and essential. They couldn’t have been very good riders…’

Seren frowned. ‘My lover once mentioned how these saddles were made exclusively for Lether. He said they used a slightly different kind back in Bluerose.’

His eyes narrowed on her, and he barked a laugh, but made no further comment.

She sighed. ‘No wonder our cavalry is next to useless. I always found it hard to keep my feet in, and to keep them from turning this way and that.’

‘You mean they swivel?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I’d like to meet these Bluerose riders some day.’

‘They are a strange people, Iron Bars. They worship someone called the Black-winged Lord.’

‘And they resemble Letherii?’

‘No, they are taller. Very dark skins.’

He regarded her for a moment, then asked, ‘Faces like the Tiste

Edur?’

‘No, much finer-boned.’

‘Long-lived?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, but to be honest, I don’t really know. Few Letherii do, nor do they much care. The Blueroses were defeated. Subjugated. There were never very many of them, in any case, and they preferred isolation. Small cities, from what I’ve heard. Gloomy.’

‘What ended your affair?’

‘Just that, I suppose. He rarely saw any good in anything. I wearied of his scepticism, his cynicism, the way he acted – as if he’d seen it all before a thousand times…’

The stable was engulfed in flames by now, and they were all forced away by the fierce heat. In the nearby pasture they retreated to, they found a half-dozen corpses, the breeder and his family. They’d known little mercy in the last few bells of their lives. None of the soldiers who examined them said a word, but their expressions hardened.

Iron Bars made a point of keeping Seren away whilst three men from the squad buried the bodies. ‘We’ve found a trail,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, lass, we want to follow it. For a word with the ones who killed that family.’

‘Show me the tracks,’ she said.

He gestured and Corlo led her to the edge of a stand of trees on the southeast end of the clearing. Seren studied the array of footprints entering the woodcutters’ path. ‘There’s twenty or more of them,’ she pronounced after a moment.

The mage nodded. ‘Deserters. In armour.’

‘Yes, or burdened with loot.’

‘Likely both.’

She turned to regard the man. ‘You Crimson Guardsmen – you’re pretty sure of yourselves, aren’t you?’

‘When it comes to fighting, aye, lass, we are.’

‘I watched Iron Bars fight in Trate. He’s an exception, I gather-’

‘Aye, he is, but not among the Avowed. Jup Alat would’ve given him trouble. Or Poll, for that matter. Then there’s those in the other companies. Halfdan, Blues, Black the Elder…’

‘More of these Avowed?’

‘Aye.’

‘And what does it mean? To be an Avowed?’

‘Means they swore to return their prince to his lands. He was driven out, you see, by the cursed Emperor Kellanved. Anyway, it ain’t happened yet. But it will, someday, maybe soon.’

‘And that was the vow? All right. It seems this prince had some able soldiers with him.’

‘Oh indeed, lass, especially when the vow’s kept them alive all this time.’

‘What do you mean?’

The mage looked suddenly nervous. ‘I’m saying too much. Never rnind me, lass. Anyway, you’ve seen the trail the bastards left behind, iney made no effort to hide, meaning they’re cocksure themselves, aren’t they?’ He smiled, but there was no humour in it. ‘We’ll catch up, and then we’ll show them what real cavalry can do. Riding horses with stirrups, I mean – we don’t often fight from the saddle, but we ain’t new to it either.’

‘Well, I admit, you’ve got me curious.’

‘Just curious, lass? No hunger for vengeance?’

She looked away. ‘I want to look around,’ she said. ‘Alone, if you don’t mind.’

The mage shrugged. ‘Don’t wander too far. The Avowed’s taken to you, I think.’

That’s… unfortunate. ‘I won’t.’

Seren headed into the wood. There had been decades of thinning, leaving plenty of stumps and open spaces between trees. She listened to Corlo walking away, back to the clearing. As soon as silence enveloped her, she suddenly regretted the solitude. Desires surged, none of them healthy, none of them pleasant. She would never again feel clean, and this truth pushed her thoughts in the opposite direction, as if a part of her sought to foul her flesh yet further, as far as it could go. Why not? Lost in the darkness as she was, it was nothing to stain her soul black, through and through.