‘Yes!’ Ghelel added. ‘What is it, damn it to Hood!’

‘The sigil of the Crimson Guard,’ Ullen said.

Ghelel stared, her brows rising. The Crimson Guard? That hoary old-woman's bogeyman? Mere mercenaries? Was this what so unnerved Ullen? Only her tact stopped her from laughing out loud.

Captain Tonley scratched his auburn beard. His face betrayed an utter lack of recognition. ‘The Crimson Guard, you say? That so, sir? Amazing.’ He took a great deep breath, noticed the carafes of wine and scooped one up. ‘Orders, sir?’

Ullen either didn't notice or was inured to the man's manners – or lack thereof. ‘Send your best rider to Urko at Command.’ He scratched a message on a scrap of vellum, handed it to Tonley. ‘The invading army confirmed as Crimson Guard.’

‘Anyone could use that symbol,’ Ghelel objected.

‘No one would dare,’ the Marquis answered. ‘Come, Prevost. We leave immediately.’ He bowed to Ullen. Ghelel did not move. She watched Ullen who bowed his farewell to her while, she thought, keeping his face carefully empty of emotion. The Marquis took her arm. ‘Prevost.’

Outside, the Marquis said low, ‘Change quickly, we ride within the hour,’ and he was off to his tent. Feeling somehow drunk, stunned by these quick developments, Ghelel walked slowly away. Inside her tent, she found Molk lying across the entrance, an arm over his face. ‘Get up. We're going.’

He moved his arm to blink up at her. ‘Going? So soon?’

‘Yes. And hurry – you have to pack.’ She began changing to dress in her armour.

He sat up quickly. ‘What's the news? Is it her?’

Pulling off her shirt, Ghelel paused. Her? Oh, yes, her, ‘No. Not her.’

‘Who then?’

A laugh from Ghelel. ‘Yes, who indeed.’ She shook out a silk undershirt, pulled it on. ‘Apparently our glorious commander believes these raiders are the Crimson Guard returned. Can you believe that?’ She straightened the front lacings, looked up. ‘Molk?’

She turned full circle, peering around the tent. The fool had disappeared. Well, damn the man. Now who was going to pack?

It was not until the column started off south for the Pilgrim road that Ghelel had an opportunity to speak in relative privacy with the Marquis. Side by side just behind the column's van riding with lit torches, she leaned to him. ‘So you believe him then? That this is the Guard, returned?’

Helmet under an arm and reins in one hand, the Marquis turned to examine her. His eyes were dark pits in the night and his black curly hair blew unbounded about his face. ‘I believe Ullen,’ he called back.

‘Why should Ullen be so certain? And why so fearful? They are only mercenaries. Famous, yes. But just a band of hireswords.’

The Marquis's mouth straightened in a cold humourless smile. ‘Have you not heard the stories then?’

Ghelel thought of the bedtime tales her nanny had told of the Guard and how they opposed the emperor. Romantic heroics of great champions and fanciful unbelievable deeds. ‘I've heard them. Troubadours’ tales and romances. But that was all long ago. Why should Ullen fear them now?’

It was now the Marquis's turn to look confused. ‘Do you not know who he is, was?’

Ghelel stared, taken aback, then cut off a snarled reply. She pulled her mount closer to the Marquis. ‘How in the Queen's own Mysteries am I to know anything if no one tells me anything!’

The Marquis raised a hand in surrender. ‘Apologies. I thought you knew. The man served on Dassem's staff! Was Choss's adjutant for a time. That's why I believe him.’

Astonished, Ghelel relaxed and fell behind the Marquis. Ranks of her cavalry thundered past while her mount slowed. Served with Dassem! Served all his life yet had never left the continent – the man had fought during the wars of consolidation! Damn the fellow! She was half tempted to turn her horse around and confront him. Why didn't he just out and say so? Yet why should he have to? Why shouldn't she have faith in him regardless? Urko chose him for a reason, didn't he? Didn't she accept his competence unquestioned?

She slowed her mount to a canter, gazed back to the encampment, a distant glow in the clear starry night. Her and her mount's breath steamed in the frigid air and Ghelel thought of a bony Seti girl riding east dressed far more poorly than she. Ahead, four of her cavalry had held back from the column, awaiting her. Idly, she wondered where Molk had got himself off to and whether she'd ever see the man again. The stars blazed down with a hard cold light from horizon to horizon and suddenly new ones appeared in the east. Ghelel squinted, surprised. No, not stars, yellow flickering lights, torches. A handful appearing and disappearing in the dark above the horizon where…

Gods turn from her! Ghelel raked her spurs, leaning high and forward. Ride! ‘Haugh!’ She dashed between her startled guard, racing for the column. When she reached the van, the Marquis took one glance at her face and raised an arm in the halt.

His mount rearing, he called, ‘What is it?’

Also struggling to control her own mount, she pointed, ‘Look! Lights! It must be them. They're taking the ruins of the monastery.’

The Marquis studied the east. His mouth twisted his disgust. ‘Trake take us, we'll never lever them out of there! It's a rat warren.’ Then he stared at Ghelel as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes widened, and he yanked on his helmet, securing the strap one-handed. ‘Outriders! Form up! We ride for the bridge!’

A guard of the cavalry formed around Ghelel and the Marquis. Scouts stormed ahead. The Marquis signalled the advance. The column gathered speed to a gallop into absolute darkness.

*

They met no one, though fires burned fitfully beside the road where bands of travellers lay sleeping. Down toward the Idryn dogs rushed out of the dark, snarling at the mounts. Fires burned before the black openings of caves. Ghelel's face was numb with cold, her hands frozen claws around her reins.

Before they reached the bridge their scouts emerged from the dark, barring their way. ‘Armed men at the bridge.’

‘Hood bugger them!’ the Marquis exploded. Then he inclined his head to Ghelel. ‘Pardon me, Prevost.’ To the scouts, ‘Can you identify them?’

‘No, sir. No colours.’

‘It's them,’ Ghelel said, feeling oddly like laughing. Strange how she was the one to deny even the Guard's existence yet now she felt completely certain of their presence ahead. She thought of those stories from her youth; of the romantic yet tragic figure of Duke, then Prince, K'azz. ‘We should go to meet them. Parley.’

‘Parley?’ the Marquis answered, annoyed. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Passage south, of course.’

‘Passage? Why in Fanderay's name should they grant us passage?’

‘Why ever should they not, Marquis?’

He studied her for a time, his head cocked to one side. Then he raised a hand in consent. ‘Very well, Prevost. Let us go down and speak with these mercenaries. I admit to no small curiosity myself.’

They took a guard of four men. With torches held high they advanced slowly on the bridge. Four figures, that they could see, awaited them, blocking the way across. Torches on poles stood to either side where the flagged way met the broad granite blocks of the bridge. The figures themselves stood far back from the light.

‘Far enough!’ a man called in Talian as the Marquis and Ghelel entered the flickering light.

‘Who are you? And how dare you block this way?’ the Marquis called. ‘This is a pilgrim road, open to all.’

‘It's still open to pilgrims,’ the man responded. ‘Well armed for devotions, you are.’

‘Come forward,’ Ghelel invited. ‘Let's discuss passage.’

A tall man and a very short and broad woman came forward into the light. Both wore helmets wrapped in dark cloth that wove around under their chins and surcoats of a thick dark cloth over blackened mail shirts that hung to their knees. Gauntlets covered their hands. The man bore a shield at his back, a longsword at his side, while the hilts of two curved blades jutted forward from the woman's wide sash.