‘… then I'll find a wetnurse among the Wickans. After that the little tyke can go to stay with my brother in Halas. He's a wood-wright there. Or what about your people?’

Rillish thought about his people. He thought of the high-season house in Unta and the off-season house in Haljhen. The family lands along the Gris River where vineyards, fields and orchards stretched for more than a day's ride in any direction. He thought of the barrels of wine ageing beneath the great manor house, the countless families who lived on and worked those lands.

All lost to him. Lost to Rillish Jal Keth, the family traitor.

And now he had an heir. An heir to the two swords he carried, the bag of coin under his shirt and a name he or she could never claim. He took Talia's hand. ‘So where is this Halas?’

One of their remaining Seti scouts came roaring up and pulled short at the last moment, his mount stamping, sweaty and lathered. Ghelel recognized Toven, the young smartarse who had teased her and Molk earlier. Now, she was grateful for the lad's love of excitement.

’They're headed for Heng,’ he reported.

The ‘they’ in this case was a huge Kan Confederacy army that had come marching out of the south, consisting of some four thousand lancers and twenty-five thousand infantry. The ‘they’ being the reason the Marquis and his command were now hunkered down in a copse of trees south-west of Heng.

The Marquis nodded his acknowledgement.

Thank you, scout. Get yourself a fresh horse.’

‘Aye, commander.’ A leering grin to Ghelel and the lad kicked his mount onward.

‘Going to get himself killed,’ Prevost Razala said with a kind of reluctant affection.

‘I hope not,’ the Marquis murmured, ‘we're running out of scouts.’

‘So this Kan force – they're our allies?’ Ghelel asked.

The Marquis drew his pipe from his shoulder-pouch, clamped it unlit between his teeth. ‘Not necessarily, they may be with Laseen. But, if I were to lay any wagers on the matter, I'd say they're on the side of the Itko Kan Confederacy.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning that they may be here to try to take Li Heng.’

‘What? But that's ridiculous! With our army here, and Laseen's!’

A thoughtful frown. ‘Not at all. Itko Kan has always resented the establishment of the Free Cities. Heng is the only reason the entity exists. Now's their chance to rid themselves of it. Not to mention possibly keeping hold of Heng. No, I imagine they plan to negotiate with whoever wins up north, using Heng as their card. Sound strategy.’

‘That's-’ Ghelel stopped herself from saying anything that would reveal any more of her lack of… well, cold-bloodedness.

‘Makes me wish the beast would cross the Idryn,’ Razala grated.

Jhardin shot the woman a look. ‘Believe me, Prevost, you do not wish that.’

‘What of us, then, Marquis?’ Ghelel asked.

‘We withdraw west. To the Falls.’

‘West? West to Broke Earth Falls?’ Ghelel repeated, disbelieving. ‘But that would take us completely from battle! We are needed up north! Choss is facing off against Laseen. Every man and woman is needed!’

‘Five hundred would make precious little difference, Prevost Alil. In any case, our way north is blocked. We are cut off from the Pilgrim Bridge, from Li Heng. The only place we may be able to cross is the Falls.’

‘I differ with you on that point, Commander. A charge of a hundred heavies could make all the difference in any battle. Razala? What of you?’

The commander of heavy cavalry held her gaze long and hard on Ghelel, who caught a storm of suppressed emotions writhing just beneath her sweaty, plain, scarred face: resentment, anger, shame and finally regret. Then the woman lowered her eyes as if studying the backs of her gauntlets crossed before her on the pommel of her saddle. ‘I wish it more than I can say, Prevost. But… I'm sworn to follow the Marquis.’

‘So we go west,’ Jhardin said. ‘The Seti will keep us informed.’ And he kicked his mount into motion.

‘Kanese forces,’ Sergeant Banath snorted next to Hurl. ‘Ploughboys, fishergals and runaway ‘prentices. Not a backbone in the lot. Don't know why they bother. Might as well pack up and go home.’ He spat over the edge of the tower next to the South Outer Round gate. ‘ ‘Cept their mages. Plenty tricky, them Kan mages. Like the Dal Hon – only not so bad.’

‘Thanks for the tip, Sergeant,’ Hurl said, head in hands. It still hurt. Liss said she was all healed up, but it still hurt. And this Kan parley did not help at all. Gods help its commander; she was in a mood to bite stone. ‘All right. Let's go.’

Hurl rode out accompanied by Silk, Sergeant Banath and a detachment of twenty Hengan cavalry – a good fraction of all that remained to them. Liss was watching the north, Sunny was handling repairs and reconstruction, while Storo lay in bed, barely alive, recovering from the savaging the beast had inflicted upon him. And Jalor; Jalor had fallen doing his job – standing next to Rell. As for Rell, he made it plain these sort of negotiations were not for him. And so it came to Hurl, now Acting-Fist, and commander of the city's defence.

Kan outriders stopped them just a short ride along the road south. Here they waited for the Kan representatives. They had a long wait. Hurl took the opportunity to get as much room as possible between her and the horses. She walked to an abandoned farmhouse and grounds – the trampled garden plot picked clean, the rooms emptied of all furniture, tools. All hints of the family that had occupied the homestead gone. Standing in the thatch-roofed, single-room house, watching the dust swirl in the light from the open door, all she felt was a sense of sadness and loss. Who had lived here? She wondered if their own scavenging parties had been responsible, or the Talian force reportedly in the south, or these very Kanese outriders keeping an eye on them. Eventually, a large carriage drawn by four oxen came rumbling up the south road. Lancers escorted it, and a van of five horsemen preceded it. Hurl went out to meet them.

One dismounted and approached, a man wearing functional armour of banded strips and a long jupon bearing the seven entwined blossoms of the Itko Kan Confederacy – an insignia last seen some hundred years ago. He pulled off his helmet and cloth cap revealing a middle-aged man, darkly featured with a moustache and closely trimmed beard. He bowed to Hurl. ‘Commander Pirim ‘J Shall at your service.’ He motioned to the riders. ‘Invigilator Durmis.’ The short robed man bowed. The rest of the riders were obviously guards. ‘Within the carriage is Custodian Kapalet. Sadly, the demands of the expedition have proved wearying for the custodian and she is indisposed.’

‘Acting-Fist Hurl.’ She motioned to her own escort. ‘And this is Silk.’ The commander bowed. Exhaling noisily, he sat on the edge of the broken water trough.

‘Congratulations in forestalling the Talians. It must have been very difficult.’

‘Accepted.’

‘Yet…’ and he was looking off to the west, ‘it has no doubt left you sorely diminished. You must ask yourself, how much more can your men take? How much more must they have left within them?’

‘Enough to turn away your dog and pony act.’

He flashed a tolerant smile and motioned to the surrounding countryside. ‘We of the Confederacy did not come empty-handed, Acting-Fist. We know these lands well – they used to be ours. We know of the shortage of wood and so we brought our own. Enough for many siege towers.’

‘There's nothing I like more than a good fire.’

Again, a smile of forbearance. ‘Consider, commander, can you face us in the south and keep adequate watch on your north? I very much doubt it. Consider well, and offer terms – if only for the sake of your men.’