The master sergeant dragged Nait up. ‘Ryllandaras ain't gonna bother with little ol’ us so don't bother with your cover story.’ He motioned to the squad. ‘Fall in, double-column.’

‘Cover story? What d'you mean cover story?’

‘I know why you came out here with your saboteur squad.’ He shook Nait by the arm. ‘Got yourself some munitions, don't cha? Gonna bag yourself the big one, ain't ya?’

‘What? No!’

‘The old fart's got a point,’ Kibb said aside.

The veteran waved a gauntleted hand. ‘It's all right. You'll get your chance for everlastin’ fame and glory. I just want a quick parley with these Seti here, then we'll hustle back to camp and I'll help you ambush Whitey.’

‘For the last time, I don't-’

‘Shhh.’

The master sergeant led them west past the killing fields out on to horse-trampled prairie. Farther west Nait could just make out a party of Seti horsemen, dismounted and gathered together. They seemed to be just waiting, watching the east, towards the Imperial encampment.

The master sergeant whispered into Nait's ear:

‘Call for the Boar.’ ‘What? Nait hissed. ‘No, you call!’

The veteran nudged him none too lightly. ‘G'wan.’

Eyes on the master sergeant, who winked his encouragement, Nait cleared his throat. The Seti all dropped from sight as if felled. ‘Ah – is the Boar there?’ he called in a strained whisper.

After a time the answer came in Talian: ‘Who is asking?’

‘Tell him,’ whispered the master sergeant, ‘his sword-brother.’

Nait cleared his throat once more. ‘Ah – his sword-brother.’

A man stood, short and very stocky, long arms akimbo. ‘Sword-brother? Stand up then, damn you!’

The master sergeant stood. ‘I know that voice!’ ‘And I know that silhouette.’

The two men started forward towards one another through the grass, slowly though, warily, until close they threw themselves into each other's arms, pounding each other on the back.

‘Am I seein’ things,’ Kibb asked. ‘Or are those two guys hugging?’

The Seti chief, or warleader, Nait wasn't sure what he was, gave instructions to his band. They mounted and rode off to the north-east without him. ‘Gonna ambush Whitey on his way back if they can,’ the master sergeant explained. The man then came east with them. Turns out he was some kind of Malazan veteran who'd served with the master sergeant. The two led the way back, talking in low gravelly tones.

‘I thought the Seti was all for the jackal,’ Jawl whispered to Nait.

‘Seems this Boar fella's against him.’ He studied the faces of his squad as they pushed their way through the cold wet grass. Here he was asking them to pick through the killing fields for the second time. If they hadn't yet had all their delusions about warfare squeezed from them by now, they would have before this night was done. Tranter and Martin humped their broad shields on their backs, their eyes scanning the dark, never resting in any one place. His infantry saboteurs, Kal, Trapper, Brill and the woman, May, walked more or less together while the Untan kids kept together. He was proud of them, the way they'd handled the horror of seein’ all this. But then, they'd been here when it was delivered. Gone was the fear – you can only sustain a terror-pitch for so long – but gone also were the grimaces of pale nausea and flinches of disgust. It looked to Nait as if walking through the field of the fallen was pushing them down into the worst mood for any soldier, flat sadness. He crossed to them.

‘Hey – when we get back maybe I'll see about getting you lot kitted out proper. How ‘bout that?’

Looking up, Poot brightened. ‘Really? Like with real armour ‘n’ such?’

‘Yeah, could be.’

Kibb and Jawl started taking about what kind of weapons and armour they'd want. Poot just smiled dreamily at the thought of it. But little Stubbin wouldn't be drawn in – nothing could pull his eyes from scanning the fields.

Ahead, the master sergeant and the Seti had stopped to let them catch up. Temp signed for everyone to stay low. ‘What is it?’ Nait asked. Both veterans signed angrily for silence. Kneeling, everyone listened. At first Nait couldn't hear anything unusual over the same noises of snarling of the sated jackals and the moans of wounded suffering out there among the many, and now tormented by thirst. Then came a distant roaring, as of countless throats shouting – a riot far away, or battle. And a louder echoing bellow and snarl. Everyone's eyes brightened in the dark. The master sergeant and the Seti leapt to their feet. ‘C'mon! Forward!’

It was the worst engagement of Ullen's life though he himself was in no danger. Men and women, his soldiers, pulled themselves by their clawed hands up the mud-filled trench they'd just worked to dig. They threw themselves three, four, five deep against the crossed spikes and makeshift palisade of timbers and logs, begging for weapons, for mercy, for everyone inside to die miserable deaths. Soldiers at the barricade pushed them back with spears, poleaxes and lances. And he and Urko could do nothing. Guarded, they'd been marched close to wagons where Imperial soldiers tossed swords and shields out over the barricade to the clamouring horde beyond. Swords and shields only, no armour or bows or crossbows. Nearby stood Laseen, surrounded by her guards, making it clear what authority lay behind this relief – if delayed.

Out in the darkness beyond the reach of the compound torches, the man-eater, Ryllandaras, roared and slaughtered. His explosive bellowing shook the boards of the wagons, vibrated the mud upon which they stood. Ullen caught fleeting glimpses of a huge grey shape, astonishingly fast. But the Talians and the Gold fought. Weapons were passed along or thrown further across the press to the front where new hands carried them against the beast, or picked them up from dead ones.

Fists at his head, Urko spun to Laseen, pleading, ‘For the love of Burn, allow a sortie!’

‘What would stop your men from attacking them, pillaging their arms and armour and fleeing? Or attacking?’

‘My word! My bond!’

The Empress's gaze snapped to Urko. ‘You pledge to me?’

‘Yes!’

Stepping closer, she said, her voice so low Ullen barely heard, ‘You did before.’

‘I-’ the man's stricken gaze was pulled inexorably to the tumult outside, the shrieks and the cries of the wounded. ‘Please – for the men! Yes, I pledge!’

‘Your life? Obedience?’

‘Yes! I swear.’

Laseen's face betrayed no emotion, though the lines bracketing her thin mouth were severe. This was the only hint of her passion Ullen could see. ‘Very well, Urko. I accept.’ She turned to the captain of the guard detachment with her. ‘Send Fist D'Ebbin with a hundred heavy infantry.’

The clash of a salute. ‘Aye.’

‘I was to lead!’ Urko called.

‘I did not agree to that,’ Laseen snapped. ‘Did I?’

Urko's jaws worked as he ground through all that he might say. Finally, he admitted, reluctantly, ‘No.’

‘Now go speak to them, Urko.’

A slow salute. ‘Aye.’

Laseen nodded to the guards who allowed him to pass.

A cavalry detachment rode up led by Korbolo Dom. He took in the wagons, the weapon distribution, and shook his head. ‘It will do no good.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Laseen said.

‘A useless gesture. I go now to collect its head!’ And he pulled on his helmet, kicked his mount forward, his troop following.

‘Oponn go with you,’ the Empress called after him.

Ullen turned to V'thell, who had not turned away from the barricade the entire time. ‘Still they fight,’ the Moranth commander said, musing. ‘Despite everything. They know it is their only hope.’

‘They could run.’

‘No. Your hapless civilians might but your soldiers know their strength resides in the unit. The group. Your soldiers are like us Moranth in this regard. It is one of the reasons we allied.’