‘Sounds enchanting,’ the Cawn officer observed drily. He gave his reins a gentle pull. ‘I'll leave you to it then.’

Urfa fell back down into the trench. ‘Damn. He was cute. I like cavalry officers.’

‘He'll find the cap'n,’ May warned from where she lay in the last of the sun next to the trench.

‘Eventually,’ Nait said. He crouched again next to Heuk, who sat hugging his jug to his chest. ‘So – they can't take it off? Really?’

Eyes shut, Heuk gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Never. Doesn't come off.’

‘Shit.’ Nait stood, examined the wood pile. ‘Call this fuel for a bonfire? I want twice this! C'mon, another trip to the wreck. Let's go!’

Groaning, his squad slowly climbed to their feet, ambled off.

‘I thought that, from what she said… that maybe, y'know – it was possible.’

Heuk mouthed a silent ‘No.’

‘Then how do they do it?

A lift and drop of the shoulders from Heuk. Cursing, Nait threw down a handful of dirt and stalked off. Heuk cracked open an eye to watch him go and smiled. Good. Tourmaline – you owe me three kegs of Moranth distilled spirits. And you better come through else ol’ Nait will discover that armour does come off after all.

CHAPTER V

THE SLAUGHTER SPREAD FOR NEARLY A LEAGUE IN ALL DIRECTIONS. Hurl walked her uneasy mount gently around the field of picked-clean Seti dead. Two days and nights old they looked to her; stench beginning to thin; clouds of carrion drifting away but for the odd fat kite or crow too befuddled with food to bother flying from them; jackals and their rival wolves trotting slunk low across the gentle hillsides.

The column was quiet behind her and Rell and Liss. Many rode two to a mount as the journey had proven too hard for the weaker, sicker horses. As every sign pointed to a long pursuit Hurl considered more seriously sending most of them back. After all, she'd seen Ryllandaras, knew what he could do. Why throw these troopers against him when really, in the end, it would come down to Rell and the burden slung on the back of her mount?

And Ryllandaras was not one to challenge such a large column. He was a scavenger, an opportunist, a predator of humans. No doubt he would merely run and run, on and on across this seemingly endless plain dominating the centre of Quon Tali until they gave up the chase. Or became so weakened as to prove a tempting target. If she sent the column back leaving, perhaps, ten… that might, as they say,… sweeten the offer.

They came upon the main Seti encampment: tattered, abandoned wikiups, trampled cookfires, abandoned equipment, and dead. Many dead. Men, women and infants. A camp massacred and abandoned. Mounted, Liss pointed ahead and Hurl squinted, a hand pressed to her nose and mouth against the flies. A horse and rider waiting ahead. Hurl angled the column towards the man. He was a large fellow, tall and broad, dark bluish-black Napan, wearing an expensive coat of blackened mail. Old as well, his tightly curled hair going grey. Hurl raised a fist in a halt. The men and women of her column dismounted. She heard Sergeant Banath ordering a search for survivors – and food and water.

She stopped in front of the man, who inclined his head in greeting. From his appearance she was afraid he would be who she suspected he might be. His wary, almost resigned expression only supported her suspicions. He directed her attention to a pole stuck into the ground beside a large fire-pit. A grisly object decorated the pole, a man's head gnawed by scavengers, eyes gone, tongue gone from slack jaws.

‘Imotan,’ the man said, ‘Shaman of the Jackal warrior society.’

‘Did you have any part in this?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I came to do it. But Ryllandaras beat me to it.’

‘Ryllandaras? Why?’

‘Imotan tried to compel him,’ Liss said, stopping next to Hurl. She tilted her head in wary greeting. ‘Amaron.’

Laugh, Hood! It is him. The man who'd tried to have her killed; who, along with his Old Guard cronies, was responsible for all those dead at Heng. Including Shaky. Hurl turned away, looked to the sky, blinking to clear her eyes.

Rell arrived to stand close to Hurl, watching Amaron warily.

‘Why did you come?’ Liss asked, tired and rather curt.

‘I came to answer a murder.’

High-pitched laughter burst from Hurl. ‘What? A murder? One murder?’ She opened her arms wide. ‘Take a good look around!’

‘You're not one to talk, Hurl,’ he answered, his voice as unforgiving as iron.

She stopped laughing as if slapped, clutched at her throat.

‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘he was a good friend and a good man. He had befriended the Seti. He should not have died the way he did.’

Liss nodded, accepting that. She pushed back the matted curls of her greasy hair. ‘And now…?’

Amaron lowered his gaze, let go a long slow exhalation. ‘I ask to join your party.’

Hurl laughed anew, either at his staggeringly brazen request, her glaring culpability behind it all, or at both of them. Even she wasn't sure. Liss said nothing, only looking between her and Rell, her face held carefully neutral.

Rell crossed his arms, saying flatly, ‘We could use him.’

They camped upwind a short distance from the slaughter. As dusk gathered the barking of jackals and calls of wolves closed. Hurl doubled the perimeter guard.

‘You don't expect him this night, do you?’ Sergeant Banath asked Hurl as they sat around the fire eating hardtack scavenged from the abandoned Seti camp.

‘No. Just being careful.’

‘Mightn't he circle around to return to Heng?’

‘Not with us after him,’ Liss said, then she went on to explain: ‘Right now, we're far more attractive.’

Banath's brows rose in such a way that said maybe he didn't really want to know that. Hurl just watched sidelong to where Amaron had thrown down his gear.

Dawn brought a whistle and a call from the perimeter guards. Hurl straightened from a smouldering fire, a cup of tepid tea held in both hands to warm them. Rell jogged up to her side fully armed and armoured, visor lowered. ‘What is it?’ she called loudly.

‘Four riders approaching!’

‘Seti?’

‘No.’

‘Ready arms! Crossbowmen!’ Hurl tossed back her tea, sucked her teeth, handed the cup to an aide. Amaron joined her as she walked to meet the horsemen. She could not help but watch him warily.

A modest smile played at his mouth. ‘No need for alarm,’ he said. ‘I know one of them.’

‘Friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’

Hurl didn't know whether to be reassured or uneasy. The closer the riders came the more impressed she had to admit she was by their cut. A more hard-bitten, intimidating gang you'd be hard pressed to gather anywhere.

Amaron stepped out to greet them. One threw a leg over his mount and the two hugged. The other three dismounted with much groaning, back-straightening and feet-stamping. Hurl now saw that each was also rather long in the tooth as well.

Rell came to her side, arms crossed. Amaron escorted the four to her. ‘Urko,’ he said, indicating the burly, square-faced one with silver brush-cut hair. Gods, the old commander himself. ‘Master Sergeant Braven Tooth.’ The fellow gave a short bow, his thick gnarled brows nearly hiding his eyes. ‘And, ah…’

Of the remaining two, the obvious Malazan veteran inclined his balding tanned pate. ‘Temp.’

The last, an old burly Seti warrior, gave a peremptory tilt of his head. ‘Sweetgrass.’

Hurl introduced herself, Sergeant Banath and Rell. Liss was nowhere to be seen.

The veteran who'd given the name of Temp raised a hand to Rell. ‘You the one who stood against Ryllandaras?’

Rell nodded. Temp and the Seti exchanged a long glance.

‘So,’ Hurl addressed Urko. ‘What can we do for you? Everything's been settled down south, I understand. Shouldn't you be making yourself scarce?’