Nelum Valore, a heavily built black-haired man, was a little older. Should have become one of the Imperial academics, but he preferred life outside of musky chambers. Said what you could learn from books could be learned from the real world too. Brynd admired that quality, and made him one of the youngest lieutenants ever serving in the Night Guard. The man rarely discussed his Jorsalir beliefs, either, and the commander didn’t know what to make of his dedication to gods he couldn’t see.

These four were the best of the remaining regiment. In full uniform, black on black, the seven-pointed star glistening on their chests, they stood to attention, each with his left hand resting across his stomach.

‘Sele of Jamur,’ Brynd greeted them. ‘We all set to go?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sen replied for them. ‘All weaponry’s been fixed to the carriage and we’ve got our rations inside. Lupus arranged for the vehicle to be thoroughly cleaned overnight, so it’ll be good enough for whoever it is intended.’ This last statement hung in the air, hoping for an answer.

Brynd peered underneath the carriage to confirm four crossbows and four spears were fixed to the base between the axles. Short-handle axes were there too, and none of those extra weapons could easily be seen, being a useful addition to the sword and bow each man would carry. Having the benefit of young eyesight, Lupus was a highly skilled archer, while Apium and Nelum used their mature strength for axe work, but knew their way around a sword as well.

‘Good. I’ve requested for a garuda to track us in the skies – to scout around also, so that we don’t get surprised again. So you know in advance, while we’re away, the Council will make an announcement revealing that Emperor Johynn has died, and that his elder daughter, the Lady Rika, will become ruler of the Jamur territories. Villjamur will be officially in a state of mourning until our return.’

‘With the new Empress, I take it?’ Nelum tapped the side of the carriage with his palm.

Brynd nodded. ‘Yes, we’re collecting her from Southfjords. She knows we’re coming to meet her, but not that her father’s dead.’

‘Whose job is it to deliver the news?’ Sen said.

‘That honour appears to be mine,’ Brynd said grimly.

‘I’ve heard she never liked him that much anyway,’ Nelum muttered.

‘Meanwhile…’ Brynd faced each of them in turn, ‘no flirting, no smiling – in fact, no talking to her, unless I say so. Just remember, she’s your new ruler. You serve her loyally. We’re her guard.’

They nodded in confirmation.

‘Just us five going?’ Nelum enquired.

‘No point drawing too much attention to our departure. It’d alert too many people that something was up. We won’t get any trouble going to Southfjords, so no need to waste extra men. There aren’t enough of us Night Guardsmen left, anyway. I’ll have to recruit more after we return.’

Silence passed as they reflected on dead comrades.

‘Right,’ Brynd continued, ‘we’ve a longship waiting for us at Gish, and that’s where we ride first. It’ll take the best part of two days, so let’s get going.’

They all mounted their horses.

‘You’re very quiet today,’ Brynd remarked to Apium. The redhead was clutching at his stomach.

‘Aye. Seems that I can no longer handle a bit of lager like I used to.’

In the centre of the Atrium, Chancellor Urtica stood before the assembled Council. He flicked back his grey cloak dramatically, looking around with a falsely solemn expression. If he wanted to initiate a combat situation, he would have to be at his most persuasive, most charming. The reactions of the other members were uniformly glum.

‘Fellow councillors,’ he began, ‘I’ve only this morning had a private meeting with Commander Brynd Lathraea of the Night Guard. He has informed me that he strongly suspects the Varltung islanders as being responsible for the surprise slaughter of his men.’

Urtica produced the arrow that Brynd had given him earlier, passing it to the nearest councillor to hand around the chamber for inspection.

‘Somehow these wretched people have found out about our secret mission to secure more firegrain, and are now planning to make sure we crumble before the Freeze properly settles in.’

There was a murmur throughout the chamber, and someone spoke up, ‘Are you quite certain this is from Varltung?’

‘Indeed, the armoury will take a look to make sure, but we’re confident it’s from Varltung. They clearly knew of our plans and consequently destroyed some of our best regiment.’

‘But they’re merely barbarians,’ Councillor Mewún protested. ‘How could they do this?’

Urtica’s voice became bolder, a well-rehearsed ploy on his part. He felt it important to inject some drama into these meetings. ‘I strongly recommend that we act on this outrage promptly. We should send a naval assault to seize the entire island and disable it, and take their resources. Who knows what they will be capable of later, whilst our city gates are closed?’

‘Should the new Empress not decide this?’ Urtica couldn’t see who spoke.

Silence, for several heartbeats. ‘She’ll have many other concerns once she arrives, and I don’t think she is capable of conducting a military operation yet.’

‘I’m not certain we should consider going to war on such little evidence. How can you launch an attack without more definite proof?’ It was Councillor Yiak, a chubby woman that Urtica had never liked much.

‘We do have evidence,’ Urtica said. ‘But I can tell you need further encouragement on the issue. This is about defence of our Empire, about protecting it against crimes such as that perpetrated at Dalúk Point. I suggest we should have another debate this very evening, following the evening prayer bell.’

Urtica was delighted as the motion was carried overwhelmingly.

Councillor Boll then stood up, his skinny frame barely noticeable. His manner was nervous, his voice uncertain. ‘Um, I’d like to announce briefly that we’ve had an approach from the Inquisition concerning the recent murder of our fellow councillor, Delamonde Rubus Ghuda. They would like to come into the Atrium itself to discuss the case.’

‘Indeed,’ Urtica replied. ‘But I’d recommend they come when we’re not in session, and instead interview us one by one in our private quarters.’

They all voiced their agreement, because Ghuda was a popular man, would be missed by all, and the sooner they reached the solving of his murder, the better. No one felt this more than Urtica. They shared the ideal that the city should be rid of the scum of refugees, that they presented the danger of disease and discontent. Urtica would endorse everything it took to find who had disposed of his ally.

A few hours outside of Villjamur, on the road to Gish, Brynd caught a glimpse of a curiously caparisoned horse being ridden through a clearing in the betula woodland ahead. They had come off the main road some time ago, preferring instead to follow one of the smaller gravel tracks that ran along the coast. They had avoided the villages and hamlets of Eelú, Fué and Goúle. He thought it best that as few people as possible were aware of their movements.

He could tell that the horse was from one of the famous gangs, but he wondered which one. He always found the gatherings of these horse gangs to be a wonderful sight, and he halted his men with a gesture, interested to see if they were racing today.

‘What’s up?’ Apium said, following his gaze to the trees.

‘Only a gang rider,’ Brynd replied. ‘Might take a look to make sure. Let’s pause here for a quarter of an hour.’

The gap through the larix led him onto an open expanse of tundra, where two horse gangs were currently assembled. There were mainly men as the lead riders, but some girls rode alongside, all dressing their horses similarly to whichever group they favoured. Many wore leather, even daggers, since this was about raw masculine pride: young people dressed up with nowhere to go. Such gangs would gather on exposed areas of tundra to race one another, or just to hang out, drinking alcohol away from the eyes of parents or city guards, and at night they would lie with each other indiscriminately. During races money would change hands as the onlookers gambled on the winners, and rags of different colours were attached to the horses’ legs or tails in a code Brynd didn’t understand. Tribal tokens were fixed to the reins, personalizing the horse as far as possible, in mimicry of the military cadres of the Empire.