‘I assumed as much,’ Sharenas said.
The camp was relatively quiet, as the cold bit ever deeper. A few fires were still lit, making lurid islands of orange, yellow and red light. But most tents they passed were dark, tied up, as soldiers slept beneath blankets and, if they were lucky, furs.
‘Have you reported to Lord Urusander?’ Silann asked.
‘I have,’ she replied. ‘It was … extensive. The countryside, Silann, has become a troubled place. Many have died, and few of those were deserving of the violence delivered upon them.’
‘That is always the way, in civil war.’
‘Worse, of course, when the victims knew nothing of any civil war. When, alas, they were the first ones to fall to it. Knowledge and intention, Silann. In these circumstances, we can name them crimes.’
A faint tremor slipped through Silann. ‘Have you … have you compiled details, then?’
‘As best I could,’ Sharenas replied. ‘It was difficult, as not everyone was willing to speak to me.’ She paused, and they turned down a side avenue, approaching the command tent of Esthala’s cohort; then she said, ‘But I was fortunate to find some who would.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Yes. Gripp Galas, for one. And, of course, young Orfantal.’
Silann’s steps slowed and he half turned to the woman walking beside him. ‘An old man, I’m told, prone to baseless accusations and pointless feuds.’
‘Galas? I think not.’
‘What then do you wish with my wife?’
‘Only what needs doing, Silann. A conversation, just like the one I’m having with you right now.’
When he halted, Sharenas turned back to face him. The hood still hid her features, but he saw the glitter of her eyes. ‘This is an unpleasant conversation, Sharenas,’ he said. ‘I don’t think my wife will welcome your presence, not tonight, in any case.’
‘No, I suspect you’re right in that, Silann. A moment-’ She reached for something under her cloak. ‘I have something for you.’
He caught a flash of blue iron, felt a sharp sting under his chin, and then it seemed that everything simply drained away.
Blinking, he found himself lying on the ground, with Sharenas bent over him.
It was all … strange. Disturbing. He felt a hilt pressed up against the underside of his chin, and something was pouring out from his mouth, sliding thick and hot down his cheeks.
No. I don’t like this. I’m leaving now. He closed his eyes.
Sharenas pulled the dagger free. She collected Silann by the collar and dragged him between two equipment tents. Then she cleaned her blade on his cloak and sheathed it again.
It was only twenty or so paces to Esthala’s tent. Straightening, Sharenas resumed her journey. She reached the front and tapped at the ridge-pole, and then drew back the flap and stepped inside.
There was a brazier on the floor, emanating dry heat and a soft glow. Beyond that, Esthala was on a cot, settled back but still dressed. She looked over and frowned. Sharenas drew back her hood before the woman could speak, and saw a swift change of expression accompany recognition, but not one she could easily read.
‘Sharenas! I see you’ve not yet shed the leagues of travel behind you. But still,’ she sat up, ‘welcome back. There’s mulled wine near that brazier.’
‘Your husband will be late, I’m afraid,’ Sharenas said, drawing off her cloak. ‘I ran into him, on his way up to the keep.’
‘The keep? That idiot. I told him to send a rider if he did not find one of her acolytes. He gets nothing right.’
Sharenas collected the pewter jug and poured out two cups of the steaming wine. The sharp smell of almonds wafted up into her face. Leaving one cup where it was, she brought Esthala the other one.
The captain stood to receive it. ‘So, what brings you to me, then? And couldn’t it wait until the morning?’
Sharenas smiled. ‘You are legendary, Esthala, for working through the night. I myself recall, when we arrayed for battle on a clear morning, seeing you heavy with sleep. Quite the harridan, in fact.’
Snorting, Esthala drank.
From the camp outside, distant alarms rang out.
‘What now?’ Esthala asked, turning to set her cup down on the edge of the cot and reaching, at the same time, for her sword-belt.
‘Probably me,’ Sharenas replied, drawing her sword.
Esthala caught the faint rasp and whirled.
The sword’s blade sliced through the front half of her throat. Sharenas quickly stepped back to avoid most of the blood that sprayed out from the wound.
Esthala stumbled back, both hands grasping at her neck, and fell awkwardly across the cot, snapping one of its legs. As the cot sagged, the woman rolled off it to settle face-down on the tent floor. Her legs twitched for a few moments, and then fell still.
Sharenas quickly sheathed her weapon, cursing under her breath. She had been anticipating most of the night, for the work that needed doing. Instead, the Legion camp was now wide awake. And, in moments, one of Esthala’s lieutenants would come to the tent.
Still, there was time – at least for her to make her way to where the horses were kept. My apologies, Urusander. This hasn’t quite worked out as I had planned. And now I must ride away, with a bounty on my head.
Not all the nobles are hiding in their keeps, doing nothing. I will defend my blood first, Urusander. Surely you’ll understand that. Civil war is a messy business, isn’t it? Just ask Gripp Galas.
The rage within her remained bright and hot. It yielded a fierce, demanding thirst. She had wanted to stalk the night, moving through the camp, from one command tent to the next. For you, Vatha Urusander. And for Kurald Galain.
And another. But he rides far from here now, seeking the woman he would marry. I am relieved, Kagamandra, that you do not see me on this night, nor the trail of blood I have left behind me. And now, alas, I must flee, my work unfinished. And that, my friend, galls.
With her dagger, she cut through the back wall of the tent, and then slipped out into the night.
* * *
Humiliation bred a kind of hunger. Dreams of vengeance and acts of malice. Corporal Parlyn of the Ninth Company in the Silvers stood near the tavern door, leaning against the frame, and eyed Bortan and Skrael as they stood over the headless corpse of Captain Serap, their expressions difficult to read in the wavering light.
Neither man was displeased, she was certain, at Serap’s sudden demise. And if not for the beating they’d taken at her hands, incapacitating both of them for most of this night, they would have been among the first suspects in the murder.
The four brothers who had been sitting near the captain, however, were consistent in their retelling of events, and their tale matched that of the barkeep and his pale, shivering son. A travel-stained officer of the Legion had sat with Serap, engaging in quiet conversation that was brought to an abrupt end with the slash of a sword. Serap’s head was still lying on the table, stuck there, cheek and hair, by the thick pool of blood beneath it.
Serap’s lips were parted, caught in an instant of surprise. Her eyes, half-lidded, stared out with the chilling disinterest of the dead. Earlier that evening, Corporal Parlyn had stood opposite her, facing a sharp dressing down in front of her squad. The wake of that had curdled Parlyn’s insides, stung bitter and dark with vague hatred. But even that was not enough to leave her satisfied at the captain’s death.
Hunn Raal had come and gone. A few words ventured by the corporal, relating the story told by the witnesses, and then he was off, but not before countermanding his initial order to scour the town. It was, perhaps, the reason for her squad’s present disgruntlement. Bortan and Skrael had both drawn closer to the four brothers, who stood in a nervous clump behind their table. The stench of blood was heavy in the air, and, like wolves, her two soldiers were ready to bare fangs.