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guards, and stopped when she saw that there were no men on watch at the entrance, and no sign of them anywhere nearby.
    Wandered off after drink, most likely, the useless dolts. Ytha growled, imagining worse punishments than dung-picking. By the time she was done with them, they’d wish they’d stayed sober. She wrenched the pole upright and drove its bronze spike further into the ground with a twist of power to keep it there. Let them try to pull that up when the time came to break camp!
    Smacking aside the door-curtain, she stalked into her tent. After the brightness of the morning the darkness temporarily blinded her, so she conjured an orb to light her way amongst the chests and cushions. The last thing she needed now was barked shins.
    The globe’s pale light revealed the pair of Hounds sitting with their backs to her, ears pricked intently, and her hand went straight to her knife. When she saw what – or, rather, who – they were watching, she drew it.
    ‘You!’ she snapped. ‘You have no right to be here!’
    The dark-haired man reclining on her cushions looked up and smiled. ‘Is that any way to greet a friend?’
    ‘We are not friends.’ She flexed her fingers around the hilt of the knife. ‘Now go, before somebody sees you.’
    He bridled. ‘Not friends? You wound me, Ytha. Besides, nobody will see. I sent your guards away, and no one walks into the Speaker’s tent uninvited.’ The smile became salacious, his near-black eyes twinkling. ‘Especially not when she is . . . entertaining.’
    The man was certainly dressed for pleasure. His hair spilled loose about his shoulders and his deep red robe draped open almost to the sash at his waist, revealing a considerable amount of pale, firmly muscled chest. The shining fabric clung to his form in a way that left no place to conceal a weapon, nor much of anything else.
    ‘And what if they talk?’
    He gave an airy wave. ‘They saw nothing untoward, I assure you. No one will learn of our arrangement.’
    Unconvinced, Ytha scowled. However he’d managed to deceive the guards, she’d have their hides for ground-skins later.
    Levelling the knife at him, she snarled, ‘You have a nerve, showing your face here after you lied to me. All this time, I have been the one to bear all the risk, and you’ve given me nothing but empty words!’
    ‘Nothing?’ He flicked a languid hand at the hangings around the walls of the tent, worked with animals unknown in these lands, in colours richer than anything a Nimrothi dyer could create. ‘Hardly nothing, my dear.’
    Ytha glowered. They were costly gifts, right enough, but that didn’t mean he owned her.
    ‘I am not a whore to be bought!’ she snarled. ‘We made a bargain, you and I, and you promised me the forts in the passes would remain empty.’
    He examined his fingernails and drawled, ‘As I recall, I promised the forts would remain empty of Church Knights – the ones you call the iron men.’
    ‘They are swarming with the Empire’s soldiers!’
    Dark eyes fixed levelly on hers. ‘But no Knights, so I think you will find that I have kept my word. Have you kept yours?’
    He doubted her? Aedon’s balls, she ought to open his belly right now, and never mind the ruined carpets. She glared down her nose at him. ‘Of course.’
    ‘You have the war band?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘All the chiefs?’
    ‘All seventeen.’ Pride bloomed in her chest, reminding her of the deep burn of the firethorn that bound the other Speakers to her in an unbreakable chain, and she stood up straight, chin tilted haughtily. ‘All the Speakers, too. You should not have doubted me, southman.’
    ‘That is most excellent news.’ He folded his arms and sighed. ‘Put the knife away, Speaker. I’m not going to hurt you and you can’t hurt me, so spare us both the posturing, please.’
    Ytha glowered at him, reluctantly sliding the knife back into its sheath. ‘I don’t trust you.’
    ‘Oh, but you should.’ He gestured to the