He is a good man, and uncomplaining. The same could not be said for some of his men, though, who groused almost as much as Leshie did. Any time Tantario heard one of them moaning of the route, he would reprimand them fiercely, and remind them of their duties and their oaths. That tended to settle things down, but only for so long. Let them complain, Saska would think, if ever she heard a man muttering of the heat or the lack of water or the constant threat of monsters belched up by the Ever-War. I’ve dragged them out here when they could be with their wives and children, back in the comfort of their homes. I’ve stolen from them time they will not get back, and time is short and running out. Every one of them has the right to moan.

The sound of hooves could be heard ahead, an echoing clatter that rang out down the canyon long before the rider appeared. A returning scout, Saska knew. Tantario sent out men often to survey the way ahead, and sometimes one or two of the sellswords would go as well. On this occasion, it was a youthful spearman of House Hasham, wearing a white feathered cloak and riding a swift courser, brown with spots of grey and white.

He pulled to a stop before them.

“Your report,” Tantario said.

The young man gestured down the canyon. “The road opens five miles ahead,” he panted. “Just as you said, my lord.”

Tantario had indeed made that claim. “And the river? Does it rush?” There were fears that it might have dried up in this fearsome, unnatural heat, but it seemed that was not so.

“It has shrunk,” the scout said, “but there is enough flowing water to bathe in, and plenty to drink.” He had a full waterskin at his hip, a promising sight.

“Were there any others there?” Sir Ralston asked him.

“Yes, my lord. Local goat herders and peasants from the nearby villages. Some of them were armed, to protect themselves. I saw no sign of brigands or Patriots in the area.”

Alym Tantario nodded. “Well and good. We will speak to these locals when we arrive, should they still be there.” He turned to Saska. “The river is a little over a mile beyond the canyon. We should be there by the turn of the hour.”

The news was welcome, and spread briskly down the lines, the scout riding to the back to share it. The sense of relief was so thick Saska could almost taste it. They rode on, their pace speeding, the end of the canyon in sight. No one in the company had bathed since they had left Aram, their skin so coated in filth and grime that they all felt as though they were wearing another layer of armour. No wonder no beasts have come sniffing after us, Saska thought. Even they cannot abide the smell.

The final leg through this close, suffocating canyon passed without incident. It was decided that they would spend the night near the river, after the men had bathed, so their clothes might have a chance to dry. According to Sunrider Tantario, the lands were very open there, and it would be easy to keep watch for threats upon the plains.

There was no lie to what he said. Before long, the canyon walls began to shrink like blocks of ice beneath the summer sun, and beyond, the promised plains spread forth, sun-scorched and endless, peppered with tufts of dying grass and outcroppings of rugged rock that rose from the earth in strange twisted shapes. Saska saw one that looked like a howling wolf’s head, and another reminded her of a starcat’s tail, swirling from the ground as though a giant cat had burrowed beneath the dirt, leaving only its tail above the surface. There were fingers too, all poking up in one area, like a titan’s grasping hand. And grandest of all, some distance to the north, she sighted what appeared to be an enormous, colossal eagle, much bigger even than the sculpture at the Perch, rising from the ground with beak turned skyward and wings pulled back, as though yearning to soar into the skies, but forever bound to the earth.

“It looks so real,” Saska said. “Like a giant, turned to stone.”

“Only from this distance,” Sunrider Tantario told her. “When you get closer, you see that it is only a natural feature of the world. The effect is best seen from afar, Sereneness.”

“We saw it when we travelled from the Port of Matia,” the Wall told her. “With the smuggler and the mute boy.”

Mellio and Pig, Saska thought. Both of them had died in the Red Pits, right before Rolly was brought out to share their fate. That was the intention of Elio Krator, anyway, though the Whaleheart had had other ideas. “I never saw it.”

“You were sleeping, at the time. I did not see a reason to wake you.”

Tantario looked confused. “I was not aware you had passed this way before. You made it seem like you had not travelled the Matian Way.”

“We didn’t take the main roads,” Sir Ralston told him. “We went west from Matia through the hills, taking backroads and farm tracks. When we saw the stone eagle, we looked at it from the north. It was only faint, then. It was a dusty day, I recall.”

And hot, Saska thought. Those days in the back of the wagon had been sweltering, but nothing so bad as this.

The stone eagle was still within sight when they saw the river ahead, a jagged scar wending west to east through the plains, glinting silver beneath the dying sun. There were some cheers from the men at the sight of it, and raised fists too, and a few of them even gave out a shrill, eagle-like whistle that rang out across the tundra.

Eagles everywhere, Saska reflected. She had been bombarded by the sight of them in Aram - eagles made from stone and iron and silk, eagles chiselled and stitched and sewn, eagle helms and eagle cloaks and eagle masks, and a great deal more - and that had not much changed out here. Only these ones are real, she thought. Alive. She had seen them often since they’d left the city, circling high above her or perched somewhere nearby, in a desiccated tree or atop a spire of rock, and they always seemed to be watching the host as they passed.

There was an eagle at the river as well, she saw as they neared, clinging to the high branches of an old dead tree that stood alone across the far bank. The bird had a regal look to it, with that fine glossy plumage and great curved beak, the piercing gaze that always seemed to draw her eye. She went over to Kaa Sokari, as the men dismounted and hobbled their horses and camels. Sunrider Tantario was already setting a watch and rotation so that the men could bathe in peace, and had sent men out to speak with the locals too, a few of whom were still here, washing their clothes or bathing in the flowing waters a little downriver from the host.

“My lady,” the master bowmen said, as she approached him. “You have a question.”

“I do.” She pointed. “That eagle. What sort is it?”

“What sort?”

“What species, I mean.” It paid to be precise with Kaa Sokari, who was precise in all he did.

He looked up at it. “That is an Aramatian golden eagle. There are several sub-species of the golden eagle in other parts of the south, and north, but these are most common here. The colour of their plumage gives them away.”

Gold, bronze, even some silver, she saw. The colours of the duchy. The eyes were amber, the beak sun-yellow with a black tip. “It’s beautiful,” Saska said.

“He is.” Kaa Sokari dipped his chin in the direction of the bird. There was something of the eagle about the bowmaster as well, Saska thought. It’s those stern eyes of his, always narrowed to a glare. He was not a large man, though wiry and strong, taut as though ready to act at all times. Like an eagle, preparing to launch upon its prey. “Now, where is that brother of yours? This would be a good opportunity to train, do you not agree?”

Del might say otherwise. The bowmaster had pushed him hard, a relentless shadow he could not seem to escape, though not without reward. Day by day, Del was making progress. That did not mean he much liked his master. But that was perhaps the point. Sokari knows how to train an apprentice, Saska thought. And being liked has nought to do with it. “Perhaps give him a moment to bathe first?” she offered.

The master archer looked down to the riverbank where some of the men were arrayed, disrobing. “Fine. I will give him a few minutes, but that is all. The light is fading, and the boy must be trained. Tell him he has five minutes only.”

Saska smiled. “Are you not going to wash as well?”

“Later. I will wash when our work is done, and not before.” The man spun and marched away.

Saska wandered down to where her brother was standing, smiling and shaking her head as she went. “Your master gives you the gift of five minutes,” she told him. “So you’d better get in there, Del. Else he’ll come down here and pull you out in the nude, and you’ll have to train without any clothes.”

Del did not look particularly enamoured by the prospect. “I don’t have to wash naked, do I?”

“Yes,” said Leshie. “All men have to bathe naked here. Didn’t you know? It’s the rule.” She gestured along the banks. True enough, many of the Aramatians were unburdening themselves of all of their garments and wading into the water, entirely nude. Leshie was thoroughly enjoying the sight. “You see. Rules are rules, Del. Now show us your goods.”

He took a step back from the water’s edge. “Forget it, I don’t need to wash. Where’s Master Sokari? I’ll just go and train instead.”

Leshie laughed at him. “You do need to wash. Believe me. You stink, Squire. And more than the rest of us.”

That wasn’t fair. They all smelled equally awful. “You don’t have to bathe naked, Del,” Saska said. And that’s not something I want to see, she omitted. “Just wash in your breeches, and they’ll dry as you train.” She pointed. “Not everyone’s washing in the nude.”

Some of the men had chosen to stay in their breeks and breechclouts, which Leshie suggested meant they were not well endowed. “Men are very protective of their manhoods,” she declared. “Thankfully, I don’t have that problem.” With a great deal of bravado, the Red Blade stripped off her clothes until she stood there, pale as milk and nude as a newborn, with a great big smile on her face. “You see.” She even did a little twirl. “Naked and not ashamed.” Then she strode into the river, washing in full view of the men.

Del was staring, wide-eyed. His mouth hung slightly open.

“OK, that’ll do,” Saska said, snapping him out of it. “Maybe go and wash further upriver. Or downriver. Just…not here.” He didn’t move. “Go, Del. You’ve only got a few minutes.” She shooed him off, pushing the boy up to where the men were washing, then began removing her own clothes, until she was down to her undergarments. She had a bar of soap with her as well, wrapped in a cloth, which she fetched from her saddlebag. Then she waded into the lukewarm water, letting out a sigh of sweet relief as it trickled past her feet, her ankles, her thighs, and right on up to her hips and waist. It was wider than Saska had thought, the river, perhaps seven or eight metres across and over a metre deep. That gave enough privacy for most, who stood in the water up to their navels, scrubbing at their skin and rubbing the dirt from their clothes.

“You’re not naked,” Leshie observed. She sounded a little disappointed.

“No,” Saska said, as she scoured herself. She looked around. “Too many men. And I’m not a showoff like you.”

“You washed naked in a river before, though. You told me. That night those Patriots attacked you. And you met Joy.”

Saska smiled to remember it. It probably wasn’t so far from here, somewhere to the north. Maybe even the same river, she thought. It was not near as wide or deep, though, so probably not, unless it was just a tributary of this one. “There weren’t many people about then,” she said. “Only Rolly and Mellio and Pig, and a few locals at the well. And it was darker too. I don’t think it would be appropriate here, Lesh.”

The girl shrugged. “Guess you are a princess. Though that Savage bitch is still in her smallclothes too, I saw. And the Tigress, she’s…” She looked around. “Well, I can’t see her at all.”

No, you wouldn’t. The Tigress did not seem the sort of woman who would undress in front of these men. If she’ll wash, she’ll do so in the dead of night when there’s no one to see her scars. Saska was suddenly conscious of her own, the lash marks that latticed the flesh of her back. Not many people had seen those before, or even knew of them. Rolly, yes, and Del and Leshie, who had bathed with her sometimes in the terrace pools at the top of the palace. The Butcher had glimpsed them as well, she did not doubt, but elsewise none of them knew. A part of her wanted to rush out and cover up, or else kneel down and hide in the water, but the better part of her did not care. Let them see, she told herself. Let them see what the Kastors did to me. I’m not some pretty princess, as the Butcher calls me. Those scars tell a different tale.