"Fa..." Sullen began, but Grandfather was in a testy mood.

"If he's not wolf enough to face his kin we'll just turn around now and have no more to do with him. Would give him a second chance, but if this is the welcome he offers, well, they can keep him and we'll just head home."

"We'll see what's what when Maroto returns," said the Crowned Eagle. "But until then you two aren't going anywhere. I've got a dozen of my best checking the countryside as we speak, so if you forgot to mention any other of your kinfolk who might be hiding up there, now's the time to make it right."

"Call us liars again and I'll bend your beak all the way back to your cloaca, see if I-"

"Just us." Sullen spoke quick and loud, talking over Grandfather. "You go north up the ridge to the first saddle, our gear's stowed under the glacier lip there, behind some rocks. Be obliged if your people could fetch it for us."

"That's just great," said Grandfather, probably pissed at Sullen. Again. "Take us to whoever's in charge while Maroto's away, then."

The woman laughed. "I'll be in charge of you till he returns, and we'll leave it at that. I am Chevaleresse Sasamaso, acting captain of the general's bodyguard."

"I'm Sullen," said Sullen. "And my grandfather's Ruthless."

"There's a joke in there somewhere, I'm sure," said Chevaleresse Sasamaso. "I'm going to come take your weapons now, all right?"

Sullen worried that Grandfather was going to make a stink about it, but the old man stayed quiet as the Crowned Eagle took Sullen's spear and knife bandolier. Had the woman tried to disarm Grandfather of his toothpick there might have been trouble, but she pretended not to notice the sheath poking out of his harness. Finally, she stepped back and invited Sullen out of the creek. The night air of the mountain felt colder on his damp ankles than the water had.

"A chevaleresse's what they call a warrior out here, right?" asked Sullen as she led them into the camp proper, a few of the sentries accompanying them but most hooding their lanterns and returning to patrol. "But you're a Crowned Eagle."

"A chevaleresse is more than just a fighter," said their friendly captor. "It is a title with much honor among both the Raniputri Dominions and the Imperial provinces, one they rarely bestow on foreigners. It signifies nobility of spirit as well as martial prowess."

"Is my uncle a chevaleresse?"

"Maroto? No, he's no knight, though it's said they offered him the privilege many times over, had he wanted it. Turned it down every time."

"Why would he?" Sullen tried not to gape as they were led through the thronged camp, regal-looking folk in spotless metal armor sitting around fires with bare-chested soldiers so grubby and disheveled they looked like beggars.

"They have rules, don't you?" said Grandfather. "Calling yourself knight means no more fighting dirty, no lying or cheating, eh?"

"To name but a few of the codes of conduct," said Chevaleresse Sasamaso with a smirk.

"There's your answer," said Grandfather, settling back in his harness. "He'd have no part of that, not our Craven."

"Craven?" Chevaleresse Sasamaso looked delighted. "I knew Maroto wasn't a Horned Wolf name. Craven. Well!"

"These are the spies?" A new woman strode toward them through a break in the tents. She addressed them in Immaculate rather than Crimson, thank the Old Watchers. The guards flanking her were impressive enough, with their crablike plates of armor and steel helmets shaped like dog skulls, but as the prisoners stopped to meet the woman by the shifting light of a bonfire and Sullen caught better sight of her, he felt his throat close and his hands sweat.

It wasn't that he was knocked off guard by her scant attire, though her sparse patches of chainmail did catch his eye-despite enjoying warmer climes than Flintland, most Outlanders swaddled themselves in more sweltering layers than a newborn with pneumonia. It wasn't a stirring at her beauty, though she was decidedly fleet. No, it was the rich blue of the long hair framing her face, the severe slash of her bangs casting her dark eyes in shade that not even the bonfire could banish. She was exactly as the stories of Cold Zosia had described her, a ferocious swordswoman with cobalt hair who led devils as well as armies.

This was who Sullen had to stop, before she used her witchcraft to destroy an empire. Zosia. As if punctuating his realization, a small owlbat flapped overhead, its wings shining ebon in the firelight.

"We look like spies to you?" said Grandfather, conversant enough in Immaculate despite all his shit talking of their shipwrights, rice spirits, and general style. "We're here for Maroto."

"Kinfolk of his, they say," said Chevaleresse Sasamaso. "For what it's worth, I believe them." Switching over to Crimson, she added, "Something something foolish enough something something."

"I'll take Maroto over the rest of the old guard," said the blue-haired woman, again in Immaculate. Then, bafflingly, she bowed. "Welcome to my camp, kin of Maroto. I am General Ji-hyeon Bong, Commander of the Cobalt Company."

"I'm Sullen," said Sullen, though at present he felt anything but. No, he was happier than he'd been in a very long time that he wouldn't have to throw down on this woman. Especially since he was positive the owlbat wheeling overhead was a devil that was looking out for her. Not sure how he knew it was bound to her, but he did. "And my Grandfather's called Ruthless. We're Horned Wolves. Or we were, aren't no more. Might be again someday, I guess. Depending." Sullen was many things, but he had never before found himself a babbler, so he cleared his throat and finished with, "Anyway, we come down from the Frozen Savannahs."

"The tundra of Flintland?" asked this Ji-hyeon.

"Did he stutter?" said Grandfather. "It's called the Frozen Savannahs, girl, and you'll show it the respect it's due by calling it such."

Sullen blushed, but to his relief Ji-hyeon smiled at the admonishment. "My apologies, Master Ruthless, I meant no disrespect. Quite the contrary, that's a long way to travel with no steed but your grandson."

Sullen's blush heated up, and he weakly explained, "Wolves don't ride."

"I would like to accept your apology," said Grandfather. "But so long as we're your prisoner I don't think I will."

"Old wolf, you ought-" began Chevaleresse Sasamaso as one of Ji-hyeon's guards took a step toward them, but Sullen got to it first. There would be hells to pay later, especially since he said it in Immaculate, but the words were out before he could stop them.

"By the heathen god and the true ancestors, Fa, just say thank you! They caught us sneaking in here like lions trying to carry off a baby, and you expect 'em not to be wary? What would you do if you nabbed a Jackal man coming through our window some night? Offer him a cup of snowmead?"

Grandfather went rigid on Sullen's back, but did not speak. Again Ji-hyeon smiled, and as the wind stirred up the fire he saw her eyes better, and found they were not so dark as he'd first thought. While those shining gems stayed on Sullen, she addressed Grandfather. "Ruthless of the Horned Wolf Tribe, if I have your word that you and your grandson will cause no evil, you are welcome to stay as guests instead of prisoners."

"Given," sniffed Grandfather, relaxing a bit in his harness. "And I warmly accept your gracious apology, General."

"Excellent," said Ji-hyeon. "Chevaleresse, see that a private tent is erected for them. When Maroto returns from his expedition I'll see that he is sent to you at once, whereupon you will have to make the decision to move on or swear allegiance to our cause. Much as I might like to provide for you indefinitely, with winter fast approaching I can only afford to supply those who are in my employ. Welcome to my camp, gentlemen."

General Ji-hyeon gave a clipped nod and walked past them; likely she had not actually been looking for them but on her way somewhere else when they had crossed her path. There was no parting smile for Sullen, not that he expected one... but he missed its absence enough to risk acting the fool, and pivoted around.

"Hold up now," he said, feeling pretty confident for a change. That confidence evaporated as the general turned back and he saw how annoyed she looked. "I, uh, was going to say we ought to burn one together. You and me."

Her expression didn't make it seem likely, and Grandfather snorted on Sullen's back, but he plunged ahead, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt right then. "I can tell you're a busy woman, so there's no need rushing it. In your own time, then, in your own time."

"I don't smoke tubq," said Ji-hyeon, and Sullen could tell she'd be gone in an instant if he didn't say something witty. Wit, though, was no kin of his, so he just spoke the truth, as he always did. For all the good the truth had ever done him.

"Me, neither, nasty stuff. Fa rolls the beedies in it sometimes, but I've got no stomach for it straight. I'm not some sheep, to be living off poison weeds. I was talkin' about saam, yeah?" There it was! All cautious-like, just peeking out the corner of the general's lips like a wary fox testing the air outside her den, the faintest hint of a smile.

"You want me to smoke drugs with you, is that what you're asking me?" Fast as he'd seen it, that smile was gone. "You want me to take time out of war-waging to get high with you, barbarian?"

Chevaleresse Sasamaso covered her mouth with a mailed hand, and Grandfather rocked on Sullen's back with silent laughter. This was a disaster.

"Saam isn't a drug, it's a medicine," said Sullen lamely.

"And what malady does it treat?"

"Bad moods?" he said. He'd never really thought about the practical applications before, but knew mudworkers and poison oracles used it. Admitting that he had in fact just been asking if she wanted to get high with him seemed a bit low, though.

"Master Ruthless, I have a request to make regarding your grandson," said Ji-hyeon, and while that almost-there smile was back, she was giving Grandfather her full attention now. Sullen had really stepped in it this time.

"He's a good lad, General, just not used to conversing with warlords," said Grandfather. "So long as you don't aim to flog him for his impudence, though, I could see my way into letting him take a little discipline for his cheek."

"Good," said Ji-hyeon. "With your permission I would like to take kaldi with him sometime in the next few days. In private. I hope you understand?"

"Oh, I understand," said Grandfather, which was good, because Sullen certainly didn't. "I'll give you leave to talk to the boy, but nothing more than that. He's still a virgin, and I aim to keep him that way-big, smart lad as he is, he'll catch quite the groomprice if I can arrange a marriage somewheres along the line without him-"

"Great fucking devils, Fa, shut the fuck up!" Sullen wished the old man had straight up murdered him, instead of talking this shit. "I don't... She doesn't... devildamn it!"

"I assure you his chastity will be preserved," said Ji-hyeon, giving them a final bow. Her smile was out in force now, but Sullen was no longer so delighted to see it. Fucking Grandfather, man...

CHAPTER.

5.

This is bullshit," panted Duchess Din, plopping her mohair-swaddled bottom down on a boulder near the one Maroto and Purna occupied. The pass they had reached was less than a dozen feet wide, the rugged peaks on either side wasting no time in jabbing straight up to poke heaven in the eyes. With the whistling wind delivering a slurry of early snow and rock dust, it was hardly an ideal picnic spot. On either side of the narrow saddle, rough talus slopes sharply dropped a thousand feet before leveling off a bit, and if anything, the side they were to descend looked even steeper than the way they'd come up.

"Testify, sister!" said Purna, raising a fist and lowering her head. "If I'd known this was the work we'd be doing I would have just had the Cobalts execute me as a traitor. If I wanted to play marmot I never would have left Ugrakar."

"Puhhhhhh," gasped Diggelby as Hassan helped him up the last jagged rise, even his mean little dog wheezing as it scrambled up the rocks ahead of them.

Yet Maroto was pleased, which he hadn't been in... weeks, maybe a whole month. Old Black knew, he probably hadn't cracked a smile since he'd found out the blue-haired girl everyone thought was Zosia was just Kang-ho's brat, with Fennec her faithful puppeteer. Now, though, he felt genuinely happy. The reason was propped up against another boulder, as though the three scouts were huddled into a windbreak, and not, you know, dead. Maroto wasn't such a baddie as to rejoice at seeing random corpses-hells, if he were that sort of man he'd rarely stop smiling, living the life he'd lived. No, his bliss-and bliss was really the only word for it-was that he recognized one of the scouts Choi had dispatched just before dawn, when he and the others were still way down at the misty bottom of the pass. It was Lukash the Nearly Noseless Scout, that lying fucker who had repaid Maroto's mercy by bringing a whole platoon of Imperial toughs down on them outside Myura, just before they'd finally found the Cobalt Company. Maroto only wished he had been here to watch Choi do the deed. Maybe advise her to be a bit slower about it. His oft-regretted vow prevented him from torturing agents of the Crimson Empire, sure, but that was no reason why he couldn't offer his professional oversight to such activities. Same reason he could guide a scouting party to spy on the Imperials but not lead an open charge against 'em-a man has to keep his word to his enemies, if no one else, but that's no reason not to get creative with interpretations.

"Don't get comfortable," he called to Diggelby and Hassan as they collapsed onto the harsh brown summit of the saddle. "Soon as Choi shows herself we're moving out, and fast. Too exposed up here."

"They need a rest, Maroto," said Purna, her own face ruddy and sleek with sweat. The fops had learned to leave the makeup in its case on mornings that started with a steady climb up an exposed mountainside. "Look at them. You think we're going slow now, wait until someone snaps an ankle because you're pushing them too hard."

"Take it up with Choi," said Maroto, eyeing the alpine meadows into which the slope poured its talus like a waterfall of sharp stones. Somewhere down there the weirdborn was creeping around, and as soon as they got her signal they could- "Stay here until dark," came Choi's voice from above them. Except for her modest horns, which were mostly hidden by her mesh hat, the white-haired weirdborn looked enough like a normal woman, sitting around camp with the rest of the crew... but nobody watching her melt down the sheer peak beside them could mistake her for human. Too fast, too surefooted, too damn devilish. "There's a regiment nesting in the next meadow, and they will have more scouts down there watching the descent from this pass. If we come down now we will be witnessed."

Duchess Din whistled appreciatively. "So much for Maroto's assessment of the Imperial colonels being, what was it, 'too damn thick to cover their front, let alone their arse'? I've lost track of how many times you've proven him wrong, Choi."

"Things have changed," grumbled Maroto. Which was true enough, whether it referred to the Imperial brass sharpening up or Maroto growing dull from neglect. "A lot."

"Since the days when you were one of said colonels, you mean?" asked Purna, and even though Diggelby and Hassan were too far away to hear what she was saying, the contrary bastards tittered right on cue. Then again, they both had two working ears, so maybe they heard her perfectly.

"Get down from there, move around back," said Choi, walking past them and squatting down on the far end of the boulder, overlooking the way they'd come. "If a change of guard comes we do not want them to see us until they reach the top."

Maroto joined Purna and Din in groaning theatrically as they clambered down from their sunny perch and dug in against the cold backside of rock. Quick as Maroto's good humor had been restored, it was gone again. He'd felt like a dead man, wandering the Cobalt camp like an unwelcome ghost after meeting General Ji-hyeon and Fennec in Myura, unwilling to take the oaths of fealty that the rest were falling over themselves to swear. Well, not so much unwilling as unable-that was the thing about oaths, you swear one and all of a sudden it becomes a lot harder to swear any more-but in the end he'd found a sort of compromise. He hadn't relented out of any long-dormant loyalty to his old comrades and their ascendant offspring, but due solely to Purna's pestering-she wanted to offer her services to General Ji-hyeon, but wouldn't until Maroto agreed to do the same.

"Here's the rub," he'd told her. "I can't raise a sword against the Queen of Samoth."

"Whaaaaaaat?" she'd said. "Why the devils not? You hate the Crimson Empire, you've said it a hundred times! And you dragged us all over the Star looking for this army, who are obviously at war with the Empire, and you can't be at war with an empire without also being at war with its capital providence, can you? 'Fighting the good fight,' you said it a thousand times! Now, I know the Cobalt leader isn't who you expected, but we're here, and we can help, and what else would you do-go back to hosting hunting parties in the Panteran Wastes?"

"I swore an oath," said Maroto, as unhappy about the situation as he'd ever been. More so, probably. "Long ago, to Queen Indsorith, and I won't break a vow, not even one I regret. I came here chasing a dream, Purna, and now it's time to wake up."

"So swear a new oath," Purna had said, knowing him well enough not to dig at subjects he didn't want dredged. "To help me! If you're defending me from Imperial swords, that's hardly the same as, um, raising a blade against the queen."

"Hmmm," Maroto had said, because he had no intention of going along with any more of her brilliant plans but knew her well enough not to say no outright.

And yet here he was, weeks into a scouting expedition ordered by General Ji-hyeon. Maroto's insider knowledge of the Imperial military made him an obvious choice, and anywhere he went there went Purna, and wherever Purna went there went Din, Hassan, and Diggelby. Choi had been assigned to the mission because General Ji-hyeon evidently had the sense not to trust any of her new recruits further than she could have them shot, and so the weirdborn was put in charge of their band. Maroto hadn't thought anything could reduce the nobles from a merry band to the regular kind, but the sharp-toothed Choi had done wonders to dampen everyone's spirits: no fires, no feasts, no fighting, if they could help it, and, cruelest of all, no singing. It had been a long, joyless slog through the mountains, and while they had gained quite a bit of information on the Imperial forces moving in to surround the Cobalt Company, Maroto hadn't been properly drunk since leaving Myura. Worse things than not drinking, though-he could barely remember the last time he'd gotten laid, to think of one. It'd been before he'd taken on the lordlings; devils' delight, what had happened to the Mighty Maroto, that he'd go the better part of a year without so much as a suck? Getting old beat getting dead, but not much else, and not by much.

And at last they were almost back to the Cobalts, but of all the idiot fates, another Imperial contingent was smack between them and a proper drink, and if Maroto was lucky, a roll with a campwhore. Not that he was all that lucky, these days...

"Hey look, a goat!" said Purna, spoiling Maroto's nap. You'd think an Ugrakari girl would be long over the novelty of seeing the animals universally regarded as the second-biggest arseholes on the mountain, but apparently not. "What a beard! He must be older than Maroto!"

"Not as horny, though," said Hassan, leaving Diggelby and his dog to doze on the smaller, sharper stones while he climbed the last dozen yards up the slope to join Maroto, Purna, and Din in the lee of the boulder. Now that the flurry had blown over, the afternoon brightness of the mountain sun made Maroto's eyes water, and every bone in his arse ached as he sat up straighter and wiped drool from his stubbly chin.

"Choi keeping an eye on the other side of the pass?" he asked. "Or did she run off again and you clowns decided we didn't need a lookout of our own?"

"What's to watch for, at the top of a bloody mountain?" grumbled Din, whetting the ornately hooked heads of her crossbow bolts.

"That's probably what the last scouts to hold this post thought," said Maroto, jerking a thumb in the direction of Lukash the Nearly Noseless Scout and the other corpses. "Don't all volunteer at once."

"Man, that old boy is making straight for Diggelby," said Purna. "I've got five dinars that says it's on top of him before he wakes up!"

"I'll pledge six thousand rupees that Prince wakes up first," said Hassan.

"No fool's taking that bet," said Din. "The dog wakes before Diggelby, whatever else the outcome... but I see Prince waking and rousing his master before the goat is within pissing distance. So I take your wager, Purna."

"Damn," said Purna. "Hadn't thought about the dog. As far as a goat can spit, or as far as a person?"

"As we determined in the Wastes, dromedaries can spit some distance indeed," said Hassan. "But I am unversed in the range of goats."

"Where's an avalanche when you need one?" said Maroto, his joints popping as he rose to a crouch. "I'll take first watch, then, so as..."

Idly glancing down the mountainside they had earlier scaled, he saw the so-called goat in question. Maroto felt his guts turn to iron, the weight threatening to rip out through his taint. He blinked, licked his lips, willed his suddenly trembling legs to be still. They ignored him. For the first time since waking he noticed that the wind had died completely, and the sun now buried its face in a tuft of cottony cloud. In the stillness it must have picked up the scent of their trail, and in the shade the creature's eyes would be as sharp as its teeth. And it was only a hundred yards down the steep slope, clip-clopping straight toward the snoozing Diggelby.

"... five that it wakes the dog from the distance of a practiced human spitter for Hassan, then, and five for Din that it's a camel's range before-"

"Shut your fucking mouths," said Maroto, dead calm in the way he only got in the heat of a battle and other mortal-fucking-circumstances. "Crawl around the rock. Now. Purna, you open up the belly of one of those dead scouts. Then you all go down the other side, quiet as you can. Now."

"Are you serious?" asked Din. "Is he serious? What is it?"

"Fucking go," growled Maroto. "I'll crawl down and grab Diggelby. Be right behind you."

"Is it Choi?" asked Purna, looking everywhere but at the beast meandering up the mountain.

"What are we looking for?" asked Hassan. "Is it near the goat?"

"That's not a goat, damn your eyes," said Maroto, shuddering. "It's a horned wolf."

The other three went quiet, and Maroto snatched up a sizable pebble. Shying this off Diggelby would be safer than crawling out in the open, but just as he flicked the stone at his target, Din and Hassan burst out laughing. His missile went wide, clattering loudly across the stones. Their guffaws would echo, he knew, and the horned wolf went stock-still, cocking its snout in the air.

"You had me, Mar-" Din began, but Maroto lunged over and clapped a hand over her mouth.