'Aye, sir,' she said. 'Behind you, beside the hearth.'
Antsy reached for the clay jug, rose to pour Baruk a cup.
'All right,' Picker said in a loud voice, walking over. 'So, this is it. Fine. The fire's warm enough, we've drunk enough, and I for one am ready for some stories to be told — no, not you, Kruppe. We've heard yours. Now, Baruk here, and Coll and Murillio for that matter, might be interested in the tale of the final taking of Coral.'
Coll slowly leaned forward. 'So, you'll finally talk, will you? It's about time, Picker.'
'Not me,' she replied. 'Not to start, anyway. Captain? Refill your cup, sir, and weave us a tale.'
The man grimaced, then shook his head. 'I'd like to, Picker.'
'Too close,' Spindle grumbled, nodding and turning away.
'Hood's breath, what a miserable bunch!'
'Sure,' Spindle snapped, 'a story to break our hearts all over again! What's the value in that?'
A rough, broken voice replied, 'There is value.'
Everyone fell silent, turned to Duiker.
The Imperial Historian had looked up, was studying them with dark eyes. 'Value. Yes. I think, much value. But not yours, soldiers. Not yet. Too soon for you. Too soon.'
'Perhaps,' Baruk murmured, 'perhaps you are right in that. We ask too much-'
'Of them. Yes.' The old man looked down once more at the cloth in his hands.
The silence stretched.
Duiker made no move.
Picker began to turn back to her companions — when the man began speaking. 'Very well, permit me, if you will, on this night. To break your hearts once more. This is the story of the Chain of Dogs. Of Coltaine of the Crow Clan, newly come Fist to the 7th Army …'
