Mairild had expected Trindai to be angry or even furious. She had never expected him to be tired.

Three eightdays ago he had arrived on the dawn of madness. Two eightdays since he lost two more of his men to riots spilling out into the alleys where the poor lived. An eightday after that two more simply vanished while on patrol.

After that he turned over command of his unit to Major Berdaler, kicked his rank two steps to full colonel and reported to Olvar de Saiden.

She saw him leaving the Ministry of War half a day later. He hardly remembered to greet her on his way out. She heard rumours he had rented a room and had a cask of strong brandy brought up. He wasn't heard of for a full eightday.

She studied him across her desk. The cask had to be true. She could drink herself to a stupor just talking with him. He stank from more than just a hangover as well. Drinking apparently hadn't allowed any time for a bath, nor a change of clothes.

Her Trindai was gone. She had commanded a razor in uniform. What sat before her was a cudgel, a tool more to Olvar's liking.

Well, he was Olvar's now. She'd signed over command in exchange for the generalship Trindai should never have lost in the first place when they sent the punitive expedition to Gaz.

Sorry, caravan escort. The outworlder taleweaver had survived after all. The outworlder Arthur demon spawned gherin get Wallman's skin was safe.

She sighed and made an attempt to grab Trindai's hands. He'd been her most trusted man, as close to a friend as she'd dared anyone to become. He withdrew even further. Tired eyes, tired and sad.

What have we done to you? Eighty men to Braka and back. You lost less than twenty while fighting outworlders. Mairild wanted to wring her hands in denial, but that order had been hers alone. The winter cut years from you, old man. You weren't old when we parted last.

They exchanged glanced like they'd done each time Trindai returned back after an especially ugly mission. None had suggested it, but it seemed natural. The best reports she ever had.

Marched through Vimarin Gate with fifty men proud as stallions as if the madness didn't touch you. Darkness, you were the dirtiest heroes I've ever seen! She leaned back into her chair. They really had been. Ragged and torn to boot. Where they marched people fell silently anyway. When Trindai marched out on the great square facing Ming Hjil de Verd with his men the crowd parted like paper to flame, when he climbed the shoulders of his tallest soldiers they were breathless and when he thundered out the message that Keen's first caravan in a hundred years was safely on its way back to Verd the entire square erupted in jubilation.

General de Laiden he may be now, but it had been Trindai, their hero, who gave Verd control over itself. And Mairild's propaganda scheme from last autumn paid off in a way she could never have dreamed of, she admitted guiltily.

Then you took to the streets. Patrolled a regiments share. I never believed it could be done, neither did Olvar. And it couldn't. Gods were fickle and jealous. No mere human could steal their moments of triumph.

They'd known both taleweavers had just watched the madness. And who cared? Ken Leiter de Ghera. Walking Talking. The Legend. He came and went, had done for hundreds of years. Alone he refused to break the habit of visiting Verd, or Dagd or any other of the cities where the arms of the Inquisition reached and scared the others away. He was Walking Talking; even children knew he came and went, leaving a trail of Weaves behind him like gifts for the starved. He never stayed for long.

And Arthur Wallman, latest of legends. Two in Verd at the same time. That was unheard of. And they just watched when madness came to visit.

***

Riots, in the capital of the northern empire. He sat in a comfortable chair facing his old employer and friend, but his mind lived the riots.

It came so unexpected. Or maybe because they were so tired, but it had seemed so calm after his display of strength on the great square. A mistake. His mistake.

One morning they received angry glares instead of greetings. By noon there were looks, measuring if they were really as few as they seemed. Then years of barely constrained unrest ruptured. By early evening the streets exploded with people, his people. They were like a horde of dragonlings mindlessly attacking from everywhere. Some armed with knives, kitchen utensils mostly, more with pieces of broken furniture and most with nothing at all.

They held them at bay with wooden clubs at first, but his command wasn't one of General Markand's professional regiments. He had his fifty and a few hundred half trained boys scared witless when their fellow citizens fell upon them. Most had never been inside the city walls before ordered to patrol street they didn't know. When cornered a few turned the butts of their spears away from the crowd. Cheap steel, not even the quality of the pikes they were to receive later in their training. It cut through clothes effortlessly anyway.

The crowd had smelled death. For a moment it looked like they would break, and Trindai ordered sabres drawn. His second mistake. He counted on fear but got wrath. There were thousands of them and they attacked like one single hurt animal.

Boys in uniform, those who couldn't flee to safety, went down first. He never saw what happened to them, never wanted to. He held on to a wide street, his men showing a small forest of loaded crossbows to those facing them. The charge came anyway.

Trindai ordered a volley loosed, then a reloading retreat and yet another volley. A hundred quarrels scythed through the people he had sworn to protect with his life.

"...anything you want before you report back to Minister de Saiden?"

Mairild's question cut through his memories. He stared at her. I lost Hamardel and Sokerek there. We hacked our way to the barracks. Mairild, we killed hundreds of our own! We butchered them! He realized he hadn't said that aloud.

She stared back and he read the raw pain in that look. He didn't have to, she already knew.

"Eri and Parnesen, I, I ordered Colonel de Berdaler not to bring any charges against them." Neither for being murderers nor for deserting my command. They made the decent choice.

"I'll make sure that order is carried out," she answered. She must have known that as well. He trusted her to make full use of her network of spies. It was then he noticed a flicker of hatred in her eyes. Hatred and fury.

He rose and glared at her. She would tell him. She owed him that much.

"Yes, there is one more thing," she confirmed.

They had reached the lopsided talking part of their meeting now. Meant it was about to be over soon. Then he would report to de Saiden and then to another cask of brandy. This time he planned to stay drunk until they carried him back to service.

"You might want to take a bath before you see Minister de Saiden."

He continued glaring at her. What news could she possibly have worth a bath?

"We've located a few visitors. For once I've joined camp with Magehunting."

Trindai straightened. A bath, maybe a bath.

"We've convinced them to talk, those still alive. Turns out they're all papal clergy."

And he'd stay sober until de Saiden could call him to a second meeting.

"The church paid the raiders, not only to leave most of their ships alone but to intensify their raids along our coast."

He would even consider getting that new uniform he rightfully belonged in since he released his old command.

"Most of the money came from Chach. More of that money were used to plant the priests we captured here in Verd. They used magic to create firebrands. The papacy paid, planned and executed the riots here."

You used mindwalkers in my home! You had me murder my own! He had a duty and a target now. He'd gained several years during the winter and as many again since he returned. Now he lost them one by one as he and Mairild shared the rage. Wordlessly they planned ahead, and wordlessly he left for the imperial tailor. Then he would get new boots as well. Shiny and hard. Very hard.