The mud was thick and chill. It clung to his boots like weights as he made his way up the shore. Tyvar emerged, fully armed and armoured, helmet tucked under one arm. His long blue cape dragged in the mud as he came.

‘Greetings!’ the mercenary called out, grinning behind his beard, as friendly as ever. ‘How fares our pilot?’

‘She is recovered, thank you.’

‘Excellent! And our Malazan friend is also in good care, so I hear.’

‘Yes.’

Tyvar gestured a gauntleted hand to the keep. ‘And what do you make of the settlement?’

Jute peered round. There were people about: figures could be seen working the many fields where scarves of fog drifted. ‘Quiet.’

Tyvar’s smile hardened and he nodded. ‘Ah! Here comes our, ah, ally.’ He motioned to the flats. A launch had pulled up, oared by crew that Jute couldn’t identify over the distance. The tall unmistakable figure of Lady Orosenn straightened then, and stepped out into the mud. She made for shore. As she neared, Jute saw with some surprise that she had changed her outfit: she now wore tall leather moccasins laced to the knees over buckskin trousers, belted, with a shirt and a long thick felt jacket hanging open at the front. Her hair blew long and midnight black about her shoulders. Her face, now uncovered, revealed a broad tall brow, deep ridges sheltering the eyes, and a long heavy jaw.

He and Tyvar bowed. ‘Greetings, Lady Orosenn,’ the mercenary rumbled. ‘You are dressed for the weather, I see.’

She laughed, waved a hand deprecatingly, took a deep breath of the chill air. ‘I am dressed for home, friend mercenary.’

‘Home?’ Jute blurted, then regretted opening his mouth. ‘You are from here?’ he finished weakly.

The lady laughed again. ‘No, friend captain. I am not. Yet this is home all the same.’ She waved them onwards. ‘Captain Cartheron sends his regrets – he yet remains too weak to walk. Come. Let us greet our hostess, the Lady Mist. Though, I am certain she will not be so pleased to see us.’ She swept on, and Jute and the mercenary captain hurried to follow.

As they neared the keep they passed more of the locals, though, in point of fact, Jute noted that none were local. All were men and all were quite obviously from elsewhere. Jute recognized Genabackans and Malazans and glimpsed many other types unfamiliar to him despite his extensive travels. Most wore the ragged remains of sailors’ sturdy canvas trousers or leathers; most carried hoes and other farmers’ implements. None would meet their gaze as they passed. Some even turned away, or shook their heads.

Jute glanced to Tyvar. ‘Solemn lot.’

‘I see fear,’ the mercenary rumbled.

‘They are trapped,’ Lady Orosenn commented.

Tyvar’s gaze narrowed. ‘As we shall be?’

‘I will do my best to extricate us.’

The mercenary captain grunted in answer, but his hand now rested on the grip of his greatsword.