The strumming stopped. A figure emerged from the dark, tall and lean with long straight dark hair. He moved with the grace of a courtier and carried what looked like a wooden box set with strings across its face. Stalker motioned to him. ‘Fisher. Fisher Kel Tath.’

‘Fisher? The bard?’

The man bowed. ‘Indeed. And you are Kyle … not the Kyle once of the Crimson Guard, companion to Greymane, the Stonewielder?’

Kyle was embarrassed, but nodded. ‘Yes.’

The bard’s brows rose high. ‘I have sung songs of you. There is a name for you now, you know.’

Kyle glanced away, unable to disguise his discomfort. ‘Yes.’

Another figure emerged from the dark, and despite himself Kyle stared. He had never met a Tiste Andii, but this one was obviously such: skin like night, with black midnight hair that bore streaks of white. Tall and muscular. Not at all lean. The bard’s gaze, Kyle noted, was moving swiftly between them, back and forth, as if expecting something.

‘This is … Jethiss,’ the bard said, introducing his companion. ‘Kyle.’

Jethiss nodded a greeting which Kyle answered. For some obscure reason the bard appeared disappointed and he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Stalker motioned to the table. ‘Have a seat, lad! What in the Seven Mysteries brings you here?’

Kyle laughed. ‘I gather it’s not the best of timing, but I came to look up old friends.’

Stalker shared the laugh then looked up, surprised, as Badlands appeared from the depths of the hall carrying two tall earthenware tankards. One he set down in front of Kyle and the other before the bard, then he disappeared once more. Stalker glowered at the empty table before him.

The drink was a homebrew, warm and weak, but Kyle thought it delicious, as it had been a long time since he’d had anything resembling beer. Badlands returned with two tankards; one he set before Jethiss and the other he kept as he sat.

Stalker gestured to the table. ‘What about me?’

‘Get your own.’

The elder Lost cousin rolled his eyes, but rose and stomped off.

‘You are making quite a name for yourself,’ Fisher told Kyle. Again, Kyle felt acutely uncomfortable; here was the composer and singer of so many epic lays about ancient heroes telling him he was making a name? Was he making fun of him? He didn’t know what to say and so he merely shrugged and muttered, ‘Just trying to stay alive.’

Again the bard glanced between him and the Andii. ‘You never met Anomandaris, did you?’

Kyle did not hide his perplexity at the question. ‘No, never. Why?’

The bard was nodding to himself, his hand still at his chin. ‘Just wondering. As a poet, the parallels interest me.’

‘Parallels?’

Stalker re-joined them, sitting at Badlands’ bench.

‘Did you know that Anomandaris carried another title beyond Son of Darkness?’

Kyle had no idea what the man was getting at. He shook his head.