Jute straightened from the stacked chests, glanced about. ‘You have been frank, and I thank you. That is a rare gift. I am only a ship’s captain, a small-time recovering raider. But we of the sea trade in Falar know of the old blood-cult, the Jhistal. Its followers terrorized our islands for generations. He—’ Jute broke off as a gang of Malle’s guards arrived to carry the chests up to the top of the wall. Once they were gone, he turned back to Giana and lowered his voice: ‘You speak of limited horizons. We in Falar had squirmed in the grip of those priests for generations. To speak up was to find one’s children selected as the next sacrifices to the sea. The Malazans broke that grip and for that I will be for ever grateful, despite the cost. But the new emperor … he tries to rewrite the history of it, but there are those who still dare to whisper that he came out of that hierarchy. That he was once a priest of the Jhistal. And so as long as he may rule we will never speak his name.’

The lieutenant blew out a long ragged breath and held out her hand. He took it in a tight grip. ‘Honesty is a rare gift among strangers,’ she said with feeling.

‘An easy gift, since we may not see the morrow.’

She lowered her gaze to the chest at their feet. ‘Well then … let’s get to it.’

They each took a handle, and together they carried it up to the top of the wall.

Lady Orosenn was on the catwalk speaking to Voti and Malle. Beyond, up the valley, the fog appeared to be breaking up. The rumbling was not diminishing, however. Even atop the wall, Jute felt the vibrations hammering through his boots.

‘This is your people’s last chance,’ Lady Orosenn was saying. ‘There will be no escape once it is upon us.’

The young king’s mouth pulled down, accentuating his long jaw. ‘We will not abandon what is ours.’

Lady Orosenn simply dipped her head in acceptance. ‘Very well. I have to confess – I hold little hope.’

Voti bowed. ‘Thank you for that frank admission. I will go to tell my council.’

Lady Orosenn answered the bow and he descended the ramp, followed by his bodyguard of ten spears. Malle remained; she leaned against the shaking stone blocks of the wall, peering out.

Cartheron arrived and nodded to Lieutenant Jalaz. ‘Time,’ he said. She gave a curt bob of her head. ‘You’ll need eight veterans.’

Malle turned from the wall. ‘Riley and his boys are up for it.’

Cartheron gave his assent.

‘Time for what?’ Jute asked, feeling a strange sort of growing unease.