The lines round Bayaz' forehead grew deeper, the corners of his mouth turned down. Anger. 'A stricture that Euz placed on his sons, the first rule made after the chaos of ancient days. It is forbidden to touch the Other Side direct. Forbidden to communicate with the world below, forbidden to summon demons, forbidden to open gates to hell. Such is the First Law, the guiding principle of all magic.'

'Uh,' snorted Ferro. It meant nothing to her. 'Who is Khalul?'

Bayaz' thick brows drew in together, his frown deepened, his eyes narrowed. 'Is there no end to your questions, woman?' Her questions galled him. That was good. That meant they were the right questions.

'You'll know if I stop asking them. Who is Khalul?'

'Khalul was one of the order of Magi,' growled Bayaz. 'One of my order. The second of Juvens' twelve apprentices. He was always jealous of my place, always thirsty for power. He broke the Second Law to get it. He ate the flesh of men, and persuaded others to do the same. He made of himself a false prophet, tricked the Gurkish into serving him. That is Khalul. Your enemy, and mine.'

'What is the Seed?'

The Magus' face gave a sudden twitch. Fury, and perhaps the slightest trace of fear. Then his face softened. 'What is it?' He smiled at her, and his smile worried her more than all his anger could have. He leaned towards her, close enough that no one else could hear. 'It is the instrument of your vengeance. Of our vengeance. But it is dangerous. Even to speak of it is dangerous. There are those who are always listening. It would be wise for you to shut the door on your questions, before the answers to them burn us all.' He spurred his horse once again, trotting out ahead of the party on his own.

Ferro stayed behind. She had learned enough for now. Learned enough to trust this First of the Magi less than ever.

A hollow in the ground, no more than four strides across. A sink in the soil, ringed by a low wall of damp, dark earth, full of tangled grass roots. That was the best place they had found to camp for the night, and they had been lucky to find it.

It was as big a feature in the landscape as Ferro had seen all day.

The fire that Longfoot had made was burning well now, flames licking bright and hungry at the wood, rustling and flickering out sideways as a gust of wind swept down into the hollow. The five pinks sat clustered around it, hunched and huddled for warmth, light from it bright on their pinched-up faces.