Mappo’s answering smile was broken-hearted. ‘Well said, Fiddler. When I said ferocity I meant a miasma of chaos. But I will grant you that terror thrives equally well in order.’ He rolled his shoulders a third time, sat straighter to work out kinks in his back. ‘The shapeshifters are gathering to the promise of a gate through which they can attain such Ascendancy. To become a god of the Soletaken and D’ivers – each shapeshifter seeks nothing less, and will abide no obstacle. Fiddler, we think the gate lies below, and we think that Iskaral Pust will do all he can to prevent the shapeshifters from finding it – even to painting false trails in the desert, to mimic the trail of handprints that all lead to the place of the gate.’

‘And Pust has a role in mind for you and Icarium?’

‘Likely,’ Mappo conceded. His face was suddenly ashen. ‘I believe he knows about us – about Icarium, that is. He knows ...’

Knows what? Fiddler was tempted to ask, though he realized that the Trell would not willingly explain. The name Icarium was known – not widely, but known nonetheless. A Jaghut-blood wanderer around whom swirled, like the blackest wake, rumours of devastation, appalling murders, genocide. The sapper mentally shook his head. The Icarium he was coming to know made those rumours seem ludicrous. The Jhag was generous, compassionate. If horrors still trailed in his wake they must be ancient – youth was the time of excess, after all. This Icarium was too wise, too scarred, to tumble into power’s river of blood. What did Pust hope would be unleashed by these two?

‘Perhaps,’ Fiddler said, ‘you and Icarium are Pust’s last line of defence. Should the Path converge here.’ Aye, preventing the shapeshifters from reaching the gate’s a good thing, but the. effort may prove fatal... or, it seems, something worse.

‘Possibly,’ Mappo admitted glumly.

‘Well, you could leave.’

The Trell looked up, smiled wryly. ‘Icarium has his own quest, I’m afraid. Thus, we shall remain.’

Fiddler’s eyes narrowed. ‘You two would seek to prevent the gate from being used, wouldn’t you? That’s what Iskaral Pust knows, that’s what he relies upon, isn’t it? He’s used your sense of duty and honour against you.’

‘A powerful ploy. And given its efficacy, he might well use it again – with the three of you.’

Fiddler scowled. ‘He’d be hard-pressed to find me that loyal about anything. While being a soldier relies on such things as duty and honour, it’s also something that beats Hood out of both of them. As for Crokus, his loyalty is to Apsalar. And as for her...’ He fell silent.

‘Aye.’ Mappo reached out and settled a hand on the sapper’s shoulder. ‘And so I can see the cause of your distress, Fiddler. And empathize.’

‘You say you’ll escort us to Tremorlor.’