‘I am a Claw, of course. Who else is granted the privilege of travelling the Imperial Warren?’

She nodded at the portalway. ‘Someone’s just granted that privilege to himself.’

Pearl’s eyes sparkled. ‘And this is what you shall tell me about, Red Blade.’

She sat in silence, thinking, then nodded. ‘Yes. Ideal. I shall accompany you.’

Pearl took a step backward and beckoned with one gloved hand.

Lostara Yil tapped heels to her mount’s flanks.

Quick Ben’s shaved knuckle in the hole was slower in closing than anyone had anticipated. Seven hours after the Red Blade and the Claw had vanished within the Imperial Warren, stars glittered in the moonless sky overhead, and still the portalway gaped, its red-lined edges fading to dull magenta.

Sounds drifted into the glade, echoes of panic and alarm in Korbolo Dom’s encampment. Parties of riders set out in all directions, bearing torches. Mages risked their warrens, seeking trails through the now perilous pathways of sorcery.

Thirteen hundred Malazan children had vanished, the liberation unseen by the pickets or the mounted patrols. The X-shaped wooden crosses were bare, with only stains of blood, urine and excrement to show that living beings had once hung from them in agony.

In the darkness the plain was strangely alive with shadows, flowing sourcelessly over the motionless grasses.

Apt strode silently into the glade, her daggerlike fangs gleaming their natural grin. Sweat glistened on her black hide, the thick spiny bristles of her hair wet with dew. She stood erect, her single forelimb clutching the limp body of a young boy. Blood dripped from his hands and feet, and his face had been horribly chewed and pecked, leaving him eyeless and with a gaping red hole where his nose had been. Faint breaths from fevered, shallow lungs showed in misty plumes that drifted forlornly in the clearing.

The demon squatted down on her haunches and waited.

Shadows gathered, pouring like liquid between the trees to hover before the portalway.

Apt cocked her head and spread wide her mouth in something like a canine yawn.

A vague shape took form within the shadows. The glowing eyes of guardian Hounds appeared to flank the figure.

‘I thought I had lost you,’ Shadowthrone whispered to the demon. ‘Snared so long by Sha’ik and her doomed goddess. Yet this night you return, not alone – oh no, not alone, aptorian. You’ve grown ambitious since you were but a Demon Lord’s concubine. Tell me, my dear, what am I to do with over a thousand dying mortals?’

The Hounds were eyeing Apt as if the demon was a potential meal.

‘Am I a cutter? A healer?’ Shadowthrone’s voice was rising, octave by octave. ‘Is Cotillion a kindly uncle? Are my Hounds farmyard skulkers and orphans’ puppies?’ The shadow that was the god flared wildly. ‘Have you gone entirely insane?’

Apt spoke in a rapid, rasping series of clicks and hisses.