Armour can hide anything until the moment it falls away. Even a child. Especially a child.

There was nothing to distinguish sky from earth. Gold stillness had embraced the world. Stones pattered down the trail as Fiddler pulled himself onto the crest, the clatter appallingly loud to his ears. She’s drawn breath. And waits.

He wiped sweaty dust from his brow. Hood’s breath, this bodes ill.

Mappo emerged from the haze ahead. The huge Trell’s exhaustion made his walk more of a shamble than usual. His eyes were red-rimmed, the lines that bracketed his prominent canines were deeply etched into his weathered skin. ‘The trail winds ever onward,’ he said, crouching beside the sapper. ‘I believe she’s with her father now – they walk together. Fiddler . ..’ He hesitated.

‘Aye. The Whirlwind goddess ...’

‘There is ... expectancy ... in the air.’

Fiddler grunted at the understatement.

‘Well,’ Mappo sighed after a moment, ‘let us join the others.’

Icarium had found a flat stretch of rock surrounded by large boulders. Crokus sat with his back against stone, watching the Jhag laying out foodstuffs in the centre. The expression the young Daru swung to the sapper when he arrived belonged to a much older man. ‘She’s not turning back,’ Crokus said.

Fiddler said nothing, unslinging his crossbow and setting it down.

Icarium cleared his throat. ‘Come and eat, lad,’ he said. ‘The realms are overlapping, and all is possible ... including the unexpected. Distress over what has not yet happened avails you nothing. In the meantime, the body demands sustenance, and it will do none of us good if you’ve no reserves of energy when comes the time to act.’

‘It’s already too late,’ Crokus muttered, but he clambered to his feet nonetheless.

‘There is too much mystery in this path to be certain of anything,’ Icarium replied. ‘Twice we have travelled warrens – their aspects I cannot say. They felt ancient and fragmented, woven into the very rock of Raraku. At one point I smelled the sea...’

‘As did I,’ Mappo said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

‘More and more,’ Crokus said, ‘her journey takes a tack where such things as rebirth become more probable. I am right in that, aren’t I?’

‘Perhaps,’ Icarium conceded. ‘Yet, this pensive air hints at uncertainty as well, Crokus. Be mindful of that.’

‘Apsalar is not seeking to flee us,’ Mappo said. ‘She is lead’ ing us. What significance should we place in that? With her godly gifts she could easily mask her trail – that shadow-wrought residue that, to Icarium and to myself, is as plain and undisguised as an Imperial road.’