‘Blades in hand and unhanded in wisdom. Young, yet old, one life whole, another incomplete – she shall emerge renewed...’ Did still-hidden truths remain within those words? Had his imagination – his wilful yearning – betrayed him?

The Toblakai squatted before the dead lizards, flipped the first one onto its back and set a knifeblade to its belly. ‘I would go west,’ he said. ‘Into the Jhag ‘Odhan ...’

Leoman glanced over. The jhag Odhan, there to come face to face with other giants. The Jhag themselves. The Trell. More savages. The lad will feel right at home in that wasteland. ‘This is not over,’ the warrior said.

The Toblakai bared his teeth, a hand plunging through the slit in the lizard’s belly to re-emerge with slick entrails. ‘This one’s female. It’s said the roe is good for fevers, isn’t it?’

‘I am not fevered.’

The giant said nothing, but Leoman saw a new set to his shoulders. The Toblakai had made a decision.

‘Take what’s left of your kill,’ the warrior said. ‘You’ll need it more than I.’

‘You jest, Leoman. You do not see yourself as I see you. You are skin on bones. You have devoured your own muscles. I see the skull behind the face when I look at you.’

‘I am clear of mind nonetheless.’

The Toblakai grunted. ‘A hale man would not say so with such certainty. Is that not the secret revelation of Raraku? “Madness is simply a state of mind.”‘

‘The Sayings of the Fool are aptly named,’ Leoman muttered, his voice falling away. A charge was filling the hot, motionless air. The warrior felt his heart beat faster, harder.

The Toblakai straightened, his huge hands smeared with blood.

The two men slowly turned to face the ancient gate. The black hair emerging from the bundled corpse stirred, the strands gently lifting. The suspended dust had begun to swirl beyond the pillars. Sparks winked in its midst, like jewels set in an ochre cloak.

‘What?’ the Toblakai asked.

Leoman glanced over at the Holy Book. Its hide cover glistened as if with sweat. The warrior took a step towards the gate.

Something was emerging from the dust cloud. Two figures, side by side, their arms locked around one another, staggering, heading straight towards the pillars – and the corpse lying between the bleached gateposts.

‘Blades in hand and unhanded in wisdom . . .’

One was an old man, the other a young woman. Heart hammering in his chest, Leoman let his gaze fix on her. So alike. Dark threat pours from her. Pain, and from pain, rage.

There was a thump and a grate of stones beside the warrior. He turned to see the Toblakai on his knees, head bowed before the approaching apparitions.