An hour later they reached the outer edge of the forest. Beyond it lay a dark, rolling plain.

Fiddler drew the company to a halt. ‘Any thoughts on this?’ he asked, staring out over the bare, undulating landscape that lay ahead.

The ground before them was a solid weave, a riotous twisting of serpentine roots that stretched off into the distance.

Icarium crouched and laid a hand on one thick, coiled span of wood. He closed his eyes, then nodded. The Jhag straightened. ‘The Azath,’ he said.

‘Tremorlor,’ Fiddler muttered.

‘I have never seen an Azath manifest itself in this way,’ Mappo said. No, not an Azath, but I have seen staves of wood . . .

‘I have,’ Crokus said. ‘In Darujhistan. The Azath House there grew from the ground, like the stump of a tree. I saw it with my own eyes. It rose to contain a Jaghut’s Finnest.’

Mappo studied the youth for a long moment, then he turned to the Jhag. ‘What else did you sense, Icarium?’

‘Resistance. Pain. The Azath is under siege. This fragmented warren seeks to pull free of the House’s grip. And now, an added threat. . .’

‘The Soletaken and D’ivers.’

‘Tremorlor is... aware ... of those who seek it.’

Iskaral Pust cackled, then ducked at a glare from Crokus.

‘Including us, I take it,’ Fiddler said.

Icarium nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘And it means to defend itself,’ the Trell said.

‘If it can.’

Mappo scratched his jaw. The responses of a living entity.

‘We should stop here,’ Fiddler said. ‘Get some sleep—’

‘Oh no, you mustn’t!’ Iskaral Pust said. ‘Urgency!’

‘Whatever lies ahead,’ the sapper growled, ‘can wait. If we’re not rested—’

‘I agree with Fiddler,’ Icarium said. ‘A few hours ...’

The camp was haphazard, bedrolls set out in silence, a scant meal shared. Mappo watched the others settling down until only he and Rellock remained awake. The Trell joined the old man as he prepared his own bedding.

Mappo spoke in a low voice, ‘Why did you obey Iskaral’s commands, Rellock? To draw your daughter to this place ... into these circumstances ...’

The fisherman grimaced, visibly struggling towards a reply. ‘I was gifted, sir, with this here arm. Our lives were spared—’

‘As you said before, and you were delivered to Iskaral. To a fortress in a desert. Where you were made to draw your only child into danger ... I am sorry if I offend, Rellock. I seek only to understand.’

‘She ain’t what she was. Not my little girl. No.’ He hesitated, hands twitching where they rested on the bedroll. ‘No,’ he repeated, ‘what’s done is done, and there’s no going back.’ He looked up. ‘Got to make the best of how things are. My girl knows things ...’ He glanced away, eyes narrowing as he stared at something only he could see. ‘Terrible things. But, well, there’s a child still there – I can see it. All that she knows ... Well –’ he fixed Mappo with a glare – ‘knowing ain’t enough. It ain’t enough.’ He scowled, then shook his head and looked away. ‘I can’t explain—’