‘Oh, you will all go!’ the High Priest of Shadow crooned, still dancing. ‘Seeking answers and yet more answers! But in my silent thoughts I snigger and warn you all with words that you will not hear – beware sleight of hand. Compared to the Azath, my immortal lords are but fumbling children!’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tremorlor, the Throne of Sand

is said to lie within Raraku.

A House of the Azath, it

stands alone on uprooted soil

where all tracks are ghosts

and every ghost leads to

Tremorlor’s door.

Patterns in the Azath

The Nameless Ones

For as far as Duiker could see, stretching west and east, the cedar forest was filled with butterflies. The dusty green of the trees was barely visible through a restless canopy of pale yellow. Along Vathar’s gutted verge, bracken rose amidst skeletal branches, forming a solid barrier but for the trader track that carved its way towards the river.

The historian had ridden out from the column and halted his horse on a low hilltop that rose from the studded plain. The Chain of Dogs was stretched, exhaustion straining its links. Dust rode the air above it like a ghostly cape, grasped by the wind and pulled northward.

Duiker drew his eyes from the distant scenes and scanned the hilltop beneath him. Large, angular boulders had been placed in roughly concentric rings: the summit’s crown. He had seen such formations before, but could not recall where. A pervasive unease hung in the air over the hilltop.

A rider approached at a trot from the train, showing obvious discomfort with each rise in the stirrups. Duiker scowled. Corporal List was anything but hale. The young man was risking a permanent limp with all this premature activity, but there was no swaying him.

‘Historian,’ List said as he reined in.

‘Corporal, you’re a fool.’

‘Yes, sir. Word’s come from the rearguard’s western flank. Korbolo Dom’s lead elements have been sighted.’

‘West? He plans to reach the river before us then, as Coltaine predicted.’

List nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Aye. Cavalry, at least thirty companies.’

‘If we have to push through thirty companies of soldiers to gain the ford, we’ll be held up—’

‘And Korbolo’s main force will close jaws on our tail, aye. That’s why the Fist is sending the Foolish Dog ahead. He asks that you join them. It’ll be a hard ride, sir, but your mare’s fit – fitter than most, anyway.’

Two notches up on her girth straps, the bones of her shoulders hard against my knees, yet fitter than most. ‘Six leagues?’

‘Closer to seven, sir.’

An easy afternoon’s ride, under normal circumstances. ‘We might well arrive only to wheel mounts and meet a charge.’

‘They’ll be as weary as we will, sir.’