‘And how did the Empire succeed?’

‘I am not the historian for such details – they never interested me. Had you a library with Imperial texts – works by Duiker and Tallobant – you could read for yourself. Assuming you can read Malazan, that is.’

‘You define the limits of their region, the map of their seasonal rounds. You take and hold water sources, building forts and trading posts – for trade weakens your enemy’s isolation, the very source of their power. And, depending on how patient you are, you either fire the grasslands and slaughter every animal on four legs, or you wait, and to every band of youths that rides into your settlements, you offer the glory of war and booty in foreign lands, with the promise to keep the group intact as a fighting unit. Such a lure plucks the flower from those tribes, until none but old men and old women mutter about the freedom that once existed,’ Leoman replied.

‘Ah, someone’s done their reading, then.’

‘Aye, we possess a library, Heboric. A vast one, at Sha’ik Elder’s insistence. “Know your enemy better than they know themselves.” So said Emperor Kellanved.’

‘No doubt, though I dare say he wasn’t the first.’

The mudbrick residences of the tribes appeared on all sides as the group emerged from an avenue between horse pens. Children ran in the sandy streets, trader carts pulled by mules and oxen were slowly winding their way out from the centre, the market done for the day. Packs of dogs came forward to assuage their curiosity, then fled at the rank challenge of the stiff roll of white bear fur resting across the Toblakai’s broad shoulders.

A crowd began to gather, following them as they made their way towards the settlement’s heart. Felisin felt a thousand eyes on her, heard the uncertain murmuring. Sha’ik, yet not Sha’ik. Yet Sha’ik, for look at her two favoured bodyguards, the Toblakai and Leoman of the Wastes, the great warriors thinned by their journey into the desert. The prophecy spoke of rebirth, a renewal. Sha’ik has returned. At long last, and she is reborn. Sha’ik Reborn—

‘Sha’ik Reborn!’ The two words found a hissing cadence, a rhythm like waves, growing louder. The crowds burgeoned, word spreading with swift breath.

‘I hope there’s a clearing or amphitheatre at the centre,’ Heboric muttered. He gave Felisin an ironic grin. ‘When did we last travel a crowded street, lass?’

‘Better from shame to triumph than the other way around, Heboric’

‘Aye, I’ll not argue that.’

‘There is a parade ground before the palace tent,’ Leoman said.

‘Palace tent? Ah, a message of impermanence, a symbol saluting tradition – the power of the old ways of life and all that.’

Leoman turned to Felisin. ‘Your companion’s lack of respect could prove problematic, Sha’ik Reborn. When we meet the High Mages—’

‘He’ll wisely keep his mouth shut.’

‘He had better.’