Fiddler slowly looked around to see if they’d lost anyone. Apsalar crouched beside her father, their backs to the now shut door. Crokus had dragged a cowering Iskaral Pust in with him, and the High Priest looked up, blinking as if in disbelief.

Fiddler’s voice was a croak. ‘The Hounds, Iskaral Pust?’

‘Escaped! And yet, even in the midst of betrayal, they threw their power against the D’ivers!’ He paused, sniffed the dank air. ‘Can you smell it? Tremorlor’s satisfaction – the D’ivers has been taken.’

‘That betrayal might have been instinctive, High Priest,’ Apsalar said. ‘Five Ascendants in the House’s yard – the vast risk to Tremorlor itself, given Shadow’s own penchant for treachery—’

‘Lies! We played true!’

‘A first time for everything,’ Crokus muttered. He looked across to Fiddler. ‘Glad it opened to you, Fid.’

The sapper started, searched the hallway. ‘It didn’t. Moby opened the door and ripped my arm to shreds in the process – where is that damned runt? It’s in here somewhere—’

‘You’re sitting on a corpse,’ Apsalar’s father observed.

Fiddler glanced down to find himself on a nest of bones and rotted clothing. He clambered clear, cursing.

‘I don’t see him,’ Crokus said. ‘You sure he made it inside, Fid?’

‘Aye, I’m sure.’

‘He must have gone deeper into the House—’

‘He seeks the gate!’ Pust squealed. ‘The Path of Hands!’

‘Moby’s a famil—’

‘More lies! That disgusting bhok’aral is a Soletaken, you fool!’

‘Relax. There is no gate in here that offers a shapeshifter anything,’ Apsalar said, slowly rising, her eyes on the withered corpse behind Fiddler. ‘That would have been the Keeper – each Azath has a guardian. I’d always assumed they were immortal ...’ She stepped forward, kicked at the bones. She grunted. ‘Not human – those limbs are too long, and look at the joints – too many of them. This thing could bend every which way.’

Mappo lifted his head. ‘Forkrul Assail.’

‘The least known of the Elder Races, then. Not even hinted of in any Seven Cities legend I’ve heard.’ She swung her attention to the hallway.

Five paces from the door the passage opened on a T-intersection, with double doors directly opposite the entrance.

‘The layout’s almost identical,’ Apsalar whispered.

‘To what?’ Crokus asked.

‘Deadhouse, Malaz City.’

Pattering feet approached the intersection, and a moment later Moby scampered into view. The creature flapped up and into the Daru’s arms.

‘He’s shaking,’ Crokus said, hugging the familiar.

‘Oh, great,’ Fiddler muttered.

‘The Jhag,’ Pust hissed from where he knelt a few paces from Mappo and Icarium. ‘I saw you crushing him in your arms – is he dead?’

The Trell shook his head. ‘Unconscious. I don’t think he’ll awaken for some time—’

‘Then let the Azath take him! Now! We are within Tremorlor. Our need for him has ended!’

‘No.’

‘Fool!’