‘I am not your servant,’ Mappo said coolly, stepping back. ‘Nor do I carry wine when crossing a desert.’

‘Not you, barbarian!’ The man glared about. ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’

‘Servant, of course. He thinks carrying me about is his only task – ah, there!’

Following the man’s gaze, the Trell frowned. ‘That is a mule, sir. I doubt he could manage a wineskin well enough to fill a cup.’ Mappo grinned at Icarium, but the Jhag was paying no attention to the proceedings: he had unstrung his bow and now sat on a boulder, cleaning his sword.

Still sitting on the ground, the man collected a handful of sand and flung it at the mule. Startled, the beast brayed and bolted towards the cleft, disappearing into the cave. With a grunt the man clambered to his feet and stood wobbling, hands held before him plucking at each other in some kind of nervous tic. ‘Mostly rude greeting of guests,’ he said, attempting a smile. ‘Most. Most rude greeting, was meant. Meaningless apologies and kindly gestures very important. I am so sorry for temporary collapse of hospitality. Oh yes, I am. I would have more practice if I wasn’t the master of this temple. An acolyte is obliged to fawn and scrape. Later to mutter and gripe with his comrades in misery. Ah, here comes Servant.’

A wide-shouldered, bow-legged man in black robes had emerged from the cave, carrying a tray bearing a jug and clay cups. He wore a servant’s veil over his features, with only a thin slit for his eyes, which were deep brown.

‘Lazy fool! Did you see any cobwebs?’

Servant’s accent caught Mappo by surprise. It was Malazan. ‘None, Iskaral.’

‘Call me by my title!’

‘High Priest—’

‘Wrong!’

‘High Priest Iskaral Pust of the Tesem Temple of Shadow—’

‘Idiot! You are Servant! Which makes me .. .’

‘Master.’

‘Indeed.’ Iskaral turned to Mappo. ‘We rarely talk,’ he explained.

Icarium joined them. ‘This is Tesem, then. I was led to believe it was a monastery, sanctified to the Queen of Dreams—’

‘They left,’ Iskaral snapped. ‘Took their lanterns with them, leaving only ...’

‘Shadows.’

‘Clever Jhag, but I was warned of that, oh yes. You two are sick as undercooked pigs. Servant has prepared your chambers. And broths of healing herbs, roots, potions and elixirs. White Paralt, emulor, tralb—’

‘Those are poisons,’ Mappo pointed out.

‘Are they? No wonder the pig died. It’s almost time, shall we prepare to ascend?’

‘Lead the way,’ Icarium invited.

‘A life given for a life taken. Follow me. None can outwit Iskaral Pust.’ The High Priest faced the cleft with a fierce squint.

They waited, for what Mappo had no idea. After a few minutes the Trell cleared his throat. ‘Will your acolytes send down a ladder?’

‘Acolytes? I have no acolytes. No opportunity for tyranny. Very sad, no muttering and grumbling behind my back, few satisfying rewards for this High Priest. If not for my god’s whispering, I wouldn’t bother, be assured of that, and I trust you will take that into account with all I have done and am about to do.’