A few paces clear of the trees, as he crossed the wagon trail, a sound behind him made him turn, to see three figures at the edge of the treeline. They wore skins, two of them wearing the ragged heads of ektral. For an instant, riding a thrill of fear, Ivis had thought them demonic – some blend of Tiste and beast – but of course, he then realized, the antlered ektral were but headdresses.

Deniers. Torturers of goddesses. The night before the summoning, you sat together, sharpening stakes at the edge of the glade. You invented a ritual, and filled it with power, and then you did something terrible.

Teeth bared, Ivis drew out his sword.

The three drew back, beneath the shadows.

Ivis saw that they were unarmed. Even so, the gloom of the forest behind them could be hiding any number of warriors. I’ll not take a step. If you would speak to me, come forward. But such boldness belonged to his mind, the words left unspoken. The truth was, fear gripped his throat. The thought of sorcery had unmanned him.

After a moment, one of the shamans stepped forward. As the figure drew closer, he saw that it was a woman, her face ritually scarred to make ragged streaks running down her cheeks. Unlike the two who wore ektral headdresses, the hood covering her head was furred, the fur black but silver-tipped. It hung down to cover her shoulders and was drawn together at the front by a single toggle. Her pale eyes were bleak as they fixed upon his face, and then the sword he held in his hand.

Ivis hesitated, and after a moment he slowly returned the weapon to its scabbard.

She drew nearer.

At last he found his voice. ‘What do you want? I saw her. The goddess in the glade. Nothing you can say will wash the blood from your hands.’

She received his harsh words without expression, and when she spoke her tone was flat. ‘We have come to tell you, Keep-Soldier, what has birthed this war.’

Ivis scowled. ‘You would not bow before Mother Dark—’

‘She never asked us to.’

‘And if she had?’

After a moment, the woman shrugged. ‘When the animals are gone. When hunting ends, and the ways of living change. When one must look to tamed animals, and the planting of crops. When all the old ways of bravery and prowess are done away with, the hunters will turn upon one another. Honour becomes a weapon, but it pursues no wild beast. Instead, it pursues your neighbour.’ She pointed to the keep behind him. ‘The birth of walls.’

Ivis shook his head. ‘There was war, with the Forulkan. We were forced to create an army. When the war was done, witch, only then did that army turn upon us. Honour was well served in the instant, but its flavour quickly fades, and now the taste is bitter.’