‘He’s composing a suicide note.’

‘I got there first, as you would have discovered had you accepted my invitation to hear me confess my life’s story. For are not all such tales nothing more than suicide notes? A list of deeds, crimes and regrets, loves and still more regrets – in fact an endless litany of regrets, come to think on it. Never mind. It has been some time since I last had anyone else with whom to converse. In the interval, I find that I am a poor audience to my own thoughts. Too much catcalling and derision.’

Arathan stepped closer. ‘A moment ago, sir, you spoke of realms of the dead. They’re what we’re looking for, you see, with Hood and his legion—’

‘What now? Is there no refuge left you living won’t despoil? I happen to be quite fond of the realms of the dead. None have reason to argue there, or pose or preen. No one is obsessed with saving face, or stung to stupidity by brainless pride. No grudges to hold. Nothing left worth the gleeful gush of spite. Even vengeance proves laughable. Imagine that, friends. Laughable. Ha ha ha.’

‘Mother save us,’ muttered Korya, turning back to the fire.

‘One lost,’ the ghost observed smugly. ‘And one still to go. Now then, young man, do offer me another mortal conceit I can happily dismantle. There is no end to what I can prove to be pointless in this miserable thing you call your life.’

‘Why bother?’ Arathan asked the ghost.

Cadig Aval tilted his head. ‘Well, you have a point there. Excuse me.’ With that, he vanished.

After a moment, Arathan turned to Korya. ‘It’s said that Azath Houses possess guardians. This Bonecaster was one such guardian, until the Jaghut killed him. But did you hear what he said about realms of the dead? Proof that such places exist! I will speak to Hood about this.’

Korya sneered at him. ‘Don’t expect that ghost to hold open the gate for you and the rest. Seems the dead prefer their realms to be empty of life.’

‘It doesn’t matter if we’re not welcome, or wanted. This is war, after all.’

‘Weren’t you listening? The dead have no need to fight, no reason worth fighting for.’

‘So we’ll give them one.’

‘Some woman jangled your jewels and stole your heart. That happens. It’s not a good enough reason to abandon the living world. Have you not noticed? Hood’s army has raised a standard of grief. But that grief is real, and serious. It’s the kind that crushes everything inside. In a way, they’re all already dead, or most of them, anyway. Especially Hood. But you, Arathan? Get over it. Get over yourself!’

‘And what about Haut, your keeper? Or Varandas? It’s not grief that’s brought them to Hood, is it?’

‘No. Just loyalty. And a sick sense of humour.’

‘But you’re not laughing.’