‘Banished?’ Caplo snorted.

‘The priest is right,’ Resh said, straightening. ‘I cannot heal these wounds. Sorcery bleeds from them.’ He shook his head, passing one hand before his eyes as if making an obscure sacred gesture. ‘Our reasoned and rightful world is askew.’

The warlock’s last words rippled through Finarra, their passage leaving her chilled, trembling.

‘I once worshipped both reason and right,’ Caplo said. ‘Until I was made witness to their frailty. Now, neither yields faith worthy of the name. Leave them their moment, my brother. I see the Terondai before us, unattended, a scrawl of godly graffiti. Let us peruse it.’

Nodding, Resh pulled back, out of the crowd that now struck Finarra as somehow sordid. Miracles demand a price, it seems. There is nothing more bloodless than a gathering of gawkers. She followed Resh and Caplo.

Moments later they stood before the Terondai, the magical gift of Lord Draconus to his beloved Mother Dark.

Carved in black upon dulled, grey flagstones, the vast pattern gleamed as if wet. Something about it confounded Finarra, as if the meaning of the design – even unto its precise lines – eluded her. She was frightened by a sudden yearning to step upon it, to place herself in the centre.

‘I can make nothing of this,’ Resh said. ‘Not while I stand outside it.’ He glanced across at Finarra. ‘Captain, will you attend me?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, but the word came out dry, fragile.

Caplo hissed out a breath. ‘It warns me away,’ he said. ‘Not for me, this wretched power. Forgive me, brother. I cannot join you.’

Resh nodded as if unsurprised.

‘What will you do?’ Finarra asked the assassin.

‘I will take the mundane path to this power,’ he replied, drawing his furs closer. ‘I will walk to the Chamber of Night.’

Her brows lifted. ‘You seek an audience with Mother Dark?’

‘No. With Lord Draconus.’

‘To what end?’

He gestured a long-fingered hand at the Terondai. ‘This was not made by a Tiste. I will find his scent. I will pierce the veil of his eyes, and look upon his soul. Such gifts are untoward, as is he who bequeathed it.’ He faced them both and drew back his hood, revealing feral eyes. ‘I have a suspicion.’

‘And if it proves accurate?’ Resh asked. ‘What then, my friend?’

‘There is a truth here, well disguised. I mean to tear it loose. I mean to reveal the game. Only then will we know the stance we must take.’

‘You will decide this for the Shake?’ Resh asked in soft tones.

Caplo Dreem smiled with tender sorrow. ‘Ah, friend, it seems a worthy sacrifice.’

Finarra’s breath caught. She glanced back at the priests and priestesses, but none paid them any attention. The man on the floor had begun stirring. She looked back at the assassin. ‘You expect to die, Caplo?’

He shrugged.

It seemed that there was nothing more to say. Facing the Terondai once more, Resh gathered himself, and then strode on to the pattern. Finarra followed an instant later.