‘Will he appreciate the irony?’

‘I do not know him well enough to answer you, milord.’

‘Hunn Raal will delight in it,’ Silchas Ruin predicted. ‘I have received a missive from Captain Prazek—’

‘Captain, milord?’

‘Field promotion, one presumes. The Hust Legion will soon depart the training grounds.’

‘Prazek judges them ready, then?’

‘Of course not! Don’t be foolish, Kellaras. No,’ Silchas rose, suddenly impatient, ‘we have simply run out of time.’

A bell rang in the outer room.

With a flash of irritation twisting his features, Silchas snapped, ‘Enter!’

The Houseblade who stepped into the chamber saluted both men and said, ‘Lord Silchas, there has been an… occurrence, at the Terondai. A monk of the Shake and a Warden were seen to be taken.’

‘Taken where?’

‘Milord, they strode on to the pattern, and then simply vanished. Another monk is even now approaching the Chamber of Night—’

‘Unchallenged?’

The young woman before them blinked. ‘The High Priestess dismissed the guards upon the approach some time ago, milord. It seems… there is nothing to defend.’

‘This monk,’ said Kellaras. ‘Is he known?’

‘No, sir. Hooded to hide his face. But the one who vanished in the Terondai was Warlock Resh.’

There was a moment when none moved, and then Silchas reached for his sword-belt. ‘Both of you, ready weapons and attend me.’

The three set out in haste.

Caplo Dreem. Sheccanto’s favourite assassin. And this time, Anomander does not stand in his path.

* * *

A single Houseblade had followed Caplo Dreem, accosting him at the entrance to the corridor leading to the Chamber of Night’s door. Irritated and mostly unmindful, the assassin left the man’s corpse sprawled across the cracked flagstones and continued on until he faced the sweating blackwood barrier. The polished wood was now crowded with carved runes that framed illustrated panels. Caplo paused, frowning at the images for a moment. Scenes of gift giving. That one must be Draconus, and that faintest of outlines… Mother Dark. Or what’s left of her. Odd, isn’t it, how it is the goddess who receives gifts? What shall we make of him who bears them?

But such ponderings were but distractions. A wild fever burned in Caplo Dreem, the hunger to unfold, one into many, as if snapping the chains of his own flesh and bone. He bared his teeth in anticipation, and then kicked against the door to the Chamber of Night.

The strength within him was startling even to his own eyes. The blow proved savage enough to splinter the wood, sending cracks through the delicate carvings. The ancient iron hinges broke with popping sounds, and a second kick sent the portal toppling with a heavy crash upon the threshold.

Bitter cold assailed Caplo and he voiced an animal snarl in answer. Take me then, Old Blood. We have known restraint for too long.