He blurred, burgeoned, and with visceral jolts veered into a dozen lithe, feline forms, each one black as the surrounding darkness. In his wake he left the tatters of his clothing, his worn boots, the leather belts and straps bearing his knives, and the hood and heavy wolf fur cloak, all heaped into a disordered pile.

The earth beneath his many padded feet was frozen clay, slick and unyielding. From twelve pairs of eyes, he studied the way ahead – the stunted, leafless trees rising from the plain, the wayward lines of boulders marking out mysterious patterns upon the vague slopes a short distance before him, and off to the right – those many eyes narrowed – the skeletal frame of a wheeled wagon. Even incomplete, it was massive, almost beyond comprehension. To look upon it was to reel with the jarring impossibility of its scale – and he felt his ears flattening with instinctive fear.

A man stood near one enormous wooden wheel. He had turned upon Caplo’s arrival.

I see you, Draconus! And yet… yet –

Spreading out, the panthers edged forward, tails twitching, twelve pairs of eyes fixing upon the man who now slowly approached. The promise of violence flared within Caplo. Old Blood, why did I deny you for so long?

‘You Shake are a presumptuous lot, aren’t you?’

He is weak. Weaker than I expected. As if some part of his soul is missing. Even more pleasing, he is unarmed.

Draconus shook his head. ‘D’ivers now, as well. The Shake consort with forces they do not understand. Not just the cursed legacy of desperate Eresal eludes that understanding, but so too the one you would now challenge.’

As Caplo drew closer, he saw chains strewn upon the ground, the rough links stretching back towards the wagon, vanishing beneath its vast bed. Scores, perhaps hundreds, they made a web upon the frozen clay, the heavy shackles at their ends gaping and glistening with frost. Seeing them, Caplo felt faint unease rippling through his dozen bodies.

‘You mean to kill her, Caplo Dreem? You will fail. She is well beyond your reach.’

Caplo focused his thoughts, sent them out towards Draconus. ‘Do you hear me, lord?’

Draconus grunted. ‘I’ve listened since the moment of your arrival, D’ivers. My weakness, my incompleteness… these hands’ – he lifted them – ‘you deem less than weapons.’

‘I care nothing for her. The power here is yours and yours alone.’

‘Not any more. Such was my gift to the woman I love.’

‘And who are you to give it?’

Draconus shrugged. ‘Here, I am named the Suzerain of Night.’

‘The Tiste House of Dracons is a deceit. Old scents, known to the Old Blood within me. You are an Azathanai.’

Reaching down, Draconus collected up a length of chain. ‘If it’s me you want, assassin, come along then. You can collect your coin from Urusander later – or is it Hunn Raal? I would not imagine Sheccanto or even Skelenal have given this deed their blessing.’