‘Perhaps Gethol has something there,’ Gathras observed. ‘After all, five centuries staring into death’s leering face might well have earned an inkling or two.’

‘Denied all else, inklings were his only sustenance,’ Haut pointed out, frowning at Gethol who still stood facing Hood. ‘Dare I say it under the circumstances, but time is wasting.’

Varandas was the first to laugh. In moments the others followed. Alas, only the Jaghut found their humour alive and well. Above it all, Burrugast raised his voice. ‘Remember your promise, Hood! You will lead us to the very face of the hoary spectre, the Lord of Rock-Piles, the Red Shroud, Gatherer of Skulls, and whatever other absurd title we devise!’ He raised his arms, spread them wide. ‘And we shall demand then… an answer!’

A Thel Akai woman, blonde-haired, who had been among the last of the stragglers, now shouted, ‘An answer to what, you tusked oaf?’

Arms still raised, Burrugast spun round to face her. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘Well, we have plenty of time to come up with one or two questions, don’t we?’

The Thel Akai woman now turned on the rest of her party. ‘Do you hear this? Not for Lasa Rook a host of pathetic entreaties! Now, dear husbands, can we finally go home?’

As if in reply, the youngest of the Thel Akai warriors stepped away from his fellows. ‘Heed your wife,’ he said to the others.

One of the husbands snarled. ‘We’ve been heeding her all the way here, Hanako Cuckolder! Now it is up to her to follow us or not! Into death’s realm I say! Husbands, are you with me?’

The other two Thel Akai both nodded, though fear was writ plain on their faces.

‘Tathenal, are you mad?’ Lasa Rook was near tears, her face reddening. ‘It was just a game!’

‘But this isn’t!’ Tathenal retorted.

Haut saw Hood say something to Gethol, who nodded and walked away, out from the press surrounding Hood and his frozen fire.

And in that moment, he knew the time had indeed arrived. Eyes filling with tears, he looked to Hood. Goodbye, Korya Delathe. Until we meet again, as indeed we shall. Let this moment end. But no ending will find—

* * *

‘Arathan!’

Drawing his cloak tighter against the chill outside Gothos’s tower, he turned to see Korya approaching with a Dog-Runner youth half a step behind her.

The night seemed impossibly dark, but a wind had risen, sweeping in from the sea to the west. The acrid bite of salt flats rode each gust. ‘Ah,’ said Arathan, ‘this must be the one with the blue eyes and freckles on his arms.’

Scowling, Korya said, ‘He is named Ifayle.’

The Dog-Runner bowed, and then smiled. ‘Arathan, son of Draconus, I have heard much of you.’

‘He’s coming with us,’ Korya pronounced.