‘Master? What is—’ Faint motion caught her eye, something glittering, and she looked down on the path. A thin, crooked stream was wending its way down through the twisted rings and cut gems. In the strange, colourless light it looked black as ink.

Haut set out, climbing once more with the axe readied in his hands.

Pushing herself upright and taking care to avoid the rivulet, Korya followed.

Another half-dozen strides upward and it became impossible to step around the draining liquid. Is this blood I see? She thought of gods and goddesses, the notions of sacrifice – so long ago abandoned by the Tiste – and this place at once seemed colder, crueller.

No more questions to ask Haut; this was not the time. She remained silent, but her mouth was dry and her heart beat fast in her chest.

The ascent ended just ahead in a broken tumble of stones that seemed to flatten, as if by weight alone they could force the trail level, but something was lying upon the verge – a corpse, sprawled and half naked, the limbs stretched as if the body had been dragged to the edge of the descent. From this contorted perch, blood ran down in thick ropes, drowning the last few scattered gems.

A Jaghut woman.

She could see the point of a long knife jutting from her chest, and her back was arched in a manner to suggest the handle protruding from between her shoulder blades.

‘Karish.’

The word, coming from Haut who now stood before the body, was half prayer, half plea. A moment later he wavered, as if about to fall – and she drew up close, thinking to take his weight though, of course, she could never manage that. Haut staggered ahead, stumbled past the body, lifting the axe.

‘Karish!’

Korya reached the corpse. She stared down at it – the first dead person she had ever seen. A proud-looking woman, her features even, perhaps beautiful by Jaghut standards, she seemed to be frowning at the formless sky. The tusks were white as goat’s milk. The mouth was slightly open, crusted with froth and blood. The eyes bore a strange look, as if in seeing everything they found nothing worthy of regard. Above all, it was their stillness that shook Korya. This is death. Death is stillness. And stillness does not belong among the living.

A pinnacle beyond the tumbled boulders marked the end of the ascent – a span of level rock five, perhaps six strides across. A godly realm, but upon it stood only Haut. He was studying the ground, as if seeking to read the past.

Not long past. She died only moments ago. The blood only now begins to slow.