The woman named Olar Ethil studied Draconus, unperturbed. ‘I could take them all,’ she said. ‘Even the woman. And you would not be able to stop me.’

‘When last we crossed paths, Olar Ethil, that might have been true. I invite you to quest deeper.’

‘Oh, no need, Draconus. Night rides your breath. I see where you have gone and what you have done and you are a fool. All for love, was it? Or am I being too … romantic. More like ambition, which, since we are not fools, you could not appease among us.’ She made a faint gesture with her blood-stained hand.

The clay figurine exploded with a sharp crack.

Feren cursed, reaching a hand up to her cheek and drawing it back smeared in blood. ‘You fat hag!’

Olar Ethil laughed. ‘Touched by the goddess! You carry a child, woman, yes? A girl … and oh, the hue of her blood is most unusual!’

Draconus stepped closer and Olar Ethil faced him again. ‘You wanted a grandson?’ she asked. ‘How disappointing for you. Come no closer, Draconus! You have my attention now. Gaze into the flames at night for too long, and I will steal your soul – you all have felt it. Your words die and the fire fills your mind. Draconus, I will look out from the flames. I will watch you, and listen, and discover your secrets. Although, granted, I already know most of them. Shall I utter your truths, O Suzerain of Night?’

Draconus halted his advance. ‘If you come to the flames of our campfires, Olar Ethil, even once, we shall do battle. Until but one of us remains alive.’

The woman’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Well now,’ she murmured, ‘all that armour … for naught. Death, Draconus? Be careful – the word alone is an unholy summons these days.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean an Azathanai has taken a life. Spilled the blood of a very powerful … innocent. Around this deed, chaos now dances like carrion flies – why do you think I returned?’

‘An Azathanai has committed murder?’ The belligerence was gone from Draconus now, and when he stepped closer to Olar Ethil, Rint understood – as well as she evidently did – that no threat was intended.

Her expression was now grave. ‘Not a Tiste, Draconus, which absolves you of vengeance. Nor a Dog-Runner, or so I have since discovered, which absolves me of the same. Nor a Thel Akai – although that would have been interesting. Neither Jheck nor Jheleck. Jaghut, beloved. Karish, mate to Hood, is dead. Slain.’

The sudden anguish in the Lord’s face was terrible to behold. Rint edged back, pulling Feren with him. He saw the boy watching from a dozen or so paces away, but not watching his father; nor was he watching Olar Ethil. Instead, Arathan’s eyes were fixed on Feren.

Abyss take us all. He’s made a child with her. A girl.