Crone cackled. Magic bled from the main tent and stained the dusty air with a heavy, turgid magenta, the colour of the D'riss Warren, earth magic. Her wings now felt light and held a youthful spring as she beat the air. 'Ahhh,' Crone sighed, 'magic' Sweeping through the wards and traps, the Great Raven glided over the tent and thrummed rapidly as she dropped outside the entrance.

No guard barred the doorway, which had been left pulled back and tied to a support pole. Crone hopped inside.

With the exception of a small hanging at the far end, behind which squatted an army cot, no other divisions had been made within the tent. In the centre stood a massive table, its surface etched with the contours of the surrounding land. One man stood alone, leaning over it, his back to the doorway. An enormous iron hammer was slung across his broad back; despite its size and evident weight, it looked almost toy-like against that span of muscle and bone. Power rolled from him in musky waves.

'Delays, delays,' Crone muttered, as she flapped up to land on the tabletop.

Caladan Brood grunted distractedly.

'You sensed the storm of sorcery last night?' she asked.

'Sensed? We could see it. The Rhivi shamans seem somewhat disturbed, but they have no answers. We'll discuss that later, Crone. Now I must think.'

Crone cocked her head at the map. 'The west flank falls back in total disarray. Who commands that Barghast mob?'

Brood asked, 'When did you fly within sight of them?'

'Two days past. I saw but a third of the original force left alive.'

Brood shook his head. 'Jorrick Sharplance, under him five thousand Barghast and seven Blades of the Crimson Guard.'

'Sharplance?' Crone hissed laughter. 'Full of himself, is he?'

'He is, but the Barghast so named him. As I was saying, five legions of Gold Moranth dropped into his lap three days ago. Jorrick retreated under cover of night, and bled off two-thirds of his army east and west – his Barghast have a knack of disappearing where no cover seems possible. Yesterday his panicked mob did an about-face and met the Gold. His Barghast moved in as pincers. Two Moranth legions wiped out, the other three retreating to the forest with half their supplies scattered on the plain.'

Crone cocked her head again. 'Jorrick's plan?'

Brood inclined his head. 'He's Crimson Guard, though the Barghast call him their own. Young, thus fearless.'

The raven studied the map. 'And the east? How holds Fox Pass?'

'Well,' Brood said. 'Mostly Stannis conscripts on the other side – the Malazans are finding them a reluctant ally. We'll see the Crimson Guard's mettle in twelve months' time, when the next wave of Malazan marines disembark at Nisst.'

'Why not drive northward?' Crone asked. 'Prince K'azz could liberate the Free Cities over the winter.'