'The Prince and I agree on this,' Brood said. 'He stays where he is.'

'Why?' Crone demanded.

Brood grunted. 'Our tactics are our business.'

'Suspicious bastard,' Crone muttered. She hopped along the south edge of the map. 'Your underbelly remains for final grim scrutiny. Naught but Rhivi plainsmen between you and Pale. And now forces walk the plain that even the Rhivi know nothing of – yet you show little concern, warrior. Why is that, Crone wonders?'

'I have been in communication with Prince K'azz and his mages, and with the Barghast and Rhivi shamans. What was born on the plain last night belongs to no one. It is alone, and frightened. Even now the Rhivi have begun the search for it. Concerned? No, not by that. Still, there's much more going on in the south.' Brood straightened.

'Anomander is in the midst of it,' Crone purred. 'Plotting and counter-plotting, scattering broken glass in everyone's path. I've never seen him in a better mood.'

'Enough gossip. You have news for me?'

'Of course, Master.' Crone stretched her wings and sighed. She jabbed her beak at an itch, crunched a flea and gulped it down. 'I know who holds the Spinning Coin.'

'Who?'

'A youth whose bliss is ignorance. The Coin spins and turns a face to all those in his company. They've their own game, but it will converge with greater things, and so Oponn's thin threads reverberate in spheres otherwise immune to the Jesters' influence.'

'What does Rake know?'

'Of this, little. But you well know his dislike of Oponn. He would cut those threads given the opportunity.'

'Idiot,' Brood muttered. He thought for a time, unmoving, like a shaping of stone and iron, while Crone ambled back and forth across the Rhivi Plain, her long, black talons scattering the wooden regiment and division markers like dominoes.

'Without Oponn, Rake's power is presently unmatched,' Brood said. 'He hangs over Darujhistan like a beacon and the Empress is sure to send something against him. Such a battle would—'

'Level Darujhistan,' Crone chirped brightly. 'In flames numbering twelve, so fly the Free Cities, so much ash in the wind.'

'Rake's disdain for everything beneath him has left us stumbling and flat on our faces one time too many,' Brood said. He glanced at Crone and raised a hairless eyebrow. 'You're scattering my armies. Stop it.'

Crone stopped pacing and squatted. 'Once again,' she sighed, 'Caladan Brood the Great Warrior seeks the bloodless way. Rake gets that coin and he'll pull Oponn right in and spit the Lord and Lady on that lovely sword of his. Imagine the chaos that would ensue – a wonderful ripple that could topple gods and deluge realms.' She heard her own excitement and revelled in its blatancy. 'Such fun.'