'None, so far as I'm aware,' Brood answered. 'Ease up on the lad, Kallor. He pulled off the last one. Remember, you were young once, too.'

The old warrior shrugged. 'Jorrick's last success belongs to the Lady of Luck if anything. It surely was not the product of genius.'

'I'll not argue you that one,' Brood said.

'May I ask, what is the reason for speaking with K'azz in person?'

Brood looked around. 'Where's that damn horse of mine, anyway?'

'Probably cowering,' Kallor said drily. 'Word is, his legs have become shorter and stubbier beneath your prodigious self. I remain unconvinced that such a thing is possible, but who can argue with a horse?'

'I need some of the Prince's men,' Brood said, heading off down an aisle. 'To be more precise,' he said, over his shoulder, 'I need the Crimson Guard's Sixth Blade.'

Watching Caladan Brood stride away, Kallor sighed. 'Rake again, is it, Warlord? You'd do better to follow my advice and destroy him. You will rue dismissing my advice, Brood.' His dull eyes followed Brood until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. 'Consider that my last warning.'

The charred earth crunched under their horses' hoofs. The glance that Toc the Younger threw back over his shoulder was received with a grim nod from Captain Paran. They were nearing the source of last night's column of fire.

As Toc had promised, leaving the city had proved a simple matter; none accosted them, and the gates had been left ajar. Their horses were indeed Wickan-bred, lean and long-limbed; and though their ears flattened and eyes rolled they held to the discipline of their reins.

The still midday air was heavy with the stench of sulphur, and already a fine coat of ash covered the two riders and their horses. Overhead the sun was a bright copper orb. Toc stopped his mount and waited for the captain to arrive.

Paran wiped grimy sweat from his brow and adjusted his helmet. The camail felt heavy on his shoulders as he squinted ahead. They were heading towards the place where the pillar of fire had come from. The night just past had been one of deep fear for Paran: neither he nor Toc had ever witnessed such a conflagration of sorcery. Though they had camped leagues away they had felt the heat pouring from it. Now, as they approached, all Paran could feel was dread.

Neither he nor Toc spoke. Perhaps a hundred yards eastward rose something that looked like a misshapen tree stump, one gnarled, blackened branch reaching skyward. In a perfect circle around it the grassy sward was untouched for perhaps five yards. A dark smudge lay in this unburned area, slightly off to one side.