He came at last to the door he sought. The barrier showed as nothing more than a dull, slate-grey stone. Hovering before it, Quick Ben whispered a command, and his spirit took the form of his own body. He stood a moment, mastering the disconnected tremble of his ghost-body, then stepped forward and laid hands on the door.

Its edges were hard and warm. Towards the centre it grew hot and soft to the touch. The surface slowly lost its opaqueness beneath the wizard's hands, becoming glassy like obsidian. Quick Ben closed his eyes.

He'd never before sought to pass through such a door. He was not even certain that it was possible. And if he survived into the beyond, was there any way to return? Past the mechanics of the one thing loomed his final, most difficult worry: he was about to attempt entry into a realm where he wasn't welcome.

Quick Ben opened his eyes. 'I am direction,' he said quietly. He leaned against the barrier. 'I am the power of will in a place that respects this, and only this.' He leaned harder. 'I am the Warren's touch. To chaos nothing is immune, nowhere is immune.' He felt the door begin to yield. He lashed out one hand behind him, fending off a growing pressure. 'Only I shall pass!' he hissed. Abruptly, with a strange thumping sound, he slipped through, energy flaring around his body.

The wizard staggered over rough, parched earth. He regained his balance and looked around. He stood on a barren plain, the horizon off to his left humped with low hills. Overhead spanned a sky the colour of quicksilver, a scatter of long, stringy clouds moving in unison and black as ink directly above.

Quick Ben sat down, folding his legs and clasping his hands in his lap. 'Shadowthrone,' he said, 'Lord of Shadows, I am come to your realm. Will you receive my presence as befits a peaceful visitor?'

From the hills came an answer: the howling of Hounds.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

Walk with me

on Thieves' Road

hear its song

underfoot

how clear its

tone in misstep

as it sings

you in two

Apsalar's Cant

Drisbin (b. 1135)

Kneading his brow, Kruppe sat reading in Mammot's study.

... and in the Calling Down to earth the God was Crippled, and so Chained in its place. In the Calling Down many lands were sundered by the God's Fists, and things were born and things were released. Chained and Crippled was this God

Kruppe glanced up from the ancient tome and rolled his eyes. 'Brevity, Kruppe prays for brevity!' He returned to the faded handwritten script.