The door to the study opened and Baruk strode through, gathering a robe about his considerable bulk. 'My apologies, Crone, I was otherwise indisposed.'

Crone grunted. Sorcery trailed from the man in thick, pungent streams. 'My master, Lord Anomander Rake,' she said, without preamble, 'has commanded that I tell you what I told him of my adventures on the Rhivi Plain.'

Baruk came up to where the Great Raven paced on the map table. The alchemist frowned. 'You've been injured.'

'Pride, no more. Hearken then to my story.'

Baruk raised an eyebrow. The old witch's mood was dark. He fell silent and she began.

'A small wooden puppet approaches from the north, a creation of soul-shifting and sourced from a Warren of Chaos. Its power is immense, twisted, malign even to Great Ravens. It killed many of my kin as it slipped in and out of its Warren. It evidently took pleasure in such acts.' Crone snapped her beak in anger, then continued, 'It pursues a power I could not approach, and whatever this power, it strikes directly for the Gadrobi Hills – my lord and I are agreed in this. The power seeks something within those hills, yet we are not native to this land. Hence we bring this news to you, Alchemist. Two forces are converging on the Gadrobi Hills. My lord asks you why.'

Baruk's face had lost all its colour. He turned slowly and walked to a chair. Sitting down, he steepled his hands before his face and closed his eyes. 'The Malazan Empire seeks something it cannot hope to control, something buried within the Gadrobi Hills. Whether or not either force is capable of freeing that thing is another matter. Seeking is not the same as finding, and finding is not the same as succeeding.'

Crone hissed impatiently. 'Who is buried there, Alchemist?'

'A Jaghut Tyrant, imprisoned by the Jaghut themselves. Generations of scholars and sorcerers have sought to find this barrow. None managed to discover even so much as a clue.' Baruk looked up, his expression lined with worry. 'I know of one man, here in Darujhistan, who has gathered all the available knowledge concerning this burial place. I must confer with him. I can give your lord this, however. There lies a standing stone in the Gadrobi Hills – I know its location precisely. It is almost invisible, only its weathered top breaks the ground, perhaps a hand's span in height. The remaining twenty feet are beneath the earth. You will see the remnants of many pits and trenches that have been excavated around it – all fruitless. For while the stone marks the beginning point, it is not the entrance to the barrow.'

'Where, then, is this entrance?'

'That I will not tell you. Once I speak with my colleague, perhaps I can give you more details. Perhaps not. But the means by which the barrow is entered must remain a secret.'