'The Warren within the Sword. Did not Dragnipur take your life, too?'

'If it had, would I not be chained as well?'

'True enough. What then are you doing here?'

'I don't know,' Paran admitted. 'I saw the Hounds killed by Rake's sword. Then I touched the blood of one of the slain beasts.'

'That explains their confusion. They thought you one of their own ... at first. You were wise to submit to that Hound's challenge.'

'Too frightened to move, you mean.'

The stranger laughed. 'Even so.'

'What is your name?'

'Names are meaningless. Rake killed me. Long ago. That is enough.'

Paran fell silent. Eternity, chained here, forever pulling. And I ask for the man's name. Would any apology suffice?

'Gethol's Breath,' the stranger gasped. 'Will they never cease?'

'I don't think they will,' Paran said. 'Can those chains be broken?'

'No. None have managed it yet, that is, and there are dragons among us. But these Hounds ...' He sighed. 'It is astonishing, but already I long for the peace their arrival has shattered.'

'Perhaps I can help.'

The stranger barked a laugh. 'By all means, try.'

Paran moved away, heading towards the Hounds. He had no plan in mind. But I alone am unchained. The thought stopped him and he smiled. Unchained. No one's tool. He continued on, wondering. He passed figures straining step by step, some silent, some muttering in madness. None raised its head to glance as he passed. The sound of bestial gasping reached him. 'Hounds!' Para called. 'I would help!'

After a time, they appeared from the gloom. Blood sheathed their shoulders and chests, the flesh torn and mangled by the collars. The Hounds trembled, muscles jumping along their flanks. Their eyes, level with Paran's own, met his with such numbed, helpless misery that his heart lurched. He reached out to the odd-eyed one. 'I would examine your collars, your chains, seeking a flaw.'

The beast walked alongside him – they were ever moving forward, the wagon unceasing in its roll. Paran bent close, running his hands on the collar, seeking a join. There was none. Where the chain attached, the link and the collar seemed of one solid piece. Though he knew little of smithing, he believed this attachment would prove the weakest element and should already show signs of strain. But his fingertips told him otherwise. The iron was not even scratched.