Tattersail stared up at Bellurdan's ravaged face. The memory of Hairlock's torn body returned to her. There was an echo there, but she couldn't quite catch it. 'I remember the beginning,' she said softly, doing some searching of her own. The memories remained sharp, but whatever thread there was that connected then to now still eluded her. She wanted desperately to talk to Quick Ben, but she had seen nothing of the Bridgeburners since the day of the battle. They'd left her with Hairlock, and that puppet scared her more and more with every passing day. Particularly now that he'd found a grudge to hold on to – the scene with the Deck of Dragons still smarted – and he worked it by keeping her in the dark. 'The Emperor had a knack for gathering the right people around him,' she continued. 'But he wasn't a fool. He knew the betrayal would come from that group. What made us the right people was our power. I remember, Bellurdan.' She shook her head. 'The Emperor's gone, but the power's still here.'

Tattersail's breath caught. 'And that's it,' she said, half to herself. 'Tayschrenn's the thread.'

'The Emperor was insane,' Bellurdan said. 'Else he would have protected himself better.'

Tattersail frowned at that. The Thelomen had a point. Like she'd just said, that old man wasn't a fool. So what had happened? 'I'm sorry. We must talk later. The High Mage has summoned me. Bellurdan, will we talk later?'

The giant nodded. 'As you wish. Soon I will depart to raise Nightchill's barrow. Far out on the Rhivi Plain, I think.'

Tattersail glanced back up the aisle. The marine still stood there, shifting from one foot to the other. 'Bellurdan, would you mind if I cast a sealing spell on her remains?'

His eyes clouded and he looked down at the sack. 'The guards are unhappy, it's true.' He thought for a moment, then said, 'Yes, Tattersail. You may do that.'

'It smells bad from here to the throne,' Kalam said, his scarred face twisted with worry. He sat crouched on his haunches, absently scratching the lines of a web on the ground with his dagger, then looked up at his sergeant.

Whiskeyjack eyed Pale's stained walls, the muscles of his jaw bunching beneath his beard. 'The last time I stood on this hill,' he said, his gaze narrowing, 'it was crowded with armour. And a mage and a half.' He was silent for a time, then he sighed. 'Go on, Corporal.'