The Teblor slowly made his way down the sloping deck.

Torvald drew out a brick-shaped loaf of dark bread. ‘I’ve found a dory, and oars to go along with a sail, so we won’t remain victims to this endless calm. We’ve water for a week and a half, if we’re sparing, and we won’t go hungry no matter how fast your appetite comes back ...’

Karsa took the bread from the Daru’s hand and began tearing off small chunks. His teeth felt slightly loose, and he was not confident of attempting anything beyond gentle chewing. The bread was rich and moist, filled with morsels of sweet fruit and tasting of honey. His first swallow left him struggling to keep it down. Torvald handed him a skin filled with water, then resumed his monologue.

‘The dory’s got benches enough for twenty or so – spacious for lowlanders but we’ll need to knock one loose to give your legs some room. If you lean over the gunnel you can see it for yourself. I’ve been busy loading what we’ll need. We could explore some of the other ships if you like, though we’ve more than enough—’

‘No need,’ Karsa said. ‘Let us leave this place as quickly as possible.’

Torvald’s eyes narrowed on the Teblor for a moment, then the Daru nodded. ‘Agreed. Karsa, you say you did not call upon that storm. Very well. I shall have to believe you – that you’ve no recollection of having done so, in any case. But I was wondering, this cult of yours, these Seven Faces in the Rock or however they’re called. Do they claim a warren for themselves? A realm other than the one you and I live in, where they exist?’

Karsa swallowed another mouthful of bread. ‘I had heard nothing of these warrens you speak of, Torvald Nom. The Seven dwell in the rock, and in the dreamworld of the Teblor.’

‘Dreamworld...’ Torvald waved a hand. ‘Does any of this look like that dreamworld, Karsa?’

‘No.’

‘What if it had been ... flooded?’

Karsa scowled. ‘You remind me of Bairoth Gild. Your words make no sense. The Teblor dreamworld is a place of no hills, where mosses and lichens cling to half-buried boulders, where snow makes low dunes sculpted by cold winds. Where strange brown-haired beasts run in packs in the distance ...’

‘Have you visited it yourself, then?’

Karsa shrugged. ‘These are descriptions given by the shamans.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘The place I visited ...’ He trailed off, then shook his head. ‘Different. A place of ... of coloured mists.’

‘Coloured mists. And were your gods there?’

‘You are not Teblor. I have no need to tell you more. I have spoken too much already.’

‘Very well. I was just trying to determine where we were.’

‘We are on a sea, and there is no land.’

‘Well, yes. But which sea? Where’s the sun? Why is there no night? No wind? Which direction shall we choose?’