Or so it seemed ... Silent kin of mine. You precede. You follow. You strive on my flanks. Huddle beneath me. Your world finds its shape from my bone and flesh. Yet your breadth and length belong to Light. You are the bridge between worlds, yet you cannot be walked. No substance, then. Only perception.

‘Onrack, you are closed to us.’

He lifted his gaze. Monok Ochem stood before him. ‘Yes, Bonecaster. I am closed to you. Do you doubt me?’

‘I would know your thoughts.’

‘They are ... insubstantial.’

Monok Ochem cocked his head. ‘None the less.’

Onrack was silent for a long moment. ‘Bonecaster. I remain bound to your path.’

‘Yet you are severed.’

‘The renegade kin must be found. They are our ... shadows. I now stand between you and them, and so I can guide you. I now know where to look, the signs to seek. Destroy me and you shall lose an advantage in your hunt.’

‘You bargain for ... persistence?’

‘I do, Bonecaster.’

‘Tell us, then, the path the renegades have taken.’

‘I shall... when it becomes relevant.’

‘Now.’

‘No.’

Monok Ochem stared down at the warrior, then swung away and returned to the circle.

Tellann commanded that place now. Tundra flowers had erupted from the mud, along with lichen and mosses. Blackflies swarmed at ankle height. A dozen paces beyond stood the four Tiste Liosan, their enamel armour glowing in the strange magenta light.

Trull Sengar watched from a position fifteen paces to Onrack’s left, his arms tightly crossed about himself, a haunted expression on his lean face.

Monok Ochem approached the seneschal. ‘We are ready, Liosan.’

Jorrude nodded. ‘Then I shall begin my prayers, Undead Priest. And there shall be proof that our Master, Osric, is far from lost to us. You shall know his power.’

The bonecaster said nothing.

‘And when,’ Trull asked, ‘shall I start spraying blood around? Which one of you has the pleasure of wounding me?’

‘The choice is yours,’ Monok Ochem replied.

‘Good. I choose Onrack – he’s the only one here I’m pre-pared to trust. Apologies to those of you who might take offence at that.’

‘That task should be mine,’ Seneschal Jorrude said. ‘Blood lies at the heart of Osric’s power—’

Onrack was alone noting the slight start from the bonecaster at that, and the warrior nodded to himself. Much answered with those words.

‘—and indeed,’ Jorrude continued, ‘I shall have to spill some of my own as well.’

But Trull Sengar shook his head. ‘No. Onrack ... or no-one.’ And he then uncrossed his arms, revealing a clay ball in each hand.

There was a snort from Jorrude, and the Liosan named Enias growled, ‘Grant me leave to kill him, Seneschal. I shall ensure that there is no shortage of Edur blood.’

‘Do so, and I guarantee the same lack of shortage,’ Trull responded, ‘concerning Liosan blood. Bonecaster, do you recognize these munitions?’