That daylight could reach down two-thirds of this cliff was itself a miracle ... but this tree ...

Karsa walked over to one of the niches and extended the lantern into it. Another cavern lay beyond. And it was filled with flint weapons. Some were broken but most were whole. Swords, double-bladed axes with bone shafts, hundreds upon hundreds covering the floor. The next niche contained the same, as did the one after that. Twenty-two side-chambers in all. The weapons of the dead. The weapons of the failed. In every cave on this cliff, he knew, he would find the same.

But none of the others were important to him. He set the lantern down near the pillar of flint, then straightened. ‘Urugal the Woven. Beroke Soft Voice, Kahlb the Silent Hunter, Thenik the Shattered, ‘Siballe the Unfound, Halad the Giant, Imroth the Cruel. Faces in the Rock, gods of the Teblor. I, Karsa Orlong of the Uryd Tribe of the Teblor, have delivered you to this place. You were broken. Severed. Weaponless. I have done as you commanded me to do. I have brought you to this place.’

Urugal’s broken rasp replied, ‘You have found that which was taken from us, Karsa Orlong. You have freed your gods.’

The Teblor watched the ghost of Urugal slowly take shape before him. A squat, heavy-boned warrior, shorter than a lowlander but much broader. The bones of his limbs were split – where Karsa could see between the taut straps of leather and hide that bound them, that held him together. More straps crossed his chest.

‘Karsa Orlong, you have found our weapons.’

The warrior shrugged. ‘If indeed they are among the thousands in the chambers beyond.’

‘They are. They did not fail us.’

‘But the Ritual did.’

Urugal cocked his head. His six kin were taking shape around him. ‘You understand, then.’

‘I do.’

‘Our physical forms approach, Karsa Orlong. They have journeyed far, bereft of spirit, held only by our wills—’

‘And the one you now serve,’ the Teblor growled.

‘Yes. The one we now serve. We have guided you in turn, Warleader. And now shall come your reward, for what you have given us.’

‘Siballe the Unfound now spoke. ‘We have gathered an army, Karsa Orlong. All the children sacrificed before the Faces in the Rock. They are alive, Warleader. They have been prepared. For you. An army. Your people are assailed. The lowlanders must be driven back, their armies annihilated. You shall sweep down with your legions, down into their lands, and reap destruction upon the lowlanders.’

‘I shall.’

‘The Seven Gods of the Teblor,’ Urugal said, ‘must now become Eight.’

The one named Halad – the largest of the seven by far, hulking, bestial – stepped forward. ‘You must now fashion a sword, Karsa Orlong. Of stone. The mines outside await you – we shall guide you in the knowledge—’