‘And in a way, she was right.’

‘In a way, aye. But not in the most important way.’

‘Which is?’

Cotillion glanced up, then grimaced. ‘She was a friend.’

‘Ah, that most important way.’ Ammanas was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘Will you pursue this?’

‘I see little choice. The Talon is up to something. We need to stop them—’

‘No, friend. We need to ensure that they fail. Have you found a ... trail?’

‘More than that. I’ve realized who is masterminding the whole thing.’

Shadowthrone’s hooded head cocked slightly. ‘And that is where Cutter and Apsalar are going now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are they sufficient?’

Cotillion shook his head. ‘I have other agents available. But I would Apsalar be relatively close, in case something goes wrong.’

Ammanas nodded. ‘So, where?’

‘Raraku.’

Though he could not see it, Cotillion knew that his companion’s face was splitting into a broad grin. ‘Ah, dear Rope, time’s come, I think, that I should tell you more of my own endeavours ...’

‘The diamonds I gave Kalam? I’d wondered about those.’

Ammanas gestured at Hawl’s corpse. ‘Let us take her home – our home, that is. And then we must speak ... at length.’

Cotillion nodded.

‘Besides,’ Shadowthrone added as he straightened, ‘Traveller being so close by makes me nervous.’

A moment later, the glade was empty, barring a few sourceless shadows that swiftly dwindled into nothing.

Cutter reached the sandstone shoreline. Four runners had been pulled up on the flat, grainy shelf of rock. Anchored in the bay beyond were two large dromons, both badly damaged.

Around the runners gear lay scattered, and two huge trees had been felled and dragged close – probably intended to replace the snapped masts. Barrels containing salted fish had been broached, while other casks stood in a row nearby, refilled with fresh water.

Cutter set Apsalar down, then approached one of the runners. They were about fifteen paces from bow to stern, broad of beam with an unstepped mast and side-mounted steering oar. There were two oarlocks to a side. The gunnels were crowded with riotous carvings.

A sudden coughing fit from Apsalar swung him round.

She bolted upright, spat to clear her throat, then wrapped her arms about herself as shivering racked through her.

Cutter quickly returned to her side.

‘D-Darist?’

‘Dead. But so are all the Edur. There was one among the Malazans...’

‘The one of power. I felt him. Such ... anger!’

Cutter went over to the nearest water cask, found a ladle. He dipped it full and walked back. ‘He called himself Traveller.’

‘I know him,’ she whispered, then shuddered. ‘Not my memories. Dancer’s. Dancer knew him. Knew him well. They were... three. It was never just the two of them – did you know that? Never just Dancer and Kellanved. No, he was there. Almost from the very beginning. Before Tayschrenn, before Dujek, before even Surly.’