And saw a bow. Its string had been cut through, and the arrows lay scattered out from a quiver still strapped to an Edur’s hip. Cutter stepped over and crouched down. The bow was heavier than it looked, sharply recurved and braced with horn. Its length was somewhere between a longbow and a horse warrior’s bow – probably a simple short bow for these Edur. Unstrung, it stood at a height matching Cutter’s shoulders.

He began collecting the arrows, then, waving to drive back the gulls and crows, he dragged the archer’s corpse clear and removed the belted quiver. He found a small leather pouch tied near it containing a half-dozen waxed strings, spare fletching, a few nuggets of hard pine sap, a thin iron blade and three spare barbed arrowheads.

Selecting one of the strings, Cutter straightened. He slipped one of the cord-bound ends into the notch at the bow’s base end, then anchored the weapon against the outside of his right foot and pushed down on the upper rib.

Harder than he’d expected. The bow shook as he struggled to slip the loop into the notch. Finally succeeding, Cutter lifted the bow for a more gauging regard, then drew it back. The breath hissed between his teeth as he sought to hold the weapon taut. This would, he realized as he finally relaxed the string, prove something of a challenge.

Sensing eyes on him, he turned.

Apsalar stood near the main mast. Flecks and globules of dried blood covered her forearms.

‘What have you been doing?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘Looking around.’

Inside someone’s chest? ‘We should go.’

‘Have you decided where yet?’

‘I’m sure that will be answered soon enough,’ he said, bending down to collect the arrows and the belt holding the quiver and kit pouch.

‘The sorcery here is ... strange.’

His head snapped up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I am not sure. My familiarity with warrens is somewhat vicarious.’

I know.

‘But,’ she continued, ‘if this is Kurald Emurlahn, then it is tainted in some way. Necromantically. Life and death magicks, carved directly into the wood of this ship. As if warlocks and shoulder-women had done the consecrating.’

Cutter frowned. ‘Consecrating. You make it sound as if this ship was a temple.’

‘It was. Is. The spilling of blood has done nothing to desecrate it, which is precisely my point. Perhaps even warrens can sink into barbarity.’

‘Meaning the wielders of a warren can affect its nature. My late uncle would have found the notion fascinating. Not desecration, then, but denigration.’

She slowly glanced around. ‘Rashan. Meanas. Thyr.’

He comprehended the thought. ‘You think all warrens accessible to humans are in fact denigrations of Elder Warrens.’

She raised her hands then. ‘Even blood decays.’