And then what? That snake of a priest would announce an extraordinary reversal of fortunes in Seven Cities. Korbolo Dom had been working in her interests all along. Or some such nonsense. Febryl was certain of his suspicions. Korbolo Dom wanted a triumphant return into the imperial fold. Probably the title of High Fist of Seven Cities as well. Mallick Rel would have twisted his part in the events at the Fall and immediately afterwards. The dead man, Pormqual, would be made the singular focus for the debacle of Coltaine’s death and the slaying of the High Fist’s army. The Jhistal would slip through, somehow, or, if all went awry, he would somehow manage to escape. Korbolo Dom, Febryl believed, had agents in the palace in Unta – what was being played out here in Raraku was but a tremble on a much vaster web.

But I shall defeat it in the end. Even if I must appear to acquiesce right now. He has accepted my conditions, after all — a lie, of course — and I in turn accept his — another lie, naturally.

He had walked through the outskirts of the city and now found himself in the wilder region of the oasis. The trail had the appearance of long disuse, covered in crackling, dried palm fronds and gourd husks, and Febryl knew his careless passage was destroying that illusion, but he was indifferent to that. Korbolo’s killers would repair the mess, after all. It fed their self-deceptions well enough.

He rounded a bend in the path and entered a clearing ringed in low stones. There had once been a well here, but the sands had long since filled it. Kamist Reloe stood near the centre, hooded and vulpine, with four of Korbolo’s assassins positioned in a half-circle behind him.

‘You’re late,’ Kamist Reloe hissed.

Febryl shrugged. ‘Do I look like a prancing foal? Now, have you begun the preparations?’

‘The knowledge here is yours, Febryl, not mine.’

Febryl hissed, then waved one claw-like hand. ‘No matter. There’s still time. Your words only remind me that I must suffer fools—’

‘You’re not alone in that,’ Kamist Reloe drawled.

Febryl hobbled forward. ‘The path your ... servants would take is a long one. It has not been trod by mortals since the First Empire. It has likely grown treacherous—’

‘Enough warnings, Febryl,’ Kamist Reloe snapped, his fear showing through. ‘You need only open the path. That is all we ask of you – all we have ever asked.’

‘You need more than that, Kamist Reloe,’ Febryl said with a smile. ‘Would you have these fools stride in blind? The goddess was a spirit, once—’

‘That is no secret.’