‘Hood’s breath,’ Whiskeyjack cursed, struggling to calm his horse as he looked around. ‘What was that?’

He could not see as I saw – he has not the blood for that. ‘Anomander Rake has arrived, sir. He descends among his Tiste Andii.’ Paran studied the chaos that had been the slumbering Bridgeburners’ camp, then sighed. ‘Well, it’s a little early, but now’s as good a time as any.’ He strode forward, raised his voice. ‘Everyone up! Break camp! Sergeant Antsy – rouse the cooks, will you?’

‘Uh, aye, sir! What woke us?’

‘A gust of wind, Sergeant. Now get moving.’

‘Aye, sir!’

‘Captain.’

Paran turned to Whiskeyjack. ‘Sir?’

‘I believe you will find yourself busy for the next few bells. I return to Brood’s tent – would you like me to send Silverfox to you for a final goodbye?’

The captain hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No, thank you, sir.’ Distance no longer presents a barrier to us – a private, personal link, too fraught to be unveiled to anyone. Her presence in my head is torture enough. ‘Fare you well, Commander.’

Whiskeyjack studied him a moment longer, then nodded. He wheeled his horse around and nudged the gelding into a trot.

The Tiste Andii had gathered into a silent ring around the central clearing, awaiting the arrival of their master.

The black, silver-maned dragon emerged from the darkness overhead like a piece of night torn loose, flowing down to settle with a soft crunch of talons in the plain’s stony soil. The huge, terrible beast blurred even as it landed, with a warm flow of spice-laden air swirling out to all sides as the sembling drew the dragon’s shape inward. A moment later the Son of Darkness stood, cloaked, framed by the gouged tracks of the dragon’s front talons, his slightly epicanthic eyes glimmering dull bronze as he surveyed his kin.

The Mhybe watched as Korlat strode to meet her master. She had seen Anomander Rake but once before, just south of Blackdog Forest, and then from a distance as the Son of Darkness spoke with Caladan Brood. She remembered Moon’s Spawn, filling the sky above the Rhivi Plain. Rake had been about to ascend to that floating fortress. A pact with the wizards of Pale had been achieved, and the city was about to be besieged by Onearm’s Host. He had stood then as he did now: tall, implacable, a sword emanating sheer terror hanging down the length of his back, his long, silver hair drifting in the breeze.

A slight turn of his head was his only acknowledgement of Korlat’s approach.

Off to their right appeared Caladan Brood, Kallor, Dujek and the others.

Tension bristled in the air, yet one that the Mhybe recalled as being present at that last meeting, years before. Anomander Rake was an ascendant as unlike Caladan Brood as to make them seem the opposite ends of power’s vast spectrum. Rake was an atmosphere, a heart-thudding, terror-threaded presence no-one could ignore, much less escape. Violence, antiquity, sombre pathos, and darkest horror – the Son of Darkness was a gelid eddy in immortality’s current, and the Mhybe could feel, crawling beneath her very skin, every Rhivi spirit awakened in desperation.