The sword, yet more than the sword. Dragnipur in the hands of cold justice, cold and unhuman. Anomander Rake, the only one among us whose presence sparks fear in Kallor’s eyes . . . the only one . . . except, it seems, for Silverfox – for my daughter. What might Kallor fear most, if not an alliance between the Son of Darkness and Silverfox?

All traces of exhaustion torn away by the thought, the Mhybe stepped forward.

Kallor’s voice boomed. ‘Anomander Rake! I seek your clearest vision – I seek the justice of your sword – allow none to sway you with sentiment, and that includes Korlat, who would now whisper urgent in your ear!’

The Son of Darkness, a lone brow raised, slowly turned to regard the High King. ‘What else, Kallor,’ he said in a low, calm voice, ‘keeps my blade from your black heart. . . if not sentiment?’

With the light of the dawn finally stealing into the sky, the ancient warrior’s weathered, lean face assumed a paler shade. ‘I speak of a child,’ he rumbled. ‘No doubt you sense her power, the foulest of blossoms—’

‘Power? It abounds in this place, Kallor. This camp has become a lodestone. You are right to fear.’ His gaze swung to the Mhybe, who had stopped but a few paces from him.

Her steps ceased. His attention was a fierce pressure, power and threat, enough to make her softly gasp, her limbs weakening.

‘Forces of nature, Mother,’ he said, ‘are indifferent to justice, would you not agree?’

It was a struggle to reply. ‘I would, Lord of Moon’s Spawn.’

‘Thus it falls to us sentient beings, no matter how unworthy, to impose the moral divide.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Does it now?’

‘She has spawned the abomination, Rake,’ Kallor said, striding closer, his expression twisted with anger as he glared at the Mhybe. ‘Her vision is stained. Understandably, granted, but even that does not exculpate.’

‘Kallor,’ the Son of Darkness murmured, his eyes still on the Mhybe, ‘approach further at your peril.’

The High King halted.

‘It would appear,’ Rake continued, ‘that my arrival has been anticipated, with the collective desire that I adjudicate what is clearly a complex situation—’

‘Appearances deceive,’ Caladan Brood said from where he stood outside the command tent – and the Mhybe now saw that Silverfox was at the warlord’s side. ‘Decide what you will, Rake, but I will not countenance Dragnipur’s unsheathing in my camp.’

There was silence, as explosive as any the Rhivi woman had ever felt. By the Abyss, this could go very, very wrong. . . She glanced over at the Malazans. Dujek had drawn his soldier’s expressionless mask over his features, but his taut stance revealed his alarm. The standard-bearer Artanthos was a step behind and slightly to the right of Onearm, a marine’s rain cape drawn about him, hiding his hands. The young man’s eyes glittered. Is that power swirling from the man? No, I am mistaken – I see nothing now ...