‘Warrior,’ the bearded man said, ‘I am named Bauchelain, and my companion here is Korbal Broach. I must ask, these undead servants of yours – four-footed and otherwise—’

‘Not servants, Bauchelain. Allies. These are T’lan Imass. The wolves, T’lan Ay.’

‘T’lan Imass,’ the one named Korbal Broach whispered in a reedy thin voice, his eyes suddenly bright as he stared at the figures on the ridge. ‘Undead, born of the greatest necromantic ritual there has ever been! I would speak with them!’ He swung to Bauchelain. ‘May I? Please?’

‘As you wish,’ Bauchelain replied with an indifferent shrug.

‘A moment,’ Itkovian said. ‘You both bear wounds that require attending to.’

‘No need, Shield Anvil, though I thank you for your concern. We heal . . . swiftly. Please, concentrate on our companions. Now, that is odd – our beasts of burden and sundry horses are untouched – do you see? Fortunate indeed, once I complete my repairs to our carriage.’

Itkovian studied the wreckage to which Bauchelain now swung his attention.

Repairs? ‘Sir, we return to Capustan immediately. There will be no time to spare effecting ... repairs ... to your carriage.’

‘I shall not be long, I assure you.’

A shout from the ridge pulled the Shield Anvil round, in time to see Korbal Broach flying backwards from a backhanded blow – delivered by the Bonecaster Pran Chole. The man struck the slope, rolled down to its base.

Bauchelain sighed. ‘He lacks manners, alas,’ he said, eyes on his companion, who was slowly regaining his feet. ‘The price of a sheltered, nay, isolated childhood. I hope the T’lan Imass are not too offended. Tell me, Shield Anvil, do these undead warriors hold grudges?’

Itkovian allowed himself a private smile. You can ask that of the next Jaghut we happen across. ‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

From the ruins of the smaller carriage, three wide travois were cobbled together. The T’lan Imass fashioned leather harnesses for the undead ay chosen to pull them. The caravan’s collection of horses went under the care of Farakalian and the recruit.

Itkovian watched Korbal Broach lead the oxen back to the rebuilt carriage. The Shield Anvil found his gaze avoiding the contraption; the details in the mending made his skin crawl. Bauchelain had elected to use the various bones of the dismembered K’Chain Che’Malle hunters in the reconstruction. Sorcerously melded into the carriage’s frame, the bones formed a bizarre skeleton, which Bauchelain then covered with swathes of grey, pebbled skin. The effect was horrific.

Yet no more so than the carriage’s owners, I suspect . . .

Pran Chole appeared at the Shield Anvil’s side. ‘Our preparations are complete, soldier.’

Itkovian nodded, then said in a low voice, ‘Bonecaster, what do you make of these two sorcerers?’

‘The unmanned one is insane, yet the other is the greater threat. They are not welcome company, Shield Anvil.’

‘Unmanned?’ Itkovian’s eyes narrowed on Korbal Broach. ‘A eunuch. Yes, of course. They are necromancers?’