‘Who in Hood’s name are you?’

Whiskeyjack raised a brow. ‘Does it matter?’

‘We have crossed Raraku entire,’ the wizard said. ‘Other side of these cliffs is the trail leading down to G’danisban. You chased me across the Holy Desert. . . gods, no man is worth that. Not even me!’

‘There were eleven others in your company, wizard.’

Adaephon Delat shrugged. ‘I was the youngest – the healthiest – by far. Yet now, finally, even my body has given up. I can go no further.’ His dark eyes reached past Whiskeyjack. ‘Commander, your soldiers . . .’

‘What of them?’

‘They are more . . . and less. No longer what they once were. Raraku, sir, has burned the bridges of their pasts, one and all – it’s all gone.’ He met Whiskeyjack’s eyes in wonder. ‘And they are yours. Heart and soul. They are yours.’

‘More than you realize,’ Whiskeyjack said. He raised his voice. ‘Hedge, Fiddler, are we in place?’

‘Aye!’ two voices chorused.

Whiskeyjack saw the wizard’s sudden tension. After a moment, the commander twisted in his saddle. Kalam sat stiffly on his horse a dozen paces back, sweat streaming down his brow. Flanking him and slightly behind were Fiddler and Hedge, both with their crossbows trained on the assassin. Smiling, Whiskeyjack faced Adaephon Delat once again.

‘You two have played an extraordinary game. Fiddler sniffed out the secret communications – the scuffed stone-faces, the postures of the bodies, the curled fingers – one, three, two, whatever was needed to complete the cipher – we could have cut this to a close a week past, but by then I’d grown . . . curious. Eleven mages. Once the first one revealed her arcane knowledge to you – knowledge she was unable to use – it was just a matter of bargaining. What choice did the others possess? Death by Raraku’s hand, or mine. Or ... a kind of salvation. But was it, after all? Do their souls clamour within you, now, Adaephon Delat? Screaming to escape their new prison? But I am left wondering, none the less. This game – you and Kalam – to what end?’

The illusion of deprivation slowly faded from the wizard, revealing a fit, hale young man. He managed a strained smile. ‘The clamour has . . . subsided somewhat. Even the ghost of a life is better than Hood’s embrace, Commander. We’ve achieved a . . . balance, you could say.’

And you a host of powers unimagined.’

‘Formidable, granted, but I’ve no desire to use them now. The game we played, Whiskeyjack? Only one of survival. At first. We didn’t think you’d make it, to be perfectly honest. We thought Raraku would come to claim you – I suppose she did, in a way, though not in a way I would have anticipated. What you and your soldiers have become . . .’ He shook his head.

‘What we have become,’ Whiskeyjack said, ‘you have shared. You and Kalam.’