Grin falling away, Toc stepped closer. ‘Hold on, friend – you don’t—’

‘I must challenge him. Now.’

‘Why?’

‘The First Sword of the T’lan Imass must be without equal, Aral Fayle.’

‘Gods, not you too!’

The T’lan Imass set off towards the Seguleh.

‘Wait! Tool—’

The First Sword glanced back. ‘You share my shaken faith, mortal, despite your earlier words.’

‘Damn it, Tool, now’s not the time for this! Think! We need all of you – each in one piece. Intact—’

‘Enough words, Aral Fayle.’

The brothers stood around the fallen K’Chain Che’Malle. Lady Envy had joined them and was now crouched, examining the creature’s corpse.

Filled with dread, Toc matched Tool’s steady, determined pace as they approached.

Senu was the first of the Seguleh to notice them. He slowly sheathed his swords, stepped back. A moment later Thurule did the same. Mok slowly faced the T’lan Imass.

‘By the Abyss!’ Lady Envy snapped, straightening, her expression darkening. ‘Not now.’ She waved a hand.

Mok collapsed.

Tool staggered to a halt. ‘Awaken him, Lady,’ he rasped.

‘I shall not. Senu, you and Thurule, rig up a travois for your sleeping brother. You two can pull it.’

‘Lady—’

‘I’m not talking to you, T’lan Imass.’ And to reinforce her announcement, she crossed her arms and turned her back on Tool.

After a long moment in which neither moved, the First Sword finally sheathed his blade. ‘He cannot remain asleep for ever, Lady Envy,’ he said. ‘You do naught but prolong the inevitable.’

She made no reply.

Toc drew a deep breath. ‘What a lovely woman,’ he softly sighed.

She heard, and turned with a heart-stopping smile. ‘Why, thank you!’

‘That’s not—’ He stopped.

Her brow knitted. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Nothing.’ Gods, nothing!

Fashioned of straps, leather webbing and two spear-shafts that Lady Envy conjured from somewhere, the travois carrying the Third was pulled by Senu and Thurule from rigged shoulder slings. The two brothers were clearly agitated by the turn of events but, as was evident to Toc – and doubtless the T’lan Imass too – there would be no challenging the Lady’s will.

They ascended the ridge as the afternoon waned. Rain clouds approached from the north, obscuring the mountains beyond. The air grew cooler.

The border itself was marked by a series of cairns lining the ridge. Long-abandoned enclosures were visible here and there, the low unmortared stone walls hinting of more affluent times in the past. Flagstone byways crisscrossed the land ahead, overgrown with grasses. The hills gave way to a broad, shallow valley, treed at its base where a stream twisted its way northward. Three squat farmhouses were visible on the valley floor, and a cluster of structures positioned at the stream marked a hamlet at what had to be a ford. No livestock was in sight, nor were the chimneys streaming smoke, lending an eerie quality to the pastoral scene.