The door on their left creaked open, revealing a naked, emaciated man of indeterminate age, pale-skinned, head and eyebrows shaved, his watery grey eyes fixed on Lady Envy.

‘Welcome, mistress,’ the man said. ‘Please, enter. The Pannion Domin extends its hospitality’ – his eyes flicked past her to take in the wolf and dog, then the Seguleh – ‘to you and your companions.’ He stepped back.

With an unreadable glance at Toc, Lady Envy followed the priest.

The compound’s hot, moist air was rife with the stench of decay, and as soon as the Malazan strode from the shadow of the gate, he saw the source of the smell. A score of bodies lined the inside walls, large iron hooks jutting from beneath their breast bones, feet dangling an arm’s length above the ground. The stone at their backs was stained yellow and deep red. Eyeless heads hung downward, strands of hair dripping with rainwater.

The priest, seeing where the attention of his guests had focused, surveyed the corpses with a faint smile. ‘The villagers have been delivered. Once the labours of building this temple were completed, they were given their reward. They remain before us as reminders of our Lord’s mercy.’

‘A rather peculiar version of mercy,’ Toc muttered, struggling against a wave of nausea.

‘One you will come to understand in time, sir,’ the priest replied. ‘Please. A meal is being prepared. Seerdomin Kahlt – the master of this temple – awaits you within the guest hall.’

‘How kind,’ Lady Envy said. ‘An extraordinary construction, this temple of yours.’

Pulling his gaze from the murdered villagers, Toc studied the edifice rearing before them. The pyramidal shape continued down to ground level, the copper sheathing broken only by a dozen randomly placed skylights, each paned with slabs of thin rose quartzite. A narrow but high portal marked the entrance, framed by four massive cut-stones – a broad threshold underfoot, two tapering, flanking menhirs, and a single lintel stone overhead. The corridor beyond was three strides in length, revealing the breadth of the pyramid’s foundations.

The air within, as they emerged into a wide and shallow chamber, proved hotter than in the compound, the light tinted pink and fractiously cast by the windows. A low table awaited them, crowded with footstuffs and lined by pillows on which to recline. Standing before another triangular doorway – this one directly opposite the entrance – stood a huge figure in arcane, black-wrought armour. A double-bladed, long-handled axe leaned on the door’s frame to his left. The warrior was bare-headed, his pate shaved, and his angular beardless face revealed old scars along his jawline and down the length of his nose.

Hood’s breath, I recognize those scars – a cheek-guarded, bridged helm makes those marks . . . when someone swings a mace flush against it, that is.

Frowning, Lady Envy hesitated, then turned to the priest. ‘I believe you said the High Priest awaits us?’