‘They’ll let loose on them,’ Gruntle sighed, nodding. ‘Aye. In the meantime, however, the murder victims start piling up. Look around, Buke, these people are close enough to panic. What do you think it will take to push ‘em over the edge? How many more victims? The Camps are kin-bound communities – every neighbourhood is knit together by blood and marriage. This is a fine line to walk...’

‘I can’t do it alone,’ Buke said.

‘Do what?’

‘Shadow Korbal Broach. When he goes out at night. If I can foul his hunting . . . yet remain unseen, undiscovered—’

‘You’ve lost your mind!’ Gruntle hissed. ‘He’s a Hood’ damned sorcerer, old man! He’ll sniff you out the first time!’

‘If I’m working alone, you’re right...’

Gruntle studied the man at his side, searched the worn, lean face, the hard eyes above the grey, tangled beard. Old burn scars painted Buke’s forearms, from when he clawed through coals and embers the morning after the fire in some frenzied, insane faith that he would find them... find his family alive somewhere in the rubble.

Buke’s gaze dropped beneath that steady examination. ‘I’ve no cunning, friend,’ the old man said, releasing Gruntle’s arm. ‘I need someone to think of a way to do this. I need someone with the brains to outwit Korbal Broach—’

‘Not Broach. Bauchelain.’

‘Aye, only he’s not the one going out at night. Bauchelain tolerates Korbal’s ... peculiar interests. Broach has the mind of a child – an unfettered, malign child. I know them, now, Gruntle. I know them.’

‘How many other fools have tried to outwit Bauchelain, I wonder?’

‘Cemeteries full, I’d guess.’

Gruntle slowly nodded. ‘All to achieve what? Save a few lives ... so that they can get slaughtered and devoured by the Tenescowri?’

‘A more merciful demise even so, friend.’

‘Hood take me, Buke. Let me think on this.’

‘I’ll come by this evening, then. At the barracks. Stonny—’

‘Stonny can’t know a damn thing about it. If she catches on, she’ll go after Broach herself, and she won’t be subtle—’

‘And they’ll kill her. Aye.’

‘Gods, my head’s about to explode.’

Buke grinned. ‘What you need is a priest.’

‘A priest?’

‘A priest with the powers to heal. Come on, I know just the man.’

Shield Anvil Itkovian stood by the barracks gate, fully armoured and gauntleted, his helm’s visor raised though the cheek-guards remained in place. The afternoon’s first bell had tolled a hundred heartbeats ago. The others were late, but that was nothing new; nor was Itkovian’s punctuality. He’d grown long accustomed to awaiting Brukhalian and Karnadas, and it seemed that the two Barghast who were to join them for the meeting held a similar disregard.

The Mask Council would greet them all seething from the apparent insult – and not for the first time.