Baaljagg’s head did not turn to survey the Seguleh marching on his right, yet Toc knew that they were there, Mok included. The ay, like Toc himself, was gripped in memories sprung to life by the scent on that new, chill wind coming down from the north – memories that drew their twinned attention to Tool.

The T’lan Imass had lifted his head, steps slowing until he came to a halt. The others followed suit. Lady Envy turned to Tool.

‘What sorcery is this, T’lan Imass?’

‘You know as well as I, Lady,’ Tool rasped in reply, still scenting the air. ‘Unexpected, a deepening of the confusion surrounding the entity known as the Pannion Seer.’

‘An unimaginable alliance, yet it would appear . . .’

‘It would appear,’ Tool agreed.

Baaljagg’s eyes returned to the north, gauging the prefer-natural glow building on the jagged horizon, a glow that began flowing down between the mountains, filling the valleys, spreading outward. The wind rose to a howl, gelid and bitter.

Memories resurrected ... this is Jaghut sorcery—

‘Can you defeat it, Tool?’ Lady Envy asked.

The T’lan Imass turned to her. ‘I am clanless. Weakened. Lady, unless you can negate it, we shall have to cross as best we can, and it will build all the while, striving to deny us.’

The Lady’s expression was troubled. Her frown deepened as she studied the emanation to the north. ‘K’Chain Che’Malle . . . and Jaghut together. Is there precedence for such an alliance?’

‘There is not,’ Tool said.

Sleet swept down on the small group, swiftly turning into hail. Toc felt the stinging impacts through Baaljagg’s hide as the animal hunched lower. A moment later they began moving once more, leaning against the blistering wind.

Before them, the mountains thickened with a mantle of green-veined white . . .

Toc blinked. He was in the tower, crouched before the meat-laden table. The Seer’s back was to him, suffused with Jaghut sorcery – the creature within the old man’s carcass was now entirely visible, thin, tall, hairless, tinted green. But no, there’s more – grey roots roped down from the body’s legs, chaotic power, plunging down through the stone floor, twisting with something like pain or ecstacy. The Jaghut draws on another sorcery, something older, far more deadly than Omtose Phellack.

The Seer turned. ‘I am ... disappointed, Toc the Younger. Did you think you could reach out to your wolf kin without my knowing it? So, the one within you readies for its rebirth.’

The one within me?

‘Alas,’ the Seer went on, ‘the Beast Throne is vacant – neither you nor that beast god can match my strength. Even so, had I remained ignorant, you might well have succeeded in assassinating me. You lied!’

This last accusation came as a shriek, and Toc saw, not an old man, but a child standing before him.

‘Liar! Liar! And for that you shall suffer!’ The Seer gestured wildly.