‘Kruppe. Who gave us the Trygalle Trade Guild, the only traders capable of supplying us on the route we chose to march. Kruppe, who brought to the Mhybe the surviving possessions of the First Rhivi, for her to wear and so diminish the pain she feels, and those ornaments are, I suspect, yet to fully flower. Kruppe, the only one Silverfox will speak with, now that Paran is gone. And, finally, Kruppe, who has set himself in the Crippled God’s path.’

‘If just a mortal, then how did he survive Brood’s wrath?’

‘Well, I expect his ally the Elder God would not wish to see the Daru killed. I’d guess there was intervention, then. What else could it have been?’

Dujek emptied his goblet. ‘Damn,’ he sighed. ‘All right. We ignore, as best we can, the Crippled God. We remain focused on the Pannion Domin. Still, my friend, I mislike it. I can’t help but be nervous in that we are not actively engaged in considering this new enemy ...’

‘I don’t think we are, High Fist.’

Dujek’s glance was sharp, searching, then his face twisted. ‘Quick Ben.’

Whiskeyjack slowly nodded. ‘I think so. I’m not certain – Hood, I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but knowing Quick, he is. Very much alive. And, given his agitation the last time I saw him, he’s without illusions, and anything but ignorant.’

‘And he’s all we’ve got? To outwit the Crippled God?’

‘High Fist, if Kruppe is this world’s foremost genius, then Quick Ben’s but a step behind him. A very short step.’

They heard shouts outside the tent, then booted feet. A moment later the standard-bearer Artanthos pulled aside the flap and entered. ‘Sirs, a lone Moranth has been spotted. Flying in from the northeast. It’s Twist.’

Whiskeyjack rose, grunting at the cascade of aches and twinges the motion triggered. ‘Queen of Dreams, we’re about to receive some news.’

‘Let’s hope it’s cheering news,’ Dujek growled. ‘I could do with some.’

Her face was pressed against the lichen-skinned stones, the roughness fading as her sweat soaked the ragged plant. Heart pounding, breaths coming in gasps, she Jay whimpering, too tired to keep running, too tired to even so much as raise her head.

The tundra of her dreams had revealed new enemies. Not the band of strangers pursuing her this time.

This time, she had been found by wolves. Huge, gaunt creatures, bigger than any she had ever seen in her waking life. They had loped into view on a ridge marking the skyline to the north. Eight long-legged, shoulder-hunched beasts, their fur sharing the muted shades of the landscape. The one in the lead had turned, as if catching her scent on the dry, cold wind.

And the chase had begun.