He grimaced, ever loath to leave a battle – even one drawing to a quick, satisfying conclusion. ‘I’ll assume it’s important – enough to have you risk your warren – so the answer is yes. Do we go far?’

‘To Dujek’s command tent.’

‘He’s taken wounds?’

‘No. All is well, you old worrier,’ she said, cracking a smile. ‘How long would you have me wait?’

‘Well enough,’ he growled. He turned to an officer sitting on a roan destrier nearby. ‘Barack, you’re in charge here.’

The young man’s eyes widened. ‘Sir, I’m a captain—’

‘So here’s your chance. Besides, I’m a sergeant – at least I would be if I was still drawing coin on the Empress’s paylists. Besides again, you’re the only officer present who doesn’t have his or her own company to worry about.’

‘But sir, I am Dujek’s liaison to the Black Moranth—’

‘And are they here?’

‘Uh, no sir.’

‘So, enough jawing and make sure things get wrapped up here, Barack.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Whiskeyjack dismounted and handed the reins of his charger to an aide, then joined Korlat. He resisted an urge to draw her into his arms, and was disconcerted to see a glimmer of prescient knowledge in her eyes.

‘Not in front of the troops, surely,’ she murmured.

He growled. ‘Lead me through, woman.’

Whiskeyjack had travelled a warren only a few times, but his memories of those fraught journeys did little to prepare him for Kurald Galain. Taking him by the hand, Korlat drew him into the ancient realm of Mother Dark, and though he could feel the sure grip of her fingers, he stepped into blindness.

No light. Gritty flagstones under his boots, the air perfectly motionless, scentless, with an ambient temperature that seemed no different from that of his skin.

He was pulled forward, his boots seeming to barely touch the floor.

A sudden streak of grey assaulted his eyes, and he heard Korlat hiss: ‘We are assailed even here – the Crippled God’s poison seeps deep, Whiskeyjack. This does not bode well.’

He cleared his throat. ‘No doubt Anomander Rake has recognized the threat, and if so, do you know what he plans to do about it?’

‘One thing at a time, dear lover. He is the Knight of Darkness, the Son. Mother Dark’s own champion. Not one to shy from a confrontation.’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ he replied wryly. ‘What’s he waiting for, then?’

‘We’re a patient people, us Tiste Andii. The true measure of power lies in the wisdom to wait for the propitious moment. When it comes, and he judges it to be so, then Anomander Rake will respond.’

‘Presumably the same holds for unleashing Moon’s Spawn on the Pannion Domin.’

‘Aye.’

And, somehow, Rake’s managed to hide a floating fortress the size of a mountain... ‘You’ve considerable faith in your Lord, haven’t you?’