Paran and Quick Ben rode within a thousand paces of the Tenescowri encampment, which lay north of the road, on their right. Neither man spoke until they were well past, then the captain sighed. ‘That looks to be trouble fast approaching.’

‘Oh? Why?’

Paran shot his companion a startled glance, then returned his gaze to the road. ‘The lust for vengeance against those peasants. The Capans might well swarm out through the gate and slaughter them, with the Mask Council’s blessing.’ And why, Wizard, do I think I see some-thing out of the comer of my eye? There, on your shoulder. Then, when I look more closely, it’s gone.

‘That’d be a mistake for the Mask Council,’ Quick Ben commented. ‘The Grey Swords looked ready to defend their guests, if those pickets and trenches were any indication.’

‘Aye, they’re anticipating becoming very unpopular, with what they’re now up to.’

‘Recruiting. Then again, why not? That mercenary company paid a high price defending the city and its citizens.’

‘The memory of their heroic efforts could vanish in an eye’s wink, Wizard. There’s only a few hundred Grey Swords left, besides. Should a few thousand Capans charge them—’

‘I wouldn’t worry, Captain. Even the Capans – no matter how enraged – would hesitate before crossing those soldiers. They’re the ones who survived, after all. As I said, the Mask Council would be foolish to hold the grudge. We’ll discover more at the parley, no doubt.’

‘Assuming we’re invited. Quick Ben, we’d do better with a private conversation with Whiskeyjack. I personally have very little to say to most of the others who will be present. I have a report to deliver, in any case.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t planning on speaking at the parley, Captain. Just listening.’

They had left the occupied areas behind and now rode down an empty road, the rolling plain stretching out on their right, the bluffs marking the river three hundred paces distant on their left.

‘I see riders,’ Quick Ben said. ‘North.’

Paran squinted, then nodded. ‘It’s happened.’

‘What has?’

‘The Second Gathering.’

The wizard shot him a glance. ‘The T’lan Imass? How do you know?’

Because she’s stopped reaching out to me. Tattersail, Nightchill, Bellurdan – something’s happened. Something . . . unexpected. And it’s left them reeling. ‘I just know, Wizard. Silverfox is the lead rider.’

‘Your vision must be as a hawk’s.’

Paran said nothing. I don’t need eyes. She’s coming.

‘Captain, does Tattersail’s soul still dominate within Silverfox?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘All I will say, however, is that whatever faith we held to that we could predict Silverfox’s actions should now be dispensed with.’

‘What has she become, then?’

‘A Bonecaster in truth.’