The attacker perched on the wagon spoke in a high voice, the tone bemused. ‘You should be dead. I can feel the coldness of you. I can sense the fist of Hood, coiled there in your lifeless chest. He’s kept you here. Wandering.’

Huh, this new arrival doesn’t look very dead to me. His eyes scanned the shadows to the right of the wagon, seeking Murillio’s motionless form.

‘Not wandering,’ the warrior rasped, still striding towards the figure. ‘Hunting.’

‘Us? But we’ve taken so few from you! Less than a score in this city. Knight of Death, has your master not fed unto bursting of late? And I but sought the unconscious hag – she lies in the bed of this wagon. Hovering at the very edge of the chasm. Surely your master—’

‘Not for you,’ the warrior rumbled. ‘Her spirit awaits. And those of her gathered kin. And the beasts whose hearts are empty. All await. Not for you.’

The air in the alley had grown bitter cold.

‘Oh, all right, then,’ the attacker sighed. ‘What of this driver and his guard? I could use so many pieces of them—’

‘No. Korbal Broach, hear the words of my master. You are to release the undead who guard your compound. You and the one named Bauchelain are to leave the city. This night.’

‘We’d planned on a morning departure, Knight of Death – for you are the Knight, yes? High House Death stirs to wakefulness, I now sense. A morning departure, yes? To follow these fascinating armies southward—’

‘This night, or I shall descend upon you, and claim your souls. Do you realize the fate my master has in store for you two?’

Coll watched as the bald, pallid-faced man atop the wagon raised his arms – which then blurred, broadened into midnight wings. He giggled. ‘You will have to catch us first!’ The blurring became a smear, then where the man had stood there was only a bedraggled crow, cawing sharply as it rose upward, wings thrumming, and was swallowed by darkness.

The warrior walked to where Murillio lay.

Coll drew a deep breath, seeking to slow his hammering heart, then climbed painfully to his feet. ‘My thanks to you, sir,’ he grunted, wincing at what in the morning would be fierce bruising on his right shoulder and hip. ‘Does my companion live?’

The warrior, who Coll now saw was wearing the remnants of Gidrath armour, swung to face him. ‘He lives. Korbal Broach requires that they be alive ... for his work. At least at first. You are to come with me.’

‘Ah, when you said hunting, that sorcerer assumed it was him you were hunting. But it wasn’t, was it?’

‘They are an arrogant pair.’

Coll slowly nodded. He hesitated, then said, ‘Forgive me if I am being rude, but I would know what you – what your Lord – would do with us? We’ve an elderly woman to care for—’