‘Captain,’ the wizard said, ‘don’t forget what you’ve become.’ He fixed his attention once more on the corpse. ‘Another Tiste Edur. All right, let’s circle this one, too.’

‘There is no objection,’ the Moranth officer said, ‘to the possibility.’

‘The Tiste Edur are of Elder Shadow,’ Quick Ben noted.

‘Within the seas, shadows swim. Kurald Emurlahn. The Warren of the Tiste Edur, Elder Shadow, is broken, and has been lost to mortals.’

‘Lost?’ Quick Ben’s brows rose. ‘Never found, you mean. Meanas – where Shadowthrone and Cotillion and the Hounds dwell—’

‘Is naught but a gateway,’ the Moranth officer finished.

Paran grunted. ‘If a shadow could cast a shadow, that shadow would be Meanas – is that what you two are saying? Shadowthrone rules the guardhouse?’

Quick Ben grinned. ‘What a delicious image, Captain.’

‘A disturbing one,’ he muttered in reply. The Hounds of Shadow – they are the guardians of the gate. Damn, that makes too much sense to be in error. But the warren is also shattered. Meaning, that gate might not lead anywhere. Or maybe it belongs to the largest fragment. Does Shadowthrone know the truth? That his mighty Throne of Shadows is ... is what? A castellan’s chair? A gatekeeper’s perch? My oh my, as Kruppe would say.

‘Ah,’ Quick Ben sighed, his grin fading, ‘I think I see your point. The Tiste Edur are active once more, by what we’ve seen here. They’re returning to the mortal world – perhaps they’ve re-awakened the true Throne of Shadow, and maybe they’re about to pay their new gatekeeper a visit.’

‘Another war in the pantheon – the Crippled God’s chains are no doubt rattling with his laughter.’ Paran rubbed at the bristle on his jaw. ‘Excuse me – I need some privacy. Carry on here, if you like – I won’t be long.’ I hope.

He strode inland twenty paces, stood facing northwest, eyes on the distant stars. All right, I’ve done this before, let’s see if it works a second time . . .

The transition was so swift, so effortless, that it left him reeling, stumbling across uneven flagstones in swirling, mote-filled darkness. Cursing, he righted himself. The carved images beneath his feet glowed faintly, cool and vaguely remote.

So, I’m here. As simple as that. Now, how do I find the image I’m looking for? Raest? You busy at the moment? What a question. If you were busy we’d all be in trouble, wouldn’t we? Never mind. Stay where you are, wherever that is. This is for me to work out, after all.

Not in the Deck of Dragons – I don’t want the gateway, after all, do I. Thus, the Elder Deck, the Deck of Holds. . .

The flagstone directly before him twisted into a new image, one he had not seen before, yet he instinctively recognized it as the one he sought. The carving was rough, worn, the deep grooves forming a chaotic web of shadows.