‘Even alone, we are not easily driven off. No, Dujek’s need is greater. I shall take my Soletaken form and guard your forces. Orfantal will strike for the mountain. At the very least, he will be able to determine the disposition of the High Fist and his army.’

She saw the muscles of his jaw bunching beneath the beard. Finally, he sighed and said, ‘I fear for you, Korlat – you will be alone above us.’

‘With, among your soldiers, my remaining kin – mages all, my love – I shall not be as alone as you imagine.’

Whiskeyjack gathered his reins. ‘Have you sensed anything at all of your Lord?’

She shook her head.

‘Does that trouble you? No, you’ve no need to answer that.’

True, it seems there is little I can disguise from you.

‘We’d best get back,’ Whiskeyjack continued.

Both swung their mounts round.

Had their conversation continued for another half-dozen heartbeats, Korlat – with her preternatural vision – would have seen the first flight of Black Moranth rise from the mountain’s forested slope, forty in all, and, flying low, wing hard and fast for the city.

A half-dozen heartbeats, within which Oponn’s coin spun...

A single, lazy turn ...

From Lady to Lord.

Less than a man’s height beneath them, the city’s wall blurred past. Once past it, the Moranth swept their quorls still lower, slipped into an avenue between buildings, flying below the roof-lines. A sharp turn at an intersection directed the flight towards the keep.

Paran, struggling to ignore the fierce burning itch of the stitches threading the side of his face, risked a glance down. Feast-piles were visible in the street, many of them still glowing dull red and sheathed in smoke. The occasional torch mounted on building walls revealed cobbles cluttered with refuse. The city slept beneath them, it seemed – he saw not a single guard or soldier.

The captain returned his attention to the keep. Its outer wall was high, well fortified – if anything, stronger than the one enclosing the city. The main structure beyond it was as much raw rock as worked stone. The keep had been carved into a mountainside.

Monstrous gargoyles lined the ragged roof’s edge, black and hunched, barely visible as darker blots against the night sky.

Then Paran saw one move.

Condors. Oh, we’re in the Abyss now ... He thumped on the Moranth’s shoulder, jabbed a gloved finger down to the street below. The officer nodded.

As one, the quorls carrying the Bridgeburners darted down, skimmed a dozen paces at waist-height over the street, then settled with a single tilt of wings.

Soldiers scrambled from the saddles, seeking shadows.

The Moranth and their quorls leapt skyward once more, wheeling for the return flight.

Crouched in a dark alley mouth, Paran waited for the squads to gather around him. Quick Ben was first to his side.

‘The keep’s roof—’

‘I saw,’ Paran growled. ‘Any ideas, Wizard?’

Antsy spoke up, ‘How ‘bout finding a cellar and hiding, Captain?’