The large flap at the entrance had been tied back. Atop the front support pole sat a Great Raven, head cocked towards the group, beak open as if in silent laughter. The Mhybe’s thin lips quirked into a half-smile upon seeing Crone. Anomander Rake’s favoured servant had taken to hounding Caladan Brood, offering incessant advice like a conscience twisted awry. The Great Raven had tested the warlord’s patience more than once – yet Brood tolerates her in the same way he tolerates Anomander Rake himself. Uneasy allies . . . the tales all agree that Brood and Rake have worked side by side for a log, long time, yet is there trust between them? That particular relationship is a hard one to understand, with layers upon layers of complexity and ambiguity, all the more confusing for Crone’s dubious role in providing the bridge between the two warriors.

‘Dujek Onearm!’ Crone screamed, the outburst followed by a mad cackle. ‘Whiskeyjack! I bring you greetings from one Baruk, an alchemist in Darujhistan. And, from my master, Anomander Rake, Lord of Moon’s Spawn, Knight of High House Darkness, son of Mother Dark herself, I convey to you his ... no, not greeting as such... not greeting ... but amusement. Yes, amusement!’

Dujek frowned. ‘And what so amuses your master, bird?’

‘Bird?’ the Great Raven shrieked. ‘I am Crone, the unchallenged matriarch of Moon’s Spawn’s cacophonous, vast murder of kin!’

Whiskeyjack grunted. ‘Matriarch to the Great Ravens? You speak for them all, do you? I’d accept that – Hood knows you’re loud enough.’

‘Upstart! Dujek Onearm, my master’s amusement is beyond explanation—’

‘Meaning you don’t know,’ the renegade High Fist interjected.

‘Outrageous audacity – show respect, mortal, else I choose your carcass to feed on when the day comes!’

‘You’d likely break your beak on my hide, Crone, but you’re welcome to it when that moment arrives.’

Brood growled, ‘Do you still have that beak-strap, Hurlochel?’

‘I do, sir.’

The Great Raven hissed, ducking her head and half raising her vast wings. ‘Don’t you dare, ox! Repeat that affront at your peril!’

‘Then hold your tongue.’ Brood faced the others and waved them to the entrance. Crone, perched over everyone, bobbed her head as each soldier strode beneath her. When it was the Mhybe’s turn the Great Raven chuckled. ‘The child in your hand is about to surprise us all, old woman.’

The Rhivi paused. ‘What do you sense, old crow?’

Crone laughed in silence before replying, ‘Immanence, dearest clay pot, and naught else. Greetings, child Silverfox.’

The girl studied the Great Raven for a moment, then said, ‘Hello, Crone. I had not before realized that your kind were born in the rotting flesh of a—’

‘Silence!’ Crone shrieked. ‘Such knowledge should never be spoken! You must learn to remain silent, child – for your own safety—’

‘For yours, you mean,’ Silverfox said, smiling.