‘Indeed?’ Lady Envy glanced around, saw no sign that anyone had walked where they now stood. ‘Are you certain? Oh, never mind. I didn’t ask that question. Well! In which direction were they walking?’

The T’lan Imass faced east. ‘The same as us.’

‘How curious! We will by chance catch up with them?’

‘Unlikely, mistress. They are perhaps fours days ahead—’

‘Four days! They have reached Coral, then!’

‘Yes. Do you wish to rest, or shall we proceed?’

Lady Envy turned to examine the others. Baaljagg still carried a spearhead in her shoulder, though it seemed to be slowly making its way out, and the flow of blood had slowed considerably. She would have liked to have healed the ay’s wound, but the beast would not let her come close enough. Garath looked hale, though a solid mass of old scars etched the hound’s mottled hide. The three Seguleh had effected what repairs they could to their armour and weapons, and stood waiting, their masks freshly painted. ‘Hmm, it seems there is to be no delay, no delay at all! Such eagerness, oh pity poor Coral!’ She swung round suddenly. ‘Lanas Tog, tell me, has Onos T’oolan passed this way as well?’

‘I do not know, mistress. Those mortals who preceded us, however, were tracked by a predator. No doubt curious. I sense no lingering violence in this area, so the beast probably abandoned them once it fully gauged their strength.’

‘A beast? What kind of beast, darling?’

The T’lan Imass shrugged. ‘A large cat. A tiger, perhaps – forests such as these suit them, I believe.’

‘Now, isn’t that titillating? By all means, Lanas Tog, strike out on this fated trail – we shall follow upon your very heels!’

The trenches and tunnel entrances had been well disguised, beneath cedar branches and piles of moss, and without the preternatural skills of the mages the Bridgeburners might not have found them.

Paran made his way down what he had mentally labelled the command tunnel, passing racks of weapons – pikes, halberds, lances, longbows and bundles of arrows – and alcoves packed solid with food, water and other supplies, until he came to the large, fortified chamber which the Septarch had clearly intended to be his headquarters.

Quick Ben and his motley cadre of mages sat, squatted or sprawled in a rough half-circle near the far end, beyond the map table, looking like a pack of water-rats who’d just taken over a beaver’s lodge.

The captain glanced down at the large painted hide pinned to the tabletop as he strode past, on which the Pannions had conveniently mapped out the entire maze of tunnels and entrenchments, the location of supplies and what kind, the approaches and retreats.

‘All right,’ Paran said as he joined the mages, ‘what do you have?’