Balance . . . now. And will.

Trembling, slick with sweat beneath the tattered remnants of his shapeless tunic, Toc slowly rose upright. His head spun, blackness threatening, but he held on.

Kruppe gasped, lifting her, pulling at her arm. ‘You must touch, lass. This world – it was made for you – do you understand? A gift – there are things that must be freed.’

Freed.

Yes, she understood that word. She longed for it, worshipped it, knelt, head bowed, before its altar. Freed. Yes, that made sense.

Like these memories of ice, raining, raining down upon us.

Freed . . . to feed the earth—

—deliverance, of meaning, of emotion, history’s gift – the land underfoot, the layers, so many layers—

To feed the earth.

What place is this?

‘Reach, dearest Mhybe, Kruppe begs you! Touch—’

She raised a trembling hand—

Upright.

To see Tool reeling beneath blows, the flint sword fending slower with each flashing blade that reached for him.

Upright. A step. One step. Will do.

The cage, the wolf stirring, the wolf seeking to draw breath – unable—

He lurched towards the beam and its upthrust, bronze-capped end.

One step, then toppling.

Forward, lifting his arms high – clear – the beam’s end seeming to rise to meet him. Meet his chest – the ribs – bones shattering in an explosion of pain—

To touch—

The cage!

Broken!

Freed!

The wolf drew breath.

And howled.

The hammer held high in Brood’s hands, trembling, iron shaking—

As a god’s howl ripped the air, a howl climbing, a call—

Answered.

On the killing field, T’lan Ay rising from the ground, the beasts blurring forward in a silent, grey wave, cutting through K’Chain Che’Malle – tearing the undead reptiles down, rending – the giant, armoured reptiles buckling before the onslaught.

Other K’ell Hunters wheeling, racing for the gate – wolves pursuing.

Far overhead, condors breaking away from their deadly dance with two black dragons, speeding back towards the keep, Korlat and Orfantal following, and behind them, tens of thousands of Great Ravens—

—and above the keep, something was happening—

Holding the Mhybe, now unconscious, in his arms, Kruppe staggered back as Togg tore itself free of the shattered cage, the god’s howl blistering the air.

The deluge of hail ceased. Abrupt. The sky darkened.

A pressure, a force, ancient and bestial. Growing.

Togg, huge, one-eyed, white, silver-tipped fur – howling -

The wolf-god, emerging with the force of heaving stone, his cry seeming to span the sky.

A cry that was answered.

On all sides.

Paran ducked even lower to a sudden descent of gloom, cold, a weight overwhelming the captain.

Beside him, Quick Ben groaned, then hissed. ‘This is it, friend. Kurald Galain. I can use this – get us over this wall – we have to see—’

See what? Gods, I’m being crushed!

The pressure dimmed suddenly. Hands gripped his harness, dragged him up, metal scraping, leather catching, up and over the low wall to thump down on the other side.