She turned away from the killing field. ‘This battle is lost, Caladan Brood. I fly to save Orfantal.’ Without awaiting a reply, she strode down the slope, unfolding the power within her as she did so. Draconian blood, cold as ice in her veins, a promise of murder. Brutal, unwavering hunger.

Wings, into tine. sky.

Wedge-shaped head tilted, fixed on the condors circling her brother. Her talons twitched, then stretched in anticipation.

Caladan Brood stood on the very edge of the slope, the hammer in his hands. K’Chain Che’Malle had pulled away from the assault upon Trake’s Legion – the giant tiger was dying, surrounded on all sides by flashing blades – and were now wading through the Malazan press, slaying soldiers by the score. Others pursued the Grey Swords, whose ranks had been scattered by the far too quick Hunters.

Barghast had closed from both flanks, to add their spilled blood to the slaughter.

Slowly, the warlord swung about and surveyed the hilltop behind him. Three bodies. Four Malazan soldiers who had carried an unconscious Kruppe to the summit and were now laying the Daru down.

Brood’s eyes held on Kruppe, wondering at the man’s sudden, inexplicable collapse, then he turned.

The T’lan Imass, in their tens of thousands, still kneeled, motionless, before Itkovian, who had himself sunk down, a mortal reflection of them. Whatever was happening there had taken them all far away, to a place from which it seemed there would be no return – not, in any case, until it was far too late.

No choice.

Burn . . . forgive me . . .

Caladan Brood faced the city once more. Eyes on the masses warring on the killing field below, the warlord slowly raised his hammer—

—then froze.

They came to yet another hallway filled with the dead and dying. Picker scowled. ‘Mistress, how many in this Seguleh army you told us about?’

‘Three, my dear. Clearly, we are on the right path—’

‘The right path for what, Lady Envy?’

The woman turned. ‘Hmm, an interesting point. The Seguleh are no doubt eagerly lobbying for an audience with the Seer, but who’s to say the Seer has Toc the Younger with him? Indeed, is it not more likely that our friend lies in chains somewhere far below?’

Blend spoke from beside Picker. ‘There looks to be a landing of some sort at the far end. Could be stairs . . .’

‘Sharp-eyed,’ Lady Envy murmured in appreciation. ‘Baaljagg, dear pup, will you lead the way?’

The huge wolf slipped past noiselessly, somehow managing to stay silent even as it clambered over the bodies down the length of the corridor. At the far end, it halted, swung its long-snouted head back, eyes like smouldering coals.

‘Ah, the all-clear,’ Lady Envy sighed, softly clapping her hands. ‘Come along, then, you grim-faced Malazans.’

As they approached, Blend plucked at Picker’s sleeve. ‘Lieutenant,’ she whispered, ‘there’s fighting up ahead ...’