Lady Envy continued, ‘In fact, I reluctantly admit, none of our fa?ades has survived ... unfractured. If you can imagine it, Anomander Rake – the Seventh – has unceremoniously banished us from the city.’

Mok climbed unsteadily to his feet, looked around.

‘Yes,’ Lady Envy said, ‘we find ourselves in the very same forest we spent days trudging through. Your punitive exercise is concluded, perhaps satisfactorily, perhaps not. The Pannion Domin is no more, alas. Time’s come, my three grim servants, to begin the journey home.’

Mok examined his weapons, then faced her. ‘No. We shall demand an audience with the Seventh—’

‘Oh, you foolish man! He’ll not see you! Worse, you’ll have to carve your way through a few hundred Tiste Andii to get to him – and no, they won’t cross blades with you. They will simply annihilate you with sorcery. They’re a perfunctory people, the Children of Mother Dark. Now, I have decided to escort the three of you home. Isn’t that generous of me?’

Mok regarded her, the silence stretching.

Lady Envy offered him a sweet smile.

On their long journey north, the White Face Barghast broke up into clans, then family bands, ranging far and wide as was their wont. Hetan walked with Cafal, lagging behind their father and his closest followers and angling some distance eastward.

The sun was warm on their heads and shoulders, the air fresh with the gentle surf brushing the shore two hundred paces to their right.

It was midday when she and her brother spotted the two travellers ahead. Close kin, Hetan judged as they drew nearer. Neither one particularly tall, but robust, both black-haired, walking very slowly side by side closer to the coastline.

They looked to be Barghast, but of a tribe or clan unknown to either Hetan or Cafal. A short while later they came alongside the two strangers.

Hetan’s eyes focused on the man, studied the extraordinary scars crisscrossing his flesh. ‘We greet you, strangers!’ she called out.

Both turned, clearly surprised that they had company.

Hetan now looked upon the man’s face. That the woman beside him was his sister could be no more obvious.

Good. ‘You!’ she called to the man, ‘what is your name?’

The man’s smile made her heart catch. ‘Onos Toolan.’

Hetan strode closer, offering a wink to the dark-haired woman, then settling her eyes once more on the man called Onos Toolan. ‘I see more than you imagine,’ she said in a low voice.

The young warrior cocked his head. ‘You do?’

‘Aye, and what I see tells me you’ve not bedded a woman in a long time.’

The man’s eyes widened – oh, such lovely eyes, a lover’s eyes – ‘Indeed,’ he said, his smile broadening.

Oh yes, my lover’s eyes . . .

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

Paran shoved the door open. Shouldering his heavy, gold-filled pack, he stepped into the antechamber beyond.

‘Raest! Where are you?’