Their arrival was a quiet, stealthy affair, leading their mounts into the encampment with the minimum of fuss. Few Tiste Andii remained outside their tents to take note. Sergeant Antsy led the main group of Bridgeburners towards the kraal to settle in the horses, whilst Corporal Picker, Detoran, Blend, Trotts and Hedge slipped away to find Brood’s command tent. Spindle awaited them at its entrance.

Picker gave him a nod and the mage, wrapped in his foul-smelling hairshirt with its equally foul hood thrown over his head, turned to face the tied-down entrance flap. He made a series of hand gestures, paused, then spat at the canvas. There was no sound as the spit struck the flap. He swung a grin to Picker, then bowed before the entrance in invitation.

Hedge nudged the corporal and rolled his eyes.

There were two rooms within, she knew, and the warlord was sleeping in the back one. Hopefully. Picker looked around for Blend – damn, where is she? Here a moment ago—

Two fingers brushed her arm and she nearly leapt out of her leathers. Beside her, Blend smiled. Picker mouthed a silent stream of curses. Blend’s smile broadened, then she stepped past, up to the tent entrance, where she crouched down to untie the fastenings.

Picker glanced over a shoulder. Detoran and Trotts stood side by side a few paces back, both hulking and monstrous.

At the corporal’s side Hedge nudged her again, and she turned to see that Blend had drawn back the flap.

All right, Jet’s get this done.

Blend led the way, followed by Spindle, then Hedge. Picker waved the Napan and the Barghast forward, then followed them into the tent’s dark confines.

Even with Trotts at one end and Detoran at the other, with Spindle and Hedge at the sides, the table had them staggering before they’d gone three paces. Blend moved ahead of them to pull the flap back as far as she could. Within the sorcerous silence, the four soldiers managed to manoeuvre the massive table outside. Picker watched, glancing back at the divider every few moments – but the warlord made no appearance. So far so good.

The corporal and Blend added their muscles in carrying the table, and the six of them managed to take it fifty paces before exhaustion forced them to halt.

‘Not much further,’ Spindle whispered.

Detoran sniffed. ‘They’ll find it.’

‘That’s a wager I’ll call you on,’ Picker said. ‘But first, let’s get it there.’

‘Can’t you make this thing any lighter?’ Hedge whined at Spindle. ‘What kind of mage are you, anyway?’

Spindle scowled. ‘A weak one, what of it? Look at you – you’re not even sweating!’

‘Quiet, you two,’ Picker hissed. ‘Come on, heave her up, now.’

‘Speaking of heaving,’ Hedge muttered as, amid a chorus of grunts, the table once again rose from the ground, ‘when are you gonna wash that disgusting shirt of yours, Spindle?’