Two sinuous turns later the channel ended in a cul-de-sac of stone layered like folded cloth. Snarling, Kiska threw herself at it. She scrabbled and grabbed for hand and footholds. After she had climbed only an arm’s length the rotten layers crumbled beneath her like brittle old leather, and she slid down, scraping her side and chin. She lay gasping in the dust.

‘Nothing’s as easy as it seems, is it? Would that I had kept that in mind.’

Kiska yelped and lunged to her feet, drawing her knife.

The old man sneered, brushed dirt from his robes. ‘I’m dead. Remember?’

Kiska didn’t allow the point of her blade to waver. ‘Where are we? What’s going on?’

The man’s wide crazed grin returned. He opened his arms, looked about. ‘Magnificent, isn’t it? This place?’

‘What have you done to me?’

‘A place,’ the old man continued, ‘whose existence has been theorized for the last millennia. A place whose characteristics I deduced from ancient sources. A place – a Realm – that, should it belong to anyone, belongs to me. My realm which I should rule, suzerain. The Path of Shadow.’

The man’s a gibbering lunatic.’Send me back. I don’t want to be here. I want to be back home, on Malaz.’

He raised one crooked finger. ‘Ah. But you are, you see. You’re still on your wretched little isle. And at the same time, you are here. Two realms overlapping. Two places at once. What is called a Convergence.’

‘I don’t give a shit what it’s called. Send me back!’

The man’s lips moved but his words were obliterated by the bellow of a beast that echoed through the maze of canyons surrounding them. Shards of stone clattered down around them. The hairs of Kiska’s arms and neck stood on end. That was no dog . . .

The man darted his gaze to the sides of the canyon, his face falling. ‘Less time than I’d hoped.’

The blade quivered in Kiska’s hand. She wanted to run, to scream, to plead for help. ‘Time for what? What’s—’

The man silenced her with a wave. ‘Listen to me. My name is Oleg. Many years ago a man came to me. He claimed to be interested in the arcanum of my research. We worked together. We shared knowledge. His prowess and grasp of Warren manipulation astounded me. I, who admit no peer in such mastery. He—’

The old man jammed the heels of both hands to his eyes then let out a wordless scream of rage. ‘He betrayed me! He stole my work and left me for dead!’ His fists slipped down to his mouth. ‘A life’s work,’ he moaned, staring at some scene. ‘Gone. Obliterated. Wrenched from me like a limb. My sight. My power of speech.’

‘Send me back, Oleg,’ Kiska whispered. ‘Please.’

Throwing his face up to the sky, he yelled, ‘You . . . will . . . not . . . succeed!’

Kiska stared, stunned by the extravagance of his madness.