One detail was jarring, however: the source of the silver-green glow that dominated one horizon. A glacier. Kiska had never seen one with her own eyes, but it resembled the descriptions she’d heard from travellers – a mountain of glowing ice, they’d called it. She’d discounted the stories herself, thought them exaggerated by booze-addled memories. But here was proof. Kiska reflected sourly on just how small her island was, just how bounded her own experience must be. She tried to imagine the crushing weight of all that ice, its dimensions. Just how far away was it? The rolling landscape gave no clue. She brushed the wet sand from her clothes and shivered in the cold wind.

A breathless voice spoke behind her: ‘I’d forgotten just how impressive it is at first sight.’

She spun, knives out, only to jump back and yelp her surprise.

Whatever it was, it was dead. Or rather, it was a corpse. Desiccated flesh, empty eye sockets, grinning yellowed teeth. Rags of clothing hung from its angular frame – what was once a thick layered cloak over age-worn leather and bronze armour. The hilt of a sword in a corroded scabbard jutted behind one shoulder. Cold horror stole over Kiska.

‘You’re from Malaz?’ the corpse asked in archaic Talian.

‘Yes,’ she stammered, ‘Malaz. Malaz Island.’

Its head, seemingly welded to its helm of corroded bronze, nodded slowly. ‘An island now, is it? I have walked that land many times.’

‘Who are you? Where am I?’

‘I am called Edgewalker. I walk the borders of Kurald Emurlahn. What you call Shadow. And this is part of that realm.’

Kiska pointed a knife to the far mountain of ice. ‘Then what is that?’

‘Something that belongs here no more than you.’

‘Oh.’ Kiska lowered her arm, shivered. ‘Well, I didn’t ask to come here.’

‘You were swept up by a Changing, a shadow storm. They will be frequent. I suggest you stay indoors.’

‘Indoors?’ Kiska barked a laugh. ’Where?’ Then she clamped her mouth shut. ‘You mean . . . you will send me back?’

‘Yes. I will. You do not belong here.’

‘Then I suppose I should give you my thanks.’ Kiska pushed back her hair, eyed the dunes. Was this really Malaz? Then she remembered. ‘Do you know a man named Oleg?’

‘No. I know of no one by that name.’

‘What of a ruler? If this is Shadow then does it have a throne?’

Edgewalker remained silent for a time, long enough for Kiska to lean closer. Had he died?

But at last he asked, ‘What of it?’

‘I was told someone would attempt to take it this night.’

‘Countless have tried. All have failed. Even those who succeeded for a time. Myself included, after a fashion. Now I walk its boundaries forever. And I fared better than most.’

Bizarrely, Kiska felt disappointed by the acknowledgement. She’d half-suspected, half-hoped, that Oleg had been insane. Now she tried to recall more of his babbling.

A low moaning raised the hairs at her neck. The creature raised one sinewy arm like the twisted branch of an oak and pointed back across the stream. Gold rings glinted on his withered fingers. ‘A Hound has found your scent. Run while you can, child.’