‘I imagine you do, Guardian,’ the man replied.

‘Poison. Tell me, did you… push him in that direction?’

‘It is my aspect,’ the Letherii said, shrugging. ‘I am driven to… poignancy. Tell me, does your god know you are here?’

‘I will speak to him soon. Words of chastisement are necessary.’

The man laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. ‘I imagine they are at that.’

The Guardian looked once more upon the Champion. ‘He held the names. Of all those who were almost forgotten. This… this is a great loss.’

‘No,’ the Letherii said, ‘those names are not lost. Not yet. But they will be… soon.’

‘I need… someone, then.’

‘And you will find him.’

The Guardian regarded the Letherii once more. ‘I am… pushed?’

The man shrugged again.

The Guardian reached down, closed a firm grip on the Champion’s sword-belt, then lifted him from the floor and slung him over its left shoulder. Standing in a spreading pool of blood, it turned about.

And looked upon Rhulad Sengar. ‘They show no mercy, your friends,’ it said.

‘No?’ Rhulad’s laugh became a cough. He gasped, then said, ‘I am beginning to see… otherwise-’

‘I have learned mercy,’ the Guardian said, and thrust down with his sword.

Into Rhulad’s back, severing the spine.

Trull Sengar lurched to his feet, stared, disbelieving-

– as the Letherii man whispered, ‘And… once more.’

The Guardian walked towards the entrance, ignoring Hannan Mosag’s enraged bellow as it passed the Warlock King.

Trull stumbled forward, around the motionless form of his brother, until he reached Hannan Mosag. Snapped a hand down and dragged the Warlock King up, until he held him close. ‘The throne?’ Trull asked in a rasp. ‘You just lost it, bastard.’ He flung Hannan Mosag back down onto the floor. ‘I need to find Fear. Tell him,’ Trull said as he walked to the entranceway, ‘tell him, Mosag, that I went to find Fear. I am sending in the others-’

Rhulad spasmed behind him, then shrieked.

So be it.

The Wyval clawed its way free from the barrow, dripping red-streaked mud, flanks heaving. A moment later the wraith appeared, dragging the unconscious form of a Letherii man.

Shurq Elalle rose from where she had crouched beside Ublala, stroking his brow and wondering at the stupid smile plastered on his features, and, placing her hands on her hips, surveyed the scene. Five sprawled bodies, toppled trees, the stench of rotting earth. Two of her employees near the facing wall of the Azath tower, the mage tending to the Avowed’s wounds. Avowed. What kind of title is that, anyway?

Closer to the gate, Kettle and the tall, white-skinned warrior with the two Letherii swords.

Impressively naked, she noted, walking over. ‘If I am not mistaken,’ she said to him, ‘you are of the same blood as the Tiste Edur.’

A slight frown as he looked down upon her. ‘No. I am Tiste Andii.’

‘If you say so. Now that you have finished off those… things, I take it your allegiance to the Azath tower is at an end.’

He glanced over at it with his strange, red eyes. ‘We were never… friends,’ he said, then faintly smiled. ‘But it is dead. I am not bound to anyone’s service but my own.’ Studied her once again. ‘And there are things I must do… for myself.’

Kettle spoke. ‘Can I come with you?’

‘That would please me, child,’ the warrior said.

Shurq Elalle narrowed her eyes. ‘You made a promise, didn’t you?’ she asked him. ‘To the tower, and though it is dead the promise remains to be honoured.’

‘She will be safe, so long as she chooses to remain with me,’ the warrior said, nodding.

Shurq looked round once more, then said, ‘This city is now ruled by the Tiste Edur. Will they take undue note of you?’

‘Accompanied by a Wyval, a wraith and the unconscious slave he insists on keeping with him, I would imagine so.’

‘Best, then,’ she said, ‘you left Letheras without being seen.’

‘Agreed. Do you have a suggestion?’

‘Not yet-’

‘I have…’

They turned to see the Avowed and his mage, the latter lending the former his shoulder as they slowly approached. It had been Iron Bars who had spoken.

‘You,’ Shurq Elalle said, ‘work for me, now. No volunteering allowed.’

He grinned. ‘Aye, but all I’m saying is they need an escort. Someone who knows all the secret ways out of this city. It’s the least I can do, since this Tiste Andii saved my life.’

‘Thinking of things before I do does not bode well for a good working relationship,’ Shurq Elalle said.

‘Apologies, ma’am. I won’t do it again, I promise.’

‘You think I’m being petty, don’t you?’

‘Of course not. After all, the undead are never petty.’

She crossed her arms. ‘No? See that pit over there? There’s an undead man named Harlest hiding in it, waiting to scare someone with his talons and fangs.’

They all turned to study the pit in the yard of the Azath tower. From which they could now hear faint singing.

‘Hood’s balls,’ Iron Bars muttered. ‘When do we sail?’

Shurq Elalle shrugged. ‘As soon as they let us. And who is Hood?’

The white-skinned warrior replied distractedly, ‘The Lord of Death, and yes, he has balls.’

Everyone turned to stare at the warrior, who shrugged.

Shurq grunted, then said. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

Kettle pointed up. ‘I like that. In your forehead, Mother. I like that.’

‘And let’s keep it there, shall we?’ Fortunately, no-one seemed to grasp the significance of her comment.

The warrior said to Iron Bars. ‘Your suggestion?’

The Avowed nodded.

Tehol Beddict, lying atop the sarcophagus, was sleeping. Bugg had been staring down at him, thoughtful, when he heard the sound of footsteps almost directly behind him. He slowly swung about as the Guardian emerged from the wall of water that marked the tunnel mouth.

The apparition was carrying a body over one shoulder. It halted and was silent as it studied the manservant.

Here, in this tomb emptied of water, in this place where an Elder god’s will held all back, the Guardian did not bleed.

Bugg sighed. ‘Oh, he will grieve for this,’ he said, finally recognizing the Letherii on the Guardian’s shoulder.

‘The Errant says the names remain alive within him,’ the creature said.

‘The names? Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘You abandoned us, Mael.’

‘I know. I am sorry.’

The Guardian stepped past him and stopped beside the sarcophagus. Its helmed head tilted down as it observed Tehol Beddict. ‘This one shares his blood.’

‘A brother, yes.’

‘He shall carry the memory of the names, then.’ It looked over. ‘Do you object to this?’

Bugg shook his head. ‘How can I?’

‘That is true. You cannot. You have lost the right.’

The manservant said nothing. He watched as the Guardian grasped hold of one of Brys’s hands and set it down upon Tehol’s brow. A moment, then it was done. The apparition stepped away, headed towards the far wall of water.

‘Wait, please,’ Bugg said.

It paused, looked back.

‘Where will you take him?’

‘Into the deep, where else, Elder One?’

Bugg frowned. ‘In that place…’

‘Yes. There shall be two Guardians now and for ever more.’

‘Will that eternal service please him, do you think?’

The apparition cocked its head. ‘I do not know. Does it please me?’

With that ambiguous question hanging in the still air, the Guardian carried the body of Brys Beddict into the water.

After a long moment, Bugg turned back to regard Tehol. His friend would wake with a terrible headache, he knew.

Nothing to be done for it, alas. Except, perhaps, for some tea… I’ve a particularly nasty herbal mix that’ll make him forget his headache. And if there is anyone in the world who will appreciate that, it is Tehol Beddict of Letheras.

But first, I’d better get him out of this tomb.