His horse was still pushing forward, squealing as talons and fangs slashed its neck and chest. Paran leant over his mount's neck, flailing with his sword in its defence.

Then they were through, the horse lunging into a canter, then a gallop. All at once, the carriage's battered, swaying and pitching back reared up before them. Free of attackers. Paran dragged on his reins until the horse slowed, and came up alongside. He gestured at the nearest shareholder. 'She's still alive – take her-'

'Is she now?' the man replied, then turned his head and spat out a gleaming red stream.

Paran now saw that blood was spurting from the ragged holes in the man's left leg, and those spurts were slowing down. 'You need a healer and fast-'

'Too late,' the man replied, leaning out to drag the unconscious woman from the back of Paran's horse. More hands reached down from above and took her weight, then pulled her upwards. The dying shareholder sagged back against the carriage, then gave Paran a red-stained smile. 'The spike,' he said. 'Doubles my worth – hope the damned wife's grateful.'

As he spoke he fumbled with the harness buckle, then finally pulled it loose. With a final nod at Paran, he let go, and fell.

A tumble and a roll, then… nothing.

Paran looked back, stared at the motionless body on the bridge. Beasts were swarming towards it. Gods, these people have all lost their minds.

'Stebar's earned the spike!' someone said from the carriage roof. '

Who's got one of his chips?'

Another voice said, 'Here, down the slot – how bad is Thyrss?'

'She'll make it, poor girl, ain't gonna be pretty no more.'

'Knowing her, she'd have been happier with the spike-'

'Not a chance, got no kin, Ephras. What's the point of a spike with no kin?'

'Funny man, Yorad, and I bet you don't even know it.'

'What did I say now?'

The carriage's wild careening had slowed as more and more detritus appeared on the bridge's road. Pieces of corroding armour, broken weapons, bundles of nondescript clothing.

Looking down, Paran saw a slab of wood that looked to have once been a Troughs game-board, now splintered and gnawed down one side as if some creature had tried to eat it. So, here in this deathly underworld, there are things that still need food. Meaning, they're alive.

Meaning, I suppose, they don't belong. Intruders, like us. He wondered at all those other visitors to this realm, those who'd fallen to the horde of ochre-hued beast-men. How had they come to be here? An accident, or, like Paran, seeking to cross this damned bridge for a reason? 'Hedge!'

The ghost, perched beside the driver, leaned forward. 'Captain?'

'This realm – how did you know of it?'

'Well, you came to us, didn't you? Figured you was the one who knew about it.'

'That makes no sense. You led, I followed, remember?'

'You wanted to go where the ancient things went, so here we are.'

'But where is here?'

Shrugging, the sapper leaned back.

It was the one bad thing about following gut-feelings, Paran reflected. Where they came from and what fed them was anybody's guess.

After perhaps a third of a league, the slope still perceptibly climbing, the road's surface cleared, and although the mists remained thick, they seemed to have lightened around them, as if some hidden sun of white fire had lifted clear of the horizon. Assuming there was such a horizon.

Not every warren played by the same rules, Paran knew.

The driver cursed suddenly and sawed back on the traces, one foot pushing the brake lever. Paran reined in alongside as the train lurched to a halt.

Wreckage ahead, a single, large heap surrounded by scattered pieces.

A carriage.

Everyone was silent for a moment, then Karpolan Demesand's voice emerged from a speak-tube near the roof. 'Nisstar, Artara, if you will, examine yon barricade.'

Paran dismounted, his sword still out, and joined the two Pardu women as they crept cautiously towards the destroyed carriage.

'That's Trygalle Trade Guild,' Paran said in low tones, 'isn't it?'

'Shhh.'

They reached the scene. Paran held back as the shareholders, exchanging gestures, each went to one side, crossbows held at the ready. In moments, they moved out of his line of sight.

The carriage was lying on its side, the roof facing Paran. One back wheel was missing. The copper sheets of the roof looked battered, peeled away in places, cut and gouged in others. On two of the visible iron attachment loops, strips of leather remained.

One of the Pardu women appeared on top, perching on the frame of the side door, then crouching to look straight down, inside the carriage.

A moment later, she disappeared inside. The other shareholder came from around the wreck. Paran studied her. Her nose had been shattered, not long ago, he judged, as the remnant of bruises marred the area beneath her eyes with faint crescents. The eyes above those bruises were now filled with fear.

Behind them, Karpolan Demesand emerged and, the Jaghut at his side and Hedge trailing, they slowly approached.

Paran turned, studied the pale, expressionless visage of the High Mage. 'Do you recognize this particular carriage, Karpolan?'

A nod. 'Trade Mistress Darpareth Vayd. Missing, with all her shareholders, for two years. Ganoes Paran, I must think on this, for she was my superior in the sorcerous arts. I am deeply saddened by this discovery, for she was my friend. Saddened, and alarmed.'

'Do you recall the details of her last mission?'

'Ah, a prescient question. Generally,' he paused, folding his hands on his lap, 'such details remain the property of the Trygalle Trade Guild, for as you must realize, confidentiality is a quality our clients pay for, in fullest trust that we reveal nothing. In this instance, however, two things are clear that mitigate such secrecy.

One: it seems, if we continue on, we shall face what Darpareth faced.

Two: in this, her last mission, she failed. And presumably, we do not wish to share her fate. Accordingly, we shall here and now pool our talents, first, to determine what destroyed her mission, and secondly, to effect a reasonable defence against the enemy responsible.'

The other Pardu clambered once more into view. Seeing Karpolan she paused, then shook her head.

'No bodies,' Paran said. 'Of course, those hungry beasts we ran into may well have cleaned up afterwards-'

'I think not,' said Ganath. 'I suspect they too fear what lies ahead, and would not venture this far along the bridge. In any case, the damage on that carriage came from something far larger, stronger. If this bridge has a true guardian, then I suspect these poor travellers met it.'

Paran frowned. 'Guardian. Why would there be a guardian? That kind of stuff belongs to fairy tales. How often does someone or something try to cross this bridge? It's got to be rare, meaning there's some guardian with a lot of spare time on its hands. Why not just wander off? Unless the thing has no brain at all, such a geas would drive it mad-'

'Mad enough to tear apart whatever shows up,' Hedge said.

'More like desperate for a scratch behind the ear,' Paran retorted. '

It doesn't make sense. Creatures need to eat, need company-'

'And if the guardian has a master?' Ganath asked.

'This isn't a Hold,' Paran said. 'It has no ruler, no master.'

Karpolan grunted, then said, 'You are sure of this, Ganoes Paran?'

'I am. More or less. This realm is buried, forgotten.'

'It may be, then,' Karpolan mused, 'that someone needs to inform the guardian that such is the case – that its task is no longer relevant.

In other words, we must release it from its geas.'

'Assuming such a guardian exists,' Paran said, 'rather than some chance meeting of two forces, both heading the same way.'