'Three sorceror kings,' Destriant Run'thurvian said, 'rule ShalMorzinn. They will contest our passage, Adjunct Tavore Paran, and this cannot be permitted.'

'We would seek to negotiate,' the Adjunct said. 'Indeed, to purchase supplies from them. Why would they oppose this?'

'Because it pleases them to do so.'

'And they are formidable?'

'Formidable? It may well prove,' the Destriant said, 'that even with the assistance of your sorcerors, including your High Mage here, we will suffer severe, perhaps devastating losses should we clash with them. Losses sufficient to drive us back, even to destroy us utterly.'

The Adjunct frowned across at Admiral Nok, then at Quick Ben.

The latter shrugged. 'I don't even know who they are and I hate them already.'

Keneb grunted. Some High Mage.

'What, Destriant Run'thurvian, do you suggest?'

'We have prepared for this, Adjunct, and with the assistance of your sorcerors, we believe we can succeed in our intention.'

'A gate,' Quick Ben said.

'Yes. The Realm of Fanderay and Togg possesses seas. Harsh, fierce seas, but navigable nonetheless. It would not be wise to extend our journey in that realm overlong – the risks are too vast – but I believe we can survive them long enough to, upon re-emerging, find ourselves off the Dal Honese Horn of Quon Tali.'

'How long will that take?' Admiral Nok asked.

'Days instead of months, sir,' the Destriant replied.

'Risks, you said,' Keneb ventured. 'What kind of risks?'

'Natural forces, Fist. Storms, submerged ice; in that realm the sea levels have plunged, for ice grips many lands. It is a world caught in the midst of catastrophic changes. Even so, the season we shall enter is the least violent – in that, we are most fortunate.'

Quick Ben snorted. 'Forgive me, Destriant, but I sense nothing fortuitous in all this. We have some savanna spirit driving us along with these winds, as if every moment gained is somehow crucial. A savannah spirit, for Hood's sake. And now, you've worked a ritual to fashion an enormous gate on the seas. That ritual must have been begun months ago-'

'Two years, High Mage.'

'Two years! You said you were waiting for us – you knew we were coming – two years ago? Just how many spirits and gods are pushing us around here?'

The Destriant said nothing, folding his hands together before him on the map-table.

'Two years,' Quick Ben muttered.

'From you, High Mage, we require raw power – taxing, yes, but not so arduous as to leave you damaged.'

'Oh, that's nice.'

'High Mage,' the Adjunct said, 'you will make yourself available to the Grey Helms.'

He sighed, then nodded.

'How soon, Destriant?' Admiral Nok asked. 'And how shall we align the fleet?'

'Three ships across at the most, two cables apart, no more – the span of a shortbow arrow's flight between each. I suggest you begin readying your fleet immediately, sir. The gate shall be opened at dawn tomorrow.'

Nok rose. 'Then I must take my leave. Adjunct.'

Keneb studied Quick Ben on the other side of the table. The High Mage looked miserable.

Kalam waited until Quick Ben emerged onto the mid deck, then made his way over. 'What's got you shaking in your boots?' he asked.

'Never mind. If you're here to badger me about something – anything – I'm not in the mood.'

'I just had a question,' the assassin said, 'but I need to ask it in private.'

'Our hole in the knuckle below.'

'Good idea.'

A short time later they crouched once more in the narrow unlit aisle between crates and bales. 'It's this,' Kalam said, dispensing with any small talk. 'The Adjunct.'

'What about her?'

'I'm nervous.'

'Oh, how sad for you. Take it from me, it beats being scared witless, Kalam.'

'The Adjunct.'

'What is that? A question?'

'I need to know, Quick. Are you with her?'

'With her? In what? In bed? No. T'amber would kill me. Now, maybe if she decided to join in it'd be a different matter-'

'What in Hood's name are you going on about, Quick?'

'Sorry. With her, you asked.' He paused, rubbed at his face. 'Things are going to get ugly.'

'I know that! That's why I'm asking, idiot!'

'Calm down. No reason to panic-'

'Isn't there?'

Quick Ben shifted from rubbing his face to scratching it, then he pulled his hands away and blinked tearily at the assassin. 'Look what' s happening to me, and it's all your damned fault-'

'Mine?'

'Well, it's somebody's, is what I'm saying. You're here so it might as well be you, Kal.'

'Fine, have it that way. You haven't answered me yet.'

'Are you?' the wizard countered.

'With her? I don't know. That's the problem.'

'Me neither. I don't know. She's a hard one to like, almost as hard to hate, since if you look back, there's nothing really to do either with, right?'

'You're starting to not make sense, Quick.'

'So what?'

'So you don't know, and I don't know. I don't know about you,' Kalam said, 'but I hate not knowing. I even hate you not knowing.'

'That's because, back then, Laseen talked you onto her side. You went to kill her, remember? And she turned you round. But now you're here, with the Adjunct, and we're on our way back, to her. And you don't know if anything's changed, or if it's all changed. It was one thing standing with Whiskeyjack. Even Dujek. We knew them. But the Adjunct… well… things aren't so simple.'

'Thank you, Quick, for reiterating everything I've just been telling you.'

'My pleasure. Now, are we done here?'

'Sorry, in need of changing your loincloth again, are you?'

'You have no idea what we're about to do, Kal. What I suggest is, come tomorrow morning, you head back down here, close your eyes and wait.

Wait, and wait. Don't move. Or try not to. You might get tossed round a bit, and maybe these bales will come down on you. In fact, you might end up getting crushed like a gnat, so better you stay up top. Eyes closed, though. Closed until I say otherwise.'

'I don't believe you.'

The High Mage scowled. 'All right. Maybe I was trying to scare you.

It'll be rough, though. That much is true. And over on the Silanda, Fiddler will be heaving his guts out.'

Kalam, thinking on it, suddenly smiled. 'That cheers me up.'

'Me too.'

Like a tidal flow clashing at the mouth of a raging river, walls of water rose in white, churning explosions on all sides as the Silanda lunged, prow plunging, into the maelstrom of the massive gate. Beyond was a sky transformed, steel, silver and grey, the tumult of atmospheric convulsions seeming to tumble down, as if but moments from crushing the score of ships already through. The scale to Bottle's eyes was all wrong. Moments earlier their warship had been but a cable behind the Froth Wolf, and now the Adjunct's flagship was a third of a league distant, dwarfed by the looming clouds and heaving swells.

Huddled beside Bottle, hands gripping the rail, Fiddler spat out the last of his breakfast, too sick to curse, too miserable to even so much as look upWhich was likely a good thing, Bottle decided, as he listened to other marines being sick all around him, and the shouts – close to panic – from the scrambling sailors on the transport wallowing in their wake.

Gesler began blasting on that damned whistle as the ship rose above a huge swell – and Bottle almost cried out to see the stern of the Froth Wolf rearing immediately in front of them. Twisting round, he looked back, to see the sorcerous gate far away, its raging mouth filled with ships – that worked clear, then plunged, suddenly close, behind the Silanda.

By the Abyss! We're damned near flying here!

He could see, to starboard, a mass of icebergs spilling out from the white-lined horizon – a wall of ice, he realized. Whilst to port rose a wind-battered coastline, thrashing deciduous trees – oak, arbutus – and here and there clumps of white pine, their tall trunks rocking back and forth with every savage gust. Between the fleet and that shore, there were seals, their heads dotting the waves, the rocky beaches crowded with the beasts.