And, to the west, another slash parting the overcast.

The lurid glow of the sun.

‘So be it,’ he whispered.

Bruthen Trana stepped back as the prostrate Warlock King flinched, Hannan Mosag’s legs drawing up like an insect in death.

A moment later, the warlock’s bloodshot eyes prised open. And seemed to see nothing for a moment. Then they flicked upward. ‘Warrior,’ he said thickly, then grimaced and spat a throatful of phlegm onto the grimy pavestones. ‘Bruthen Trana. K’ar Penath speaks boldly of your loyalty, your honour. You are Tiste Edur-as we all once were. Before-before Rhulad.’ He coughed, then pushed himself into a sitting position, raising his head with obvious effort to glower up at Bruthen Trana. ‘And so, I must send you away.’

‘Warlock King, I serve this empire-’

‘Errant take this damned empire! You serve the Tiste Edur!’

Bruthen Trana regarded the broken creature below, said nothing.

‘I know,’ Hannan Mosag said, ‘you would lead our warriors-through the palace above us. Room by room, cutting down every one of the Chancellor’s pernicious spies. Cutting Rhulad free of the snaring web spun about him-but that fool on his throne could not recognize freedom if it sprouted wings on his shoulders. He will see it as an attack, a rebellion. Listen to me! Leave the Chancellor to us!’

‘And Karos Invictad?’

‘All of them, Bruthen Trana. So I vow before you.’

‘Where do you wish me to go, Warlock King? After Fear Sengar?’

Hannan Mosag started, then shook his head. ‘No. But I

dare not speak the name of the one you must find. Here, in this realm, the Crippled God courses in my veins-where I travelled a few moments ago, I was free then. To understand. To… pray.’

‘How will I know where to look? How will I know when I find the one you seek?’

The Warlock King hesitated. He licked his lips, then said, ‘He is dead. But not dead. Distant, yet is summoned. His tomb lies empty, yet was never occupied. He is never spoken of, though his touch haunts us all again and again.’

Bruthen Trana raised a hand-not surprised to see that it trembled. ‘No more. Where shall I find the beginning of the path?’

‘Where the sun dies. I think.’

The warrior scowled. ‘West? But you are not sure?’

‘I am not. I dare not.’

‘Am I to travel alone?’

‘For you to decide, Bruthen Trana. But before all else, you must get something-an item-from the Letherii slave. Feather Witch-she hides beneath the Old Palace-’

‘I know those tunnels, Warlock King. What is this item?’

Hannan Mosag told him.

He studied the twisted warlock for a moment longer-the avid gleam in Hannan Mosag’s eyes bright as fever-then spun round and strode from the chamber.

Bearing lanterns, the squad of guards formed a pool of lurid yellow light that glimmered along the waters of Quillas Canal as they trudged, amidst clanking weapons and desultory muttering, across the bridge. Once on the other side, the squad turned right to follow the main avenue towards the Creeper district.

As soon as the glow trundled away, Tehol nudged Ublala and they hurried onto the bridge. Glancing back at the half-blood, Tehol scowled, then hissed, ‘Watch me, you fool! See? I’m skulking. No-hunch down, look about suspiciously, skitter this way and that. Duck down, Ublala!’

‘But then I can’t see.’

‘Quiet!’

‘Sorry. Can we get off this bridge?’

‘First, let me see you skulk. Go on, you need to practise.’

Grumbling, Ublala Pung hunched low, his beetled brow rippling as he looked first one way, then the other.

‘Nice,’ Tehol said. ‘Now, hurry up and skulk after me.’

‘All right, Tehol. It’s just that there’s the curfew, and I don’t want trouble.’

They reached the other side and Tehol led the way, thirty paces into the wake of the guards, then an abrupt cut to the left, coming within sight of the Tolls Repository. Into an alley, where he crouched, then gestured frantically for Ublala to do the same.

‘All right,’ he whispered, ‘do you know which wing?’

Ublala blinked in the gloom. ‘What?’

‘Do you know where this Tarthenal is quartered?’

‘Yes. With all the other champions.’

‘Good. Where is that?’

‘Well, it must be somewhere.’

‘Good thinking, Ublala. Now, stay close to me. I am, after all, a master of this thieving skulduggery.’

‘Really? But Bugg said-’

‘What? What did my miserable manservant say? About me? Behind my back?’

Ublala shrugged. ‘Lots of things. I mean, nothing. Oh, you misheard me, Tehol. I didn’t say anything. You’re not a clumsy oaf with a head full of grander delusions, or anything. Like that.’ He brightened. ‘You want me to box him about the ears again?’

‘Later. Here’s what I think. Near the Imperial Barracks, but a wing of the Eternal Domicile. Or between the Eternal Domicile and the Old Palace.’

Ublala was nodding.

‘So,’ Tehol continued, ‘shall we get going?’

‘Where?’

‘Somehow I don’t think this night is going to go well. Never mind, just stay with me.’

A quick peek into the street, up one way, down the other, then Tehol moved out, keeping low against the near wall. As they drew closer to the Eternal Domicile, the shadows diminished-lantern poles at intersections, broader streets, and there soldiers positioned at postern gates, outside corner blockhouses, soldiers, in fact, everywhere.

Tehol tugged Ublala into the last usable alley, where they crouched once more in gloom. ‘This looks bad,’ he whispered. ‘There’s people, Ublala. Well, listen, it was a good try. But we’ve been bested by superior security and that’s that.’

‘They’re all standing in their own light,’ Ublala said. ‘They can’t see nothing, Tehol. Besides, 1 got in mind a diversion.’

‘A diversion like your usual diversions, Ublala? Forget it. Shurq Elalle’s told me about that last time-’

‘Yes, like that. It worked, didn’t it?’

‘But that was to get her inside the Gerrun Estate-her, not you. Aren’t you the one who wants to talk to this champion?’

‘That’s why you’re doing the diversion, Tehol.’

‘Me? Are you mad?’

‘It’s the only way.’

They heard the scuff of boots from the street, then a loud voice: ‘There! Who’s skulking in that alley?’

Ublala flinched down. ‘How did he know?’

‘We better run!’

They bolted, as a spear of lantern-light lanced across the alley mouth; then, pursued by shouting soldiers, the two fugitives reached the far end of the alley.

Where Tehol went left.

And Ublala went right.

Alarms resounded in the night.

The answering of his prayers was nothing like Bruthen Trana had imagined. Not through the grotesque creature that was Hannan Mosag, the Warlock King. The very man who had started the Edur down this path of dissolution. Ambition, greed and betrayal-it was all Bruthen could manage to stand still before Hannan Mosag, rather than strangle the life from the Warlock King.

Yet from that twisted mouth had come… hope. It seemed impossible. Macabre. Mocking Bruthen Trana’s visions of heroic salvation. Rhidad falls-the whole Sengar bloodline obliterated-and then… Hannan Mosag. For his crimes. Honour can be won-1 will see to that.

This is how it must be.

He was not unduly worried over the Letherii. The Chancellor would not live much longer. The palace would be purged. The Patriotists would be crushed, their agents slain, and those poor prisoners whose only crime, as far as he could tell, was to disagree with the practices of the Patriotists-those prisoners, Letherii one and all, could be freed. There was no real sedition at work here. No treason. Karos Invictad used such accusations as if they encompassed a guilt that needed no proof, as if they justified any treatment of the accused he desired. Ironically, in so doing he subverted humanity itself, making him the most profound traitor of all.