It opened and the point of a stone sword suddenly hovered in the hollow of her throat.

‘Who is that behind you, witch?’

‘You have a visitor,’ she replied. ‘From… outside.’

Karsa Orlong, naked above the waist, his escaped slave tattoos a crazed web reaching down to his shoulders and chest, withdrew the sword and stepped back.

The stranger pushed Samar Dev to one side and entered the small room.

Whereupon he sank down to his knees, head bowing. ‘Pure one,’ he said, the words like a prayer.

Samar Dev edged in and shut the door behind her, as Karsa Orlong tossed his sword on the cot, then reached down with one hand-and hammered the stranger in the side of the head.

Rocking the man. Blood started from his nostrils and he blinked stupidly up at Karsa.

Who said, ‘There is Toblakai blood in you. Toblakai kneel to no-one.’

Samar Dev crossed her arms and leaned back against the door. ‘First lesson when dealing with Karsa Orlong,’ she murmured. ‘Expect the unexpected.’

The huge man struggled back to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face. He was not as tall as Karsa, but almost as wide. ‘I am Ublala Pung, of the Tarthenal-’

‘Tarthenal.’

Samar Dev said, ‘A mixed-blood remnant of some local Toblakai population. Used to be more in the city-I certainly have not seen any others out in the markets and such. But they’ve virtually vanished, just like most of the other tribes the Letherii subjugated.’

Ublala half turned to glower at her. ‘Not vanished. Defeated. And now those who are left live on islands in the Draconean Sea.’

At the word ‘defeated’, Samar Dev saw Karsa scowl.

Ublala faced the Toblakai once more, then said, with strange awkwardness, ‘Lead us, War Leader.’

Sudden fire in Karsa’s eyes and he met Samar Dev’s gaze. ‘I told you once, witch, that I would lead an army of my kind. It has begun.’

‘They’re not Toblakai-’

‘If but one drop of Toblakai blood burns in their veins, witch, then they are Toblakai.’

‘Decimated by Letherii sorcery-’

A sneer. ‘Letherii sorcery? I care naught.’

Ublala Pung, however, was shaking his head. ‘Even with our greatest shamans, Pure One, we could not defeat it. Why, Arbanat himself-’

This time it was Samar Dev who interrupted. ‘Ublala, I have seen Karsa Orlong push his way through that sorcery.’

The mixed-blood stared at her, mouth agape. ‘Push?’ The word was mostly mouthed, the barest of whispers.

Despite herself, she nodded. ‘I wish I could tell you otherwise, you poor bastard. I wish I could tell you to run away and hide with your kin on those islands, because this one here makes empty promises. Alas, I cannot. He does not make empty promises. Not so far, anyway. Of course,’

she added with a shrug that belied the bitterness she felt, ‘this Edur Emperor will kill him.’

To that, Ublala Pung shook his head.

Denial? Dismay?

Karsa Orlong addressed Ublala: ‘You must leave when this is done, warrior. You must travel to your islands and gather our people, then bring them here. You are now my army. I am Karsa Orlong, Toblakai and Teblor. I am your war leader.’

‘The marks on your face,’ Ublala whispered.

‘What of them?’

‘As shattered as the Tarthenal. As the Toblakai-broken, driven apart. So the oldest legends say-scattered, by ice, by betrayal…’

An icy draught seemed to flow up around Samar Dev, like a cold wave engulfing a rock, and she shivered. Oh, I dislike the sound of that, since it echoes the truth of things. Too clearly.

‘Yet see my face behind it,’ Karsa said. ‘Two truths. What was and what will be. Do you deny this, Ublala of the Tarthenal?’

A mute shake of the head. Then the warrior shot another glance at Samar Dev, before saying, ‘War Leader, I have words. Of… of Rhulad Sengar, the Edur Emperor. Words… of his secret.’

‘Leave us, witch,’ Karsa said.

She started. ‘What? Not a chance-’

‘Leave us or I will instruct my warrior to knock your head together.’

‘Oh, so now it’s idiocy that inspires you?’

‘Samar Dev,’ Karsa said. ‘This warrior has defeated every barrier surrounding this compound. I am not interested in his words. Did you not hear the alarms? He fights as would a Toblakai.’

‘They tried Drowning me too, once,’ Ublala said.

Samar Dev snorted. ‘With him around, it truly is a struggle to remain solemn, never mind dignified. A cure for pomposity, Karsa Orlong-be sure to keep this one at your side.’

‘Go.’

She gestured with sudden contempt. ‘Oh, fine, on with you two, then. Later, Karsa, I will remind you of one thing.’

‘What?’

She opened the door behind her. ‘This oaf couldn’t even find your room.’

Out in the corridor, Samar Dev heard a stirring from one of the guards, then a groan and then, distinctly: ‘What are all those lights?’

Chapter Twelve

The earthy smell of the dung fires preceded the first sighting of the Awl army. Beneath the smudged light of a dull moon, the Atri-Preda and Brohl Handar rode with the scout troop to the base of a ridge, where they dismounted and, leaving one soldier with the horses, set out on foot up the slope.

The summit was almost devoid of grasses, knobs of angular bedrock pushing through where the ceaseless winds had eroded away the scant soil. Dropping down low, the half-dozen Letherii and one Tiste Edur edged up between the outcroppings, filling the spaces in the broken spine of basalt.

Beyond, perhaps a third of a league distant, burned the cookfires of the enemy. A sea of fallen, smouldering stars, spreading out to fill the basin of an entire valley, then up the far slope, defining its contours.

‘How many do you judge?’ Brohl Handar asked the Atri-Preda in a low voice.

Bivatt sighed. ‘Combatants? Maybe ten, eleven thousand. These armies are more like migrations, Overseer. Everyone tags along.’

‘Then where are the herds?’

‘Probably the other side of the far valley.’

‘So tomorrow, we ride to battle.’

‘Yes. And again, I advise that you and your bodyguard remain with the train-’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Brohl Handar cut in, repeating words he had uttered a dozen times in the past three days and nights. ‘There are Edur warriors with you, and they will be used, yes?’

‘If needed, Overseer. But the fight awaiting us looks to be no different from all the others we Letherii have had against these people of the plains. It looks as if Redmask was not able to sway the elders with any new schemes. It’s the old tactics-the ones that fail them time and again.’ She was silent for a moment, then she continued, ‘The valley behind us is called Bast Fulmar. It has some arcane significance for the Awl. That is where we will meet.’

He turned his head and studied her in the gloom. ‘You are content to let them choose the place of battle?’

She snorted. ‘Overseer, if these lands were filled with defiles, canyons, arroyos or impassable rivers-or forests-then indeed I would think carefully about engaging the enemy where they want us to. But not here. Visibility is not in issue-with our mages the Awl cannot hide in any case. There are no difficult avenues of retreat, no blinds. The light tomorrow will be brutal in its simplicity. Awl ferocity anainst Letherii discipline.’

And with this Redmask leading them, they will be fere cious indeed.’

‘Yes. But it will fail in the end.’

‘You are confident, Atri-Preda.’

He caught her smile. ‘Relieved, Overseer. This night, I see only what I have seen a dozen times before. Do not imagine, however, that I am dismissing the enemy. It will be hloody.’ With that she gestured, and the group began withdrawing from the ridgeline.