They emerged at twice the height of a man above the sandy beach, plummet-ing downward to thump heavily in a tangle of limbs.

Shouts from the others-

As the undead dragon tore through the rent with a piercing cry of triumph, head, neck, forelimbs and shoulders, then one wing cracked out, spreading wide in an enormous torn sail shedding dirt. The second wing whipped into view-

Master Quell was screaming, weaving frantic words of power, panic driving his voice ever higher.

The monstrosity shivered out like an unholy birth, lunged skyward above the island. Stones rained down in clouds. As the tattered tip of its long tail slithered free, the rent snapped shut.

Lying half in the water, half on hard-packed sand, Gruntle stared up as the creature winged away, still shedding dust.

Shareholder Faint arrived, falling to her knees beside them. She was glaring at Master Quell who was slowly sitting up, a stunned look on his face.

‘You damned fool,’ she snarled, ‘why didn’t you throw a damned harness on that thing? We just lost our way off this damned island!’

Gruntle stared at her. Insane. They are all insane.

There was a tension in his stance that she had not seen before. He faced east, across the vast sweeping landscape of the Dwelling Plain. Samar Dev gave the tea another stir then hooked the pot off the coals and set it to one side. She shot Karsa Orlong a look, but the Toblakai was busy retying the leather strings of one of his moccasins, aided in some mysterious way by his tongue which had curled into view from the corner of his mouth-the gesture was so childlike she wondered if he wasn’t mocking her, aware as always that she was studying him.

Havok cantered into view from a nearby basin, his dawn hunt at an end, The other horses shifted nervously as the huge beast drew closer with head held high as if to show off the blood glistening on his muzzle.

‘We need to find water today,’ Samar Dev said, pouring out the tea.

‘So we will,’ Karsa replied, standing now to test the tightness of the moccasin. Then he reached beneath his trousers to make some adjustments.

‘Reminding yourself it’s there?’ she asked. ‘Here’s your tea. Don’t gulp.’

He took the cup from her. ‘I know it’s there,’ he said. ‘I was just reminding you.’

‘Hood’s breath,’ she said, and then stopped as Traveller seemed to flinch.

He turned to face them, his eyes clouded, far away. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Spitting something out.’

Samar Dev frowned. ‘Yes what?’

His gaze cleared, flitted briefly to her and then away again. ‘Something is hap-pening,’ he said, walking over to pick up the tin cup. He looked down into the brew for a moment, then sipped.

‘Something is always happening,’ Karsa said easily. ‘It’s why misery gets no rest. ‘The witch says we need water-we can follow yon valley, at least for a time, since it wends northerly.’

‘The river that made it has been dead ten thousand years, Toblakai. But yes, the direction suits us well enough.’

‘The valley remembers.’

Samar Dev scowled at Karsa. The warrior was getting more cryptic by the day, as if he was being overtaken by something of this land’s ambivalence. For the Dwelling Plain was ill named. Vast stretches of… nothing. Animal tracks but no animals. The only birds in the sky were those vultures that daily tracked them, wheeling specks of patience. Yet Havok had found prey…

The Dwelling Plain was a living secret, its language obscure and wont to drift like waves of heat. Even Traveller seemed uneasy with this place.

She drained the last of her tea and rose. ‘I believe this land was cursed once, long ago.’

‘Curses are immortal,’ said Karsa in a dismissive grunt.

‘Will you stop that?’

‘What? I am telling you what I sense. The curse does not die. It persists.’

Traveller said, ‘I do not think it was a curse. What we are feeling is the land’s memory.’

‘A grim memory, then.’

‘Yes, Samar Dev,’ agreed Traveller. ‘Here, life comes to fail. Beasts too few to breed. Outcasts from villages and cities. Even the caravan tracks seem to wander half lost-none are used with any consistency, because the sources of water are infrequent, elusive.’

‘Or they want to keep bandits guessing.’

‘I have seen no old camps,’ Traveller pointed out. ‘There are no bandits here, I think.’

‘We need to find water.’

‘So you said,’ Karsa said, with an infuriating grin.

‘Why not clean up the breakfast leavings, Toblakai. Astonish me by being use-ful.’ She walked over to her horse, collecting the saddle on the way. She could draw a dagger, she could let slip some of her lifeblood, could reach down into this dry earth and see what was there to be seen. Or she could keep her back turned, her self closed in. The two notions warred with each other. Curiosity and trepi-dation.

She swung the saddle on to the horse’s broad back, adjusted the girth straps and then waited for the animal to release its held breath. Nothing likes to be bound. Not the living, perhaps not the dead. Once, she might have asked Karsa about that, if only to confirm what she already knew-but he had divested him-self of that mass of souls trailing in his wake. Somehow, the day he killed the Em-peror. Oh, two remained, there in that horrid sword of his.

And perhaps that was what was different about him, she realized. Liberation. But then, has he not already begun collecting more? She cinched the strap then half turned to regard the giant warrior, who was using sand to scrub the black-ened pan on which she’d cooked knee-root, challenging the pernicious crust with a belligerent scowl. No, she could sense nothing-not as drawn in as she’d made herself. Thus, sensing nothing didn’t mean anything, did it? Perhaps he had grown at ease with those victims dragged behind him everywhere he went.

A man like that should not smile. Should never smile, or laugh. He should be haunted.

But he was too damned arrogant to suffer haunting, a detail that invariably ir-ritated her, even as she was drawn to it (and was that not irritating in itself?).

‘You chew on him,’ said Traveller, who had come unseen to her side and now spoke quietly, ’as a jackal does an antler. Not out of hunger so much as habit. He is not as complicated as you think, Samar Dev.’

‘Oh yes he is. More so, in fact.’

The man grimaced as he set about saddling his own horse. ‘A child dragged into the adult world, but no strength was lost. No weakening of purpose. He re-mains young enough,’ Traveller said, ‘to still be certain. Of his vision, of his be-liefs, of the way he thinks the world works.’

‘Oh, so precisely when will the world get round to kicking him good and hard between the legs?’

‘For some, it never does.’

She eyed him. ‘You are saying it does no good to rail against injustice.’

‘I am saying do not expect justice, Samar Dev. Not in this world. And not in the one to come.’

‘Then what drives you so, Traveller? What forces your every step, ever closer to whatever destiny waits for you?’

He was some time in answering, although she did not deceive herself into thinking that her words had struck something vulnerable. These men here with her, they were armoured in every way. He cinched the girth straps and dropped the sturrups. ‘We have an escort, Samar Dev.’

‘We do? The vultures?’

‘Well, yes, there are those, too. Great Ravens.’

At that she squinted skyward. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, but I was speaking of another escort.’

‘Oh, then who? And why doesn’t it show itself?’

Traveller swung himself astride his horse and gathered the reins. Karsa had completed packing the camp gear and was now bridling Havok. ‘I have no an-swers to those questions, Samar Dev. I do not presume to know the minds of Hounds of Shadow.’

She saw Karsa Orlong glance over at that, but there was nothing revealed in his expression beyond simple curiosity.