The High Priestess rose. ‘Come with me, Witch,’ she said. ‘Just you and me. Come, it’s not far.’

The old woman levered herself upright, confusion in her small eyes.

To a side passage, a narrow corridor of twenty paces, and then down a short flight of stairs, the air still smelling of fresh-chiselled basalt, into a large but low-vaulted octagonal chamber devoid of any furniture, the floor of which was inlaid with onyx tesserae, irregular in shape and size. A journey of but a few moments for most people; yet for the witch it was an ordeal, striking the High Priestess with the poignancy of the old woman’s desperation-that she should so subject herself to such a struggle. The trek from her home through the city to the keep must have been an epic undertaking.

These thoughts battered at the High Priestess’s impatience, and so she weathered the delay saying nothing and without expression on her smooth, round face.

As soon as the witch tottered into the chamber, she gasped.

‘Yes, you are clearly an adept,’ observed the High Priestess. ‘There are nodes of power in this temple. Kurald Galain, the cleansing darkness.’ She could see that the witch was breathing hard and fast, and there was a look of wonder on that sweat-sheathed face, ‘Do not be alarmed at what you feel inside,’ she said, ‘By en-tering here, you have drawn Kurald Galain into your body, in your breaths, through the very pores of your skin. The sorcery is now within you.’

‘B-but… why? Why have you done this to me?’

‘[could sense the labouring of your heart, Witch. Your trek to my temple would have been your last-’

‘Oh, I knew that!’ snapped the witch.

The sudden irritation shocked the High Priestess for a moment. She reassessed this woman tottering before her. ‘I see. Then…’

‘Then yes, I prayed my sacrifice would be worth it. Salind is so precious-what has been done to her is despicable. Is… evil.’

‘Then you have not come in the name of the Redeemer, have you?’

‘No. I came for a friend.’

A friend. ‘Witch, Spinnock Durav is no longer in Black Coral. It grieves me to hear of Seerdomin’s death. And it grieves me more to learn of Salind’s fate. Tell me, what else are you feeling?’

The witch was hunched over, as if in visceral pain. ‘Fine,’ she hissed reluctantly. ‘I can see that there is no risk of the poison spreading. I never thought there was.’

‘I know that,’ said the High Priestess, her voice soft.

‘But I needed to bargain for your help.’

‘That is ever the assumption among you humans. Do you know, when the delegates from the Free Cities came to treat with us, when the Rhivi and the man who pretended to be Prince K’azz D’Avore of the Crimson Guard came to us-they all thought to bargain. To buy our swords, our power. To purchase our alliance. Lord Anomander Rake but lifted one hand-before any of them could even so much as say one beseeching word. And he said this: “We are the Tiste Andii. Do not seek to bargain with us. If you wish our help, you will ask for it. We will say yes or we will say no. There will be no negotiations.”‘

The witch was staring across at her.

The High Priestess sighed. ‘It is not an easy thing for a proud man or woman, to simply ask.’

‘No,’ whispered the witch. ‘It’s not.’

Neither spoke then for a dozen heartbeats, and then the witch slowly straight-ened. ‘What have you done to me?’

‘I expect Kurald Galain has done its assessment. Your aches are gone, yes? Your breathing has eased. Various ailments will disappear in the next few days. You may find your appetite… diminished. Kurald Galain prefers forces in balance.’

The witch’s eyes were wide.

The High Priestess waited.

‘I did not ask for such things.’

‘No. But it did not please me to realize that your journey to my temple would prove fatal.’

‘Oh. Then, thank you.’

The High Priestess frowned. ‘Am I not yet understood?’

‘You arc,’ replied the witch, with another flash of irritation, ‘but I have my own rules, and I will voice my gratitude, whether it pleases you or not.’

That statement earned a faint smile and the High Priestess dipped her head in acknowledgement.

‘Now, then,’ said the witch after yet another brief stretch of silence, ‘I ask that you help Salind.’

‘No.’

The witch’s face darkened.

‘You have come here,’ said the High Priestess, ‘because of a loss of your own faith. Yes, you would have the Temple act on behalf of Salind. It is our assessment that Salind does not yet need our help. Nor, indeed, does the Redeemer.’

‘Your… assessment?’

‘We are,’ said the High Priestess, ‘rather more aware of the situation than you might have believed. If we must act, then we will, if only to preempt Silanah-although, I admit, it is no easy thing attempting to measure out the increments of an Eleint’s forbearance. She could stir at any time, at which point it will be too late.’

‘Too late?’

‘Yes, for Salind, for the usurpers, for the pilgrim camp and all its inhabitants.’

‘High Priestess, who is Silanah? And what is an Eleint?’

‘Oh, I am sorry. That was careless of me. Silanah commands the spire of this keep-she is rather difficult to miss, even in the eternal gloom. On your return to your home, you need but turn and glance back, and up, of course, and you will see her.’ She paused, and then added, ‘Eleint means dragon.’

‘Oh.’

‘Come, let us return to the others. I am sure more tea has been brewed, and we can take some rest there.’

The witch seemed to have run out of commentary, and now followed meekly as the High Priestess strode from the chamber.

The return journey did not take nearly as long.

It should have come as no surprise to Samar Dev when Karsa Orlong rode back into the camp at dusk at the end of the third day since leaving them. Riding in, saying nothing, looking oddly thoughtful.

Unscathed. As if challenging the Hounds of Shadow was no greater risk than, say, herding sheep, or staring down a goat (which, of course, couldn’t be done-but such a detail would hardly stop the Toblakai, would it? And he’d win the wager, too). No, it was clear that the encounter had been a peaceful one-perhaps predicated on the Hounds’ fleeing at high speed, tails between their legs.

Slipping down from Havok’s back, Karsa walked over to where sat Samar Dev beside the dung fire. Traveller had moved off thirty or so paces, as it was his habit to attend to the arrival of dusk in relative solitude.

The Toblakai crouched down. ‘Where is the tea?’ he asked. ‘There isn’t any,’ she said. ‘We’ve run out.’

Karsa nodded towards Traveller. ‘This city he seeks. How far away?’

Samar Dev shrugged. ‘Maybe a week, since we’re going rather slowly.’

‘Yes. I was forced to backtrack to find you.’ He was silent for a moment, looking into the flames, and then he said, ‘He does not seem the reluctant type.’

‘No, you’re right. He doesn’t.’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘Cook something.’

‘I will.’

She rubbed at her face, feeling the scrape of calluses from her hands, and then tugged at the knots in her hair. ‘Since meeting you,’ she said, ‘I have almost forgotten what it is to be clean-oh, Letheras was all right, but we were pretty much in a prison, so it doesn’t really count. No, with you it’s just empty wastelands, blood-soaked sands, the occasional scene of slaughter,’

‘You sought me out, Witch,’ he reminded her.

‘I delivered your horse.’ She snorted. ‘Since you two are so clearly perfect for each other, it was a matter of righting the cosmic balance. I had no choice.’

‘You just want me,’ he said, ‘yet whenever we are together, you do nothing but second-guess everything. Surrender, woman, and you can stop arguing with yourself. It has been a long time since I spilled my seed into a woman, almost as long as since you last felt the heat of a man.’