Then, thank Soliel!, breath, sweet clean air. Rillish sucked great lungfuls deep into his chest. ‘Where is he?’ he gasped as soon as he could manage, righting himself in his saddle.

‘Gone, sir. Rode off.’

‘Well-get him!’

‘Where?’ asked Chord.

Cursing, Rillish sawed his mount around and kneed it into motion. ‘South, of course!’

‘Sir! Wait!’

But Rillish could not wait. Only he was mounted. Only he stood any chance of catching the man. Storming through the modest hamlet he left it behind almost immediately and entered the unrelieved darkness of an overcast night. Empty flat fields lined the way in monochrome pewter, interrupted occasionally by black lines of low stone walls and the darkness of small copses. His leg screamed its pain at him, making him squirm in his saddle. A cool mist, the beginnings of rain, chilled his face and neck. Where he imagined he should have caught up with the fellow his mount balked at the road ahead, almost throwing him over its neck. He grunted the agony of using his legs to rescue his seating. When he'd recovered a mounted rider blocked the way. Rillish reached for one sword but found an empty sheath only. Damn! He drew the left.

‘Wrong rider,’ called the figure in a young woman's familiar voice. Rillish peered into the gloom. ‘Nether?’

‘Come. We must hurry.’

Rillish kneed his mount forward, clenching his teeth. ‘How did you…’ But of course – the Warrens. He sheathed the sword.

‘He's good, this one. Eluded us all night but betrayed himself at your roadblock.’

‘He is headed south?’

Nether tossed her wild black hair, hacked unevenly to a medium length and damp with sweat. ‘You could ride all the way to Fist and not meet him. He's taken to the Warrens but I have his scent – come!’ Her mount lunged away at a gallop.

Cursing, Rillish struggled to urge his sweating horse onward. ‘C'mon, boy. That's a handsome mare she's riding. C'mon.’

Either she reined in to wait for him or he had coaxed renewed vigour from his mount but he gained upon her and they raced single file. She glanced back, grinning the pleasure of a daughter of the steppes who had ridden before walking. ‘Hold on, Malazan!’

Not knowing what to expect Rillish flinched and thereby missed the transition. When he opened his eyes the fields were gone as was the road and the low rain clouds. Instead, his mount's hooves sank noiselessly into deep moss and rotting humus while all around squat trees loomed from a shadowed silver night. Nether pulled up savagely.

‘The arrogant fool! He has no idea the risks he runs here!’

‘Where is here?’ Rillish's mount shuddered beneath him, muscles flinching in exhaustion, and perhaps in fear.

‘Shadow. Meneas and Mockra skeined together I sensed in his weavings. Now we have proof. But illusion will not save him from this,’ and she waved to the forest.

Rillish slipped a hand to the grip of his remaining weapon. ‘What is it?’

She regarded him closely. The flat light of shadow cast her face into sharp planes of light and dark. Gods, she looked to Rillish like the ground-down mother of nine who had seen most of those into the dirt. Yet she was young enough to be his daughter. Child, life has been so unfair to you. She asked, ‘What do you know of the houses of the Azath?’

He shrugged. ‘Some. Stories, legends.’

‘They capture any foolish enough to enter their grounds. Sometimes with vines or trees.’ She gestured to the forest. ‘As those trees are to the Azath, so is this forest to Shadow. None who enter escape…’ Cocking her head she raised a hand to forestall any comment. ‘And this raises a disturbing question – what could be so difficult, or important, to imprison that an entire forest is required?’

Rillish stared at the girl, or rather young woman. Damn these mages and their unfathomable academic minds. He waved the question aside. ‘He's getting away.’

‘Is he?’ And she smiled again. ‘I do not ask that you accompany me, but will you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then stay close – as your saboteurs say, things are about to get hairy.’ She kneed her mount forward. Rillish followed, gasping as he too kneed his mount. What trail Nether followed he had no idea – some sort of magical wake of warren manipulation perhaps. In any case, she did not hesitate, leaping fallen rotting logs, dodging trunks and ducking low branches. Rillish struggled to keep up. Glancing ahead, it seemed to him that the thick leafless branches were becoming more numerous, were perhaps even swinging into their path. Now, a yellow glow spread out ahead of Nether, almost like ripples, which pushed back against the branches while she and he slipped through. Then, in the distance, Rillish heard a sound that raised the hairs of his neck and forearms: the angry baying of a hound. Nether's head snapped around, and though her face was no more than a pale oval, Rillish thought he saw fear in the witch's eyes.

Roots now writhed through the moss and heaps of steaming fallen leaves. Nether's mount stumbled, legs stamping, snorting its alarm. Pulling up, she pointed. ‘There! His horse was taken. He is afoot.’ She urged her mount onward but it baulked, dancing aside. ‘What?’

A yell of outrage reached them from ahead, then the ground erupted, sending their mounts rearing. Rillish shielded his face from a driven spray of dirt and smoke. Blinking, arm raised over his eyes, he made out Nether standing tall in her saddle, peering ahead. ‘What was that!’ he yelled through the roaring in his ears.

‘I thought I saw…’

Bellowing as loud as a bull's snapped their heads around. Something huge thrashed in the forest back along their trail. Wood cracked sounding like explosions. He and Nether shared a grin of terrified amusement – the forest, it seemed, wasn't too particular. ‘We have to go!’

Nether was nodding, but her gaze was captured by what lay ahead. ‘He has escaped again. But I believe I know…’ She snapped a gesture and the surroundings wavered, lightening to a grey dusk. At that instant her mount shrieked a death-cry.

The transition felt like the worst hangover Rillish had ever experienced. He held his blazing forehead, blinked away tears. As his eyes refocused, he found he was still mounted, but Nether lay on the ground at his horse's hooves, her mount splayed dead in a pool of its own viscera. Half the animal had not made the shift. ‘Nether!’

An arm wrapped around her side, she pointed, snarling, ‘Get him!’

Rillish kicked his mount into motion. He had a blurred impression of a dirt plain scattered with boulders, a flat dull sky, then his mount carried him over the lip of a ridge to slide dancing and side-stepping down a long scree slope to a narrow, dry valley floor. Coughing, he waved at the dust cloud while dirt and rocks skittered down around him. Nearby, someone else was coughing.

As the dust thinned Rillish saw Dol lying among the rocks, both hands clenching the empty rags of one trouser leg. He was looking up at him, anger and a touch of bitter amusement twisting his face. ‘Damned trees took my leg,’ he said, his teeth flashing behind his beard. Rillish allowed himself to relax, massaged his thigh.

‘You know,’ Dol said conversationally, ‘in the songs, the hero jumps from Warren to Warren always landing on his feet. He never appears on a Hood-be-damned hillside and falls on his arse.’

Rillish nodded his tired agreement. ‘I don't think the minstrels have been there.’

A fierce grin of suppressed agony, then the man squinted up at him. ‘The Keth family, right? Rillish?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gone over to the barbarians, hey?’

‘Let's say I disagree with the Empress's policies.’

Dol stared, then laughed ending with a snarl of pain. ‘The Empress? Oh yes, her’

Rillish eyed the man uncertainly and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question when the man glanced aside and gaped his surprise. Someone else was walking up, picking his way between the rocks of the valley: slim, wild grey hair, the tattered rags of what once must have been expensive finery hanging from him. ‘What in Hood's paths is that?' Dol said, speaking Rillish's own thoughts.