The bizarre figure closed on Dol to peer down with an antic grin that seemed about to break into laughter. Dol gaped up doubtfully at him. Rillish clasped his sword grip. ‘Who-’

A foot lashed out, taking Dol in the throat. The mage's blood-splashed hands leapt from the ruins of his thigh to his neck. His eyes bulged his disbelief.

‘Damn you!’ Rillish drew, but his numb leg couldn't restore his balance and he slid sideways off his horse. He lay on his back like an upturned turtle, his leg twisted in the stirrup.

The man came around the horse. He rubbed a hand over the animal's quivering sweaty flanks and studied it with open approval. ‘Falling off your horse like that… was that some sort of fiendishly cunning manoeuvre meant to confuse me?’ Rillish had no idea what to say or do; his leg was useless and he lay helpless before this insane murderous beggar.

‘No, I just fell off my horse.’

A barked laugh. ‘I like you,’ a sudden frown, ‘a pity.’

Closer now, the man's wild filthy hair was perhaps very light beneath the dirt and the hue of his flesh underneath the caked grime was quite dark. Rillish wondered if the fellow were part Napan. But the eyes were wrong; the eyes were… almost inhuman. ‘Who are you?’

The quick rictus of a smile, gone just as suddenly as it appeared. ‘A lie. A lost letter. A message whispered to the wind. A dart tossed into a cyclone.’

A madman. Rillish wet his lips. ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing you-’ the man stopped himself, glanced up the valley slope. His brows rose. ‘Not who I was expecting,’ he said. He may not even have been aware he was speaking aloud. ‘No, not yet, I think.’ He backed away, pointed to Rillish. The Lady is with you today. Do not imagine she will be tomorrow.’

‘Who…?’ But the harlequin figure disappeared among the boulders.

Moments later Nether came hobbling around the horse, still clenching her side. She nodded to Rillish then returned her stare to where the apparition had gone. ‘You saw him?’ he demanded, as if doubting his own sanity.

‘Yes. You spoke with him?’

‘Yes – you know who he is?’

A long slow affirmation. ‘Oh yes. And I will tell you in all honesty, Jal Keth. I seriously debated whether or not to come down here.’

‘Well, who i5 he?’

A shake of the head. ‘No. It is safer for you not to know – for now. Someone who was supposed to be out of the game.’

Rillish allowed himself to lie limp on the ground. ‘Gods, woman! Well, at least help me up.’

‘Who, me?’ Together, each aiding the other, with much trial and error, they mounted with Nether behind holding Rillish steady. She nickered to start his mount walking; it picked a path between the boulders.

‘Just where in all the Realms are we anyway?’ Rillish asked.

‘The Imperial Warren.’

‘Oh. I thought no one was supposed to come here any more.’

‘That's right.’

‘Did we perhaps just meet the reason behind that prohibition?’

She whispered in his ear, ‘How could we when we've never been here?’

While Nether gently weaved their transition from the Warren Rillish tried to fight his sudden keen awareness of the warmth of the young warlock's embrace. It did not help later that night, close to dawn, as Nether and he and their exhausted mount were walking the road north through a cold drizzle, when soldiers straightened from hedgerows alongside the road and Rillish pulled up suddenly to see Talia watching him from over the stock of a levelled crossbow. She did lower the weapon, but the look she gave him there on the horse in Nether's arms was a caution for when they next met.

To Kyle the coast of this land seemed to consist of nothing more than league after league of empty sand beaches leading up to dense jungle. Ereko skilfully wove the Kite through gaps in reefs as they skirted north-west. White and black seabirds hovered and dived in their wake. Peering over the gunwale was like staring down from a great height – undersea mountains of coral passed majestically beneath them. The sun glared with a ferocity Kyle had never known. It seemed to bake the top of his head. The brothers had used leather strips to tie rags over their heads and Stalker had even removed his armour and now sat in his leathers, a sash around his head and face like a scarf. Only Traveller and Ereko seemed unmoved by the oppressive heat. Kyle itched with sweat and rashes seemed to be creeping over his entire body.

‘Won't we land now?’ he asked Ereko yet again, rubbing a finger over his cracked lips. ‘We're low on water.’ Blood smeared his fingers.

‘This is a dangerous land, Kyle,’ the Thel Akai giant answered, as patiently as the first time Kyle had asked. ‘We have to be careful.’

Careful! Kyle almost pointed to the bow where Traveller reclined in the shade of a sailcloth. With an obvious master swordsman like him on board? And you, a giant nearly twice the height of a man? And these three veterans from Assail who quit the Crimson Guard because they found it boring? Gods and Spirits, what kind of a land was this?

Still, they did not pull in – even when the last of the water was shaken from the last keg. The afternoon golden light faded to the red sunsets that came with disorienting suddenness. He almost asked again why Ereko made no effort at landing and would they simply career along like this until they all died of exposure when he realized that no one else was asking. Everyone else, even fiercely independent Stalker, seemed content to defer to the giant's experience. Clenching his teeth, Kyle sat back against the warm, damp and now mouldy planking of the Kite.

As the evening deepened Kyle dozed in the deadening heat and humidity. A grunt from one of the Lost brothers woke him. Everyone was staring ahead. Kyle sat up straighten Distant torches lit the edge of a long low spit of sand. Behind the torches stood a large tent, the thin cloth of its sides billowing lightly in the weak night wind. Ereko turned the bow to shore.

Traveller stood, rearranged the simple padded mail hauberk he wore beneath his dark leathers, and belted his long, slim black-hilted sword at his side. Kyle found he could not take his eyes from that weapon. As the bow scraped up into sand Traveller leapt down into the wash to steady the vessel. Stalker and the brothers joined him. They pulled the Kite as far up the strand as they could. Kyle belted on his own tulwar and jumped into the wet sand. Ereko stepped down unarmed. When his feet touched ground the giant stood still for a time, head lowered. Kyle thought he heard him whispering something that may have been a prayer. Straightening, his usually smiling lips were set, his brow lined. He had the air of a man facing a trial. Traveller led the way to the tent.

As they neared, a man stepped from the open flap. He was a large fellow, tall and well-padded in fat. The torchlight glimmered on his bright silk robes and his round head was shaved. His flesh held the hue of oiled ironwood. He bowed. ‘Welcome to you all,’ he said in accented Talian. ‘Welcome to the lands you call Jacuruku.’

Within, carpets covered the sand. Lamps on tall iron tripods lit the large interior. Pillows lay scattered, as were silver platters containing covered bowls, cups and carafes. Traveller eased himself down to sit cross-legged. Their host sat opposite. Stalker, Coots and Badlands sat together uneasily, glancing about. The tent was tall enough to accommodate Ereko who sat near the entrance. Kyle sat with him.

‘Greetings all,’ their host continued. ‘Please… eat, drink. My name is Jhest Golanjar. How it is I know your language you are wondering. That is simplicity. It is the language spoken by an invading army that conquered a neighbouring kingdom decades ago. They rule as a caste of warrior-aristocrats who enforce their will with sword and magery. All in the name of that kingdom's ancient Goddess – the Queen Ardata. Know you them?’