Kyle attempted to wave the choking fumes from his face. ‘How did I get here?’

A great gust of wind kicked the frail tent and the figure hissed indistinct mouthings under its breath. ‘Never mind that, Kyle. Time is pressing. Your friend is ill. It lies within my power to ease his sufferings. What say you? For a small price I will sooth his misery, calm his nightmares. Do you not wish to see him revive?’

‘Yes, of course – but what price?’

‘Oh, nothing awful, I assure you. Nothing like your blood or your spirit or anything absurd like that. No. However, I am interested in that sword you carry. It has unusual characteristics. You could say I have an interest in uncommon weapons.’ The arms opened in a shrug. ‘There you have it. Nothing unreasonable. Surely you do not value this blade above your friend's health and recovery?’

Kyle blinked to clear his blurring vision, coughed into a fist. ‘No, of course not. But why-’

A wind slammed the tent with a thundering boom, completely flattening one side. The figure pressed both hands against the bulging hides, snarling, ‘No! I am master here! Be gone!’

A woman's voice came cutting through the howling wind then. It rose and fell as if calling from a great distance. Kyle cocked his head, straining to listen. ‘You are not the master here. Chained One,’ the voice seemed to scold. ‘Come, Kyle. Come away.’

Unable to stand, Kyle crawled on his hands and knees towards the entry. ‘You!’ the figure roared. ‘How dare you! There will be retribution! I will remember this!’ Kyle reached the flap, scrabbled under it. ‘Wait! I can tell you what you carry – don't you want to know? Aren't you curious? How you've been betrayed? Used?’

‘Speak not of using others, great deceiver,’ the voice answered.

On his elbows, Kyle pulled himself out from under the hide into the night to find himself before the bare feet of a woman. She stood above him, her pale slim body wrapped in loose gossamer scarves the colour of darkest night that whipped sinuous in the wind. The long veil over her face flicked like a banner and her black hair lashed about her face. She turned and walked away.

‘And you! Speak not of deception^ was the last thing Kyle heard spat from within the tent.

Stumbling, crawling, he followed the woman. Broken wood and tatters of cloth littered the beach; it looked as though a shipwreck had crashed ashore. None of it seemed to obstruct the woman yet Kyle had to pick his way carefully. At one point the wind brought a long-drawn-out mournful howling like that of a hound. The woman's head snapped aside, to the north, and she raised a pale languid hand as if waving something away, then continued on. Kyle joined her far down the strand, the surf licking his sandals. ‘Where am I?’ he gasped.

Back to him, scanning the sea's starry horizon, she said, ‘It is a dream, Kyle. Only a dream. Nothing more.’ She turned her oval, achingly beautiful, veiled face to him. ‘And you are haunted.’

‘By you?’

A teasing smile; a cool hand at his brow. ‘Among others,’ and she gestured down the beach. Kyle squinted – there, through the curtains of blowing sand, a figure, shouting, a hand at his mouth. An old man, one-handed…

‘Stoop! Yes, I see you! What? What is it?’

‘He was banished to Hood's most distant Paths,’ the woman explained. ‘Yet not utterly, for the Vow holds him still in bindings that cannot be broken. And so he is caught between Realms. Cast away yet linked to you.’

‘To me?’

‘Yes. He chose you to speak to – as is the custom among the fallen Avowed. Their “Brethren” I believe they are named.’

Brethren. So, that is who they are.

She extended a naked arm, pointed a long finger out to the expanse of water. ‘And there you are.’

Kyle squinted out to the dark sea. Far out, past the phosphor glow of breakers at a reef, was the pale patch of a sail passing east to west. ‘What? Is that me?’

His vision blurred and he fell to his knees. ‘Sleep now, soldier,’ the Goddess whispered, and he pitched forward into the surf. Water splashed his face.

‘Kyle? Kyle!’ He opened his eyes: Ereko's anxious face loomed above him, his long stringy hair hanging down. The giant shook water from his hand. ‘How are you now, lad?’

Kyle wiped his wet cold face, blinking. ‘Fine, fine. What is it? What happened?’

‘What happened?’ Pain clenched Ereko's brow and looked away. ‘What happened was my fault. I am sorry. It was… more perilous… than I imagined. But it turned out well in the end. My Lady won't thank me for it, though.’

‘Who was that thing?’

‘That was the poison corrupting the Warrens, Kyle, and more. The Outsider. Some call him the Chained God, others the Crippled God, for he, or it, is broken, shattered. His presence here has infected this land.’

‘He seemed… sick.’

‘We are no doubt a sickness to him – for he is from elsewhere. He was brought here unwillingly, and now suffers eternally. Myself, I pity his plight.‘ Ereko took Kyle's arm in his huge hand, his eyes searching. ‘I'm sorry, Kyle. I did not expect such a strong reaction from all involved. But it forced her to act and now all is well. It is Traveller. He's awake, and he's asking for you.’ Ereko handed him a skin of water. Kyle gulped it down then crab-walked hunched to the bow. Traveller sat with the Lost brothers, propped up against the bow, a blanket at his shoulders. His long dark hair was plastered across his brow, hung lank about the blanket. He appeared exhausted but his eyes were sharp and clear. Kyle squatted in front of him.

‘How are you?’ the man asked.

‘How am J? Fine. What about you?’

Traveller looked past him to the stern where Ereko watched. ‘I am fine now as well,‘ he said, his eyes on the Thel Akai. ‘They were just dreams. Bad dreams. I see that now.’ He offered Kyle a hand; Kyle took it and he squeezed. ‘My thanks.’

‘Thanks? For what?’

‘For your patience. Your faith.’

Confused, Kyle shrugged. He moved to leave but Traveller held his hand. ‘We are close now. Very close. Whatever happens do not interfere. This is between Ereko and me. Yes?’

Kyle shrugged again. ‘Certainly.’

‘Thank you.’ He released Kyle's hand.

Still confused, Kyle headed back to his blanket. Stalker had moved to lie there, an arm over his face. ‘Maybe we can all get back to sleep now,’ the man grumbled. Kyle looked to Ereko who winked.

The next morning saw a coast of ruins. Sun-bleached pillars of cyclopean stones stood canted amid dunes. Jetties of stone lay submerged just visible beneath the clear cerulean surface, overgrown by coral and seaweed. Inland, the remains of an immense dome of blindingly white stone hung half collapsed at an angle. Next to Ereko, Kyle peeled one of the local fruits. He looked to the giant who nodded. The Dolmans of Tien. We are close. Close to many things.’

After the ruins of the ancient city they came to where a smooth plain of hard wind-scoured sands met the coast. Here all remains of occupation ended and menhirs, or stone pillars, stood, isolated and distinct. Coming around the headland of a bay Kyle saw that the menhirs continued on in even more numbers, like a forest of stone, for as far as he could see inland. The Dolmans,’ Ereko said. He swung the tiller for the shore.

‘And K'azz?’

‘From what you have told me I imagine he must be imprisoned within one of these.’

Kyle stared. Imprisoned within one of these? ‘But there's thousands of them!’

‘Yes.’

‘How will we even know where to begin?’

Ereko tapped Kyle as lightly as he could on the back, rocking him. ‘Do not despair, lad, we'll know.’

A collection of ramshackle huts occupied the beach whose ragged inhabitants stood staring, too beaten down or famished even to run. Jumping ashore, Traveller adjusted his hauberk beneath his salt-stained leathers, drew the mottled magenta blade a hand's breadth from its black wooden sheath and slammed it home. Before the man turned away Kyle glimpsed a clenched ache on his features that made him wince. Having secured the Kite, Ereko tried speaking with a few of the cringing fisher-folk but quickly abandoned the effort.