Beneath his hanging robes, the man, or whatever he was, now clearly stood no more than waist-high to Kyle. Taking a few quick steps Traveller lunged ahead to grab the sodden trailing cloth and yank it. It came away revealing a short, hairy, winged, monkey-like creature that spun, hunching and snarling.

Everyone froze, staring.

Surprised, the creature drew itself up and, with an uncanny mimicry of wounded dignity, snatched the robes back from Traveller and marched off. Traveller turned to face everyone, completely astonished. He bent his head back as if entreating some unknown blessing from the sky – patience, perhaps – then rubbed his neck and exhaled loudly. ‘Apologies. It's my fault. An old argument between myself and the one awaiting us. He was always of the opinion that… I took myself too seriously.’

Ahead, the creature had reached the gravel and now struggled to dress itself. The effort degenerated into a battle of life and death between beast and garment. The creature flailed amid the wet folds, hissing and kicking, squalling its rage. Its bullet-head emerged, fangs clenched on a mouthful of the cloth. It mimicked throttling folds in its hairy hands then disappeared again amid the sagging wet mess. Traveller simply walked on past. Everyone followed, stamping the mud from their sandals and boots. Last, Kyle saw the creature pop its head up. Its yellow eyes deep beneath prominent brow ridges blinked their confusion. It scampered ahead dragging its tattered adversary after it.

Cresting the eroded hillock, Kyle saw a plain dotted with abrupt hills, or what resembled hills. Their sides appeared too steep to be natural. Traveller was walking on, heading in the direction of a dark lump in the distance, though just how far away it might be Kyle had no way of judging. Everything seemed strangely distorted here, wherever here was. He jogged up to Stalker. ‘So, where are we?’

The scout was adjusting his studded leather hauberk and kicking mud from his knee-high leather moccasins. He scowled his disgust. ‘Shadow Hold, I'd say.’

‘Shadow Hold? What's that?’

‘That's what we call it where we're from. You could call it the Warren of Shadow, or Meanas, or whatever you like. Take your pick – it don't care a whit.’

Kyle slowed. So, Shadow. The Wanderer, Trickster, Deceiver. A power to avoid, or treat with most carefully, according to the shamans and warlocks of his people. Now they were in its grip. And the swordsman with them claimed to know its master personally – and to have an argument with him. True, so far it did not strike Kyle as particularly menacing. If anything, it struck as, well, disorganized and slightly deranged.

The beast had gained the advantage once again and, throwing the ragged robes over its shoulders, stuck its chest out and marched in a direction slightly askew of their line of advance. Eventually, finding itself off alone, it would squawk and run to gain the front once more, raise its chin and set off resolutely in the wrong direction. All these antics took place under the very nose of Traveller who displayed no outward hint of noticing, though Kyle thought his back increasingly rigid and sword-straight as the journey continued.

The hills proved to be domes constructed of cyclopean stones, ancient, overgrown, some displaying cracks or collapsed sides where the blocks scattered the plain as if having been thrown outwards by some tremendous force.

At one point a sudden cloud of darkness boiled over them as if the unseen sun were obscured even further. Kyle was unnerved to see shadows flickering over the dry dusty ground, even over his arms and legs. It was as if someone were waving tatters of cloth between him and the sun. Just as suddenly the ‘storm’ of shadows swept on. Seeing that no one appeared harmed, he and Jan exchanged uncertain shrugs and continued.

Their goal resolved itself into one of these domes, larger than the rest and with straighter sides. Reaching the open dark portal, the creature scampered in without a backward glance leaving a trail of mud across the threshold. The party halted by mutual unspoken consent. Traveller turned to them, his eyes lingering on that portal. ‘I'll go in. No one else need come. Though I can't forbid anyone from choosing to do so. It's up to you.’

‘I'd rather remain out here. If you don't mind,’ Jan said with something like distaste in his voice. And he sat on a nearby block.

‘Us, too,’ Stalker said. Coots and Badlands gave their curt agreement.

Traveller looked to Kyle.

‘Is it dangerous?’ Kyle asked.

‘Dangerous? Well, if you mean will we be attacked… no, I don't believe so.’

‘All right. I'll come. I mean, we're kind of in already, if I understand things aright.’

Traveller's brows rose, impressed. ‘True enough. I believe so.’ He started to the portal. Kyle followed.

The entrance tunnel was dark, cool and humid. Torchlight flickered ahead. They entered the main chamber, a round domed vault containing shattered stone sarcophagi, the occupants of which lay scattered about the chamber, desiccated limbs askew, clothes dusty dry tatters, teeth gaping in yellow grins. Traveller scanned the chamber and his fists clenched.

‘Enough!’ The eruption of his voice shook the stones and brought down wisps of dust. ‘Was that your wizened monkey face we followed all this way?’

‘Wizened!’

A shadow against the far wall started forward, rising. ‘I'll have you know I am quite well preserved.’

‘No more games – Ammanas.

‘Games? No more games? What, then, to do? All is a game.’

‘Ammanas…’ Traveller ground out.

‘Oh, very well.’ Translucent shadow arms gestured. The chamber blurred, shadows churning, to resolve into a long hall, stone-walled, a roof of sturdy timber crossbeams sunk in gloom, and at the far wall a broad stone fireplace. ‘More to your liking?’

A shrug. ‘Yet another facade, but it will do. And Cotillion?’

‘Here.’ A soft voice spoke from behind Kyle, who spun to see a man in a doorway, unremarkable but for a rope coiled around one shoulder. Traveller bowed shallowly to the man who continued to watch, motionless.

‘And who is this?’ Ammanas asked. Kyle was alarmed to see the figure approach, a walking stick now in one insubstantial hand. Its features resolved into that of an elder, darkly hued, mouth a nest of wrinkles. ‘Kyle,’ he said, his voice faint. Could this be the Deceiver himself? He struck Kyle as dangerous, yes, but also oddly frail, even vulnerable.

‘A companion,’ Traveller said.

‘And why are you here?’

Kyle had no idea how to answer that. Why was he here? Curiosity? Hardly adequate. No – he came simply because Traveller did. Kyle motioned to the swordsman, ‘To accompany Traveller.’

‘Ah yes.’ The figure, no more than a gauzy patchwork of shadows, turned to the man. ‘Such a valuable quality. So… useful it proved.’

Traveller merely snorted his dismissal. ‘Do not speak possessively of that which you never possessed.’

‘That is open to debate.’

‘I did not come here to debate.’

‘Then why did you come?’

‘You brought me here!’

‘I merely invited you – you did not have to come.’

‘Did not-’ Traveller bit the words off, pressing a fist to his lips. He exhaled a great harsh breath, flexing his neck. ‘You have not changed a damned bit. There's still nothing for us to discuss.’ He turned away. ‘Come, Kyle. My apologies. This was a mistake from the beginning.’ He faced the other man, Cotillion, who stood aside, a mocking smile at his thin lips.

‘Come, now,’ Ammanas called out. ‘Let us stop this bickering. You know what I offer.’

Traveller stopped, turned, keeping both Ammanas and Cotillion in view. ‘No, I do not. You haven't made your offer yet.’

The shadow figure's shoulders slumped their exasperation. ‘Really, please! I rather thought my hairy messenger made it all quite plain in his eloquent pantomime… you can never succeed in your goal, my friend. I'm sorry, but there it is.’ The figure shook, giggling. ‘Quite inspired, his display. Emblematic, you might say.’