Kyle had decided that he really ought not be where he was. Traveller, however, blocked the exit. Since he was stuck, then, he decided he ought to be useful and guard the man's flank. He rested his hand on the grip of his tulwar and found the sword surprisingly warm – hot, almost. He yanked his hand away, alarmed.

‘And your offer?’ Traveller ground out.

‘My offer?’ Ammanas fairly squawked. ‘Gods! Need I spell it out?’

‘From you? Yes. Exactly so.’

The god – yes, the god of deceivers, Kyle reminded himself – hissed a string of curses beneath a breath, drew himself up as tall as he could manage – a height yet far below even that of Kyle, who was considered squat – and swished his walking stick back and forth through the air, mimicking swordplay. ‘You strike at shadows. You chase ghosts. Yet always your quarry eludes you… Well, I know something of shadows and eluding. I can help you along, old friend. A nudge here; a hint there. What say you?’

‘And the price?’

The walking stick set down with a tap. Translucent hands rested upon its silver hound's head grip. ‘A mere service. That is all. One small service.’

Traveller was silent for a time, his gaze steady upon the wavering transparent figure. Kyle's sword had become intolerably hot. He pulled it away by stretching his belt. Yet instead of alarm what he felt was embarrassment – how dare he interrupt such talk so far above his ken with a complaint about his weapon?

‘I will agree, Ammanas, provided you agree to a condition.’

The shadow figure hunched, almost wincing. ‘A condition! What's this of conditions? I ask no conditions of you! One does not raise a finger to the one you seek and insist upon conditions!’

‘Hear me out. Don't fly to the winds.’ A harsh laugh sounded from Cotillion at that. The figure turned a dark glare upon the man. ‘What is it?’

‘Two requests.’

‘Two! Two!’

‘Hear him out,’ Cotillion said wearily.

‘I'm handling these negotiations.’

‘Is that what you call this?’

The figure wavered closer to Cotillion. ‘Don't-’ Though appearing to float, Ammanas seemed to suddenly trip, stumbling. ‘What?’ He poked with his walking stick and came up with limp folds of muddy torn robes. ‘What is this mess? Look at it! Mud all over the floor! Who is going to clean this up? Where is he! I'll skin the rat.‘ He shot a finger into the air. ‘Wait!’ The finger lowered to point to Kyle. ‘What are you doing?’

Kyle could not help but back away. ‘Nothing. Nothing! It's just my sword. Something's-’

‘Cotillion! I sense an emergence!’

A hiss accompanied Cotillion's coiled rope seeming to come to life of it own accord. It leapt to twist around the sheathed weapon at Kyle's side. A flick and Kyle's belt snapped, the tulwar flying loose. A coil then snapped around his neck, tightening. Traveller motioned and the rope parted, snipped cleanly in two. Cotillion and Traveller faced one another, Cotillion spinning his foreshortened length of rope, Traveller with his sword held in a two-handed grip above his head, point down. Kyle yanked the now limp coil of rope from his neck and gasped in a breath.

‘Halt!’ Ammanas bellowed. Surprisingly, both men obeyed the Deceiver, edging back into guard positions. He raised a finger it to where the tulwar had fallen. ‘An uninvited guest.’

The sheathed weapon had fallen in a tangle of Kyle's leather belt. Smoke now climbed from the equipment, then flames as the wood and leather burst into fire. Incredibly, molten iron poured out over the stones, bubbling and hissing. It steamed like boiling water. The clouds became biting, forcing Kyle to cover his eyes and nose. Even Traveller, at Kyle's side, was batting an arm through the mixed steam and smoke.

As the smoke dispersed Kyle caught sight of a tall shape hunched where the sword had fallen. The figure slowly straightened, climbing taller and taller, stretched out his long arms. A bunched mane of white hair fell down his back. He was barefoot in loose trousers and a long loose shirt.

When the newcomer turned, Kyle was astounded to see the Archmagus of the Spur. It was he! The Wind King! Closer now, Kyle was certain that he must also be the figure from his dreams.

Ammanas, Cotillion and Traveller all edged together to face the intruder and Kyle almost laughed to see them shrinking from the entity. His second thought was: all that is Holy! Who was this being? Ammanas eventually slid forward, planted his walking stick. ‘Osserc! You are trespassing upon my demesnes!’

So! It was he! Sky father of his people. Alive after all! Known to these – an Ascendant?

The blunt, almost brutal features of the being did not even register recognition that anyone had spoken. His gold eyes scanned the room, avid. A smile of satisfaction tightened his heavy lips. ‘After so long…’ he rumbled in accented Talian.

‘You must go! You are not permitted here!’

Kyle's stomach clenched in dread upon seeing Cotillion and Traveller, flanking Ammanas, exchange narrowed glances. The doorway was now unoccupied but Kyle did not move. He longed to approach yet dared not interrupt. From the distance, muted by the walls of the ruin, or building, or whatever sort of construct it was, came the long and low baying of hounds. Ammanas straightened to rest his hands on the handle of his walking stick. A creamy satisfied smile crept up his lips.

Osserc merely turned his back upon everyone, stretched his hands out, running them over the walls. ‘Yes, yes. I see…’ he breathed, his tone almost reverent.

Ammanas's insubstantial features twisted his frustration. He stamped his walking stick. ‘Do not be so foolish as to provoke me!’

‘And do not be so foolish as to repeat the mistake you made with my compatriot Anomander not so long ago,’ Osserc growled. ‘How many guardians did you lose bickering with him, little shadow crow? Two? Three?’

Flinching away, Ammanas turned to Cotillion. The two appeared to share unspoken communication. The rope in Cotillion's hand twitched as if it were part of the thoughts. Traveller slid forward, sword raised, the light gleaming from the oily magenta blade. His back to the room, Osserc murmured, ‘I know that weapon better than you and we have no business, upstart.’ Traveller carefully edged back, his eyes slitted.

A rumbling snarl shook the stones beneath Kyle's feet. He turned his head aside to see there in the entrance a crouching hound, a monstrous one that appeared as if it could be fully as tall as Kyle himself, mangy brown and scarred. Its snout, longer than Kyle's forearm, rested on its outstretched forepaws. Ammanas crossed to it, set a hand on its head, murmured reassuringly.

Into this tableau came the little monkey-like messenger. He was pushing a mop ahead of himself as he came from further within. All eyes, but for those of Osserc, moved to track the creature as it became increasingly obvious that his path would take him straight into the giant. The mop bumped up against Osserc's bare foot. The giant did not move, though he clasped his hands behind his back in what Kyle thought might have been irritation. The creature repeatedly banged the wet mop-head against Osserc's foot. Its face screwed up in vexation. The giant edged his head down. The monkey-like thing jumped up and down, waved its arms, stamped a foot. Letting out a deep rumbling sigh, Osserc stepped aside to allow the fellow to pass. The creature slathered the mop over the flagging, muttering to itself.

Ammanas straightened, his gauzy face relieved. The House is unconcerned. We need not bother ourselves with this rude intrusion. We may ignore it as one might an irksome fly.’

Osserc snapped a glare to Ammanas that just as quickly eased into indifference and he turned away. His gaze found Kyle and the eyes swirled molten, his lips pulled back in what one might generously call a smile, revealing prominent tusks at his lower jaws. ‘Well done, son of the steppes. I am in your debt.’