‘And Stoop has not appeared among them?’

‘No. No sign of him.’

‘Have they been suborned?’

The question startled Smoky. His glance to Shimmer was alarmed. He answered, thoughtfully, ‘I don't think that possible…’

‘Then we are left with this youth as an enemy agent. A spy with powerful allies.’

‘Yes. His escape would suggest such a conclusion.’

Shimmer took her helmet and sword and waved the soldiers away. ‘Unless those searching were not trying so very hard.’

The mage's hairless brows rose. ‘I had not considered that. It points in, ah, unhealthy directions.’

She pulled on her helmet, swung closed the lower face guard. ‘Greymane suggested it.’

Smoky's gaze flicked to the broad back of the man at the bow. ‘I see… Yes, that makes sense. Close to the matter, but not Vowed, and thus not sharing our blindnesses. It would take an outsider, wouldn't it? Thank you, Commander.’

‘The Brethren fully back Skinner, of course.’

‘They never stopped demanding it. A strike against Quon.’

‘Exactly. Their priorities are not necessarily ours.’

‘True. Yet perhaps suborned is too strong.’ Smoky pushed his wind-blown hair from his face. ‘Perhaps seduced, or swayed?’

Shimmer belted on her whipsword, adjusted its weight at her hips. ‘Perhaps. Now, shouldn't you be lending your strength to the ritual?’

‘Gods, no. I'm just a minor battle mage of Telas – though I admit to some glimpses into Elder Thryllan in moments of inspiration. Not conducive, you imagine, to current shared efforts on the bridling of Ruse.’

‘If you say so, mage.’ Again, how she wished she had kept Blues and his blade close! But theirs was a desperate gamble they'd decided worth the throw. It was too late for regret. And what of Cal-Brinn? What had happened to his command? His opinion on these ritual magics she would accede to.

‘Shimmer…’

‘Yes?’

‘Be careful.’

A nod. ‘I could say the same to you.’

Snorting, Smoky headed to the bow.

The glow strengthened through the morning, thickening into a wavering curtain of green and deep violet accompanied by a constant thunder ahead. As Cowl and the other Avowed mages readied themselves for just the right moment the partition, or portal, whatever it was, paced them, maintaining its distance some hundred cables before them. The sea that emerged from beneath reached them emerald with foaming bubbles as if churned by energies and, more troubling, flecked by driftwood and litter such as that which gathers along any shore. At mid-deck, the Kurzani first mate bellowed orders: sails were being lowered, men were securing materiel. Shimmer recognized preparations for a coming gale.

What did that screen disguise? Shimmer had heard the ususal legends and stories of whirlpools and ship-shredding storms that awaited any fool impudent enough, or desperate enough, to try Mael's realm. But all such tales came down to them from long ago and might be just no more than that – imaginings. Truth told, no one knew what awaited them; not any of their twelve mages, Avowed or not, nor any of their sailors, for none had ever heard again from anyone who had actually dared.

Why this unholy hurry? Why this quick thrust for Quon – just three vessels darting ahead of the fleet – the Wanderer’, Gedrand and Kestral? They carried the majority of the Avowed, yes. But what could Skinner hope to accomplish with a mere two thousand men?

Flags waved from the sides of the neighbouring Gedrand. At the bow, Smoky's arms were raised as he communicated with his fellow mages. Any moment now. Shimmer wrapped one arm around the stern-mast. Ahead, the gate had stopped its backward sweep and now awaited them, fathoms tall. It resembled an enormous waterfall, appearing from empty air. Shimmer was assaulted by the disorienting impression that the gate that awaited them was in fact the surface of the sea and it was they who were racing uncontrollably down a chute to their destruction. Togg, Oponn, Burn and Fanderay protect us. But Hood… look on you who can never have us!

As the bow pierced the barrier Shimmer had one last impression of Smoky, arms raised as if to fend off some vision of ruin, Greymane, the Malazan renegade, knees bent in a ready stance, one arm stretched tight, a rope twisted around it, then the roaring – no, hissing, seething, gate was upon them and she was blinded…

A shuddering crash – an arm-wrenching blow threw Shimmer down as if hammered. The screech of wood cracking, the heavy slow creak of an enormous weight slamming into the deck – a split mast – and men shrieking. Water splashing and washing sullenly, turgid, followed by silence leaving only the groan of wounded. Shimmer pulled herself to her feet, rubbed her shoulder where she had collided with the mast.

‘Man overboard!’ came a shout.

‘Man overboard!’ a distant echo sounded. Shimmer looked to port, where the Gedrand wallowed, one mast split a third from the top and tangled among its rigging.

‘The Kestral?’ she called across.

A voice responded, faint, ‘Here also!’

Yes. Wherever here was. ‘Smoky!’

‘Overboard,’ a Guardsman answered.

Shimmer went to the side. Men and women foundered splashing on a surface of wreckage and pale driftwood. So dense was the debris that the ropes thrown to them hardly even got wet. Shimmer spotted the kinky-haired mage clinging to a log. Something about the waters and the horizon was strange but she didn't have the time to give over to that just then. ‘Captain!’ The Kurzani captain and the first mate came to her. ‘Report.’

‘Seams sprung,’ said the first mate, pulling at his full black beard. ‘Taking on water.’

‘Can you re-caulk?’

A resigned shrug. ‘Have to try.’

‘Very well. Take all you need for pumping and bailing. Dismissed.’ Shimmer went to help the old tillerman, Jhep, to his feet. He seemed to have taken a blow from the broad wood handle. ‘Send the mage to me!’ she shouted as loud as she could.

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ someone responded from the deck.

She sat the man next to the tiller, which stood motionless though no one controlled it. Frowning, Shimmer rested a hand upon it, feeling for any sensation of motion or pull. Nothing. They were dead in the water. Not what she was expecting.

‘Commander.’

Water dripping to the deck planking next to Shimmer announced Smoky's presence. Shimmer studied the tillerman's eyes: both looking forward, pupils matching. She knew what to look for, the danger signs; years in the battlefield would teach anyone the basic treatment of wounded. ‘Take over here, Smoky.’

‘Yes, Commander. Have you seen?’

‘Seen what? I've been busy.’

Smoky waved an arm in a broad sweep all around. The mage was looking off to the distance. His gaze seemed stricken. ‘Well,’ he said, his voice tight. ‘Better take a look.’

Shimmer straightened and went to the side. Glancing out she stopped, her hands frozen at the shoulders of her mail coat. What she had taken to be distant islands – the source of the driftwood and jetsam – were not. Ships surrounded them, or rather they rested in the midst of a sea of motionless vessels stretching from horizon to horizon.

Complete silence oppressed Shimmer with its weight. A sea of ghost ships. Most of those nearby appeared to be galleys, though more distant vessels looked to be far larger, tiered sailing vessels. One such leagues out among the grey timber expanse must be enormous to stand so tall. All the crew on deck, she now saw, lined the sides motionless, staring. Some kind of enchantment? But no, probably the sight alone sufficed. ‘Smoky,’ she managed. ‘What is this?’

‘You're asking me?’

‘The Shoals,’ said a voice in Kurzan, lifeless and flat.

Shimmer turned. It was Jhep, his eyes dead of emotion. ‘The Shoals? Explain.’