‘I preferred to chance this over Chaos, yes.’

‘You are too cautious. Why not Shadow, or Tellann?’

‘Too crowded. And eyes are everywhere. Here there are no eyes.’ He gestured the way ahead. The two shuffled along, wincing against the raging storm of energies above.

‘What do you mean, no eyes?’

‘Can't you feel it? This place is wild, feral. It is without a guiding presence.’

‘What of Father Light?’

Cowl raised an arm across his face. ‘Well, if you must cite the first mover, the prime originator, then, yes, I suppose he is here, yes.’ He pinched shut his dazzled eyes, grimacing. ‘If only in spirit.’

‘I mistrust it. I have heard the air is poisoned. That those who come here die of it later.’

‘It's not the air that's poisonous,’ Cowl said, and he took a right-hand turn where the ravine met another, wider channel. This way.’

‘You said something about crowds?’ Skinner said.

Cowl turned. Skinner was pointing to the channel's dry dirt floor: a Path. Twins’ laughter! How had he missed that? Damn. He waved Skinner on.

They followed the channel for some time. How long Cowl could not be sure, of course; no sun rose or fell, nor was there any discernible change in the natural variations in the streamers and coronas of unleashed energy lashing across the sky. They had reached a position, roughly, where his instincts told him he might attempt to reach out to the churning power to manipulate an opening, when four figures suddenly stepped out in front of them.

Surprised, Cowl stopped short; obviously, he could not count on his heightened senses and perceptions here in this inimical place. The figures wore a kind of white enamelled armour, now caked in dust, and pale yellow cloaks. Their features reminded him of Tiste Andii, though the hair of each hung white and long. One barked something in their own tongue. Cowl signed his lack of comprehension.

A wave from one and the spokesman tried again, ‘You understand us now, worm?’

Cowl gave a half-bow. ‘Greetings, honored Liosan.’

‘Relinquish your arms and armour, trespassers. You are now our slaves.’

Cowl turned to Skinner – the full iron helm, blackened yet glittering as if dusted in sand, disguised the man's face but Cowl could imagine the raised brows. In answer, Skinner waved Cowl aside and advanced upon the four.

Perhaps it was incomprehension, or an inability to accept what was occurring, but Skinner was able to close on the first two before they acted to draw their weapons. As the nearest went for his grip the Avowed commander grasped that arm and swung the Liosan aside to crash into the defile wall, bringing down a rain of baked clay soil as jagged as kiln-dried potsherds. The second he backhanded aside into the other wall. Both slumped unconscious. The remaining two, swords readied, raised their white triangular shields. Skinner continued to close, still empty-handed. The first swung, the curved creamy blade striking an upraised armoured forearm and shattering into brittle shards. The Liosan gaped in unbelieving amazement. A punch from Skinner drove his shield into his chest and knocked him backwards from his feet; he lay stunned. The remaining Liosan sliced Skinner's chest but the blade merely skittered from the Avowed's glinting deep-crimson armour. An arm lashed out to clout the Liosan across the side of his helmeted head, spinning him from his feet. Without pausing, Skinner stepped over the fallen Liosan. Cowl followed, not even bothering to look down.

After a time one of the Liosan sat up groggily. He yanked off his helmet and threw it to the dirt. ‘Brother Enias, I am coming dangerously close to losing my faith.’

A second sat up, coughing, and gingerly pressing his chest. ‘Hold on to your faith, Brother Jorrude. These are tests, are they not, of its strength?’

‘Well, I cannot speak for you, Brother Enias, but I am tested sorely.’

Groans sounded from the other two and Jorrude helped them to their feet. ‘And who were they?’ he demanded of Enias.

‘I know not. Humans yet, though I smell vows, pacts and patronage about them. Enough that they insult us by trespassing with impunity.’

‘We must follow! Bring justice to them!’ said a third.

Jorrude retreived his helmet, brushed dust from it. ‘Perhaps it would be best that we continue our quest… what think you, Brother Enias?’

‘Yes, Brother Jorrude. Satisfying though justice may be, we ought not to neglect our purpose. Father Light has turned his face from us brothers! Some failure or lack within ourselves or our ancestors has severed our connection. We must find a way to bring the warmth of his gaze upon us once more.’ Brother Enias adjusted his armour, wincing. ‘That is our purpose!’

‘Yes, Brother Enias,’ the other three recited.

Cowl waited until enough distance lay between him and the Liosan – guards, or fellow travellers like themselves, or whoever they may have been – before deciding to try to exit Thyrllan. He did not look forward to it; so abandoned were the energies here that enforcing the control of manipulation would try his skill to its limit.

He was flexing his gloved hands when Skinner stopped. ‘There, Cowl. What is that?’

He looked ahead, then up. Just visible above the narrow gap of a side ravine rose an ochre-brick tower. Cowl stared. Great Mother Dark – who might possibly… He hurriedly stepped aside into cover. ‘We should go. Now.’

Absently, Skinner raised an iron-gauntleted hand to shake a finger at Cowl. ‘I think not. I am curious.’

‘Do not fool yourself. There are entities here far more powerful than those Liosan.’

‘Then let us go meet these great powers.’

‘Are you insane? I will take us out, now.’

The finger pointed. ‘No. You will accompany me in case you are needed.’

The Avowed High Mage stood silent for a time, stroked the scars that traced a pearly thatching along his neck. Even more imperious than when he left us is our Skinner. Still, he was powerful even then, and now this Ardata seems to have invested even greater potentialities within him. Why would she have done so and then apparently meekly allow him to go? There is a greater mystery here. And perhaps it would be interesting… He waved an invitation to proceed.

*

After investigating for a time they could not discover any way up to the tower. It seemed that whoever built or occupied the structure had no use for the sheltered ways all other travellers were forced to walk in order to pass through this deadly reach of the warren. That alone made the sweat cold that soaked Cowl's silk shirt, layered thin hauberk, pocketed vest and many weapon belts. They also had to pause while he renewed each of the layered protections he had woven around them. After this, Skinner selected the shallowest ravine wall and punched out depressions as hand-holds. Cowl waited, face averted, while the dry clay clumps rained down.

Eyes shaded, he waited until his seemingly irresistible commander had almost reached the top then took a breath and launched himself at the rotten wall. A soft moccasin touch within one gap, a deft pull upon a protruding rock, and in an instant he had ascended the wall as if flying up.

Reaching the top and pulling himself erect, Skinner grunted to see Cowl standing before him. He gestured to himself. ‘I don't suppose you could have…’

‘No.’

A blasted landscape of harsh shadows and brilliant whites assaulted their vision. The energies pulsing outward felt like a hand thrusting Cowl backwards. The commingled roar of its rush was a thunder almost beyond his capacity to hear. Face averted, he ran for the cover of the tower. Even Skinner joined him, hunched against the raw, yammering aurora. The bricks of the tower scorched Cowl's fingertips. ‘You're not going in, are you?’ he shouted.