An open walkway that ran around the pillars at the midpoint was strictly the preserve of Tsatach's priests. Anyone else who dared enter the stairs in the pillars that led to the walkway – even General Dev ~ would be executed on the spot. The walkways were supported only by air and magic: anyone other than the temple's priests might disrupt the spells that supported the thousands of tons of stone and kill the pilgrims congregating below – on a feast day, they numbered in the thousands.

Chalat wasted no time when he reached the altar. He'd been enjoying himself with four of his favourite concubines and he fully intended to return to their delights as quickly as possible. Grabbing the foreigner by the scruff of the neck, he picked him up bodily and deposited him next to the flame.

'Do you know what happens to liars who put their hands in the flame?' he asked cheerily.

The man nodded, a little nervous, but remarkably calm – the general thought he looked as though he'd resigned himself to execution and had made his peace with the Gods already.

Chalat nodded in approval and took the man's hand in his own. As the Chosen of Tsatach, the flame would never hurt him. If the foreigner lied while his hand was within the flame, his entire arm would be consumed. If he was quick, it would be just the arm.

'What is your name?'

'Mihn ab Netren ab Felith. I am called Mihn.'

'Where do you come from?'

'I was bom into the clans of the northern coast. I have wandered the Land for several years now, often in the wastes.'

Tell me who the assassin was.' Chalat had better things to do than waste time on pointless questions.

'He- he called himself Arlal.'

'What sort of a name is that? Parian?'

'No, Lord, elven.'

Chalat gave a cough of surprise, letting go of the man's wrist for a moment in his astonishment. General Dev shrugged when Chalat looked at him. He looked at the flame; the man's hand was still there and he had not even attempted to pull away, though the flames licked and danced over his skin. Even if Mihn were a sorcerer, he'd still not have the power to stop his hand burning. He must be telling the truth.

The man kept his hand in the centre of the flame, a defiant look on his face while he waited for the next question.

'Arlal was an elf?'

'A true elf, my Lord.'

Now the white-eye gaped. 'You were in the company of a true elf called Arlal? The one storytellers call the Poisonblade?'

Mihn paused, considering how to frame his reply so it was com- pletely true. 'It is possible. I don't know how many true elves there

are in the Land, but it is most likely. The Poisonblade is said to be an assassin.'

'Did he tell you who paid him?'

'No. He said little, other than to give us orders. He had some sort of amulet around his neck, I didn't even consider disobeying him.'

The sound of footsteps running over the plain made them all jump. The two soldiers had their crossbows raised and ready to fire when a voice hailed them from the gloom, sounding far too scared to be a threat.

'General! He's awake!'

'It's Gerrint. Put your bows down,' General Dev ordered. 'It's my adjutant, Lord Chalat. I left him in charge of the Krann.'

The soldier pounded his way over the temple boundary, nearly tripping as he remembered how disrespectful it was. He stumbled to a halt, looked around as if expecting a furious priest to appear from the pillars, then walked as fast as he could to the altar.

'My Lord, General Dev, the Krann has recovered!'

'Don't be ridiculous, Gerrint; he was all but dead when I saw him.'

'I know, sir, but he's up and walking around. But he looks different my Lord, changed. The wound is a black stain on his chest, nothing more. The medic said that the arrow crumbled to soot suddenly and stained his skin – then Lord Charr got up and threw out everyone but his personal guards. I came as quickly as I could, sir, my Lord.'

Chalat frowned, looking deeply concerned, and drawing his sword, walked away from the altar.

The coppery surface of Golaeth glinted in the light of the eternal flame as Chalat used it to score a circle on the floor almost two yards in diameter. A faint black trail followed the path of the sword while Chalat whispered the words of a spell under his breath. That done, he sat down, cross-legged, within the circle, looking faintly comical as he carefully tucked his thick legs under himself. He nicked his finger on Golaeth's edge and placed the sword across his knees, then caressed the ruby gem at his neck with the bloody digit.

General Dev walked nervously around his Lord, keeping far enough away that he didn't disturb his work but, as always, fascinated by the magic. He shivered as the open space suddenly became darker and a sharp chill appeared in the air. Chalat's breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. The Bloodrose at his throat smouldered brighter, then blazed for a brief moment before the air around Chalat returned to normal.

'He's at his homestead. There's a darkness surrounding him, something I don't recognise.' Chalat's voice sounded hollow and distant, as though his Lord had been somewhere else and part of him hadn't fully returned.

'I can have the Lion Guard ready in half an hour, the Ten Thousand within the hour-' He stopped as Chalat held up a hand.

'What's that sound?' The Lord blinked owlishly at the darkness, cocking his head to one side.

Everyone listened hard as a sudden rushing noise came from behind, like a rogue gust of wind. The general turned as a wet gasp cut the air, instinctively diving away from the oncoming shape. In a blur of movement he felt a figure slam into him, and he saw the two guards fall dead behind it. Pain flared in his arm as a blade cut deep, then he was smashed out of the way. His head thumped against the ground and stars burst before his eyes.

The figure, the shape of a Chetse man, but with long claws and spiky protrusions along its limbs and shoulders, crashed bodily into Chalat and knocked the white-eye over. As the Lord tried to rise again, the creature threw itself upon him, flailing madly as a ruby light enveloped the two for a moment. The general felt hands on his back, urging him down; though he tried to move, his body betrayed him and he could only submit as Mihn, now free of his bonds and armed with his staff, advanced.

Chalat kicked his attacker away and the Bloodrose flared again as it absorbed another wound. Mihn immediately swung at the creature, but had to fling himself back when he missed, trying to avoid the raking claws. He waved his staff in a wide half-circle, not daring to risk another strike at the monster, but trying to distract it. The twisted perversion of a man had bony growths pushed through the skin; it looked daemonic, and the furious snarls sounded like the dying breath of a ruined throat, amplified by rage.

With the creature's attention on the foreigner, Chalat had the time he needed. Golaeth's coppery surface blazed in the light from the eternal flame and Chalat roared as he hacked down at the creature. The blow was somehow turned by the creature's arm, but it could do nothing to stop the sword when it lanced forward into its belly. Razor-sharp claws lashed forward as it tried to shred Chalat's flesh, but

the white-eye had already withdrawn. He struck again, and this time cut off one of the monster's arms, then as he chopped deep into its neck, it collapsed, flailing violently before falling abruptly, rigid. One last twitch came, then it was still.

Chalat looked up at Mihn and bared his teeth in some sort of a smile.

'Well done.' He sounded husky with barely restrained aggression. Chalat hardly cared for the duties of state, but fighting in his tribe's need was always joyfully done.

'See.to the general; those three are dead.' Chalat stood over the corpse for a moment, then stabbed his sword down into its chest, driving it on into the rock below.