'God?' gasped Sebe, 'that was a GodV

Even dead and motionless at last, the creature was so unnatural, so bizarre, that it took him a while to identify the beak and face within the mess of feathers and angular limbs. It looked like nothing he'd ever seen, not even on a temple wall. In the weak light what he could make out of the mess looked daemonic more than divine.

'Erwillen the High Hunter. His Aspect-Guide,' Legana answered. 'The novice, what was his name? Mayel, yes, he told us about that. I should have realised it would have incarnated, given so great a source of magic'

'We've just killed a God?' Sebe moaned as Doranei retrieved his sword, trying not to look at the sticky mess coating the blade.

An insane one, if that make it any better,' Zhia said soothingly, looking around for any further dangers. Her strange sword was drip¬ping blood onto the remains of the minor God: rich, red blood that certainly was not ichor. 'The High Hunter was as crazed as the abbot.' She gave him a wolfish grin. 'Don't worry; the first one is always the hardest.'

Doranei ignored that last statement. 'You killed the abbot.' It wasn't a question; the evidence was dripping onto her toes.

'Oh yes, I know a few little tricks, and once he realised I had a Skull too he simply raised his shields against me.' She shook as much of the blood off her sword as possible. 'He forgot that shields to stop magic cannot stop steel, and his reactions were as slow as one might expect of an elderly monk.'

'It was really that easy?' Doranei asked in disbelief.

'Not entirely,' Zhia admitted, 'but it was always going to be very quick, or slow and completely awful for everyone within half a mile.' She gave a cold laugh. 'And, of course, he wasn't my first.'

The conversation ended as they saw one of the acolytes still on the ground, a huge gash pouring blood just below his ribs. Mikiss stood a yard away from the injured man, his attention alternating between a bloodied tear in his sleeve and the widening pool on the ground, as though he couldn't decide which fascinated him the most. Another acolyte, almost identical in both dress and build, was kneeling at the injured man's side. He had drawn a long dagger and for a moment Doranei wasn't sure if it was to threaten Mikiss.

Then the kneeling man put the dagger at his friend's throat, wrapped his hands around his friend's and drove forwards. He watched as the legs spasmed once, then went still, waited a moment longer, then let go of the dagger, still buried in his friend's neck, and slid the mask up over the pale cropped stubble of his head, revealing a young face, still ill with puppy-fat cheeks, and a flattened nose that looked like it bad been more than just badly broken. The tribesmen from the Waste didn't resemble any of the original seven tribes; the dead acolyte's skin was grey, as though dusted with ash. Doranei thought this no tribal custom, but a sign of how the Waste changed its inhabitants. They had been luckier than many; Doranei had spent a little time in the Waste, long enough to know that humans didn't survive there unchanged. It was for good reason that there were no cities on tbose verdant plains where once the ancient Elves had built their civilisation.

'Zhia,' he said suddenly, dragging bis eyes away from the dead. The vampire was crouched down in from of the dead Aspect oi Vellern;

she turned her head and gave him a quizzical look. 'Can you sense the minstrel? He must be here somewhere.'

'Why are you so certain?' She finished cleaning her sword on what looked like a wing and sheathed it, then stood up.

'Because he will not-' Doranei stopped dead. 'Where's the Skull?'

She nodded towards what was left of a cellar entrance. 'Down there, with the abbot.'

'You didn't bring it with you?'

Zhia scowled. 'I told you, I do not care for it, and frankly, I'm dis¬appointed in your king for wanting it so badly. Aryn Bwr gave it to his son because he knew Velere lacked the strength and majesty to rule after the war. It is a gift for the weak.'

'And what if it falls into the hands of the powerful?' Doranei asked angrily. The kneeling acolyte jerked his head at his tone, but Doranei ignored him.

'I hadn't thought you such a fool,' Zhia snapped in return. 'Your friend Rojak has orchestrated all this destruction, and still you don't see?' She swept her arm out wide to take in the ruins of the city in the distance.

'You think he's lured us here?' Doranei almost shouted his reply as he felt the smoulder of frustration and anger inside him suddenly ignite. 'Do you honestly think he would sacrifice the Skull of Ruling and hand it to his greatest enemy before an ambush?'

'I think we have all been blundering in the dark,' Zhia spat, shoot¬ing a warning look at Mikiss, who'd begun to edge towards Doranei. 'I think Rojak has been ten steps ahead for months, perhaps years, and underestimating him will get you killed. And yes, I think you have walked into an ambush.'

'Then what in the name of Ghenna's deepest pit are you doing here?' Doranei yelled, his temper boiling over.

Zhia's face softened and, quite unexpectedly, she smiled at him. 'Your simple-mindedness is rather endearing,' she said. 'I'm here be¬cause I knew you'll follow your king wherever he goes, and he will not be dissuaded in his pursuit.' She reached out and tenderly ran a gloved finger over the exposed skin of his cheek. And because I seem to have not learned from past mistakes I find myself trailing along after you.' Zhia paused and gave a sad smile. 'Still, I doubt there's much left for me in the way of punishment this time round.'

She stepped away and pointed out over the wreckage to the south.

Doranei followed her finger and looked through the waning flames to see a group of figures advancing on them. 'Here come your Brothers,' she said breezily, drawing her sword once more. '1 presume Rojak will consider that his cue.'

Doranei's anger had been supplanted by dread as the truth of her words sank in. Rojak had been the architect of this horror, and who could say how far his plans had run?

He staggered back, his ankle catching a splintered beam with enough force to drive a long splinter through the leather before break¬ing off. Doranei stared down at it as though he'd never seen such a thing before, his mind momentarily fogged. Inside his boot he could feel the sharp scratch of wood against his skin. The splinter – as long as his little finger and almost as thick – hadn't pushed into his flesh, but he could distinctly feel it scrape over his unbroken skin.

He broke out in a manic grin as he bent down to tug the piece of wood from his boot. He inspected the hole it had made. 'And I bleed so easily,' he muttered to himself, 'far too easily, in most cases.' Holding the splinter up to his face, Doranei examined it. 'But you, my friend, somehow you couldn't manage that,' he said, flicking the piece away into the crackling pyre.

He watched the curling flames dance as it was consumed, the heat making the air above waver indistinctly and stinging his eyes. He blinked furiously as he tried to clear his sight. He'd seen something beyond the flames, but what? A random shadow the heat had shaped into something more? Or-

'Oh Gods,' he breathed as his eyes focused again. Through the flames, staring back at him, was a massive eye. Gleaming gold in the firelight, the eye bobbed and wove through the darkness as it watched him. Oh vengeful Death, Doranei thought, hypnotised by the move¬ment, that's a long way to move a head. That's a long bloody neck.

Haipar saw it too and immediately leaped forward over the flames, her body morphing into her animal self, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Without warning the eye snapped sideways and lunged forwards, the shine of another appearing as the creature turned to face Doranei. His hand tightened around his weapons as the head came close enough to the fire to be visible. A tapering muzzle opened to reveal long dagger-like fangs and rows of smaller teeth. Its head was crowned by fat, stubby horns.