“I could cloak them with invisibility,” muttered Shiv, less a suggestion than a comment on the powers we dare not let him use.

I tried to work out if the brothers could see the boat sheds along the shore where the dunes gave way to a stream and hillocks beyond it. If they could, they could be seen in turn.

“Here they come.” Shiv stiffened like a cat undecided whether to pounce or to run. Sorgrad and ’Gren ran across the hostile expanse, scattering the brown birds. I cringed at the thought that someone might hear the squawks of indignation. Sorgrad and ’Gren ran on, barely slowing even in the softer sands of the dunes, throwing themselves past us into hiding.

I spat sand out of my mouth. “Were you seen?”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

’Gren had his hand on his sword hilt, eager face turned towards the unseen boat sheds.

Sorgrad tossed me a few damp and grubby roots. “There’s something to chew on if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” I said without enthusiasm.

Ryshad turned to see what Sorgrad had brought. “Burdock?”

He nodded. “Some sedge as well.”

Between them, Ryshad and Sorgrad had kept our bellies full on the journey through the inhospitable island. With each showing increasing appreciation of the other’s foraging skills, I kept my own counsel when faced with food only the truly starving could fully appreciate. I just hoped we got home to some real meals before I wore my teeth down to the gums.

Sorgrad was already lying next to Ryshad. “Any sign of our friend?”

“Nothing so far,” Ryshad said in a low tone.

’Gren blinked and I shivered involuntarily. He looked curiously at me. ”Maewelin’s touch got you?”

“It’s your eyes.” I shivered again, icy fingers still stroking my neck. “Aiten’s eyes turned to black pits when Ilkehan’s Artifice enslaved him.” That was why I’d had to kill Aiten, Ryshad’s long-time friend. Drianon save me from having to make that choice for any of these four.

“Let’s not go borrowing trouble.” Sorgrad looked severely at us both. “Concentrate on the task in hand and worry about other things when they happen.”

“If they happen,” added Ryshad with emphasis. “Did you find the hargeard?”

Sorgrad nodded. “It’s a fair hike, over beyond that second rise with all the berry bushes.”

“It’s enormous,” chuckled ’Gren.

“Folk seeing we’re destroying it won’t be a problem,” frowned Sorgrad. “Getting away will be the difficult trick. There’s—”

Ryshad tensed. “The sentries are changing.”

“That’s the way in?” Sorgrad brushed sand from his breeches, nodding at a lesser gate cut in the wall.

“What’s on the other side?”

’Gren slid his sword a little way out of its sheath, face eager. A wise woman once told him he was born to be hanged, so he always reckoned to come unscathed through any situation not actively involving rope.

“A garden. We’ll be going in to the actual keep through a drain.” I swallowed hard on a sudden worry that the cover might be hidden, that I might not be able to find it again, that we might end up trapped like rats in Ilkehan’s sewer.

“There’s our friend,” Ryshad said slowly. “That’s right, pal, find your nice warm nook.” Keeping ceaseless watch, he’d identified this particular sentry as a lazy bastard who always sheltered from the incessant wind behind the tall crenellations at the corner of the keep. “Come on!” He shoved the spyglass into his jerkin and slid down the open face of the dune.

“Where’s Ilkehan?” ’Gren chewed his lip eagerly as we hurried across the open ground. We had the time it took for six verses of the song Ryshad’s mother used to measure the set of her jam before a more dutiful sentry on his rounds would reach this side of the keep.

I drew a deep breath and summoned up the memory of that hated face, dark, pitiless eyes, dead white hair and skin pale and creased with age. “Tedri nafaralir, asmen ek layeran.” The ancient words might be meaningless in a Forest ballad about Uriol’s endless quest for the stag with the silver antlers but here, quick as a blink, Artifice showed me Ilkehan poring over a book taken from packed shelves around him. I’d sneaked around in that keep before and knew for a certainty where he was. ”Still in his study.”

Ryshad picked up the pace. “We go in, we hit him hard, we leave.”

“Simple,” said ’Gren with happy satisfaction.

Aetheric charms ran through my mind; one to hide us, one just to keep people disinterested, one to make someone worry they’d left an empty pot over a fire. Guinalle had identified a handful of ways for me to distract people but I didn’t dare use them so close to Ilkehan. The last thing we needed was Artifice so close alerting him.

We reached the wall and the others flattened themselves on either side of the sally gate as I probed the lock with that fine balance between speed and accuracy that I’d learned over the years. “Shiv.”

The mage laid a hand on the metal and I pushed the final tumbler over. Since we lacked the Shernasekke women’s secrets, we had to risk his magic to supplement my housebreaking skills. There was a faint murmur as the bolts on the far side slid out of their sockets. This was the point of no return. No, I thought furiously, we would be going back. It was Ilkehan who’d be going nowhere once we’d done with him. He owed us and we were here to collect the debt and leave.

Swords drawn, Sorgrad and ’Gren were through in an instant. I followed, Ryshad next, Shiv at his shoulder. A woman screamed, dropping the basket of beans she’d been picking. Sorgrad hissed at her with archaic venom. “Is it thou hast profaned the unseen world?”

“Will the Mother hide thee from our vengeance or the Maker defend thee?” ’Gren took a pace forward, black haired, blue skinned, eyes piercing.

The woman stumbled backwards, crushing plants heedless underfoot. She screamed as ’Gren menaced her with his sword, tripping, scrambling to her feet and running for a door on the far side of the garden.

“Forget the drains,” ordered Ryshad.

Sorgrad didn’t needed telling. He was right behind the hysterical woman fumbling with the latch. She slid through the narrowest of gaps, catching her sleeve and tearing it free in her panic. Sorgrad shoved a boot in the door to stop her slamming it, whatever he was saying sending her fleeing too fast to wonder why an Eldritch man couldn’t just walk through any wall he pleased.

’Gren went through the door like a winter storm off the mountains. I followed to find a corridor, the brothers each covering one approach.

Ryshad slammed the door behind Shiv. “Which way?”

“Up there.” I’d taken the back stairs when I’d crept up and down this keep before but in my new guise of Eldritch Kin, I felt entitled to the main stairs. We ran as if we had vengeful shades at our heels ourselves. Shiv saw the rest of us making ready to drop our bags for a fight and did the same.

“As soon as he’s dead, cut off the stairs,” Ryshad told Shiv. We ignored the floor we knew belonged to whatever family Ilkehan had left. As we raced up the next flight, consternation from the kitchen levels floated up after us. A door opened somewhere below and a puzzled voice called out.

This was the floor where Ilkehan had his apartments. Every detail of this place was burned into my memory like the anguish we’d suffered in the stark white dungeons below. Ilkehan knew no such privation, with his polished chests of dark wood lining the corridor, choice pieces of ceramic and bronze displayed on shelves.

“Which door?” ’Gren dropped his pack.

I pointed. “That one.”

Sorgrad charged through it, veering to one side. ’Gren was a breath behind him, taking the other hand. Ryshad followed, straight as an arrow.

Ilkehan was behind a broad desk, already reaching for a dagger. ’Gren and Sorgrad came at him from either side. Magelight flashed all around, striking reflections from our blades as startling blue as anything the Eldritch Kin might favour. The knives of radiance stabbed the enchanter, piercing him clean through to emerge and careen off the walls, magic dripping like condensation down the pale plaster. The bastard opened his mouth but no sound emerged. Rage twisted his face and his hands clawed towards me and Shiv.