'Now for the ill will I promised you,' said Azaer, an icy breeze sliding gently over Rojak's ear. 'Send Flitter and Venn to the camp of the Second Army; tell its commanders who their mistress truly is.'

'Will they be believed?'

'Belief is a fickle creature. Those who believe do so because they wish to. Bane and Veren's Staff could no more restrain themselves than King Emin could when he heard llumene had been seen, lronskin is the voice of reason in that camp. His unique affliction was punishment for offend¬ing Karkan. I'm sure he will be keen to follow his comrades to please the Gods.'

'Should we not wait until we see Siala's reaction to the Devoted?'

'The Devoted are in no rush to fight; they have yet to decide who their enemy is. When they see the Circle's mercenaries fighting each other, they will stand back and watch; as llumene so aptly said, their nature is that of jackals. The Second Army will march on the Greengate, as that is where the vampire's troops are. Every other gate is already barricaded, so this will bottle them all up together. Let them squabble amongst themselves, and turn on each other just as their Gods do.'

'Their weakness is our power,' intoned Rojak.

'Certainly, but let no one claim we are cruel; they shall be warned that their own flaws betray them.'

A new play for tonight?'

'The last play. After tonight we will retire to the wings and the theatre will be no more. We shall have nothing more for them but our final curtain call'

'So which is it to be for our last performance, my Master?'

'Twilight reigns, the gates are locked and within, the city burns. What could it be but "The Shadow Crucible"?'

'Tell me again why we're here?' asked Morghien through gritted teeth. He strained to pull himself up to the next branch. The trip had been an arduous one, despite Mihn's many talents, and for once Morghien was feeling his age.

'The answer to that hasn't changed,' Mihn said softly from the branch above. His attention was occupied by the earthwork ramparts surrounding a hill less than a mile away. The smooth sweeps of dark slope were illuminated by paper lanterns of yellow and red.

Morghien gave a grunt and finally pulled himself up. Once he'd found his balance, the man of many spirits turned his head up to see Mihn, who was standing nonchalantly on a slim bough, his staff rest¬ing across his shoulders and his arms hooked over it.

Morghien knew better than try to keep up with a former Harlequin when it came to acrobatics so he made sure of his grip before speaking again.

'I actually meant, why are we climbing this bloody tree?'

'Ah, I apologise,' said Mihn. 'I'd assumed you were continuing the litany that started as we crossed the Green Sea, but now I realise it was a whole new complaint.'

'Tsatach's balls, I'm here as a favour to your master. I've got every right to complain if I want to,' Morghien muttered.

'I'm sure the magnanimous Lord Isak will be pleased you're taking every opportunity to exercise your rights,' Mihn said cheerily.

Morghien scowled at him. 'Now we're here, what can you see?'

'Much of the estate, all nicely lit up for our benefit. It is Meqao's Day today. Of all of Amavoq's Aspects, Meqao – Hunter of the Silent Wood, as he's known in these parts – is the most beloved by the Yeetatchen.'

'He's the one wilb the antlers and the huge-'

'No, that's Bohreq, the Herdfather. I thought you'd had an edu¬cation?' Mihn scratched at his ankle absentmindedly for a moment, before feeling the bandage on it and withdrawing his hand. Two days back he'd been bitten by a hunting hound on the loose, and though the wound was minor, he'd bound it to keep it clean. 'Meqao has the head of a silver-furred wolf and carries a spear in one hand, a brass bell in the other.'

'Brass bell? What damned use is that to a hunter?'

Mihn looked down and Morghien thought he could see the man's eyes glint in the gloom. 'I would be happy to recount the full saga of "Meqao and the Lady of the Bluebells" – of course, it will require a gong, a bell and a jug of water, and three hours of your close atten¬tion.' He smiled.

'Perhaps later then?' Morghien sighed. 'Wouldn't it be easier to get in to Lord Ajel's home if we dressed you as a Harlequin and got you to recite the saga?' He'd not meant it seriously, but he realised he'd over¬stepped the mark when Mihn tensed. The cool evening grew frosty.

'Don't suggest that again,' Mihn said eventually, his voice tight and quiet.

'I am truly sorry,' Morghien began. 'I didn't mean-'

'I know, but best the conversation goes no further.' After a moment of quiet, Mihn said, 'That is how we'll get in: if we run along the ditch bounding the meadow until we reach that dip, we'll come up behind those trees hung with lanterns.'

'Lanterns? Can you see if it's a sacred grove dedicated to Amavoq, or an Aspect that lives on the hill?'

'Not from here, no. You think an Aspect would notice you?'

Morghien gave a low whistle. 'Hard to tell, but last night Xeliath told me Lord Ajel has made a local Aspect of the hill protector of the compound.'

'So it will probably object when we take Lord Ajel's daughter from her bed chamber?' Mihn wondered.

'I hope not. She doesn't know the details of the bargain her father made. I'm hoping the Aspect will only notice if Xeliath is being taken against her will; she's determined to leave on her own two feet. Her father wants her present at the feast, but she's sure if she misbehaves she'll be taken back to her room and given something to make her sleep.'

'So we'll have to carry her out?' Mihn said.

'No, Xeliath's a cunning little minx, even touched by the Gods as she is in the waking world. She's been behaving herself of late and they've been letting her take her own medicine. She says they know now she's not a prophet, so they're not afraid she'll get loose and hurt someone. Tonight she'll be awake enough for our purposes. She says the festival's important to the Yeetatchen, so security should be lax, and that's good for us.'

'Assuming we even get there.'

'Have faith, my friend,' Morghien said with a snort of amusement. 'As long as I keep out of that sacred grove I doubt we'll be noticed.'

Mihn peered down, eyebrows raised. 'No complaint? Well in that case, let us join in the festivities.'

The compound occupied a small hill, the highest ground in the area. It stood at the southern end of the Silent Wood, the expanse of forest that belted the island, and a sheer-edged gorge made it virtually impenetrable for potential invaders from the east. It had been hard enough for Mihn and Morghien, and they had neither horses to lead nor an army to feed, and they had Xeliath to give them the lie of the land. All Yeetatchen, noble-born or not, were taught to scout, so her description had been far better than Mihn had expected.

The Yeetatchen compound was not defended by walls, but by earthen channels. There was little stone; the buildings set into the hillside were built of wood, and several had trees jutting through their roofs.

The only problem they encountered making their way down the ditches was the eight inches of water at the bottom, which constantly threatened to betray them to the patrolling guards, no matter how adept they were at travelling quietly.

At the end of the first of the long, dark ditches, Morghien touched his companion on the arm, stopping him from starting on the ten yards of open ground between them and the next bit of cover.

'I have a better idea,' Morghien whispered. He mouthed something Mihn didn't catch and, as he finished speaking, he gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes, quietly expelling the air from his lungs. Mihn watched as a tiny wisp of fog escaped Morghien's pursed lips and quested out a little, as though tasting the wind – then a figure stepped out from Morghien's body and turned its head to Mihn, who gasped in shock and backed up to the side of the ditch.