'Gentlemen,' Kastan Styrax said, once the staff were out of earshot, 'now we are no longer lords and commanders, merely old soldiers sharing tea and grumbling about the state of the Land, as old soldiers are supposed to.'

Old men grumbling about the Land? What do you have to grumble about, O lord of all you survey? Dev wondered, then: Gods! Are you asking a favour of us?

Lord Styrax walked through the group to face the War God's temple, second on the plain only to Tsatach's own Temple of the Sun. A stylised image of Karkarn in his berserker aspect, with long wild hair and savage canines, had been carved above the entrance. When the Menin lord turned back to the men, there was a satisfied expres¬sion on his face.

'Tachrenn Echat,' he said suddenly, 'I hear condolences are in order.'

The tachrenn looked alarmed for a moment at having been singled out. Echat's darker skin and delicate features marked him as from the easternmost part of the Chetse territory, one of the desert clans who lived on the fringes of the Waste. It was a harsh and unforgiving place that bred the finest Chetse warriors; many of the Ten Thousand were recruited from those wild parts. Echat shook his head, as if to clear it, then said, 'The raids, you mean?'

'Certainly,' Lord Styrax said. 'I hear your own clan took heavy losses – though not without giving a good account of themselves.'

Echat looked stunned for a moment, as much at who was offering him condolences as the fact that the lord even knew of the action. 'I thank you for those words,' he stammered a little, 'but every child of the desert is well used to the danger. It is just another aspect of life for us.'

'No doubt – but I hear there is more activity in that part of the Waste this year. A number of my own troops have also been lost.'

Just what are you saying? Dev wondered as he watched the exchange closely. Echat has played it down, but they've been hurt badly, and not just by the Siblis. There is word of Elven raiding parties too.

'These things are rarely predicable,' Dev said out loud, ignoring the grateful look on Tachrenn Echat's face. When Lord Styrax turned to face him, Dev was filled with the certainty that this was no idle chatter. 'The nature of the Waste has always been chaotic,' he added.

'True enough, but news of the recent upheaval can only embolden raiders,' Lord Styrax said. 'Jackals are quick to exploit any weaknesses they see.'

General Dev spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'There is little we can do to aid them; the desert clans will have to fend for themselves for the moment.'

Lord Styrax sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression that didn't fool Dev for a moment. The white-eye looked past the men as the first rays of dawn crept over the cliffs surrounding the Temple Plain.

The cynic in General Dev saw Lord Styrax had positioned himself carefully. A very old shrine to the sun's first light, a minor Aspect of Tsatach called Kehla, stood on the cliffs directly west from Tsatach's main temple. It consisted mainly of an archway, through which the rising sun now appeared, bathing the Menin lord in golden rays while the surrounding ground remained in shadow.

Styrax raised his cup to the sunrise and downed the liquid. The Chetse soldiers all sank to one knee as their patron God appeared. They bowed their heads and, lips moving in unison, said the dawn prayer together.

'I'm sure most of you are wondering exactly what I have to grumble about,' Styrax began suddenly.

Dev flinched at the unexpected sound. He looked quickly at the tachrenns to see if anyone had noticed bis position was tenuous enough without them seeing him jumping at shadows – but their attention was fixed on the white-eye.

'Well, to answer that,' Styrax continued after a moment, 'the break¬ing of the curfew vexes me.'

There was a pause.

'The curfew?' Dev asked eventually, feeling a little confused. Since Lord Salen's death and the massacre of his troops, the streets of Thotel had been relatively quiet. Other than a few hundred youths throwing stones at patrols, there had been no trouble at all. 'A handful of children throwing stones shouldn't be causing you many problems.'

'It doesn't cause me problems,' Styrax said, closing on Dev, 'but it does sadden me. My men are forced to retaliate against children and that breeds hatred – a hatred that could last generations.' The big white-eye swung around to glare at the Chetse soldiers. 'Old men send out children to be killed on the streets so the hatred stays alive,' he growled. 'Unrest is to be expected, but to fuel it with the blood of innocents: that is shameful.'

'My Lord, I am sure it is not being organised,' Dev said after a tense pause.

'As am I,' Styrax replied in a level tone, 'but neither is it being dissuaded by the men they look up to, men like you, soldiers, and the men of the priesthood. I would not be surprised if there are some who are actively encouraging it. That I call cowardice, and it shames you, leaders of cowards.'

Is he offering to help stop the raids in the east in return for order to be restored in the city? Before Dev could think of how best to reply, the ground shuddered – once, then again, and again, like the heavy footfalls of an approaching giant. Dev looked around in alarm. The sound was coming from the Temple of the Sun itself, but all he could see was the Menin lord's helm and the great altar with the eternal flame whispering insistently above it. For an instant, Dev thought he saw a shadow moving across the furthest pillar, as though something massive had stepped between it and the eternal flame.

'What in the name of Tsatach's balls was that?' Tachrenn Lecha breathed, his hand feeling in vain for an axe that was not strapped to his back.

'That,' said Lord Styrax, staring fixedly at the temple, 'is the demand for a price to be paid.'

'My Lord?' asked Duke Vrill, a slightly anxious look on his face. Clearly he was as much in the dark as any of them.

'A little personal business,' rumbled Lord Styrax. 'Gentlemen, I suggest you stay very still, no matter what happens. You might have heard the rumour that a creature of the Dark Place thought itself clever enough to enslave my son's soul through a suit of magical armour.' As he spoke, he unfastened the cloak he'd been wearing and let it fall to the floor, revealing the armour he'd stripped from the vampire lord Koezh Vukotic after beating him in single combat. Hanging down his back was the great twin-fanged broadsword he'd won from his predecessor.

This is no coincidence, Dev thought. You wouldn't be wearing a full suit of armour if you hadn't expected this. You've summoned it!

'General Dev, if I remember my scripture correctly, Tsatach is a God with exceedingly strict views on honour and oath-breaking; am I correct?'

'You are – but surely your son has made no oath to this daemon?' the general answered. 'I thought daemons could only incarnate if they were given a means to do so.' Oh Gods, he thought to himself, is a daemon about to incarnate and take its prize? You think that Tsatach will allow this to happen inside his own temple because of bonds of honour?

'I believe that is correct,' Styrax said as he gestured towards his sickly-looking son, 'and so I have given it that means. To free my son from his enslavement 1 had to give the daemon something in return. I gave it a pledge of service.'

A gasp ran around the assembled Chetse. None of them were mages, and despite their positions they had very little to do with the supernatural side of the Land, but any sane man knew the price of such a pledge.

'You are making pacts with daemons?' Dev spluttered.

Lord Styrax gave a growl as he tore Kobra from its bindings. 'I will not stand by and let a daemon play its games unhindered, whether it is a prince among its kind or not. Now my son is free and I have been able to choose what comes next.'