«No, we don't.»

The old woman's eyes hardened. «Will you hear her words or not? She offers you a gift. Will you throw it back in her face?»

Profoundly uneasy, he said. «No, I suppose not.»

«The child says you need not grieve. The woman you know has not passed through the Arching Trees of Death. Her journey was beyond the lands you can see, beyond those of the spirit that all mortals sense. And now she has returned. You must be patient, soldier. You will meet again, so this child promises.»

«Which wornan?» Paran demanded, his heart pounding.

«The one you thought dead.»

He looked again at the girl. The familiarity returned like a blow to his chest. He staggered back a step. «Not possible,» he whispered.

The girl withdrew, dust swirling. She vanished.

«Wait!» Another cry sounded. The herd lurched into motion, closing in, obscuring the Rhivi. In moments all Paran could see were the backs of the giant beasts, shuffling past. He thought to push among them, but knew it would bring him only death.

«Wait!» the captain shouted again, but the sound of hundreds-thousands-of hoofs on the plain drowned his efforts.

Tattersail!

It was fully an hour before the Bhederin herd's tail end appeared. As the last of the beasts strolled past the captain, he looked around. The wind rolled the dust cloud eastward, over the sloping, humped hills.

Paran climbed into the saddle, swung his mount southward once again. The hills of Gadrobi rose before him. Tattersail, what did you do?

He recalled Toc noting the trail of small prints leading from the scorched pillar that had been all that was left of Bellurdan and Tattersail. Hood's Breath, did you plan such a thing? And why the Rhivi? Reborn, already a child of five, maybe six-are you even mortal any more, woman? Have you ascended? You've found yourself a people, a strange, primitive people-to what end? And when we next meet, how old will you appear to be then?

He thought again about the Rhivi. They'd been driving the herd north, a herd big enough to feed: an army on the march. Caladan Brood-he's on his way to Pale. That is something I don't think Dujek's prepared for. Old Onearm's in trouble.

He had another two hours of riding before sunset. Beyond the Gadrobi Hills was Lake Azur, and the city of Darujhistan. And within the city, Whiskeyjack and his squad. And in that squad, a young woman I've been preparing to meet for three years. The god possessing her-is he even my enemy any more?

The question arrived unbidden, turning his heart cold. Gods, what a journey this has been, and here I had thought to travel this plain unnoticed. A foolish thought. Scholars and mages write endlessly of fell convergences-it seems I am a walking convergence, a lodestone to draw Ascendants. To their peril, it seems. My sword Chance answered those five lances, despite my treatment of one of the Twins. How to explain that? The truth is, my cause has become my own. Not the Adjunct's, not the Empire's. I said I'd rather have no enemies at all-and the old woman saw those as true words. And so, it seems, they are.

Endless surprises, Ganoes Paran. Ride on, see what comes.

The track climbed a hillside and the captain spurred his horse up the slope. Reaching the summit, he yanked hard on the reins. The horse snorted indignantly and swung her head round, eyes rolling. But Paran's attention was elsewhere. He leaned back in the saddle and loosened sword.

A heavily armoured man struggled to his feet beside a small campfire.

Beyond him was a hobbled mule. The man tottered, his weight on one leg, and unsheathed a bastard sword, which he then leaned on as he regarded the captain.

Paran nudged his mount forward, scanning the immediate area. It seemed that the warrior was alone. He brought his horse to a halt with thirty feet between them.

The man spoke in Daru. «I'm in no shape for a fight, but if you want one it's yours.»

Once again Paran found himself thankful for the Adjunct's insistence that he be thoroughly schooled: his reply was as fluent as this native's.

«No. I've lost the taste for it.» He waited, leaning forward in the saddle, then grinned at the mule. «Is that beast a War Mule?»

The man barked a laugh. «I'm sure it thinks it is,» he said, relaxing.

«I've food to spare, traveller, if you're of a mind.»

The captain dismounted and approached. «My name's Paran,» he said.

He sat down by the fire.

The other followed suit, the fire between them. «Coll,» he grunted, stretching out a bandaged leg. «You down from the north?»

«Genabaris, initially. Spent some time in Pale, recently.»

Coll's brows rose at that. «You've the look of a mercenary,» he said, «though likely an officer. I heard it was pretty bad up there.»

«I arrived a little late,» Paran admitted. «Saw lots of rubble and lots of dead, so I'm inclined to believe the stories.» He hesitated, then said; «There was a rurnour in Pale that Moon's Spawn is now over Darujhistan.»

Coll grunted, tossing a handful of sticks on to the fire. «So it is,» he said. He gestured at a battered pot tucked against the coals. «That's stew, if you're hungry. Help yourself.»

Paran realized he was famished. He accepted Coll's offer gratefully. As he ate, using a wooden spoon the man loaned him, he thought to ask about that leg wound. But then he recalled his Claw training. When you play a soldier, you play it to the hilt. Nobody talks about what's obvious.

Something staring you in the eye, you look around it and grumble about the weather. Anything important will come out in its own time. Soldiers have nothing to look forward to, making patience an easy virtue, and sometimes it's not just a virtue, but a contest of indifference. So Paran emptied the pot, while Coll waited in casual silence, poking at the fire and adding the occasional stick from an enormous pile behind him-where the wood had come from was anybody's guess.

Finally, Paran wiped his mouth with his sleeve and scrubbed the spoon as clean as he could manage without water. He sat back then, and belched.

Coll spoke. «You heading into Darujhistan, then?»

«I am. And you?»

«Should be able to manage it in another day or so, though I can't say I'm looking forward to riding into the city on the back of a mule.»

Paran looked westward. «Well,» he said, squinting, «sun's about down. Mind if I share this camp for the night?»

«By all means.»

The captain rose and attended to his horses. He thought about delaying a day to let this man mend some more, then lending him a horse. If he rode into the city in the company of a local, there'd be advantages-someone to direct him, perhaps even give him a place to stay for a day or two. Not only that, but he might learn something in the meantime.

Would another day matter? Possibly, but it looked worth it. He hobbled the Wickan horses near the mule, then carried his saddle back to the fire.

«Been thinking about your problem,» Paran said, as he dropped the saddle and sat with his back against it. «I'll ride in with you. You can use my pack horse.»

Coll's eyes were alert. «A generous offer.»

Seeing the man's suspicion, Paran smiled. «The horses could use the extra day's rest, for one. Second, I've never before been to Darujhistan, so in exchange for my so-called generosity I'd like to plague you with endless questions in the next two days. After that, I get my horse back and you're on your way, and if anyone's come out ahead, it's me.»

«Better warn you now, Paran, I'm not much of a talker.»

«I'll take the risk.»

Coll considered for a time. «Hell,» he said, «I'd be mad not to accept, wouldn't I? You don't look the type to stick me in the back. I don't know your real story, Paran. If that's something you want to keep to yourself, that's your business. That won't stop me from asking questions, though. It's up to you whether you lie or not.»