«But who is there to match the Tiste And??» Crone asked. «Surely you don't intend to leave your campaign here?»

Brood bared his filed teeth in a nasty grin. «Ha, caught you out, I think. Good. You need taking down a notch or two, Crone. You don't know everything. How does it feel?»

«I'll permit such torture from you, Brood,» Crone squawked, «only because I respect your temper. just don't push me too far. Tell me, who around here can match Rake's mages? This is something I must know. You and your secrets. How can I be a true servant to my master's wishes when he withholds vital information?»

«What do you know of the Crimson Guard?» Brood asked.

«Scant,» Crone replied. «A company of mercenaries held in high regard among such kind, what of them?»

«Ask Rake's Tiste And? for their assessment, crow.»

Crone's feathers arched indignantly. «Crow? I'll not take such insults! I'm leaving. Returning to the Moon, there to devise such a list of foul names for Caladan Brood as to stain the realms!»

«Begone with you, then,» Brood said, smiling. «You've done well.»

«If only Rake wasn't even more stingy than you,» Crone said, as she hopped towards the doorway, «my spying skills would be used on you instead of on him.»

Brood spoke. «One last thing, Crone.»

She stopped at the entrance and cocked her head.

The warrior's attention had returned to the map. «When you find yourself over the Rhivi Plain far to the south, mark whatever powers you sense active there. But be careful, Crone. Something's brewing, and it stinks.

Crone's cackle was her only reply, and then she was gone.

Brood stood over his map, thinking hard. He remained unmoving for close to twenty minutes, then he straightened. Stepping outside he searched the sky. Crone was nowhere in sight. He grunted and turned to survey the nearest tents. «Kallor! Where are you?»

A tall grey man stepped around a tent and walked slowly up to Brood.

«The Gold have bogged down in the forest, Warlord,» he said in a gravelly voice, his ancient, lifeless eyes meeting Brood's. «A storm comes down from the Laederon Heights. The Moranth's Quorls will be grounded for some time.»

Brood nodded. «I'm leaving you in charge. Heading to Fox Pass.»

Kallor raised an eyebrow.

Brood stared at him, then said, «Let's not get too excited. People will start thinking you're not as bored with all this as you make out to be. I'm meeting with Prince K'azz.»

A faint smile quirked Kallor's thin lips. «What madness has Jorrick Sharplance perpetrated now?»

«None, so far as I'm aware,» Brood answered. «Ease up on the lad, Kallor. He pulled off the last one. Remember, you were young once, too The old warrior shrugged. «Jorrick's last success belongs to the Lady of Luck if anything. It surely was not the product of genius.»

«I'll not argue you that one,» Brood said.

«May I ask, what is the reason for speaking with K'azz in person?»

Brood looked around. «Where's that damn horse of mine, anyway?»

«Probably cowering,» Kallor said drily. «Word is, his legs have become shorter and stubbier beneath your prodigious self. I remain unconvinced that such a thing is possible, but who can argue with a horse?»

«I need some of the Prince's men,» Brood said, heading off down aisle. «To be more precise,» he said, over his shoulder, «I need the Crimson Guard's Sixth Blade.»

Watching Caladan Brood stride away, Kallor sighed. «Rake again, is it, Warlord? You'd do better to follow my advice and destroy him. You will dismissing my advice, Brood.» His dull eyes followed Brood until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. «Consider that my last warning.»

The charred earth crunched under their horses» hoofs. The glance that Toc the Younger threw back over his shoulder was received with a grim nod from Captain Paran. They were nearing the source of last night's column of fire.

As Toc had promised, leaving the city had proved a simple matter, none accosted them, and the gates had been left ajar. Their horses were indeed Wickan-bred, lean and long-limbed; and though their ears flattened and eyes rolled they held to the discipline of their reins.

The still midday air was heavy with the stench of sulphur, and already a fine coat of ash covered the two riders and their horses. Overhead the sun was a bright copper orb. Toc stopped his mount and waited for the captain to arrive.

Paran wiped grimy sweat from his brow and adjusted his helmet.

camail felt heavy on his shoulders as he squinted ahead. They were heading towards the place where the pillar of fire had come from. The night just past had been one of deep fear for Paran: neither he nor Toc had ever witnessed such a conflagration of sorcery. Though they had camped leagues away they had felt the heat pouring from it. Now, as they approached, all Paran could feel was dread.

Neither he nor Toc spoke. Perhaps a hundred yards eastward r something that looked like a misshapen tree stump, one gnarled, blackened branch reaching skyward. In a perfect circle around it the grass sward was untouched for perhaps five yards. A dark smudge lay in the unburned area, slightly off to one side.

Paran nudged his mount forward and Toc followed after unslinging and stringing his bow. As Toc caught up with the captain, Paran saw that his companion had nocked an arrow.

The closer they approached the less like a tree the charred thing looked. The limb that reached out from it had familiar lines. Paran's gaze narrowed some more, then he cursed and spurred his horse. He closed the distance quickly, leaving behind a startled Toc.

Arriving, he dismounted and strode up to what he now saw were two bodies, one gigantic. Both had been burned beyond recognition, but Paran held no illusions as to who the other was. All that come close to me, all that I care for: «Tattersail,» he whispered, then fell to his knees.

Toc joined him, but remained in the saddle, standing in the stirrups and scanning the horizon. A minute later he dismounted and walked a slow circle around the embracing bodies, stopping at the dark smudge they'd seen from a distance. He crouched to study it.

Paran raised his head and struggled to keep his eyes on the figures. The limb belonged to the giant. The fire that had consumed them both had blackened the arm for most of its length, but its hand was only slightly scorched. Paran stared at the grasping fingers and wondered what salvation the giant had reached for in its moment of death. The freedom that is death, a freedom denied me. Damn the gods, damn them all.

Numbed, he was slow to realize that Toc called to him.

It was an effort to rise to his feet. He staggered to where Toc still crouched. On the ground before the man was a torn burlap sack.

«Tracks lead from this,» Toc said shakily, a strange expression on his face. He scratched vigorously at his scar, then rose. «Heading north-east.»

Paran looked at his companion without comprehension. «Tracks?»

«Small, like a child's. Only. .»

«Only what?» The man hugged himself. «Those feet were mostly bones.» He met the captain's blank stare. «As if the soles were gone, rotted or burned away-I don't know: Something horrible has happened here, Captain. I'm glad it's heading away, whatever it is.»

Paran turned back to the two entwined figures. He flinched. One hand reached up to touch his face. «That's Tattersail,» he said, in a flat voice.

«I know. I'm sorry. The other one is the Thelomen High Mage Bellurdan. It has to be.» Toc looked down at the burlap sack. «He took leave to come out here and bury Nightchill.» He added quietly, «I don't think Nightchill needs burying any more.»

«Tayschrenn did this,» Paran said.

Something in the captain's voice brought Toc round.

«Tayschrenn. And the Adjunct. Tattersail was right. They would not have killed her otherwise. Only she didn't die easily, she never took the easy path in anything.