“Pride, no more. Hearken then to my story.”

Baruk raised an eyebrow. The old witch's mood was dark. He fell silent and she began.

“A small wooden puppet approaches from the north, a creation of soul-shifting and sourced from a Warren of Chaos. Its power is immense, twisted, malign even to Great Ravens. It killed many of my kin as it slipped in and out of its Warren. It evidently took pleasure in such acts.”

Crone snapped her beak in anger, then continued, “It pursues a power I could not approach, and whatever this power, it strikes directly for the Gadrobi Hills-my lord and I are agreed in this. The power seeks something within those hills, yet we are not native to this land. Hence we bring this news to you, Alchemist. Two forces are converging on the Gadrobi Hills. My lord asks you why.”

Baruk's face had lost all its colour. He turned slowly and walked to a chair. Sitting down, he steepled his hands before his face and closed his eyes. “The Malazan Empire seeks something it cannot hope to control, something buried within the Gadrobi Hills. Whether or not either force is capable of freeing that thing is another matter. Seeking is not the same as finding, and finding is not the same as succeeding.”

Crone hissed impatiently. “Who is buried there, Alchemist?”

“A Jaghut Tyrant, imprisoned by the Jaghut themselves. Generations of scholars and sorcerers have sought to find this barrow. None managed to discover even so much as a clue.” Baruk looked up, his expression lined with worry. “I know of one man, here in Darujhistan, who has gathered all the available knowledge concerning this burial place. I must confer with him. I can give your lord this, however. There lies a standing stone in the Gadrobi Hills-I know its location precisely. It is almost invisible only its weathered top breaks the ground nealy a hand's span in height. The remaining twenty feet are beneath the earth. You will see the remnants of many pits and trenches that have been excavated around it-all fruitless. For while the stone marks the beginning point-it is not the entrance to the barrow.”

“Where, then, is this entrance?”

“That I will not tell you. Once I speak with my colleague, perhaps I can give you more details. Perhaps not. But the means by which the barrow is entered must remain a secret.”

“This avails us nothing! My lord-”

“Is extremely powerful,” Baruk cut in. “His intentions are anything but clear, Crone, no matter that we are allied. What lies within that barrow can destroy a city-this city. That I will not allow to enter Rake's hands.

“You shall have the location of the standing stone, for it is there that the hunters must first go. I have one question to ask, Crone. This puppet, are you certain it pursues this other power?”

Crone bobbed her head. “It tracks. It hides when necessary. You assume both powers are Malazan. Why?”

Baruk grunted. “First, they want Darujhistan. They'll do anything to win it. They've had access to vast libraries among the lands they've conquered. The Jaghut barrow is no secret in and of itself. Second, you said both powers came down from the north. They can only be Malazan.

“Why one hides from the other is beyond me, though I wouldn't doubt that there are competing factions within the Empire-any political entity as large as that one is bound to be rife with discord. In any case, they pose a direct threat to Darujhistan and, by extension, to your lord's desires to prevent the Malazan Empire from conquering us. Assuming that the powers are Malazan seems warranted.”

Crone's displeasure was obvious. “You will be kept informed of the activities on the Rhivi Plain. My lord must decide whether to intercept these powers before they reach the Gadrobi Hills.” She turned an angry eye on Baruk. “He has received little assistance from his allies. I trust when we next speak that situation will be remedied.”

The alchemist shrugged. “My first meeting with Anomander Rake has proved my only meeting with him. Assistance demands communication.”

His tone hardened. “Inform your lord that the present dissatisfaction exists with us as much as it does with him.”

“My lord has been busy with his side of things,” Crone muttered, flapping to the window-sill.

Baruk stared at the bird as she prepared to leave. “Busy?” he asked darkly. “In what way?”

“In due time, Alchemist,” Crone purred. A moment later she was gone.

Baruk cursed, and with an angry gesture returned the window to its place and slammed the shutters. Doing this through magic and from a distance was not as satisfying as it would have been had he done it physically. Grumbling, he rose and walked to the mantelpiece. As he poured himself some wine, he paused. Less than half an hour ago he'd conjured a demon. It was not an ambitious conjuring: he'd needed a spy, not a killer. Something told him he'd be calling upon far deadlier creatures in the near future. He scowled, then took a mouthful of wine.