Blend shrugged. 'If it was me I'd have Quick Ben take a good long peer at them, and sooner not later.'

'Togg's balls, if you'd a suspicion-'

'Didn't say I did, Corporal — it was you complaining they were tight. Can you get them off?'

She scowled. 'No, damn you.'

'Oh.' Blend looked away.

Picker contemplated giving the woman a good, hard cuff, but it was a thought she entertained at least ten times a day since they'd paired up for this posting, and once again she resisted it. 'Three hundred councils to buy my arm falling off. Wonderful.'

'Think positive, Corporal. It'll give you something to talk about with Dujek.'

'I really do hate you, Blend.'

She offered Picker a bland smile. 'So, did you drop a pebble in that old man's pack, then?'

'Aye, he was fidgety enough to warrant it. He damn near fainted when I called him back, didn't he?'

Blend nodded.

'So,' Picker said, unrolling her sleeve, 'Quick Ben tracks him-'

'Unless he cleans out his pack-'

The corporal grunted. 'He cared less about what was in it than I did. No, whatever serious booty he carried was under his shirt, no doubt about it. Anyway, he'll be sure to put out the word when he gets to Pale — the traffic of smugglers through these hills will drop right off, mark my words and I'll lay coin on that wager — and I threw him the line about better chances at the Divide when you was off collecting the councils.'

Blend's smile broadened. ' "Chaos at the crossroads", eh? The only chaos Paran's crew has over there is what to do with all the takings.'

'Let's fix some food — the Moranth will likely be as punctual as usual.'

The two Bridgeburners made their way back up the trail.

An hour after sunset the flight of Black Moranth arrived, descending on their quorls in a slithering flutter of wings to the circle of lanterns Picker and Blend had set out. One of them carried a passenger who clambered off as soon as his quorl's six legs alighted on the stony ground.

Picker grinned at the cursing man. 'Over here, Quick-'

He spun to face her. 'What in Hood's name have you been up to, Corporal?'

Her grin fell away. 'Not much, Wizard. Why?'

The thin, dusk-skinned man glanced over a shoulder at the Black Moranth, then hastened to the position where Picker and Blend waited. He lowered his voice. 'We need to keep things simple, damn it. Coming over the hills I almost fell out of that knobby saddle — there's warrens swirling around down here, power bleeding from everywhere-' He stopped, stepped closer, eyes glittering. 'From you, too, Picker …'

'Cursed after all,' Blend muttered.

Picker glared at her companion and threw as much sarcasm into her tone as she could muster, 'Just like you suspected all along, right, Blend? You lying-'

'You've acquired the blessing of an ascendant!' Quick Ben accused in a hiss. 'You idiot! Which one, Picker?'

She struggled to swallow with a suddenly dry throat. 'Uh, Treach?'

'Oh, that's just great.'

The corporal scowled. 'What's wrong with Treach? Perfect for a soldier — the Tiger of Summer, the Lord of Battle-'

'Five centuries ago, maybe! Treach veered into his Soletaken form hundreds of years ago — the beast hasn't had a human thought since! It's not just mindless — it's insane, Picker!'

Blend snickered.

The wizard whirled on her. 'What are you laughing at?'

'Nothing. Sorry.'

Picker rolled up her sleeve to reveal the torcs. 'It's these, Quick Ben,' she explained hastily. 'Can you get them off me?'

He recoiled upon seeing the ivory bands, then shook his head. 'If it was a sane, reasonable ascendant, maybe some … negotiation might be possible. In any case, never mind-'

'Never mind?' Picker reached out and gripped handfuls of raincape. She shook the wizard. 'Never mind? You snivelling worm-' She stopped suddenly, eyes widening.

Quick Ben regarded her with a raised eyebrow. 'What are you doing, Corporal?' he asked softly.

'Uh, sorry, Wizard.' She released him.

Sighing, Quick Ben adjusted his cape. 'Blend, lead the Moranth to the cache.'

'Sure,' she said, ambling towards the waiting warriors.

'Who made the delivery, Corporal?'

'The torcs?'

'Forget the torcs — you're stuck with them. The councils from Darujhistan. Who delivered them?'

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