A grimace. ‘I saw. That second spear, that was well thrown, brother.’

Still, the brothers knew. Without the KenrylPah, they would now be dead.

The first demon spoke. ‘May we pursue now?’

Fear hesitated, then nodded. ‘Go.’

The two KenrylPah swung round and headed up the street.

‘We can eat on the way.’

‘Good idea, brother.’

Somewhere in the town, the dog was still barking.

‘We have to help him,’ Sandalath Drukorlat said.

Withal glanced over at her. They were standing on the sward’s verge overlooking the beach. The Tiste Edur youth was curled up in the sand below. Still shrieking. ‘It’s not his first visit,’ Withal said.

‘How is your head?’ she asked after a moment.

‘It hurts.’

The Tiste Edur fell silent, shuddering, then the youth’s head jerked up. He stared at Withal and the Tiste Andii woman standing beside the Meckros weaponsmith. Then back again. ‘Withal!’

The smith’s brows rose, although the motion made him wince, and he said, ‘He normally doesn’t talk to me much.’ To the youth, ‘Rhulad. I am not so cruel as to say welcome.’

‘Who is she? Who is that… betrayer}’

Sandalath snorted. ‘Pathetic. This is the god’s sword-wielder? A mistake.’

‘If it is,’ Withal said in a low voice, ‘I have no intention of telling him so.’

Rhulad clambered to his feet. ‘It killed me.’

‘Yes,’ Withal replied. ‘It did, whatever “it” was.’

‘A Forkrul Assail.’

Sandalath stiffened. ‘You should be more careful, Edur, in choosing your enemies.’

A laugh close to hysteria, as Rhulad made his way up from the beach. ‘Choose, woman? I choose nothing .’

‘Few ever do, Edur.’

‘What is she doing here, Withal?’

‘The Crippled God thought I needed company. Beyond three insane Nachts.’

‘You are lovers?’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Sandalath said, sneering.

‘Like she said,’ Withal added.

Rhulad stepped past them. ‘I need my sword,’ he muttered, walking inland.

They turned to watch him.

‘His sword,’ Sandalath murmured. ‘The one the god had you make?’

Withal nodded. ‘But I am not to blame.’

‘You were compelled.’

‘I was.’

‘It’s not the weapon that’s evil, it’s the one wielding it.’

He studied her. ‘I don’t care if you crack my skull again. I am really starting to hate you.’

‘I assure you my sentiments are identical regarding you.’

Withal turned away. ‘I’m going to my shack.’

‘Of course you are,’ she snapped behind him. ‘To beg and mumble to your god. As if it’d bother listening to such pathetic mewling.’

‘I’m hoping,’ Withal said over his shoulder, ‘that it’ll take pity on me.’

‘Why should it?’

He did not reply, and wisely kept his answering smile to himself.

Standing ten paces to the side of the throne, Brys Beddict watched as King Ezgara Diskanar walked solemnly into the domed chamber. Distracted irritation was on the king’s face, since his journey had required a detour around the prone, shivering form of the Ceda, Kuru Qan, but that was behind him now, and Brys saw Ezgara slowly resume his stern expression.

Awaiting him in the throne room was a handful of officials and guards. First Eunuch Nifadas was positioned to the right of the throne, holding the Lether crown on a blood-red pillow. First Concubine Nisall knelt at the foot of the dais, on the left side. Along with Brys and six of his guardsmen, Finadd Gerun Eberict was present with six of his own soldiers of the Palace Guard.

And that was all. The investiture on this, the day of the Seventh Closure – or close enough since no-one could agree on that specific date – was to be witnessed by these few. Not as originally planned, of course. But there had been more riots, the last one the bloodiest of them all. The king’s name had become a curse among the citizenry. The list of invitations had been truncated as a matter of security, and even then, Brys was nervous about Gerun Eberict’s presence.

The king neared the dais, his robes sliding silken on the polished marble floor in his wake.

‘This day,’ Nifadas intoned, ‘Lether becomes an empire.’

The guards executed the salute reserved for the royal line and held it, motionless as statues.