– as a huge white wolf, claws skittering, pitched round from an alley mouth and, head ducking, lunged toward Turudal Brizad, who had only just begun to turn round.

The Avowed caught it in mid-leap, left hand closing on its right leg just beneath the shoulder, right hand clutching its neck beneath the beast’s jaws. He heaved the wolf high, pivoted and smashed it head first onto the street. Crushing snout, skull and shoulders. Limbs kicking spasmodically, the Soletaken flopped onto its back, yellow vomit spurting, urine arcing as it died. A moment later, all movement from the limbs ceased, although the urine continued to stream, the arc dwindling, then collapsing.

Iron Bars stepped back.

Halfpeck suddenly laughed. ‘It pissed on you!’

‘Be quiet,’ Iron Bars said, looking down at his wet legs. ‘Hood take me, that stinks.’

‘We should get back to the ship,’ Corlo said. ‘There’s wolves all over the place and I don’t think I can keep them away much longer.’

Turudal Brizad. ‘But I can. Especially now.’

Bugg asked, ‘What’s changed, apart from the Pack getting chopped to pieces?’

The Errant pointed down at the dead Soletaken. ‘That was B’nagga, the leader of the Jheck.’ He shot Bugg a look, astonished and half disbelieving. ‘You chose well,’ he said.

‘This squad managed to escape Assail,’ Bugg said, shrugging.

The god’s eyes widened. He turned to Iron Bars. ‘I will ensure you a clear path to your ship-’

‘Oh, damn,’ Bugg cut in, slowly turning. ‘They’re getting out.’

‘More trouble?’ Iron Bars asked, looking round, his hand drifting close to the sword at his hip.

‘Not here,’ Bugg said. ‘But not far.’ He faced the Avowed, gauging.

Iron Bars frowned, then said, ‘Corlo, take the squad back to the ship. All right, old man, lead the way.’

‘You don’t have to do this-’

‘Yes I do. With that wolf pissing on me I feel the need to lose my temper. It’s another fight, isn’t it?’

Bugg nodded. ‘Might make the Pack seem like kittens, Iron Bars.’

‘Might? Will it or won’t it?’

‘All right, we might well lose this one.’

‘Fine,’ the Avowed snapped. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

The manservant sighed. ‘Follow me, then. It’s a dead Azath House we’re heading to.’

‘Dead? Hood take me, a garden fete.’

A garden fete? Dear me, I like this man . ‘And we’re inviting ourselves, Avowed. Still with me?’

Iron Bars looked across at Corlo, who had stopped to listen, his face bloodless as he repeatedly shook his head in denial. The Avowed grunted. ‘Once you’ve dropped ’em off, come and find us, Corlo. And try and make your arrival timely.’

‘Avowed-’

‘Go.’

Bugg glanced at the Errant. ‘You coming?’

‘In spirit,’ he replied. ‘There is another matter I must attend to, I am afraid. Oh,’ he added as Bugg and Iron Bars turned to go, ‘dear manservant, I thank you. And you as well, Avowed. Tell me, Iron Bars, how many of the Avowed remain among the Crimson Guard?’

‘No idea. A few hundred, I’d imagine.’

‘Scattered here and there…’

The grey-haired soldier smiled. ‘For the moment.’

Bugg said, ‘We shall have to run, I think.’

‘Can you keep up?’ Iron Bars asked.

‘As swift as a charging wave, that’s me,’ Bugg said.

Brys stood alone in the corridor. The howling was, thankfully, over. It was the only sound that had managed to penetrate the walls. There was no way to know if the garrison was fighting in the city beyond the Eternal Domicile. It seemed such a pointless thing…

His breath caught upon hearing a strange sound. Brys lowered his gaze, fixed it upon the Ceda, who was lying curled tight in the chamber beyond, with his back to Brys and the throne room behind him.

Kuru Qan’s head shifted slightly, then rose a fraction from the floor.

And, from the Ceda, there came low laughter.

The path was unmistakable. Keening with glee, the demon drew itself to the cave’s entrance, contracting its massive, corpulent presence, the bloated flesh of its body, away from the river’s broad span. Inward, gathering, hovering before the tunnel beneath the city, where old swamp water still flowed, putrid and sweet, a flavour like sweet nectar to the demon.

Ready now, at last, for the lunge, the breaking away from the grip of its master. Who was so regrettably preoccupied at the moment.