He fell asleep rehearsing sword moves in his head.

The door had been repaired, after a fashion. Though Kat hoped this was only a temporary replacement and not the best the apothaker could afford. She rapped smartly on the faceless sheet of cheap plywood that now blocked the entrance; two knocks, which sounded dull and hollow, while the whole door vibrated beneath her fist.

It occurred to her belatedly that the apothaker might have moved away gone to stay with friends or relatives after the traumas of the other night, but then she heard the shuffle of movement from within.

"I'm not open," a tired voice called out. "Try Sur Eames in Woodhouse Lane."

"It's me, Kat," she said, suddenly self-conscious and glancing around to ensure no pa.s.serby could overhear what she said next, "the Death Queen from the other night."

There came a rattle of chains and a sc.r.a.ping, as if a chair or some such had been pressed against the door's other side and needed to be removed.

The door opened a fraction, and a vertical strip of face appeared in the gap, complete with eye. "Kat, is it?" The face withdrew to a further rattle of chains and the door opened more fully. "You'd better come in, I suppose."

Kat followed her inside, having to manoeuvre around a solid wooden chair; presumably the one that had been used to block the door. The place smelt, and not of anything pleasant. She wondered if the old woman had moved from this room at all since the other evening, even to wash or pee.

"I presume you have something to tell me, about the monster that killed my Kara?" the apothaker said as she shuffled to a high-backed armchair and flopped down into it. The way she asked made it sound as if Kat dropping by to bring her an update was the most natural thing in the world.

On a small table in front of the armchair rested a drawing done in charcoal on a sheet of textured paper. It was a portrait of a girl, or young woman, smiling, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes and her face framed by a cascade of dark hair. Skilfully executed, the image seemed imbued with a sense of life, though it was only a sketch. Kat could sense the love and care that had gone into its crafting and guessed this must be Kara. "She was beautiful," she said softly.

"Yes, yes she was," the apothaker said, reaching forward to fiddle with the picture as if embarra.s.sed to have her efforts on display and perhaps intending to move the sheet out of sight; but in the end she left it there. "I used to paint..." she explained. "In another life, when there was more time, and more beauty in the world." She shivered, and then straightened in the chair. "Now, what news?"

"Well," Kat said, a little guardedly. "I think we've found a way to trap the Soul Thief and finish her off once and for all, but we're gonna need your help."

"My help?" The woman cackled. "Never did learn how to use a knife, young lady, and if it's potions you're after, I've already given you the best I have. What help could I possibly be?"

"Not just you; we need everyone with talent, as many as we can possibly find."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "And what would you want all these folk for?"

Kat took a deep breath, knowing that what she said next would either win or lose the apothaker's support. "As bait."

"Ah, I see." The old woman sat silent for a few seconds. "And you're sure that when the monster takes this bait, you can stop it?"

Kat smiled. "The Tattooed Men have weapons at our disposal you've never dreamed of; the sort of thing we don't get a chance to use too often. We'll stop her, don't worry." She spoke with such a.s.surance and sincerity, she almost convinced herself.

"Very well, I'll help. Of course I will, if it means revenge... And I can help, perhaps more than you realise. I sense talent, you see, feel it within a person. I know if they're the genuine article or a pompous sham. It's how I found Kara. Would that be of any use to you?"

Kat stared at her host. She'd come here hoping the old woman could point her in the direction of other pract.i.tioners in the area, people who might have a smattering of genuine talent, but if the apothaker truly could tell those who did from those who merely claimed to, that was a boon beyond anything Kat had ever dreamed of finding.

"Maybe," she said, her usual guarded nature a.s.serting itself. "You'll come with me, then?"

The old woman looked up and smiled an expression that held no mirth or warmth but rather reminded Kat of a naked skull's grin. "What, the chance to catch the brecker that killed my Kara? Of course I will. Wouldn't miss it for anything."

"We could start with this Eames in Woodhouse Lane you mentioned..."

The apothaker shook her head. "I wouldn't bother the man's a complete fraud. You don't think I'd send my customers to anyone who might actually take them away from me, do you?" She rose from her seat and pulled a sequinned shawl from a wall hook; a garment that looked as if it might have cost a pretty penny once upon a time. After wrapping the shawl with meticulous care around her shoulders and securing it with a pin, she ushered Kat towards the door. "Don't worry, girl, stick with me and I'll show you where the real talent lies."

Moonlight graced the land with fey shadows and an ephemeral beauty which Ulbrax was not even remotely in the mood to enjoy. By daybreak this would again be just one more barren and unremarkable hillside looking down on the great trade road as it made its way to Crosston.

"What are we doing here, Seth?"

Wil was getting on his nerves, and Ulbrax was finding the Seth persona increasingly difficult to maintain.

"I told you, seeking help. Trust me, Wil, everything will become clear shortly."

Better if he had undertaken this trip alone, but that was never really an option.

He'd brought with him the length of wood the fifth spoke given to Seth by the demon and followed the accompanying directions precisely. This was the right place, he felt certain, now all Ulbrax had to do was find the right rock.

Had he he been involved from the start, Ulbrax would have come out here like a shot, making sure he knew exactly where the rock was so that he could go straight to it if and when it were needed. Forward planning: never hurt, often helped. Being a mere innkeeper, Seth had never even considered doing anything that intelligent, which left Ulbrax to blunder around in the dark looking for a particular lump of stone among many, with a whining yokel for company. been involved from the start, Ulbrax would have come out here like a shot, making sure he knew exactly where the rock was so that he could go straight to it if and when it were needed. Forward planning: never hurt, often helped. Being a mere innkeeper, Seth had never even considered doing anything that intelligent, which left Ulbrax to blunder around in the dark looking for a particular lump of stone among many, with a whining yokel for company.

Wil had been the obvious choice. Anyone would have served, the lad was just unlucky; but there seemed little point in involving someone new when Wil had already been so helpful in recalling the mercenaries. Besides, there was no guarantee anyone else would prove this gullible.

"Bring that lantern over here, would you, Wil?"

The lad duly obliged; anything for his friend Seth, whom he clearly trusted implicitly. From the demon's description, the rock ought to be one of this clump before him... ah yes. Difficult to be certain in the fickle illumination of the lantern, but there looked to be a small hole in the face of one of them, a pit that was about the right size. He sc.r.a.ped ineffectually at the moss that partially concealed the indentation, then took the fifth spoke and brought it to the stone. If this truly was a fit, it was going to be a tight one. He wriggled the spoke around, increasingly confident that this was the right match, but unable to find the proper angle to push the stick home.

"Keep the light steady!" he snapped. Not that Wil was doing anything but; he just needed to vent a little steam at somebody.

Given the pa.s.sage of years, it was hardly surprising if dust and dirt and moss had conspired to obscure and partially close the small hole. Setting the spoke to one side for the moment, Ulbrax took out his knife and used its tip to sc.r.a.pe away moss and gouge into the hollow, flicking out detritus as he went. He then tried the spoke again and this time, with only a minimum of coaxing, the stick grated home.

He rubbed his hands together and smiled at Wil, who looked vaguely uncomfortable and distinctly puzzled.

"Right," Ulbrax said, "Now comes the moment of truth!"

The key word which the demon had shared with him was no invocation in some long-dead mystical language, no tongue-twisting phrase laden with innate power, nothing that could be represented only by cryptic runes which dripped with eldritch energy. It was a simple, unimposing word.

"Arise!" Ulbrax declared, attempting to invest in those two mundane syllables all the drama that the occasion demanded.

He then stood back and waited, fascinated to discover what actually happened next.

Nor was he disappointed. The cl.u.s.ter of stones surrounding the spoke began to glow. Ulbrax ignored the sharp intake of breath from the lad beside him and concentrated on the steady transformation. The outline of individual rocks began to blur, as if the rocks themselves were somehow melting and flowing into each other. As the process continued, the affected area slowly took on a recognisable shape: that of a large person lying down, half wrapped around the keystone in what looked to be a foetal curl. Once this form solidified, the figure stirred, raising itself into a sitting position and then standing in one flowing, graceful movement.

Still the figure glowed, so brightly that Ulbrax would not have been surprised to see the gra.s.ses around the form char and wither or perhaps catch alight, but they seemed unaffected, so presumably the energy coming off the creature didn't involve a great deal of heat. Certainly Ulbrax couldn't feel any against his face. In fact, if anything, the figure seemed to emanate cold.

"What... what is that thing?" stammered a voice from beside him.

"Our ally, Wil. Nothing to be afraid of."

In actual fact Ulbrax knew exactly what this was, but the knowledge would only panic the lad. Before them stood a Rust Warrior. The very last of its kind.

Time's healing qualities ensured that the Great War was barely thought about these days; the decade-long conflict which had seen Thaiburley tested and totter was the dread of generations past and had little relevance to the folk of today, for all that its scars could still be found here and there dotted around the landscape. Ulbrax had a natural curiosity about all things relating to death and destruction so had made a point of studying the war. He knew the conflict's effect had been profound. Thaiburley had all but withdrawn from the world as a result, becoming insular and far less concerned with what went on outside the city's walls. Before the war, her amba.s.sadors were to be found throughout the continent and beyond, their influence on politics indelible. During the conflict itself her armies bestrode the land, pitching into t.i.tanic battle after battle against an enemy that very nearly matched her, but which, in the end, had been completely crushed and wholly eradicated. Thaiburley displayed a lack of mercy that left some observers stunned. In the aftermath of that ferocious and debilitating struggle, it was perhaps only to be expected that the city withdraw behind her formidable walls to lick her wounds and recuperate. But she had never truly ventured out again.

Both sides in that war had possessed terrible weapons and deployed fearsome troops: Thaiburley's Blade being pitted against the enemy's Rust Warriors lethal and callous, engines of destruction said to be even less human than the Blade. Though formidable and greatly feared, the Rust Warriors had been outmatched and by war's end they had been utterly destroyed, stamped out to the very last.

Well, last but one it would seem.

Wil had taken a few steps back and raised a hand to shield his eyes, while even Ulbrax was forced to squint as he attempted to study the apparition. Nothing was clearly discernible beyond the shining nimbus, though he fancied something manlike lurked within.

Then the figure raised a gleaming hand, pointing towards Wil.

"Seth...?"

"Relax, Wil, our new ally is just making sure it knows you, so you'll be recognised as a friend in future."

As improvised lies went, that one sounded almost plausible.

Radiance shot from the outthrust hand, enveloping the cowering lad. Wil's mouth contorted, as if he were screaming, though no sound penetrated the engulfing coc.o.o.n of light. Then it wasn't just his mouth but rather his whole body which started to twist and shift: this was Wil viewed via a cunning fairground mirror. The next instant he seemed to come apart; not in a violent anarchic explosion, but rather in something close to slow motion, as if sliced into the thinnest sections which floated off in wafer-like slivers, hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. Almost as soon as they appeared, these shavings withered and darkened, many already crumpling and disintegrating as they drifted towards the ground. The light around the s.p.a.ce where Wil had been standing died, but in the glow still emanating from the boy's nemesis, Ulbrax could see that these drifting flecks had acquired a dark, reddybrown colouration, as if newly flaked from ancient iron.

"Ah, so that's why they call them Rust Warriors," he murmured.

The glow around the warrior started to fade, and Ulbrax was left facing a very human-looking figure, perhaps a head taller than him tall for a man but not outlandishly so, certainly not enough to be called giant. He recognised the face, too. It was undeniably Wil's, though no one who knew the deceased lad could have mistaken this as the same person. The body was too large, too muscular, too imposing. Wil in a few years time had he performed physical labour every day during the interim, eaten well, and gained a bit of height along the way.

Such inconsistencies were irrelevant, however, since n.o.body who'd known the real Wil was likely to meet this impersonator and make comparisons. Ulbrax had no intention of returning to Crosston or the Four Spoke Inn; he was leaving Seth behind for good. His sole focus was on catching up with the King Slayer and the boy, and now that the Rust Warrior had replenished its energies courtesy of Wil's body, they could set about doing so.

The warrior's chameleon aspect didn't harm, either. It was going to be far easier travelling with a strapping lad at his side than it would have been with a faceless, glowing figure for company.

He addressed his new companion for the first time. "My name is Ulbrax. You will respond only to my voice, and will answer to the name Wil."

The tall figure nodded acknowledgment. Did Rust Warriors speak? He had no idea, but wasn't frankly bothered either way.

"Good. Come."

Ulbrax took one final look at the cosy glow of street lamps and unshuttered windows that marked Crosston, wondering briefly whether any there had noticed the great flaring of light on a nearby hillside. He could imagine the subject being remarked upon by some of the regulars at the Four Spoke Inn, with a shared frown and the odd stroke of stubbled chins, before they turned their attention to more pressing concerns such as the protracted dry spell in distant Angshe and the affect this was having on the price of soft fruit. A few days ago he'd have been there in the thick of it, discussing these weighty matters with the best of them, but life moves on. Ulbrax turned and strode away, the looming presence of the last Rust Warrior close on his heels.

ELEVEN.

For the best part of three days after the body boys carted his mum's corpse away, he managed to keep hold of the home. On the third he lost it to a family two boys older than him plus their mother and father.

Tom had never known his own father.

There were plenty of empty buildings scattered around the under-City but they were mostly falling down, dangerous, and in need of heavy investment in sweat and toil to make them habitable, which was why they were empty. His home was sound, so he knew it was only a matter of time before someone took it from him. Not that he went without a fight, but all that did was earn him a bruised ribcage and a smack around the face. They were too big, too strong, and too many. The knowledge that one of their boy's would have a peach of a black eye in the morning provided only minor consolation.

He was seven or eight years old Mum never had been too good at keeping count.

He survived the first couple of days by scavenging sc.r.a.ps from the swill bins behind taverns, though little was thrown out in the City Below and pickings were meagre. At night he found an empty building and crawled into a dark corner of the only room which still had a bit of roofing in place, covering himself with a large sheet of rotting cardboard a deconstructed, flattened-out box. He lay awake for hours, fearing that the bats or some other more formidable haunter of the dark would creep up on him while he slept and kill him without his ever knowing.

They didn't, so the following day he was still alive to contest with an obstinate spill dragon for a k.n.o.b-end of stale bread and a bone which still had a few sc.r.a.ps of fatty, roasted meat clinging to it. The flecks of meat he devoured hungrily, and the bread wasn't too bad once it had been softened with a sprinkling of water.

Yet something, either the meat or stray saliva from the vindictive spill dragon, proved less digestible.

Within hours of the paltry meal he was struck by crippling stomach cramps. Remembering his mum's advice, he headed for the nearest temple of Thaiss, making it as far as the threshold before collapsing completely. The temple leant him a cot while they nursed him back to health, and he recovered quickly. With the benefit of hindsight, he realised the Thaistess was almost certainly a healer, but that possibility escaped him at the time. The boy was overcome with grat.i.tude, not to mention a desperate need to belong somewhere. He determined to stay and serve at the temple, but they cast him out as soon as he was fit enough, the Thaistess explaining that the temple was not the right place for him. She was probably right and almost certainly meant well, though he failed to appreciate as much at the time. Her acolyte, on the other hand, was a spiteful cow who made his brief stay as uncomfortable as possible. He left the temple resenting their rejection and harbouring a bitter hatred of priestesses and religion which was to colour his att.i.tude thereafter.

Returning to the life of a solo forager proved far from easy, and he was soon sliding towards starvation, ill heath and an early death, when he encountered a pair of c.o.c.ksure nicks who seemed a great deal better off than he was. They proved to be members of a gang called the Blue Claw, and it turned out he was operating on what they a.s.sured him was their turf. After a tense moment which threatened to erupt into violence but somehow avoided doing so, with food again the cause of contention, he ended up going with them and was soon recruited into the gang; a move which almost certainly saved his life.

Tom blinked into wakefulness, sitting up and staring around, momentarily thrown by the absence of walls and the sense of s.p.a.ce. "Wh... where am I?"

The face of a Thaistess loomed above him, smiling. "You're with friends Tom, and you're fine, though you were tossing and turning a bit in your sleep. Troubled dreams?"

He relaxed and sank back onto his sleeping mat as everything came flooding back. "In a sense. I was just remembering why I've always mistrusted Thaistesses."

"Oh." Mildra looked disconcerted, as if not entirely sure how to respond. "And do you, still?"

He grinned. "Not as much."

"Good."

He wasn't given much chance to lie around. The morning began with another training session at Dewar's insistence and to Tom's delight. He really looked forward to these lessons and had to concede that maybe Dewar wasn't all that bad after all.

Even so, as this third lesson started, he felt obliged to ask their self-appointed leader, "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything I really appreciate this but I can't help wondering why you're doing it."

Dewar stared at him in way that seemed to say "don't think for one moment it's because I like you", though what he actually said was, "Four days from Thaiburley, two days out of Crosston, and we're all still alive. I'd like to keep it that way if I can. Simple as that. Now, raise your blade and stiffen up that elbow! Your arm's flapping around like a piece of soggy cardboard."

Ulbrax sat on his horse and considered the ill-a.s.sorted trio before him. At his side, the Rust Warrior whom no horse would carry remained unmoving and unconcerned.

At least Ulbrax could appreciate the irony of the situation. He had gone to a lot of trouble to hire men much like this to kill the King Slayer and his party, who had doubtless pa.s.sed through this area unhindered not long before, while here he was with three desperate men blocking his path to the front and three more behind. Men who required no hiring whatsoever.

"Where were you when I needed you?" he muttered.

"What wasat?"

"Oh, nothing," he a.s.sured the speaker a particularly ugly specimen who looked capable of scaring most victims into submission with a single glower. So far, Ugly had been the only one to speak. Maybe his two companions couldn't words being such troublesome things to formulate, after all.

Ugly grunted. Beside him stood a stick-thin shiftyeyed fellow who seemed incapable of standing still, forever twitching like a weasel on hot coals; that worthy sn.i.g.g.e.red.

"Now, we don't wanna hurt no one," Ugly a.s.sured him unconvincingly. "But me friend 'ere has a gammy leg and finds walking tough." He indicated the twitching weasel. "So if you just wanna get offa that horse o' yours and leave it with us, we'll let you be on yer way. Oh, and to show what considerate souls we are, we'll even take some o' the heavier stuff from yer: ye know, weapons, coin, any jewellery, that sort o' thing; just so's ye don't tire yerselves out with all the walking."

Weasel cackled at this, while the shoulders belonging to the big bear of a man on Ugly's other side the thug holding the axe shook in obvious appreciation.

Ulbrax held the reins casually in one hand and felt almost as unconcerned as he was attempting to appear. He leant forward a little and smiled. "I don't think so." He then turned to the figure beside him. "Wil, be a good lad and clear the road, would you?"