Ky had obviously been planning this all along. Tom and Mildra were pilgrims, who was going to miss them? And in the unlikely event someone did, how could anyone be blamed? After all, they'd insisted against all advice on striking out into the icy wilderness beyond the town. Whatever happened to them after that was obviously their own fault.

Gold Tooth. Was he in on this, feeding his brother likely victims to drag off into the back of beyond to rape, rob, and quietly murder? Tom could picture the pair of them huddled together late that night, smirking as they split their gains. They were no better than the thugs who had attacked him and Mildra with sticks and knives as they returned from the temple, merely more sophisticated.

Tom watched in horror as Ky, trousers now pushed back around his ankles, drew a knife and reached towards Mildra, who was moving feebly.

Tom remembered how he'd broken Magnus's command to halt and kept running when fleeing from the wall. If he could defy the power of a senior arkademic, surely he could fight this. He focused on the little finger of his left hand, willing it to move, if only a fraction, but nothing happened.

Everyone kept insisting he was special, powerful; he'd saved the whole city for Thaiss's sake, and yet here he was, helpless to save someone he cared about, not to mention himself. What good his much vaunted abilities now? They worked only against mechanisms... Or did they? Mildra had told him he could be a healer with the proper training, and his original talent, that of hiding in plain sight, had been used on people from the very start...

He needed to concentrate but couldn't close his eyes, so instead he stared intently at Ky, drawing on that part of himself he'd tapped into when striking down the Rust Warrior, that coil of something deep inside which he'd always accepted as a part of his self self without ever questioning its import. Tom stared at the hunter, refusing to be distracted by what the man was doing now kneeling between Mildra's knees as he forced her legs apart and instead willed his senses to reach beyond the man's clothing and skin, into the body itself. At the same time he sought to project thoughts of savagery, of rending and tearing and destruction, without any sense that this was necessarily the right thing to do, just the hope born of desperation that it might be. without ever questioning its import. Tom stared at the hunter, refusing to be distracted by what the man was doing now kneeling between Mildra's knees as he forced her legs apart and instead willed his senses to reach beyond the man's clothing and skin, into the body itself. At the same time he sought to project thoughts of savagery, of rending and tearing and destruction, without any sense that this was necessarily the right thing to do, just the hope born of desperation that it might be.

Ky stopped in mid-motion, as if afflicted with the same drug he had administered to Tom. His eyes widened and he suddenly threw back his head and screamed, like some primordial beast baring its soul to the stars. He rolled or, more accurately, threw himself to one side, Mildra hastily drawing her feet out of the way. The hunter was on his back, thrashing legs and arms, body convulsing in violent spasms.

Tom stared in morbid fascination: did he do that, just by willing it?

Even as he wrestled with feelings of thrilled excitement mingled with disbelief, a hooded figure arose from the rubble behind Mildra. Swathed in thick clothing which looked to be a patchwork of rags, the figure seemed a part of the wilderness itself. Tom had no idea where this apparition had come from; all he registered was that this man towered over Mildra with a drawn knife in hand. He didn't hesitate, but lashed out with the same power that had just felled Ky. The newcomer froze, convulsed, and collapsed, the knife tumbling from his hand.

Mildra was screaming. Not simply in terror, there were words. She was trying to tell him something. "Tom, stop it! You have to stop whatever you're doing. That's Dewar, Tom, it's Dewar!"

Finally the words' meaning penetrated. He stopped instantly, horrified. Dewar? Dewar? It couldn't be. The figure he'd seen, the figure he'd struck out at, had been menacing Mildra with a knife. He was sure of it. It couldn't be. The figure he'd seen, the figure he'd struck out at, had been menacing Mildra with a knife. He was sure of it. Why would Dewar Why would Dewar do that? do that?

Mildra had scrambled over to the newcomer, who was convulsing as if in the throes of a fit, his limbs thrashing the ground. Nearby, Ky lay supine and still, eyes open and staring at the heavens. The Thaistess pushed back Dewar's hood and placed her hands either side of his head. Tom could see it was Dewar now; unshaven, with several days' growth peppering upper lip and chin, but obviously Dewar. Why hadn't he been able to see that before?

Part of Tom wanted to take offence that Mildra had gone to Dewar first. After all, he was the one who had been poisoned and was slowly dying here. But the larger and less selfish part of him recognised that Dewar's need was the more immediate, and that the man wouldn't be in this state at all if not for him, so perhaps he didn't deserve the Thaistess's help at all.

Dewar stopped moving. Tom wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Mildra withdrew her hands, rocked back on her haunches and took a deep breath. Her shoulders sagged as if from weariness. Then she gathered herself, stood, and came towards Tom. Her Her face! face! Only now did he get a proper look at the split lip and angry welt where Ky had hit her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and comfort her, and wondered whether any of that showed in his eyes as she met his gaze, smiled a little crookedly, and said, "Thank you, for saving me." Only now did he get a proper look at the split lip and angry welt where Ky had hit her. He wanted to reach out, to hold her and comfort her, and wondered whether any of that showed in his eyes as she met his gaze, smiled a little crookedly, and said, "Thank you, for saving me."

Her hands reached out to either side of his face, as they had with Dewar, and he thought he could feel them, faintly, though that might have been pure imagination. Slowly, feeling did begin to return and with it, control. He could blink, could feel the warmth from Mildra's touch, then he could move his mouth and take his first deep lungful of cold mountain air in what seemed an age. Mildra didn't stop to acknowledge this success. Her eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration. With agonising slowness the sense of warmth spread throughout his body and, with it, the ability to move began to return.

His hands were among the last to regain feeling, his feet the very final part. As he felt his toes obey the command to wriggle, he was prepared to accept that he might live after all. Not that he doubted Mildra's abilities, but he'd never seen her have to work this hard before. Mildra's hands slid away from his face, and, with a snort of expelled air, she wilted.

Tom caught her under the arms, and her eyes halfopened. "Sorry," she mumbled. "So tired."

Her feet scrambled against the slippery ground, and between them, she and Tom managed to lower her into a sitting position, back against a wall.

"Dewar?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Don't know."

Tom grabbed some food from his pack a moist, sugary cake favoured by travellers because it was said to boost energy levels. The Thaistess thanked him and ate mechanically. Several mouthfuls disappeared before she said, "Enough." Her eyes flickered shut almost immediately and she fell into exhausted sleep.

In contrast, Tom felt buzzing with nervous energy and didn't want to sit down, afraid that the paralysis might return. He'd seen corpses aplenty in the City Below, many of them a good deal closer than he'd cared to, but none as unsettling as Ky's. Though lying on its back, the body seemed twisted, compressed, while the limbs were arranged at odd angles, like a marionette whose strings had been severed in midstride. But it was the face Tom found hardest to look at, contorted as it was into a frozen scream, with eyes wide open, mouth snarling, drying spittle on the chin. What made it especially difficult was the knowledge that he was responsible, that he had done this.

He was also responsible for what had been done to Dewar, but at least their former companion was still alive and, following Mildra's ministrations, sleeping peacefully as far as Tom could tell. He covered Dewar with a blanket, rolled Ky's body over so that the eyes didn't seem to follow his every move, and made Mildra as comfortable as he could; then he hunkered down to wait, knowing that he wouldn't be going anywhere until the Thaistess and hopefully Dewar woke up again.

TWENTY-ONE.

Time disappeared rapidly as Kat and M'gruth made the rounds, leaving a note under a stone at a prearranged spot, whispering in a barmaid's ear here, a shopkeeper's there, standing on the right corner at the right hour to speak to a man who knew somebody the full gamut of measures necessary to spread the word and ensure that all those who needed to be reached had been. It took two days, but they were here now, those who remained of the Pits' survivors, the Tattooed Men some thirty-odd souls in total, including the still-recovering Rel. Kat swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, oddly nervous about addressing these people whom she knew so well. She leapt up onto a low table, planting her feet firmly as she turned to face them. Conversation stilled; somebody shifted in their chair the grating of wood on stone floor strident in the gathering silence then all was quiet.

"We've been slow," Kat began, "or maybe distracted." And if so, she'd played more than a small part in that herself. "The streets are changing. When we came out of the Pits we found ourselves in a place that had already been carved up into territories and sections by the streetnick gangs and others. Perhaps we should have been stronger then, but everything was new to us and, after all we'd been through, we didn't want to take on the world. So we fitted into the cracks, the shifting borders where gang turfs meet, the no-go areas dividing this territory from that. And so the Tattooed Men have lived ever since, roaming the streets, going where we will; the nomads of the under-City. But we don't need to, not anymore. We can stake our own claim. If the Fang have done anything useful, it's to prove that even half-wits like them can establish a territory in this new world. Well, we've broken the Fang, and now we'll take what was theirs, and the shopkeepers and traders will welcome us with open arms. Who wouldn't after being forced to pay protection money to sc.u.m like the Fang?"

She had them; not entirely perhaps, but enough. Nods and smiles outnumbered the furrowed brows and uncertain glances.

"No more being constantly on the move, no more packing and unpacking; we can stay put and organise life so that it becomes what we want it to be." More smiles now and even a few calls of "yeah".

"Then, of course, there's the Soul Thief. If the Fang hadn't stuck their noses in when they did we'd have finished her off at Iron Grove Square, but thanks to them she got away, and we all know what that cost us." There were nods and murmurs at that. "Near as we can figure out, the b.i.t.c.h raids the streets every couple of years, kills a bunch of folk, feeds, builds up her energies or whatever, and then disappears into the Stain again until the next time.

"The thing is, if she has gone back to the Stain now and we still haven't heard of any more attacks so that seems more than likely then she's going to be hungry. We took her for almost everything she had the other night, and it seems as if the only thing she's had to feed on since is Chavver." Kat almost lost it then; she could hear her own voice quivering at those last words. She paused and cleared her throat before continuing. "So the b.i.t.c.h will be coming back, sooner than usual, much sooner, and when she does, she'll be coming into our our turf, where we'll be nice and settled in and waiting for her. This time, there won't be any Fang to crash the party and we'll finish what we started at Iron Grove Square." turf, where we'll be nice and settled in and waiting for her. This time, there won't be any Fang to crash the party and we'll finish what we started at Iron Grove Square."

"Yes!" Applause from all quarters and even a few cheers; there was no doubting their support. Kat let out a ragged breath, surprised at how nervous she'd been. It was more than a year since she'd stood in front of the Tattooed Men and spoken like this, and even then Chavver had been beside her; this was the first time Kat had ever addressed them alone. Much of the pain might have been suppressed, but Charveve's absence was a blank s.p.a.ce inside her and in the world around her, and she still hadn't figured out how she was supposed to live the rest of her life without her sister being there.

"Sorry to interrupt," said a mild voice from behind her. Kat spun around, to see somebody stepping from the shadows, a man she recognised. "But do you really want to wait until the Soul Thief returns, when you could go hunting for her now?"

"You!" It was the man who'd spoken to her outside Coalman's Chophouse, warning her about Brent. People were moving, weapons being drawn. Whoever this might be he was brave, or more likely stupid, to sneak into a meeting of the Tattooed Men, particularly so soon after all that had happened at Iron Grove Square. Kat jumped down from the table, which was too unstable if things turned nasty; her hand hovered by a sword hilt.

"Who the breck are you?" she demanded. "And don't hang around with the answer if you know what's good for you."

"Ah yes, introductions. Quite right." The man smiled. If he was intimidated by the situation he hid the fact brilliantly. "You are Kat, friend of Ty-gen and of Tom, sometimes Death Queen of the Tattooed Men, and I... am the prime master of Thaiburley."

"No brecking way!" Kat gawped.

There was movement behind the elderly man. More figures emerged from the shadows. Kite Guards, half a dozen of them, and first among them the officer she'd met in the streets, the one she presumed had saved her life at the grand conveyor.

"He's perfectly serious," that Kite Guard said. "This really is the prime master."

There was a surge of movement behind her; the soft sigh of steel gliding over steel from all around. M'gruth was suddenly at her side, clasping his drawn sword, and others with him.

The old man's smile hadn't wavered. "Please, we're not here to cause trouble, merely to put a proposal to you."

"We're listening," Kat a.s.sured him.

"Thank you. Perhaps if your friends would lower their weapons, just a little, we could all relax."

Kat glanced at M'gruth and nodded. Swords were dipped, though not sheathed; the Tattooed Men had no reason to love Thaiburley's masters, not when the city had sanctioned the Pits for so many years before eventually seeing fit to close them down.

"To be blunt, I need your help," the prime master said. "Thaiburley needs your help, and at the same time, I'm in a position to help you." That winning smile shone forth again. "So I'm proposing a trade, if you will, an agreement where we work together to help one another." Kat remained silent, waiting to hear him out. "I know you were caught up in the recent disturbances in the under-City, and that you played your part in securing a favourable outcome. What might come as a surprise to you is that the Dog Master wasn't working alone when he subverted the street-nicks. He had help from an even more dangerous enemy, a leftover from the war devoted to bringing down all of Thaiburley, without any consideration for how many lives might be lost in the process. And this villain, this enemy of the whole city, is hiding in the Stain. It's vital for the security of us all that he's dealt with before he can strike again."

"The Stain?" Kat laughed. "You're not seriously suggesting we go in there?"

"Oh, but I am. Not alone, of course. As I said, we work together, so this will be a joint undertaking: the Tattooed Men and a company of Kite Guards under the command of Captain Tylus here. Your mission will be twofold: to hunt down this ancient enemy and at the same time to take care of the Soul Thief once and for all."

Kat shook her head. "Sorry, not meaning any disrespect, but you must be mad if you think we'd go into the Stain, with or without your pretty fly-boys. Blundering around in there would be suicide."

"Agreed, but who said anything about blundering? What if I told you that Captain Tylus could lead you straight to the Soul Thief? Once the small matter of our wartime relic is dealt with, of course."

Kat looked sharply at the Kite Guard, the one she'd met before. "And how exactly would he manage that?"

"Somebody must have caught the Soul Thief with a weapon a rope, a net, a whip it doesn't really matter what, but this weapon would have had small jewel thorns imbedded in it."

Kat nodded confirmation.

"I don't know how you came by such a thing, since that's a specialised item fashioned by the arkademics, but it's our good fortune that you did. Some of those thorns have detached, as they're designed to, and have been absorbed into the creature's very substance. There's nothing it can do to get rid of them, they're now a part of the monster, and they're emitting a signal, one which will lead us straight to the Soul Thief no matter where it chooses to hide." Really? Kat made silent apology to Annie for ever doubting her. "We also have a small piece of our hidden enemy, recovered by Captain Tylus from the scene of the sun globe crash..."

"You mean this 'enemy' of yours was responsible for that?" Another score to settle, since the globe had fallen almost directly on top of her and Tom.

"Indeed." Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of satisfaction to the prime master's smile? She had the feeling he'd dropped the matter of the sun globe into the conversation to judge her reaction, perhaps suspecting she'd been there but wanting confirmation. Clever, very clever; she was going to have to be careful when dealing with this one.

"There'll be no blundering around," the prime master a.s.sured her. "We can pinpoint both targets, so this will be an incisive strike into hostile territory, taking out first one then the other, before pulling out again. Clean and simple."

Kat licked her upper lip. This was tempting, and he made it sound so simple. There was no Chavver to consult, no Rayul. She glanced quickly at M'gruth, who was as seasoned, experienced and level-headed a warrior as anyone could wish for. He gave a slight shake of his head, without ever looking away from the prime master. His negative backed up what her own gut was saying.

"Sorry, prime master, but even if we know where the target is, the Stain is still a living h.e.l.l. We've taken some pretty heavy losses of late, and I don't think we want to be lining ourselves up for any more right now."

"I see. I'd heard the Tattooed Men are the most formidable warriors to be found in the City Below. Was I misinformed?"

"No, you were told right, but we're not stupid. No one knows all the nightmares that are hiding in the Stain, and we don't fancy being the first to find out. We're the best all right, but I'd want a lot more muscle behind me than even we could provide before I'd attempt to take on the Stain."

The prime master smiled broadly on hearing that. "Ah, I see. More muscle. Lucky for all of us then that I brought some along with me."

More shapes stepped forward from the shadows; half a dozen towering ebony figures. Every weapon the Tattooed Men carried rose in unison, as did a collective growl. Kat stared, overwhelmed by a confusion of awe and horror. "The Blade!"

"Yes. I'll put six of the Blade under your direct command until the mission is completed. Will that give you the extra firepower you were looking for?"

There was a general murmuring and shuffling of feet and harness around her. The Tattooed Men were responding as one, fight or flight instincts to the fore. Kat couldn't blame them. The Blade were a curse word anywhere in the City Below; the atrocities they'd been a party to while stationed here during the war had become the stuff of legend bitter memories that ran deep. The prospect of being allied to them in any way was almost unthinkable. Yet if they genuinely represented a chance to put an end to the Soul Thief, could she afford to react as all her instincts were urging her to do and refuse them?

Every eye was focused on her and she knew this to be a crucial moment. First she and Chavver had commanded the Tattooed Men between them and then her sister had done so alone. Now Kat stood here for the first time as their sole leader and immediately faced a decision daunting enough to test anyone. What she said now would define her future, determining whether or not she deserved to lead the Tattooed Men. If she asked the prime master for a moment to consult the older, wiser members of the group as she so wished to do, it would mark her as weak, unfit to command alone, while the wrong decision, however boldly taken, could lose her the confidence and support of her followers.

The different options didn't so much parade through her thoughts as flit and collide and rebound in a chaos of possibilities. Eventually she settled on one. It was a compromise of sorts, one which she hoped might satisfy everybody. More importantly, it satisfied her.

She smiled at the prime master, hoping she projected a level of confidence she only wished she felt. "All right then. As you may have heard just now, we've made a few plans of our own, plans to secure a more stable future, and I'm not willing to put those on hold to go traipsing off into the Stain. At the same time, I agree that this venture of yours might benefit all of us. So here's what I'm willing to do. I'll lead a dozen of the Tattooed Men into the Stain with your Kite Guards and your Blade, and we'll take out the Soul Thief and hunt down this enemy of yours. The rest of the Tattooed Men will stay here and set about establishing a territory in the streets, ready for when we come back again."

She sensed approval from the people around her, and hoped that wasn't just wishful thinking on her part. She'd made the choice which felt right to her, and reckoned that was as much as anyone could ask of her.

The prime master chuckled. "Ty-gen told me you were sharp. He wasn't exaggerating, was he? Very well, a dozen Tattooed Men matched by a similar number of Kite Guards and the Blade. Somehow, I suspect the denizens of the Stain are in for a shock."

"One more thing," Kat said quickly.

"Go on." The prime master replied in a voice that suggested she was in danger of trying his patience.

"The razzers have arrested a man, someone you know, an outsider name of Brent. We've a score to settle and I want him handed over to us."

For a taut second their two gazes locked. "Brent was taken into custody on my explicit order," the prime master said slowly. "We suspect him of being mixed up in all manner of things. It isn't the city's policy to use criminals as bargaining chips."

d.a.m.n, had Kat pushed things too far?

"However," and that warm smile returned. "Once we've finished interviewing him and are satisfied that he's told us all he can, we may well decide to exile him from Thaiburley rather than enforcing a custodial sentence. Should that prove to be the case, I could always make sure you were alerted as to the time and place of his release. Such details aren't considered secrets, after all."

Kat smiled and nodded. "Fair enough; then I think we might just have ourselves a deal."

They couldn't wake Dewar.

Mildra examined him and thought that he was all right physically, but he remained in a deep sleep. She didn't want to leave him but was convinced they were near to their goal and was desperate to continue. The man was too heavy to carry. In the end they pulled him into a more sheltered position and decided to leave him, reasoning that this was the only sensible thing to do. They wrapped him warmly and left a parcel of provisions beside his sleeping form, vowing to return once they'd found the river's source and take him back to Pilgrimage End somehow, whether he was awake or not.

They set out in subdued mood, recent events weighing heavy on both their minds, as Mildra demonstrated when she asked, "Do you think Ky was anything to do with Seth Bryant, or just an opportunist?"

"Opportunist, I reckon, and I don't suppose we're the first he's done this too."

"At least we know we'll be the last," Mildra said, which put him right back to thinking about what he'd done to Ky and Dewar, which both fascinated and frightened him. Simply leaving their erstwhile leader behind seemed wrong, especially as this wasn't the first time, but he couldn't think of an alternative.

Above the temple the river, now shrunk to a width no greater than two men lying head to toe, ran through a desolate landscape of grey brown rocks and ice. The air seemed incredibly clear and pure, and bitterly cold, while the sky was an impossibly bright blue. They came across a cl.u.s.ter of rusted tins and canisters and what might have been the remains of a sled; proof positive that people had been here before, though not recently by the look of it.

The river appeared to be leading them directly towards a sheer rock face, or perhaps ice face; it was now difficult to be certain where pale rock ended and muddied ice began. Sure enough, a little further and the frothing white waters disappeared under a low rock/ice ledge, or rather emerged from beneath it.

"An ice cave," Mildra murmured, before turning to him, her face aglow. "This is it, Tom, the source of the Thair, home of the G.o.ddess."

Tom did his best to respond with a smile, though in truth he found it hard to match her enthusiasm. He felt too tired, too cold, and too numbed.

At the cave's mouth a chunk of melting, permeated ice sat in the water, its sharp edge jutting skyward. It looked defiant and menacing a warning of intent to any trespa.s.sers.

A narrow ledge ran into the ice cave on their side of the river, just above water level and all-but invisible until they were almost upon it. Without hesitation Mildra entered the cave, though she had to duck down to do so, as did Tom behind her. They were so close to the water that it was impossible for feet and legs not to get splashed time and again by the gushing, bubbling neo-river, so that socks and trouser legs were quickly soaked through and cold, while the very wall they were forced to press against radiated a level of chill that leached warmth from the body. Despite their thick clothing, Tom's face, hands and feet soon felt so frozen that he was convinced they'd never fully thaw again. Under any other circ.u.mstances he might have given up and insisted they turn back, but after all the two of them been through to get here, that would have been ridiculous. So he pressed on, increasingly concerned that neither of them were likely to leave this ice cave alive, that their strength would run out before this tunnel did.

Just when it reached the point where he didn't think he could take the cold or his back aching, or his legs hurting from the cold and the demands of this new bentover form of walking, the wall beside him vanished, and the claustrophobic presence of rock and ice so close above his head lifted. He and Mildra were both able to stand straight again; tentatively at first, as if not quite able to believe they were able to do so, but they did.

"Some sort of chamber," Mildra said, almost whispering.

Tom knew how she felt; it was if they had stumbled into some mystical grotto where no mere humans were meant to tread. But another matter concerned him more. "How come we can see?" he wondered aloud. "Where's the light coming from?"

"No idea."

It seemed to emanate from all around them. A soft, pale, bluish and appropriately icy light. They could see, and they could stand straight again, but it was still bitterly cold.

The chamber was a small one. The frothing water vanished beneath another wall, this one appearing to be far less ambiguous; it was clearly a sheet of ice rather than rock. Mildra was already examining it and beckoned him over.

"Look at this."

Embedded in the wall, at around shoulder height to Tom, was the outline of a human hand. The indentation was obvious when you stood close to it, but from six or seven steps away it was invisible, with nothing to differentiate it from the rest of the ice.

"What do you think it is?" he asked.