The ragged man

CHAPTER 3

As he woke, Major Amber twitched his head, which was enough to send a spasm of pain racing down his neck. He whimpered, but a moment later panic overshadowed everything and wakefulness hit him like a deluge.

Cold fear enveloped his mind; all he could feel was searing agony, a rod of iron where his spine should be. Every other sense was numb. He tried to lift his arm and felt nothing, nothing at all. When he tried to open his eyes all he managed was a facial twitch, and another wrenching spasm. At last he edged them open, only to immediately close them against the searing light.

'Hush now,' said a woman's voice beside him as Amber began to hyperventilate in terror, wincing at every gasp. 'Hey, settle down – you're injured, but you will recover.'

He felt a weight on his chest, a palm pressing down to hold him still, and he moaned in relief. For a while all he could remember was stars bursting in his head, the crunch of bones breaking and the death-cry of the man he'd killed. The details eluded him for the moment as his thoughts floundered, lost in a world of hurt.

'That's better,' the woman continued, her voice soothing. Her fingers found his, and this he could feel, a comforting sensation. 'You're bound to the bed,' she told him, 'you broke a few bones and the surgeons wanted to keep you still.'

He tried to respond, but all that came out was a wheeze.

'Don't speak; you're too weak. I'll fetch a healer. We'll talk later.'

Her hand moved away and Amber felt himself slide back into the cool arms of sleep. When he awoke a second time it was better; as he opened his eyes he felt the return of some part of him that before had been trapped in the darkness. He still hurt all over, but now he was aware enough to feel the bed underneath him, and he could tally the individual injuries. His neck was now a dull throb, and he found he could lift his left arm, although moving his right caused him to hiss in pain.

'Ah, awake at last,' came the same woman's voice. 'I was beginning to worry they'd given you too much there.'

He turned his head gingerly to the left and took a moment as Horsemistress Kirl came into focus. She smiled down at him from a campaign chair and leaned forward. Behind her he saw a white plastered wall and a shuttered window, the only light in the room provided by a small fire and two large pillar candles standing iron lamp-stands.

'Don't try to move. Our best healers have been working on you, but there's only so much a mage can do.'

'How long?' Amber croaked.

'Since the battle?' She thought for a moment. 'You woke the first time two weeks back. Another day and a half since then.'

Amber opened his mouth to say something else, but this time the effort defeated him. Instead he bathed in the warmth of the Horsemistress' lopsided smile. She'd cut her dark hair shorter since he'd last seen her and it hung loose to the raised collar of her unbuttoned tunic.

Amber started: that wasn't her uniform – he didn't recognise it at all. Kirl was an auxiliary attached to Amber's legion, the Cheme Third – so why was she wearing a fitted cavalryman's tunic? The scarlet adorned with blue and white slashes and gold buttons was more along the lines of Amber's formal Menin officer's uniform than Kirl's usual plain grey outfit.

'You like it?' Kirl asked with a coquettish smile. 'I found it in the Farlan baggage. The Penitent Army left everything and ran; Hain reckons it was made for an officer of the Cardinal Paladins.'

Amber didn't respond immediately, then he realised he was staring, his mouth open, and he looked away.

'That good, eh?' Kirl laughed, 'I'm glad to hear it!'

He coughed. 'Aye, not bad,' he said hoarsely.

His throat was dry and sore, but he ignored the pain. Kirl's lovely crooked smile was enough to make his breath catch when she wore drab riding leathers; dressed in a fine, narrow-waisted tunic… As she bent over him to help him lie back he breathed in her scent and prayed she wouldn't notice any stirrings under the blanket.

'You tending to me?' he rasped. 'What's happened since the battle?'

She scowled. 'Not much that needs my attention. I've got all my horses pastured for the moment and I'm just trying to keep my head low. It's all… tense out there right now, but you're a fucking hero and you've got a nice warm room, so I might possibly have stretched the truth a little so I could hide out in here till everyone calms down.'

She gestured around her and Amber realised for the first time that he was in a bedroom large and luxurious enough for a duke, even though it was mostly empty. A wooden partition was drawn up to one side of him to keep the fire's heat close. He could see nothing around him to tell him who the room normally belonged to, but someone had dragged his kit in – and even managed to retrieve his scimitars from the battlefield! The career soldier in him prayed to Karkarn that same someone would have seen fit to clean the swords and hammer out the nicks before they got rusty.

'Colonel Uresh knows where I am if he needs me, so do my men. I'm doing as much good tending to you as anywhere else – more, probably.'

'"Stretched the truth"?'

The lovely smile returned. 'You don't need to worry about that right now,' she said with a soft laugh, 'but I think Hain's reached a whole new level of admiration for you now.'

Amber couldn't help but cough at the thought. He knew full-well what was pretty much always on Captain Hain's mind when he wasn't fighting. The sight of Kirl in that tunic really wouldn't have helped.

'Well, look at that,' Kirl said with a purr of interest. 'That thought's put some colour in your cheeks! For now, Major Amber, you might want to hear what's been happening since you fainted on the battlefield.'

'Fainted!' Amber gasped as the memory of the battle finally appeared in his mind: Lord Chalat, Chosen of the Fire God Tsatach, wading through the Menin ranks wreathed in flame; Amber fighting his way through the ranks to slam a spiked axe into Chalat's chest -

'So one witness, who'll remain nameless, is telling everyone he can,' Kirl continued, 'and by the way, Captain Hain's treating that axe like it's a holy relic now.' She paused and cocked her head, then added, 'Which I s'pose it might be. Anyway, Lord Isak's dead, but not before he killed Scion Styrax – and for that our lord sent him straight to the Dark Place!'

She shivered at the thought and fell silent, all traces of her smile gone.

Amber felt the strength drain from his body. He'd not been close to Kohrad Styrax, but he had known the hot-tempered youth for years, and had fought beside him more than once. The idea of Kohrad dead was too much for him to grasp immediately. It felt unreal, even to a man used to the loss of comrades.

'You can tell where it happened too,' Kirl said in a hushed voice. 'There's a point out on the field where the ground's as hot as new-fired clay, so folk've been saying. We routed the Farlan, killed a large part of the Penitent Army and chased the rest most o' the way to Helrect. Lord Styrax's overcome with grief so General Gaur's been giving the orders – you can image how close he is to disembowelling anyone who comes near.'

Amber nodded, wincing, all too easily able to imagine General Gaur's current state of mind. The beastman's overriding sense of duty would not allow him to withdraw into grief when there was an army to manage, but Gaur had been as much of a father to Kohrad as Styrax himself.

'And then there's the small matter of the dragon,' Kirl said after a pause.

'Dragon?' Amber coughed.

'Aye, our lord woke it up about the time you fainted and broke half-a-dozen bones on your way to the ground. The beast is just a bit fucking angry at the situation. No one knows what's left of the Library of Seasons, but a large part of Ismess has been levelled and the Fortinn quarter has taken quite a battering too. So's Byora, but some folk are saying that's because some Raylin mercenary went mad during the battle.'

'And Lord Styrax isn't doing anything about it?'

She reached for a waterskin and helped him to drink. 'Ah, well now, Lord Styrax ain't doing much of anything at the moment, and as long as that continues, the chaos outside is just going to go on getting worse.'

Amber took a minute or two to drink, then announced, 'I need to be out of this room.'

'Don't be bloody stupid, you can't even stand up.' Kirl enumerated his injuries: 'Three bones in your foot are broken, and your shin snapped when a horse trod on you. On top of that you've managed to break your wrist, your arm in two places, your collarbone and three ribs – for pity's sake, Amber, you even managed to break your nose when you smacked yourself into that mad white-eye! You're staying here until the priests o' Shotir tell me you're healed enough to move and that's that.' She gave him a small pat on the head. 'Don't worry. I reckon the Menin Army will manage to survive a few more days without their newest hero.'

Mihn worked his way further into Ghenna, moving quietly, hand over hand along the roof until he found a ledge where he could rest. Once there he took stock, listening to the sounds of the Dark Place. The main tunnel to Jaishen, the lowest domain of Ghenna – so far as such things could be placed – fell away sharply at a right-hand bend, after which were dozens of smaller tunnels branching off in all directions.

Now he was inside, the old myths weren't going to be much help to him; those poor troubled mortals who had been afforded visions of the Dark Place had never learned much of use. Malich Cordein had been told more than most by the daemons he bargained with, thanks to the fact that he was an unusually powerful necromancer. Those who sold their souls for power were received with all ceremony into whichever of the chaotic domains their master dwelled, but the three greater domains were made up of many hundreds of others that were in a constant state of shifting allegiances. All Malich had confirmed was that Coroshen was the most ordered, Gheshen the most prone to open war, and Jaishen – Jaishen hung over an endless void from which even Gods would never return.

And it was here that Mihn intended to go, to the very depths of Jaishen, where the fissures in the rock opened onto nothingness. Lord Isak had left him a letter detailing his dreams since Scree. It was written in a shaky hand, and described being bound to the rock above an endless emptiness. It was not something he had ever managed to tell anyone out loud, but for an unlettered young man brought up in a world far from books or school learning, the disjointed sentences had conveyed a sense of horror that had made Mihn's skin prickle.

The clamour surrounding the soul's arrival had long died down, and away from the preternatural blackness that shrouded the gates, Ghenna was only as dark as a moonless night – if the stars had been tinted with blood. Not far down the tunnel Mihn came to a crossroads of sorts, where another, flatter, tunnel crossed the main one before splitting into two. The crossroads was marked by a blazing wheel hanging from the rocky roof. Mihn approached cautiously, but though he saw movement there, he thought the scampering daemons had vanished long before he got near -

– until a drawn-out scream pierced the air. It took Mihn a moment to realise the sound had come from the wheel itself, from a figure bound to it, writhing in the flames. He picked his way carefully down the tunnel wall, moving as quickly as he could, but still he could hear the figure wailing, until at last it fell into silence. He turned to look back – just as a dark shape shook free of the shadows and leapt towards the wheel, a long fan-like tail thrashing. The daemon's jaw latched onto the figure's leg and dangled there for a second before its weight caused the flesh to tear and it fell away. As the daemon fell, the figure's screams were renewed.

Mihn turned his back on the terrible sight. The rune burned into his chest was hot to the touch now; concentrating, he thought he could feel it drawing him, so he followed it to the smallest downward-leading tunnel he could see. He moved as quickly as he dared, listening all the while for footsteps, or any other movement. There were plenty of shadows to keep him concealed while the faint red light of Ghenna shone from the rock walls.

To his relief Mihn didn't find himself tiring as much as he'd feared as he made his way from handhold to foothold. Up and down seemed to have less meaning here; despite the clear path on the ground, he found he could keep to the walls with ease. There was a light from somewhere down the tunnel, and though he kept turning corners and discovered nothing, nonetheless the light illuminating the path continued, remaining steadfastly sourceless.

It took him a while to realise the light was not natural – as if anything could be, in a place such as this. The side tunnels he passed were almost pitch-black, and while the light ahead was barely enough to see by, without it he would have been lost. A cold finger of horror ran down Mihn's spine as he imagined trying to find his way through Ghenna without it.

It had to be the witch of Llehden's contribution. Thank you, Ehla, Mihn thought. Ehla meant Light in the Elvish language, and a light in dark places was what she had called herself. Maybe, in giving Isak that name by which to address her, she had helped shape the role she would play in Isak's future.

After what felt like hours of slow, cautious progress Mihn's path levelled. He had had to hide once or twice as daemons dragged their heavy, slug-like bodies past, but other than that he'd seen little – until he caught a glimpse of something, a flickering light, emanating from a circular tunnel some three feet wide. He slipped inside, curious to see what lay on the other side of the rock. He needed a sign that he was heading in the right direction; maybe this would be it.

Mihn edged his way down the tunnel's slight slope until he reached the end, where he found a fissure in the rock wall. He peered through – and had to stop himself screaming as he caught sight of a torture chamber out of his worst nightmares. The flickering light came from a great lake of flame in the centre of an enormous cavern. Surrounding the fire lake were daemons, hundreds, even thousands of them, and to Mihn it looked as if they were engaged in the most cruel punishments daemonkind could devise. Others stood around tables heaped high with food, gorging themselves, while their fellows operated complicated machines of torture.

All around the cavern Mihn could see bodies impaled on the spiky branches of gnarled old trees. Great iron chains were hammered into the rock, forming a criss-crossed network from which more of the damned hung, some limp, some flailing madly. In the fire he saw thrashing limbs, with darting black shapes moving between them.

He looked up: the roof of the great cave was a sagging dome, rising to a peak in the centre, far beyond his sight -

– and his heart stopped for a moment as a noise came from near his feet, a questing snuffle, sounding as if it was moving towards him. It stopped, and without hesitating, Mihn dived towards the thing, and managed to use his body to drive the daemon into the side of the tunnel. He reached down, and when he felt something thin whip against his hands he instinctively grabbed it, catching the daemon by a forelimb and pulling it close.

In the fiery light he tried to make sense of what he had caught. He yanked it towards him, and discovered something a little smaller than he, with a flattened head like a monkfish, a bulbous throat and the body of a salamander. The snarling daemon began to buck wildly, until Mihn caught the other forelimb and pulled both arms back, stopping the thing from twisting and biting him.

The daemon tried to roll, but Mihn was ready for it and let go of one arm before it slammed him face-first into the rock. It wrenched around, but succeeded only in trapping its free limb underneath it. Mihn ended up astride the daemon. He put one knee on the demon's throat and heaved with all his might on the other forelimb.

For a moment he feared he wasn't strong enough, but finally he was rewarded with a crunching sound, then a snap!, the one from beneath the daemon's body, the other from the socket of the limb he was pulling on.

The daemon gave a muted wail, all it could manage with Mihn's knee in its throat. Mihn turned and grabbed its tail, pulling it as hard as he could, effectively rolling the daemon up, until the daemon's spine snapped under the strain and it went still, dead at last.

At first Mihn didn't dare let go. After twenty heartbeats listening out for anything that might have been attracted by the scuffle he breathed again, and dropped the tail, letting the corpse uncurl on the ground.

Gods, that was lucky, Mihn thought, anything larger and I'd have not stood a chance.

He inspected his hands. They didn't appear damaged. The tattoos remained intact, but there was daemon blood on them now. There were several scratches on his arms and fingers, but as he watched they healed up, leaving only the faintest of marks.

So that's another true story: the torments of Ghenna really are unending. Wounds heal at an unnatural pace – so they can be inflicted again. He shook his head. But now is really not the time for me to start cataloguing the truths in the old myths. I need to move fast, get away from this corpse before something smells it or stumbles over it.

He scrabbled back to the main tunnel and looked about cautiously. There was nothing there that he could see, only the same dull glow somewhere down the end that picked out the jagged lines of the rock walls. He didn't dare to breathe a sigh of relief, but he pulled himself out of the side tunnel, lowered himself to the floor and set off towards the very depths of Jaishen.

It was impossible to tell how long he travelled. He passed huge dark chambers resonating with the sound of great hammers crashing down, and small alcoves where forgotten souls were chained or nailed to the bare rock. When the tunnel opened up again he scaled the wall, keeping near to the roof and freezing whenever sounds of movement came from below. Several times he found himself watching ragged processions of daemons pass by underneath: some marched to war, others bore trappings of state rich enough to put any mortal king to shame, and all were surrounded by crowds of nightmarish minions.

Twice he had to backtrack to find another route that avoided the enormous caverns. The first cave of torture had been horrific to look at even from afar, and the sounds that he heard echoing out from them left him trembling. Several times distant footsteps forced him to sit motionless in the darkness, trusting to the witch's tattoos to keep him hidden – and he did trust them; the daemon he had killed by the torture cave had not smelled him until it was very close, and it hadn't seen him at all until he moved.

For long periods Ghenna appeared empty, as he passed through desolate tunnels bigger than any lord's halls, trying to ignore the loneliness and misery that suffused the air, then he would hear something stop and sniff around, as though guessing he was near – but each time the daemon would move on eventually, leaving him able to breath Ghenna's foul air freely again.

Suddenly the sound of hammering hooves drove him to seek a hiding place further up the wall. As he clung, pulse pounding loud enough to disturb even the tormented, dozens of daemons poured into the tunnel, racing swiftly towards him and he found himself watching a gruesome running battle between enemies he couldn't differentiate.

The daemons were appallingly violent in battle, ripping limbs off as if for sport, then Mihn had to swallow his nausea as the victors settled down to feast on the dead. Eventually the last warriors had eaten their fill and dragged off the remaining bodies, leaving in their wake only a handful of broken weapons and a carpet of black, viscous blood.

Mihn waited, shuddering, until the last sounds of the retreating daemons had faded into silence, but this time, when he resumed his journey, he felt a sudden glimmer of hope, like the first rays of dawn breaking across the sky. He started to pass fissures in the rock, and for the first time he felt a slight breeze stirring the stifling air. It stank like a charnel house, and did nothing to cool his sweat-soaked body, but it was more than welcome after so many hours of the choking still air.

Mihn realised the breeze must be coming from the abyss beneath Ghenna – and since even a gale would not penetrate far in this unnatural place, he must be getting close. Hope gave him renewed strength, and the next few miles passed quickly, punctuated only by solitary screams and moans that made him wonder whether the tormented down here had been left all alone. He saw no more great caverns of punishment or halls of the infernal, and almost without meaning to, he found himself searching the side-tunnel entrances for markings. The deepest pit of Ghenna was supposed to be reserved for Aryn Bwr, the last king of the Elves, called the Great Heretic by the Knights of the Temples.

It was said his name was inscribed above the place where he would be imprisoned for eternity – his true name, excised from history by the remaining Gods of the Upper Circle when he had been cursed, and condemned to the Dark Place, before his final defeat. His true name remained in Ghenna for it was a place outside the power of the Gods. Mihn wasn't sure he believed that, and he certainly didn't intend to waste time looking for it, but he expected to be heading there or somewhere close. Whatever path Lord Styrax had created into Ghenna, there would have been one waiting for seven thousand years to open up for Aryn Bwr's soul.

Now the wind was blowing harder, and Mihn had to force himself to continue in the face of what was turning into a full-on gale. Ehla's light was fading too, and increasingly Mihn was traversing tunnels with only his ears to protect him and his hands to guide him. Then the red tint would return and the coils around his heart would relax again, but he was reminded that the witch's magic was no guard against the daemons of Ghenna. If they detected his presence, he would be there for eternity – there would be no last judgment for him, no Mercies to absolve him of his sins, only the unending horrors of the torture pits.

He slipped around another corner – and this time he felt an immediate change as the immense presence of rock all around him unexpectedly opened out, altering even the small sounds his hands and feet made.

The going was harder now, as Mihn found himself almost slipping down the rockface. A dull ache permeated his body, and the thought of the return journey started to sap his will, until he found himself at an entrance conspicuously edged in Ehla's dull red light, glowing like a fire's embers. Mihn touched the rock gingerly, but it felt quite normal. He checked around carefully – this was not the time to be surprised – and went through…

His hand closed on instinct, as if reaching for the staff he'd left behind. The chamber itself was small, anonymous, lacking the immensity he expected of Aryn Bwr's prison. it was no more than fifteen yards long and only a few arm-widths across, no fitting prison for a soul that called storms and left its mark on Gods and nations – even though most of the floor was open to dizzying emptiness.

Mihn peered down the length of the cave and felt his breath catch. At the far end a figure was hanging. He was chained to the wall, his broken, inward-bent toes barely brushing the floor. He was naked save for the tattered remains of a cape he'd favoured in life. Though he was slick with filth and gore, still Mihn could see the terrible network of scars that covered most of the skin, testament to the horrors that had been inflicted upon him, and open wounds, some with implements of torture still protruding from the gashes, that dripped black blood. Even the left arm was patterned with shadowy scars, all the more obvious for the unnatural pallor of the skin, which had been burned white by the storm in Narkang. Isak's face was hidden by hair grown long and matted, as though he had been here years.

Mihn looked around. There were a few thin paths snaking across the room, but he realised the daemon possessing Isak's soul had little need of them, for there it was, clinging to the roof near its prize. Each of the six limbs ended in a splayed foot. Most were hooked into crevices; one was raised, covering its eyes from Ehla's light. It had a sinuous, scaled body, and a frill of spines protruded from its neck. Other than a mass of raised, pointed scales and a pair of very pointed lower canines, Mihn couldn't make out much of the face.

'Jailer,' Mihn called softly.

The daemon whipped around with frightening speed, but Mihn had not moved and it couldn't get a fix on him.

'I smell a soul,' it said, its voice an oily, bubbling sound. It used Mihn's own dialect fluently.

'But no inmate of this place,' Mihn said firmly.

The daemon moved a step towards him, one leg still up to protect its eyes. 'That matters not. Soon your soul will be mine. This light will not hide you.'

'I have other light to employ,' Mihn warned it.

As he spoke the rune on his chest lit up, a sudden white shaft that stabbed at the shadows. The daemon stopped its advance. It faced him as best it could, but made no further movement forward.

After a moment Mihn looked down. The rune no longer shone so brightly, but even through his tunic he could see its outline. 'I seek the release of the soul you have imprisoned here,' he said boldly.

'No! It is mine, my prize!'

'Release it to me,' Mihn ordered, 'or there will be more light than all of Ghenna has ever seen. Release the soul, or I will blind you, and when others come, drawn by your cries, you will be helpless against them and you will lose both this soul and your life to them.'

'It is my prize,' the daemon insisted, sounding rather pitiful, 'and of no use to you. You will never escape Ghenna with it. You will die a thousand deaths if you bring light to the Dark Place.'

Mihn recognised bluster, and realised his threat really was frightening the daemon, however much truth lay in what it said. Losing the soul to another daemon would hurt it, no matter what happened to Mihn. This way the creature would be grateful enough for anything it got in return…

'You underestimate me,' he said 'I made it here without being detected.'

'You cannot carry my soul all the way up to the ivory gates, little mortal,' the daemon hissed, looking at him properly for the first time. 'Better you leave it here than risk the hordes tearing it apart – '

'I have a better solution,' Mihn interrupted. He looked at the white-eye chained to the wall, but Isak had not moved. He hung from his chains like meat on a hook.

'This place does not obey the rules of the Land but the commands of its inhabitants. With your help the path to the ivory gates can be level enough to walk rather than climb.'

'I cannot keep the others from finding you,' the daemon snarled; 'they will scent his blood long before you reach the gates.'

'That is my problem. Will you help me?'

'What do you offer?'

Mihn took a deep breath. 'I offer my soul. To release this one and aid my path to the River Maram I offer my soul. I will be your prize once I am dead.'

'You are not so great as this one!' the daemon protested, but Mihn saw it edge forward and sniff the air hungrily.

'Not so great, no, but you smell power on me nonetheless. My name is Mihn ab Netren ab Felith; I am the Grave Thief, slayer of a white-eye queen, the bondsman of Nartis' Chosen. What claim I have on my soul I offer to you, and when my deeds here are known by the Land my soul shall be a worthy prize.'

He saw the daemon shiver in anticipation, and he knew he had won; it could barely contain its pleasure at the prospect. Finding a sharp edge on the wall Mihn scraped a finger down it, breaking the skin. He squeezed his finger, letting the blood well up for a while before flicking it in the direction of the daemon. It scuttled forward, snuffling at the ground until it found a droplet and delicately touched its tongue to it.

'A bargain is made,' the daemon gurgled, sounding like a drowned man in its eagerness.

It gave a twitch of the head and the cave twisted a quarter-turn around Mihn, so that Isak was now chained to the floor. Mihn, still gripping the rock himself, barely avoided falling himself. Isak's head snapped back and for the first time Mihn saw a sign of life as the white-eye's mouth opened and a weak moan of pain came out.

He hurried to Isak's side, slipping a hand into his pocket to retrieve the leather gloves he had brought for this purpose. All of Elshaim's paintings of Ghenna had included chains that were covered in biting mouths, and Mihn could not risk his tattoos being ripped from his skin, now of all times. The chains binding Isak were sharp-edged, shredding Isak's skin where they touched, but as Mihn ripped them off him he saw the flow of blood quickly slow and the wounds start to scab over. Mihn looked at the palms of his gloves and was not surprised to see them already badly scratched.

'Isak,' he whispered as he freed the white-eye, 'can you hear me?'

Mihn could sense the daemon's evil delight as Isak did not respond. Though it kept its distance, watching them, its forked tongue tasted the air as though lapping up the last few scraps of Isak's torment.

Isak's white eyes were open, but staring at nothing. Mihn gripped one of the shards of iron protruding from Isak's body and yanked it out, eliciting a low howl of pain. That wound continued to bleed as Mihn worked on removing the other bits piercing his skin, adding to the covering gore on Isak's skin.

'More use to me than you,' the daemon cackled. 'Leave it here and I shall grant you a long lifetime before you return to me.'

'The span of my life is in the hands of another,' Mihn said sharply, 'and she carries a Crystal Skull. If you cheat her of it, her vengeance will be terrible.'

Once Isak was free of the daemon's implements Mihn cradled his lord's massive head in his hands and peered into his eyes.

'Isak,' he said piercingly, 'hear me, Isak.' The rune on his chest pulsed briefly. The daemon felt it too and whimpered, scrabbling at the rock in an effort to retreat from the light.

Isak's eyelids flickered and Mihn saw even they bore the scars of damage.

'Gods, how long have you been here?' Mihn asked softly, wondering whether Isak would ever be able to stand long enough to be helped out.

'An age!' crowed the daemon from the other side of the prison, 'ten thousand days pass in a heartbeat here, empires fall in a day!'

The figure at Mihn's feet mumbled something in a ruined voice, still staring into nothingness. He couldn't make out the words.

'Then ten thousand days is long enough,' Mihn declared. He held out a hand to Isak and commanded, 'Get on your feet, soldier; this is the long walk home.'

Isak's fingers twitched, but other than that there was no sign he had even heard the words.

'Brace yourself,' came Xeliath's voice in Mihn's ear.

Before he had time to realise what she was going to do a flood of magic surged through his body. The rune flared white, the daemon screamed and Isak convulsed as though caught in the teeth of the storm.

'Get up!' Mihn roared, buoyed by the energising rush of raw power in his veins. He stood and gripped Isak's arm, pulling with all his strength. 'Isak Stormcaller, on your feet!'

Somehow he managed to yank Isak to a seating position while crackling sparks of magic raced over the white-eye's body. At last Isak moved by himself, his limbs wobbling as, with Mihn's help, he raised his body until he was close enough to upright. The white-eye, swaying, towered over Mihn, but it was only the smaller man's efforts that stopped him toppling face-first into the void.

As Mihn struggled to steady him, using both hands, he suddenly felt droplets spatter onto his face and he flinched away, thinking it was blood. Then Isak's head turned and he saw it was tears, streaming from the man's agony-wracked face.

'Give me Eolis,' Mihn demanded, taking Isak's chin and angling his head so the white-eye was looking him in the face. Behind him the daemon screamed and cursed them both, but he ignored it and put his fist inside Isak's clawed hand.

'Give me Eolis,' he repeated, placing his other hand on the rune on his chest.

Xeliath obliged with another burst of magic, but it was only when he repeated the order again that a spark ignited Isak's eyes and the prison shook with a sudden crash of light. When Mihn blinked away the dazzling flares dancing before his eyes there was Eolis, lying in his hand: the long single-edged sword with an emerald pommel that had been bound to Isak's soul.

Carefully, he unpicked Isak's fingers which had automatically closed about Eolis, trapping his own, and took the weapon.

'Leave,' the daemon hissed frantically, 'you must leave now!'

It darted one way then the other before stopping and waving a limb towards the prison's exit. The rock groaned and began to move, widening until it was big enough for the two of them to leave side by side.

'Get out, others have sensed you! Go that way; it will lead you to the gates.'

Mihn took a firm grip of Isak's hand, leading the huge white-eye forward like a child. He held Eolis held out before them. The tunnel was empty, and there was a far shallower incline than the sheer slope he'd climbed down to reach the prison. He felt no warnings from Ehla or Xeliath, and though he hated the very idea, he realised he would have to trust the daemon – it appeared to have kept its word.

If any do come this way, he thought grimly, Eolis will ensure they keep clear. I intend to keep my vow, even here, but they do not need to know that.

Mihn walked as quickly as he could, with Isak stumbling along beside him and crying out occasionally – but still he matched Mihn's steps. Mihn knew a white-eye would fight on with mortal injuries that would stop any normal man, the instinct to fight and survive overriding everything else, but these grievous wounds had to be sorely testing the limits.

The tunnel spiralled slowly upward, a long and regular path that Mihn became increasingly certain would bring them to the surface, but as they walked, he could hear daemonic voices coming from all directions. At first they were distant, echoing, but now they were getting closer. At last Mihn realised they were walking parallel to another main tunnel, and through gashes in the rock wall he caught glimpses of a savage battle, like that he'd passed on the way in, lit by dancing flames.

He thought they had managed to get past, free and clear, when an oval eye appeared at one of the larger holes, and in the next moment a daemon had slipped through. It was smaller than the one he had killed, but far more solid, brandishing foot-long claws at the end of its arms.

Mihn raised Eolis and the creature hesitated, but it did not back off. It screeched defiantly at him and the sound provoked a flurry of movement; within moments the tunnel had ripped and distended to accommodate the bulk of a dozen demons, some even bigger than the white-eye Mihn was supporting.

Mihn's heart sank. He couldn't hope to fight them all, even if he did break his vow never to use a sword again, but before any of the daemons summoned the courage to face Eolis a distant crack of thunder reverberated through the rock.

The daemons glanced nervously around; that wasn't the usual booming that echoed through Ghenna but a sharper, more immediate sound. It came again, this time accompanied by a crack of lightning that left them all reeling from the light. In the afterglow stood the image of a brown-skinned girl clad in brilliant crystal armour. At the sight of her, the daemons started squealing and fled as if running for their lives. Mihn started walking again, realising Xeliath was readying herself to step over into the Dark Place. Now daemons melted away into the adjoining tunnels as he approached, content to hiss and glare at him from the dark corners while leaving his path unimpeded.

Every hundred paces or so Xeliath reappeared for an instant, filling the tunnel with searing light, ensuring the denizens of Jaishen were aware of her presence. Without these regular visitations they would have been attacked and overpowered within minutes, but even the most gigantic of the fanged monstrosities kept clear of the savage force at Xeliath's command. Mihn found himself whispering a short prayer to Cerrun, God of Gamblers: a desperate plea, that not even the princes of the Dark Place would risk fighting someone with such strength. A Crystal Skull was powerful enough to kill Gods and daemon-princes – who, even in victory, might be devoured by their cannibalistic minions if they were badly injured.

Exhaustion started to bite as Mihn felt his legs grow increasingly heavy. The air became denser and hotter the further they walked, and though the daemons made no forays against them, they afforded them only minimal room to pass. When he looked behind his lord he saw those trailing were lapping up the blood that dripped from Isak's wounds, their impossibly long tongues seeking out the tiniest drop.

At last they arrived at the crossroad where the burning wheel hung up above. Mihn started to press on, ignoring the tortured soul, but he was dragged to a halt by Isak, who stopped suddenly and stared directly up at the shrieking figure, the first time he had properly engaged with his surroundings since the chains had been dragged from his body.

Mihn felt the bile rise in his throat at the cruelties that must have been inflicted on Isak to produce so many scars. The only part of his body untouched was the rune burned into his chest; otherwise the torturer had been indiscriminate. His nipples, genitals and lips all bore signs of vicious abuse, his teeth were twisted and broken, his finger- and toenails torn out. The wider expanses of flesh were carved with a jagged script, one Mihn had never seen before, and scars caused by the spiked chains that had bound his body overlaid everything else like bloody shadows.

'Come,' Mihn said softly, urging Isak to keep moving.

Now the white-eye needed little encouragement. His eyes started to focus and his mouth was part-open, as though on the point of a sob that never came. As his great limbs started to shake Mihn tightened his grip on his lord.

Escaping the gate itself proved easier than he had expected. The chained beasts might not have been able to see Eolis, but they could sense the power of the sword and as they instinctively backed away, the gate started to lift. Mihn walked Isak carefully between the beasts, quickening his pace to clear the gate as they retreated again, pulling the gate shut behind them.

But there was no time for Mihn to pause and congratulate himself. From the steps of the Mercy's silver pavilion Mihn could see daemons of all sizes lining the three gates, staring after them with unreserved hatred. A flash of lightning raced across the gates and Xeliath appeared for a second or two, standing halfway between the gates and the pavilion.

She was dressed for battle in glittering crystal armour, and as she surveyed the arrayed armies of the Dark Place she gave a short laugh and spat in the dirt at her feet. The daemons began to clamour and howl furiously, beating at the ivory gates and stamping their feet so hard Mihn felt the ground shaking.

'Fuck all of you!' she yelled, directing an obscene gesture towards the largest of the daemons with her left hand, the one that had a Crystal Skull fused to the palm in the real world.

The cacophony increased tenfold, but the Yeetatchen white-eye turned her back and vanished into the darkness. Mihn didn't wait to see what response this elicited but hurried to the river, where flames were lapping against the bank. Instantly the boatman appeared before him, veiled and silent.

'Bear us across,' Mihn commanded.

'Each must pay with a soul. Will you give your own?' the boatman asked in a deep, inhuman voice.

Mihn reached into the neck of his tunic, pulled out the two silver coins strung on a chain and held it out to the boatman.

'I offer two souls.'

The association of souls with silver coins in Ghenna had come from the practice of laying the dead out with a silver coin in their mouth to draw up part of the soul. Daima had assured Mihn that the two men these coins belonged to were already in Ghenna; they would leave the question of ownership to the boatman and whichever daemon held them.

The boatman stared at Mihn for a while, then at Isak. At last it snatched the chain from Mihn's hand and drew the skiff up to the bank, stepping back to make room. Mihn helped Isak in first, making him kneel for safety before stepping swiftly into the remaining space himself. His caution was well justified as the boatman pushed off the moment one foot had touched the seat; only his superb balance and a firm grip on Isak's shoulder stopped Mihn from pitching over backwards into the fiery river.

The boatman laughed loudly as Mihn crouched at his feet but he poled the barge around and to the other bank with a dozen languid strokes. As soon as they touched land Mihn leapt out and dragged Isak with him. They set off up the short path to Ghain's summit, enduring the boatman's callous laughter until it faded on the wind.

With every step Mihn found himself weakening, the strength seeping out of his muscles as he gradually submitted to the terror inside him. Freed of his chains, Isak had regained a measure of his former strength and at the summit it was he who drove the pair over it. Though he had not spoken, nor really registered Mihn's presence, the white-eye survival instinct was a force in itself.

Once over the crest, Mihn dragged Isak to a halt. He leaned on the larger man and forced himself to stand upright as he gasped for breath. His hands were shaking, with fear and fatigue. The air was thin up there and it took a minute or more before his heart slowed its frantic beat and his lungs stopped aching. Isak stood motionless beside him, looking down on the desolate slopes of Ghain. He said nothing; Mihn couldn't tell if the white-eye even saw the empty miles ahead of them. Only the occasional spasm running through his body made Isak look more than a reanimated corpse, but Mihn had hardly expected cheerfulness or laughter.

I walked into the Dark Place and I lived, Mihn thought, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face. He looked back. There was no daemonic army pursuing them; not even the boatman was visible, but he didn't want to wait around. A daemon-prince might fear Xeliath's Crystal Skull as much as the rest of its kind, but it wouldn't be afraid to send others in its stead.

'Come, my lord,' he said with a sigh, forcing his legs to take the first few steps down the empty slope. 'We are not home yet.'

The journey downslope was far easier than the ascent, and the further they got from the gates of Ghenna the faster they moved, ignoring the dead landscape around them The silver pavilions were empty, though Mihn thought he could sense some presence in the air that he assumed was the Mercies. Isak, feeling it too, lowered his head and tightened his grip on Mihn's arm, but they passed freely, finding themselves a step closer to the Land. Ghain itself appeared abandoned, for they walked a different path to that of the dead, and if there was pursuit, it was far enough behind to leave no trace.

They stopped once, after all of the pavilions were behind them, when Isak began to huff and whimper like a frightened dog. He kept his head down, staring blindly at the ground, but a swirl of wind wrapped around them and he looked increasingly pained and fearful.

Mihn hauled him onward, until he saw the reason for Isak's terror and dread descended over him too: there, on the horizon, stood the vast black doors of Death's chamber, set in a huge, weathered stone frame attached to nothing. A great darkness hung above it, black as pitch.

What if I open that door and there is nothing but Ghain's wilderness on the other side? He shook the thought from his head and upped their pace, his own sheer determination overriding Isak's shaking reluctance. As he neared the gate Mihn saw the darkness above it start to shift and a loud clanking of chains rolled out across Ghain like discordant temple bells.

'Now would be a good time,' Mihn muttered under his breath, 'assuming you aren't too tired after insulting every daemon in existence.'

A clap of thunder came as response and Xeliath flashed into existence, appearing at their side and walking in perfect time, as though she had been with them the whole journey.

'They needed a reminder of how things are,' Xeliath commented lightly, spinning an ivory glaive in her hand before letting the weapon rest upon her shoulder.

Mihn looked at her. The chestnut-skinned girl was as heartstoppingly beautiful as when she'd spoken to him in his dreams. The visor on her crystal helm was raised enough for Mihn to see a contented little smile on her face.

'Grandiose insults and the prospect of violence,' Mihn commented. 'Bloody white-eyes.'

Xeliath's grin widened, but any further conversation was cut off as an enormous shape fell to the ground in front of the gate with a crash. They all staggered as the earth quaked underfoot, but not even the cloud of dust was enough to hide the huge dragon now blocking their way.

Mihn faltered, stunned by the monstrous size of the beast. He had never seen a dragon up close before – they were rare creatures in the Land; he'd only ever seen the beasts flying high in the sky. In the Elven Waste he had seen war wyverns go into battle, but they were lesser cousins; this dragon was as powerful, as terrifying, as any that had ever existed.

Measuring more than fifty yards from tail to snarling nose, the dragon was a sooty-black colour. Its torn, ragged wings looked as much smoke as membrane. The wings were crookedly raised, as though shading its body from the sun, and Mihn, remembering the stories of its enslavement, realised the beast could no longer furl its wings properly. Death himself had shattered the bones, and the deep scoring on the stone doorframe indicated it was forced to climb to its perch.

A curved horn rose from its long snout, and grey tusks swept back from the lower corners of its mouth, past its eyes and over its head. The dragon's muscular body was ungainly, its limbs twisted and misshapen, and its thin tail, curled like a scorpion's, finished in a long crescent blade.

The chained beast roared its defiance and Mihn clapped his hands over his ears even as he gagged at the foul stench on the wind: the stink of decay that emanated from the dragon.

Xeliath kept on walking, her arms raised to ensure the dragon's attention was on her alone. Her hand burst into spitting green swirls of magic and white light flooded the plain. The dragon reared, spreading its torn wings as best it could and beating at the air as though trying to retreat – causing the light to falter until Xeliath snarled and intensified the surging coils of magic around her hands.

She began to speak quickly in Elvish, the air around her shuddering at each syllable, but the dragon, fearless and full of rage, ignored her, advancing until the pitted chain that tethered it to the doorframe was stretched taut. The wind swirled up around Xeliath until she was partially hidden from view by shadows glinting with gold and emerald. As the pressure on Mihn's ears began to build Xeliath stamped one foot, and long coils of light lanced forward to lash the dragon's body.

The magic carved furrows through its flesh but the dragon just roared louder, refusing to retreat. It snapped at the glimmering coils with its huge mouth, somehow finding purchase on one, and wrenched its head from side to side like a shark feeding.

As the dragon pulled Xeliath off-balance, her concentration broke and the magic dispelled. It raised its forelimbs, claws extended, and raked through the air towards them. Mihn saw the trails of magic in the air and dropped to the ground, pulling Isak with him, as Xeliath made a sweeping gesture through the air with her glaive and a blistering white shield appeared in front of them all.

In the next moment black slashes tore through its surface and even Xeliath flinched away.

'Give me Eolis,' she yelled, reached back towards Mihn with one hand.

'I thought you would be able to force a path through!' he shouted as an ear-splitting roar of fury deafened them.

'It must be a bloody male,' Xeliath shouted back, a mixture of bloodlust and elation on her face. 'The bastard thing is too proud to back down!'

'Can you kill it?'

'Who knows?' she laughed. 'The Gods failed, but I'll give it a damn good try! Get Isak to the side and wait for your chance.' She grabbed Eolis from Mihn's unresisting grip and hefted it appreciatively.

'What about you?' he began, but she was already moving.

'Go!' Xeliath yelled, breaking into a run directly towards the dragon and shrieking a Yeetatchen warcry.

Mihn tore his attention from the shining figure and looked to Isak, who was staring at the dragon as though physically pained by it. With Mihn's support he moved to the right of the black doors and stood, trembling, watching as Xeliath charged with wild abandon, cutting and hacking with all a white-eye's force. A white band of energy thrashed around her, protecting her from the dragon's raking claws. She forced the beast back, then feinted left, and the dragon followed.

That was the opening Mihn had been waiting for and he pulled Isak towards the door with all his strength as Xeliath screamed in furious delight.

They were a foot away when the dragon whipped its tail along the ground and slipped the horn-blade underneath Xeliath's protective ring. She screamed in pain, and the sound of shattering crystal rang across the plain, swiftly followed by a roar from the dragon as the spitting band of light slanted around and pinned the tail to the ground.

As Xeliath stabbed Eolis right through it Mihn pushed Isak forward, not stopping even when he saw the dragon pounce: once they were through, then Xeliath could retreat. Light exploded up from the ground as the creature smashed its claws down, but Xeliath knocked its head aside, tearing a chunk of decaying flesh from its face. That wasn't enough to stop the creature biting down, to the sound of more shattering crystal. As he laid his hand on the black door itself Mihn heard Xeliath's bellow.

Though he hated to leave Xeliath he couldn't wait. He put his shoulder to the door and drove forward as hard as he could. Isak stood for a moment, then added his own weight. The black door resisted a moment, and then something gave and the two men collapsed forward. Darkness enveloped them, a rushing cold that hit Mihn with all the shock of a kick to the gut.

He tumbled forward in panic, freezing cold all around him, and a moment later he felt some force dragging him up until he broke the surface of the lake. Mihn's first breath was a howl of agony, and his remaining strength failed him. It was only a strong hand grabbing him by the scruff of the neck that stopped him dropping back in the water and sinking like a stone. He fell roughly against the side of the boat, and instinct was strong enough to make him grab on for all he was worth.

An animal yowl shocked him so badly he almost let go entirely, but as he flailed in alarm he realised the agonised sob came from Isak. The white-eye's huge bulk had risen to the surface too, and like Mihn he was gripping the side of the boat for all he was worth. His cries were shaking the entire boat.

'What happened to Xeliath?' demanded the witch of Llehden, standing in the prow of the boat, a rare look of concern on her face.

Mihn was summoning the strength to reply when he saw Xeliath slumped in the bottom of the boat, still and apparently unbreathing.

'How -?' he began, as Xeliath gave a sudden, violent jerk, but his immense relief was short-lived as the girl lifted her shoulders and coughed up gouts of blood over her stomach. She started to convulse and her eyes opened, reflecting not victory but agony.

He threw himself into the boat to hold her, but she twisted out of his grip and screamed in pain before vomiting more blood.

'Mihn, see to Isak,' the witch commanded, though there was little he could do for the white-eye, who remained clinging to the side of the boat with all his Gods-granted strength, keening piteously.

'No!' shouted the witch, who lifted the girl's head as Xeliath's struggles lessened. She held Xeliath close and began to mutter an invocation, but as far as Mihn could see the only effect she was having was to make the blood flow faster.

Xeliath twisted her head towards Isak and at last she seemed to focus, the pain receding in her eyes for a moment. Her damaged features twisted into a small smile.

'Free,' she whispered, almost too feebly for Mihn to hear. She coughed again and the smile vanished, followed a moment later by the bright spark in her white eyes,

'Xeliath,' the witch cried, but quietly now, the voice of mourning. Mihn felt a familiar presence suddenly descend, shrouding the boat to darken the night even further. Something hard clattered on the bottom of the boat and Mihn's heart sank. The cold of the lake filled his bones as Mihn watched the Crystal Skull roll to a stop in front of him, freed at last from her grip.