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was open enough to show the dragon-belt at his waist. Four thick gold rings hung from it, worth far more than their weight. The man couldn’t take his eyes off them; his stubby fingers stroked the hilt of his dagger. Before anyone could blink, Bahl had drawn his broadsword and levelled it at the man’s throat. Crackling threads of light danced up and down the five-foot-long blade before fading to nothing around Bahl’s glove.
    The mercenary looked deep into Bahl’s colourless eyes and utter panic showed on his face. A bolt of lightning leapt from the blade and the mercenary spun in the air as it threw him backwards. He hit the edge of a table and crashed down on the floor. Sparks and tongues of flame danced around the room so ferociously that even the fires and lamps shrank back in fear.
    No one else moved. They all averted their eyes, desperate not to be next to attract Bahl’s attention. Bahl’s free hand bunched into a fist, and he sought to compose himself. Tonight more than ever, his rage was close to the surface; it felt like a red mist of violence lurking at the edges of his vision. He drove it back down, and as he calmed himself he noticed how the new odours of burnt flesh and urine cut through the air.
    ‘I will take the scroll now.’
    The cowering wagoner scrabbled it out of his bag, dropped it, picked it up again and gave it to Bahl, retreating hurriedly back to his seat. The giant looked at the scroll in silence, a puzzled expression on his face, and then passed his hand over it, muttering wordlessly.
    ‘Lord Bahl,’ said a voice. Bahl turned to see the Ghost - Carel? - down on one knee, eyes on the ground.
    ‘My Lord, I would swear on the name of the Palace Guard that Aracnan meant to kill the youth. It was the sight of Nyphal that held him back.’
    Bahl nodded, to himself more than anyone else. It was true only the youth would have been able to open the scroll, and probably fortunate that his instincts had stopped him, though it wasn’t intended to kill. He tucked it into his belt. The College of Magic would no doubt enjoy prising its secrets apart.
    ‘Bring the boy to the palace. I will take him off your hands.’ The offer surprised him as much as the wagoner. What do I do with him? he wondered in the privacy of his own mind. Was Aracnan pursuing a mission of the Gods here, or some private enterprise of his own? Either was possible.
    Abruptly Bahl froze, like a dog catching a scent on the wind. The tavern and its occupants faded from his awareness and instead he felt the city around him, stone houses and damp streets and gutters clogged with rubbish, and a mind like his own. Aracnan.
    He sheathed his broadsword and made for the door. As he pulled it open, the sensation grew stronger. Aracnan was on a rooftop ahead, masked by shadows. Somehow he’d been able to conceal himself from Bahl until now, perhaps just to prove he was more skilled in magic than Bahl would ever be.
    The Duke of Tirah stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him. He took a moment to check for curious faces, then, when he was certain he was alone, he walked left to an alley until he was out of sight of the tavern. Then he waited.
    ‘Surprised, my Lord?’
    Bahl hadn’t even seen the mercenary cross the rooftops to reach him.
It was disconcerting that Aracnan could get around him so easily.
    ‘Impressed. But also curious. You’ve never needed to hide yourself
in Tirah before.’
    ‘Times, it seems, are changing. Someone doesn’t want me in this city so I shall be brief. It was hard enough to find you without inviting another attack.’
    ‘Attack?’
    That is my problem. Your beloved city is safe. What I came to tell you is that the boy is to be your Krann. I was told to bring him to the palace, but he would not come.’
    ‘My Krann … So that’s what the Siblis had sensed; they were following the call of his gifts. And the tavern, did you encourage me to go there?’
    ‘I did, but only gently. You’d have