Stepping through the ghost, Apsalar began the ascent.
'That was a vicious thing to do,' Telorast hissed behind her. 'If I possessed you I wouldn't do that to me. Not even to Curdle, I wouldn' t. Well, maybe, if I was mad. You're not mad at me, are you? Please don't be mad at me. I'll do anything you ask, until you're dead. Then I'll dance on your stinking, bloated corpse, because that's what you would want me to do, isn't it? I would if I was you and you were dead and I lingered long enough to dance on you, which I would do.'
Reaching the crest, Apsalar saw that the track continued along the ridge another two hundred paces before twisting back down onto the lee side. Cool morning wind plucked the sweat from her face, sighing in from the vast, dark cape that was the sea on her left. She looked down to see a narrow strand of beach fifteen or so man-heights below, cluttered with driftwood. Along the track to her right, near the far end, a stand of stunted trees rose from a niche in the cliff-side, and in their midst stood a stone tower. White plaster covered its surface for most of its height, barring the uppermost third, where the roughcut stones were still exposed.
She walked towards it as the first spears of sunlight shot over the horizon.
Heaps of slate filled the modest enclosure surrounding the tower. Noone was visible, and Apsalar could hear nothing from within as she strode across to halt in front of the door.
Telorast's faint whisper came to her: 'This isn't good. A stranger lives here. Must be a stranger, since we've never met. And if not a stranger then somebody I know, which would be even worse-'
'Be quiet,' Apsalar said, reaching up to pound on the door – then stopped, and stepping back, stared up at the enormous reptilian skull set in the wall above the doorway. 'Hood's breath!' She hesitated, Telorast voicing minute squeals and gasps behind her, then thumped on the weathered wood with a gloved fist.
The sounds of something falling over, then of boots crunching on grit and gravel. A bolt was tugged aside, and the door swung open in a cloud of dust.
The man standing within filled the doorway. Napan, massive muscles, blunt face, small eyes. His scalp shaved and white with dust, through which a few streaks of sweat ran down to glisten in his thick, wiry eyebrows.
Apsalar smiled. 'Hello, Urko.'
The man grunted, then said, 'Urko drowned. They all drowned.'
'It's that lack of imagination that gave you away,' she replied.
'Who are you?'
'Apsalar-'
'No you're not. Apsalar was an Imass-'
'Not the Mistress of Thieves. It is simply the name I chose-'
'Damned arrogant of you, too.'
'Perhaps. In any case, I bring greetings from Dancer.'
The door slammed in her face.
Coughing in the dust gusting over her, Apsalar stepped back and wiped grit from her eyes.