'You are going to Sepik?'
'Yes. Tell the Falah'd that I demand equipment, two extra horses, and five hundred crescents in silver. Dried foods, more waterskins. Three javelins and a hunting bow with thirty arrows, ten of them birdpointed. Six extra bowstrings and a supply of fletching, a brick of wax-'
'Wait! Wait, Karsa Orlong. Why would the Falah'd simply gift you all these things?'
'Tell him, if he does not, I will stay in this city.'
'Ah, I see.' She considered for a time, then asked, 'Why are you going to Sepik?'
He began rolling up the map. 'I want this one-'
'Sorry, no. It is worth a fortune-'
'I will return it.'
'No, Karsa Orlong.' She straightened. 'If you are prepared to wait, I will copy it – on hide, which is more resilient-'
'How long will that take?'
'I don't know. A few days…'
'Very well, but I am getting restless, witch.' He handed her the rolled-up map and walked into the other chamber. 'And hungry.'
She stooped once more to gather in the other maps. The candles she left alone. Each one was aspected to a local, minor god, and the flames had, one and all, drawn the attention of the host of spirits.
This hallway was crowded with presences, making the air taut, bridling, since many of them counted others as enemies. Yet, she suspected, it had been more than just the flickering flames that had earned the regard of the spirits. Something about Toblakai himself…
There were mysteries, she believed, swirling in Karsa Orlong's history. And now, the spirits drawn close, close and… frightened…
'Ah,' she whispered, 'I see no choice in the matter. None at all…'
She drew out a belt-knife, spat on the blade, then began waving the iron through the flame of each candle.
The spirits howled in her mind, outraged at this unexpected, brutal imprisonment. She nodded. 'Yes, we mortals are cruel…'
****
'Three leagues,' Quick Ben said under his breath.
Kalam scratched at the stubble on his chin. Some old wounds – that enkar'al at the edge of the Whirlwind's wall had torn him up pretty bad – were aching after the long forced march back towards the Fourteenth Army. After what they had seen in the warren, no-one was in the mood to complain, however. Even Stormy had ceased his endless griping. The squad was hunkered down behind the assassin and the High Mage, motionless and virtually invisible in the darkness.