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‘Well, we’re still alive for now,’ Mordrec added, pragmatic as always. ‘What’ll it be? Make camp or make our move?’

‘Soul?’ Dal asked, and the Grasshopper seemed to materialize at his shoulder. ‘You know these places, yes?’

‘A little, from the war.’ Soul Je had been an Imperial Auxillian in the Twelve-year War, and not enjoyed it much.

‘The . . . locals, they might come for us at night?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘They can be reasoned with?’

‘They like their privacy, Dala.’

Ygor muscled in, then. ‘Looks like they’re around a third of our number.’ The skin over his eyes creased, where a man with eyebrows would have raised them. ‘Fight? Attack them overnight?’

‘Sounds like they’re inviting it,’ Dal agreed. ‘Which is why we won’t. There’ll be more of them, for sure. They wouldn’t have kept us hopping all day just to fail so badly now. We need to get clear of them. If we fight, we fight when and where I choose. Soul, I get the impression you can talk to our . . . hosts in here? You’ve done it before?’

The Grasshopper looked sour. ‘Wouldn’t say it worked well, but I’ve seen it done. I know a little of their speech.’

‘Then I have something for you to tell them.’

The brigands made camp, with plenty of eyes keeping watch towards the dimly glimpsed fires of their pursuers. By his own orders, it was only Dal Arche who allowed his gaze to turn the other way, watching Soul as he sat some way deeper into the cane forest. Dal had always had good eyes, even for one of his kind, and at last, an hour later, he saw Soul standing up. For a long while there was nothing more save that he could hear the distant murmur of the Grasshopper’s voice. But then there was a movement, and Dal realized that the Stick-kinden were here, or one of them at least. The newcomer was freakishly tall, standing a good two feet higher than Soul, who was as lofty as most of his kind. Beneath the shrouding cloak, Dal could make out broad shoulders, but there seemed to be little more substance to this creature, just a great gaunt scarecrow, two long-fingered hands moved, making patterns in the air, but Dal heard no voice other than Soul’s. The conversation, such as it was, went on for a long time, the Grasshopper giving soft replies to the signs that the Stick-kinden used. When Soul talked at length, Dal lost sight of the tall creature entirely: standing utterly still as it did, its Art cloaked it in shadows and led the eye astray. Only when it spoke with its hands did it attract the attention,

There could be dozens of the things all around us. Dal forced himself to keep calm. If that was so, there was little he could do about it.

At last, Soul Je came back, looking worn down by his negotiations.

‘Get everyone up,’ he said, and Dal quickly kicked the nearest half-dozen awake, and sent them grumbling and complaining to wake up others.

‘They’re going to kill us?’

‘They’re going to guide us through their lands,’ Soul replied. ‘Don’t ask why, because I don’t know. We’ve nothing they want. Perhaps they just like lost causes.’

‘Not lost yet,’ Dal decided.

‘One condition, though: blindfolds. Everyone must be blindfolded. They’ll kill anyone who so much as peeks. We’ll be passing through their heartland, Dala. Nobody’s ever seen it. They want to keep it that way.’

Dal nodded grimly, and began to pass the word along. It’s not going to work, he already knew. The temptation would be too great. Worse, it could be a trap. They might none of them come out of this alive. ‘You trust them, though.’

‘They’re not like us,’ Soul replied. ‘They don’t care about politics, they don’t pay taxes, they don’t want more land. They’re apart from it all.’ His voice sounded almost wistful. ‘If they didn’t like us, then we’d be getting shot at right now, or we’d just never see them at all. They have no need of betrayal.’

Studying him now, Dal thought he saw why the Stick-kinden had been so compliant. Perhaps they had seen in Soul some little fragment of their own nature.

By that time the bandits were all awake, though not