'He is more intelligent than that. He has taken precautions against assassination, and there are inherent dangers whenever a Skull is involved. They contain too much power for a novice to control. He already keeps his Aspect-Guide close at hand; it would be a simple thing for him to lose his grip on the magic and then we would be faced with a minor God of vast strength instead. Better to let someone else deal with the problem on our behalf. We will kill priests soon enough, that 1 promise you.'

From a pouch, the minstrel took a peach and raised it to his lips.

His companion sniffed and then looked away in disgust. 'How can you eat that? It's rotting.'

'Decay happens to everything,' replied the minstrel softly, eyes on the clouds above. 'Corruption is inevitable. I am but its servant.' He took another bite, then tossed the half-eaten fruit into the street. 'No one could want that Skull more than I do, but our master has a greater plan.'

'One that I am not to be party to?'

'If you have the courage to complain, do so.'

'I-' jackdaw faltered. Too late he remembered that Azaer was always close to the minstrel, lingering where the man's shadow had once been.

'You require something of me?'

Jackdaw jumped as Azaer's voice rang suddenly inside his head.

Beside him the minstrel inclined his head, as though giving a slight how.

'No, master,' the former monk spluttered. He felt a hand caress his cheek, then a sharp pain caused him to yelp involuntarily. The flesh just above his jaw-line felt raw and exposed and when he touched his face, Jackdaw found blood there. Raising his hand, he saw a black feather stuck to the blood on the back of his fingers. He didn't need a looking-glass to know that part of his tattoo had gone.

'Hush your throat, or I'll pluck more feathers out. We have a game to play here in Scree, friends to find and friends to lose. Lure them all here and let the drama unfold as it will. We take our bows when the performance is done.'