"Three hours ago, Ma'am."
"Dammit," Kali said, looking to the west. Makennon now had the four keys — and therefore the location of the site — but she still only had a rough idea of where it was. "She could be taking any one of the three roads. If we lose her…"
Slowhand dismounted from Horse and examined the ground. It was thick with tracks heading into and out of the city, but he seemed confident as he pointed ahead and said, "Actually, she took that one."
"Slowhand, there's no way you could know."
"Take a look," the archer said.
Kali did, and laughed. "That woman's too full of herself for her own good," she said. She stared again at what could only be Makennon's tracks, because the horseshoes of her mount had been carved with the symbol of the Final Faith.
On her trail, they headed west, crossing Vos, and came within sight of Makennon's party as they travelled on towards the coast. Kali longed to pass the Anointed Lord, to reach Orl first, but she knew that without the exact location of the site, she and Slowhand could be seeking it out for weeks. The journey was long, Makennon and her party proceeding with the surety of something within their grasp that negated the need for haste, but their progress worked to Kali and Slowhand's advantage, allowing them to stop off in the coastal town of Malmkrug to acquire rations and essential supplies, including squallcoats for the worsening weather. Beyond Malmkrug, they passed along the southern rim of the Drakengrat Mountains, and there Horse sniffed the air, recognising the place where it had been found. The beast hung its head wistfully, though, because perhaps it did not recognise it as home.
The Drakengrats faded into the background as the party and their pursuers neared Oweilau, and here the coastline took a turn to the north-east, where eventually it would swing fully east once more, towards Dellendorf and, eventually, Freiport.
Kali did not think they would turn that far, however, as the location of the site had been towards the end of the peninsula, so they would likely stick to the western paths as far as they could go. This they did, and eventually came to point where they could be no more than an hour or two's travel from the Sarcrean Sea. Kali itched to continue ahead now that they were so close — was certain now that she would be able to find the site herself — but as Makennon's party made camp for the night it soon became clear that they could go no further for the time being. Camped bang in the middle of a gorge, there was no way they could get past them without being detected, and no way around without attracting the attentions of the shnarls who at night roamed the coastal rocks in vicious packs. No — all they could do was make camp for the night themselves, then get ahead of Makennon's party in the morning when they'd moved once more onto open ground.
The pair of them watched from a ridge as the Final Faith bedded down, their assorted wagons circled in protection. There was little to see, and Kali and Killiam were about to call it a night when, from the east behind them, more wagons made their way towards the camp. They had to have been behind them all the time and Kali and Slowhand hid as they passed, she snarling at the unexpected yet somehow inevitable arrival of the leader of the group.
"Munch," Kali said. "Pits, I should have known."
Slowhand frowned. "Munch, maybe. But what the hells is that?"
Kali looked at the caged wagon towards which Slowhand pointed, and immediately recognised the creature held therein.
"That," she said, "is one of the ogur from the World's Ridge Mountains."
"They exist?" Slowhand said.
"Oh yes."
"Care to tell me why Munch has brought it here?"
"Holiday by the sea?" Kali said. "No, seriously, I haven't a clue."
She yawned.
"Time for bed, eh?" Slowhand said. "Just you and me and a seductively crackling fire?"
"You and me, maybe, but no fire, crackling or otherwise. This stage of the game, we can't risk them spotting us."
Slowhand sighed. There she went again, treating him like an idiot. "Actually, I already knew that. No matter," he added, winking, "instead we can get up close and personal, share some body heat."
Kali stared at him. "There's another possibility," she said. "In the Drakengrats, when bad weather hits and they can't get off the mountains, the high shepherds slice open the stomach of one of their flock and crawl inside for the night, using the intestines for warmth…"
Slowhand looked shocked. "You wouldn't — not Horse?"
"Who said anything about Horse?"
There was a moment's silence.
"I'll get some blankets from the saddlebags," Killiam said.
"Yes, you do that."
Minutes later, they had bedded down for the night, blankets a few feet apart. Lying in the azure darkness, each sipping on a bottle of flummox, Kali stared up at the night sky and its coming eclipse while Slowhand kept an uneasy eye on Horse, watching as the beast's tongue lashed out into the shadows surrounding the camp, snapping back every now and then with something dark, furry and squealing in its grip. The thing didn't seem to be interested in him any more, and so he turned his attention to Kali. The expression in her eyes as she stared at the stars troubled him.
"Hooper, how long have I known you?" he asked.
"Too pitsing long."
"I'm serious. I've known you long enough to know when something's bothering you. What is it?"
"What do you think, Slowhand? I lost two of my oldest friends."
"I know that. But I know there's something else." He paused. "The old man told you something in the World's Ridge Mountains, didn't he? Something about you, about the things you can do?"
Kali hesitated, and then told him about the old man's parting words, about how and in what circumstances he had found her, inside the sealed site.
Slowhand stared.
"How in the hells could it have been sealed?" he said. And after a delay, added, "Who are you, Hooper?"
"Slowhand, I wish I knew."
The archer saw Kali's expression grow reflective, and changed tack slightly in the hope he could cheer her up. "There's one thing I don't get. You came out of nowhere, an orphan with no family at all — so, why Kali Hooper? Where did you get the name?"
The question seemed to have the desired effect, and Kali smiled.
"Until I was about five, everybody just called me half-pint, but when I started to grow it didn't seem appropriate any more, so someone suggested I take Red's name instead. He wanted to call me after his mum, Dora. Dora Deadnettle, can you believe it? Needless to say, I vetoed that."
"Wise move."
"A-ha. So they suggested a number of other names but none of them worked, and I went back to being half-pint. Then, one night, Pete Two-Ties started staring at the beers and writing their names down, playing with the letters he got…"
"The letters?"
"The letters. And out of all of them, Pete found that one beer, in particular, worked."
"Which was?"
Kali took a swig of flummox. "Orki Hop Ale."
Slowhand couldn't help himself. He spat his flummox out.
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that's all your name is — an anagram?"
"That's right. I'm named after a beer. Got a problem with that?"
Slowhand shook his head, swallowing hard. "No, no, no… no. Absolutely appropriate, really."
"I thought so."
Slowhand concentrated, mouthed letters. "Could have been worse, given what Two-Ties had to work with. Kira Pohole…"
"I don't think so."
"Erika Phool."
"No…"
"Karlie Pooh."
"All right, Slowhand, that's enough!"
They drank some more.
"Now it's my turn. You never told me — what is it between you and the Final Faith? Why the vendetta?"
Slowhand's expression darkened, and he stared off into the night. "That question's in a whole different league, Hooper."