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‘You’re a strange one,’ the wraith whispered from where it crouched by the water

‘I ah ‘And what boils within you, I wonder?’

‘You,’ she said, ‘are host’

‘Yes’ Aood nao I waswith all of my kin Well, those of us that survived the battle, that is’

‘Why are you here, Wither?’

‘I await my lord, Kettle’ The wraith suddenly rose – she had not kno tall it was before ‘And now… he coure rose, white-skinned as a blood-drained corpse, long pale hair plastered across its lean face Coughing, pulling itself clear, crawling onto the bank

‘The swords,’ he gasped

Kettle hurried over to hiered hands He used them, points down, to help hi back, taller even than the wraith And such cold, cold eyes, deep red ‘You said you would help us,’ she said, cowering beneath his gaze

‘Help?’

The wraith knelt before his lord ‘Silchas Ruin, I was once Killanthir, Third High Mage of the Sixth Cohort-’

‘I remember you, Killanthir’

‘I have chosen the new name of Wither, my lord’

‘As you like’

The wraith glanced up ‘Where is the Wyval?’

‘I fear he will not survive, but he keeps her occupied A noble beast’

‘Please,’ Kettle whimpered, ‘they’re out They want to kill me – you promised-’

‘My lord,’ Wither said, ‘I would help the Wyval Together, we can perhaps succeed in driving her deep Even in binding her once again If you would give me leave…’