The Art of Hunting (51 page)

Fiorel considered this.

‘There is no shame,’ Conquillas said, ‘in admitting that the notion terrifies you.’

The god chuckled again. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I agree. But if you lose, then she loses too. I will find her.’

Conquillas nodded.

Fiorel closed his eyes and a great tremor shook the ground. The crevasses between where they stood and the exit all closed, creating a path across the blasted ground by which they might
cross.

‘Look after her,’ Conquillas said to Granger.

‘No!’ Siselo shrieked. ‘No, no, no.’ She tried desperately to cling to him, but the dragon lord gently pushed her into Granger’s arms.

‘Quickly,’ he said to Granger.

Granger picked up the wailing child. ‘Cobul?’

The Bahrethroan sorcerer seemed indecisive. He glanced up at the massive stone face and then he gazed at the path to the exit. Cyr’s sphere was nowhere to be seen. ‘Hell, I’m
with you, Granger,’ he said. ‘That thing’s big.’

They hurried away, leaving the dragon lord standing alone on a mound of rubble. Granger glanced back once. By then he was too far away to be sure, but it seemed to him that Argusto Conquillas
had a smile on his lips.

EPILOGUE

King Paulus gazed down at the sleeping girl. Then he knelt by her bed and rested his cheek against the gentle swell of her belly. He listened, hoping to hear the baby’s
heartbeat, but there was nothing.

Duke Cyr turned his telescope back to the window. He couldn’t see the entrance to Segard from here in the palace, but he could see the pall of dust hanging over a ridge of trees where
people were saying the tunnel had collapsed. Of the thousands who had ventured inside the Halls of Anea to watch the tournament, only a handful had escaped with their lives.

‘Fiorel should have been here by now,’ he said.

‘Let him enjoy his moment with Conquillas,’ the king said. ‘He’s waited long enough for it.’ He lifted his head from Ianthe’s belly. ‘I think Jonas, if
it’s a boy.’

Cyr nodded. But he remained preoccupied. The shape-shifter really ought to have arrived at the palace before now. What could possibly have delayed him? The somnabulum floating in the corner of
the room chattered suddenly.

King Paulus glanced up at it, before returning his attention to Ianthe. He looked at her for a long moment. Then he picked up a glass from the bedside cabinet and eased a little water between
her lips. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason to stop at one child. We might have three or four.’

‘That would be sensible, sire,’ Cyr said. He turned his head at a sudden noise. A distant thumping, like a blacksmith’s hammer repeatedly pounding an anvil.

King Paulus heard it too. ‘What is that?’

Cyr came over to join him. The sound was coming nearer. He could hear it much clearer now – a steady
thump, thump, thump
. Like soldiers marching.

Or heavy footsteps.

Very heavy footsteps.

‘Do you think it’s Fiorel?’ the king asked.

Duke Cyr glanced at the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. He could see the surface rippling with each thump. And still it grew louder. Whatever was coming sounded as if it was in the
corridor outside. It was definitely footsteps, Cyr realized. Massive footsteps.

They stopped outside the door.

King Paulus sniffed. ‘Do you smell perfume?’

By Alan Campbell

The Deepgate Codex

SCAR NIGHT

IRON ANGEL

GOD OF CLOCKS

The Gravedigger Chronicles

SEA OF GHOSTS

THE ART OF HUNTING

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to Simon and to Julie, Ali and Jessica and everyone else at Pan Macmillan. And also to Maugan Rimmer, who helped me with aspects of the first book, and who I forgot to
mention.

First published 2013 by Tor

This electronic edition published 2013 by Tor
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-1-447-24873-6

Copyright © Alan Campbell 2013

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