Magnus walked beside his revived cultist and his dire dog into the cultist's camp. It smelled of smoke and badly tanned hides. Men clustered around fires, eating stew served out in wooden bowls. Magnus stopped, and looked around as he waited, arms folded. To Magnus's eyes, the camp appeared under-equipped. Only half the men carried swords, and the practice yards looked too small. It was true that with Penny gone and Bounty's power uncontrolled, iron rusted very quickly if you didn't look after it. But it was unusual that a hunting force didn't have the resources it needed. Supply lines had been cut, Magnus surmised, or something bad had happened to their main base. That would also explain why they had been raiding villages more than usual.

One of the men with a sword came up to Magnus, and Magnus's cultist quickly showed his credentials, a red compass mark tattooed on his wrist.

"He wants to make a deal with the bosses," the revived cultist said. The cultist with a sword looked warily at Magnus.

"It isn't a trick," Magnus said, then sighed, uncrossed his arms, arms held up a hand. "I swear upon my honour as a god."

"Wait here. Please," the cultist added as an afterthought, and hurried further into the camp. Other armed cultists cautiously circled them at a distance.

Magnus and his party stood there for a while.

"Can... Can I go now?" the cultist asked timidly.

"Go," Magnus said, waving a hand. The cultist hurried away, soon caught up with by one of their long-distance guards. The dire dog whined.

"All right, you too," Magnus sighed. The dire dog wagged his tail, and headed straight for the nearest campfire. Magnus and the guards tried to ignore the shouts as the dog started stealing people's dinners. Eventually the armed cultist came back, and gestured for Magnus to follow him. They walked through the camp over to a tent that was a little larger than the others. The tent, made of stretched deerskin, had its own small fire inside, along with a table covered with maps, and fire chairs occupied with men wearing tunics embroidered with red compasses on them.

"Before you try to kill me," Magnus said to them, "will you hear what I have to say?" One of the oldest cultists, with shortish white tufty hair and a grizzled beard, stirred in his seat.

"Go on," he said.

"If you agree to leave my witches alone, I will help deliver you the Trickster."

"Why would you agree to this?" the oldest cultist asked after a pause.

"While we do have our differences, you do take care not to let my sibling come into magical powers. Now she has her foresight back, and will quickly go mad again. I want that to stop."

"Why do you think we need your help?"

"Do you know what it is like to try and capture someone who sees the future?" Magnus asked. "I tried by myself, once. You thought Angus was bad; your new target, Cassie, is a completely different beast."

"How do we know you will not betray us?"

"As soon as I do, I imagine you'll start murdering my followers again," Magnus said.

"Why do you think we will believe you would betray the Trickster? They were your brother."

"My brother died one thousand years ago," Magnus said, his voice cold. "All I want is for his corpse to stop embarrassing the family."

The cultists conferred quietly. Magnus stood in front of them, waiting. Eventually, the cultists came to an agreement.

"You seem confident you'll be able to catch this Cassie," they asked. "What is your idea?"

An hour later, Magnus walked out of the tent with a pouch of summoning runes to call the cultists when needed, and a deal struck.

"I'll need a horse," Magnus said, and a guard ran to get him one. He walked through the camp.

"Please take me with you," his revived cultist sobbed from a stocks set up next to a gallows platform. Magnus rolled his eyes, and waved a hand. The stocks flew open, and the cultist ran to his side. As they walked, they passed the area where the cultists were keeping their animals. A mournful howl filled the air.

"I may as well get the whole gang back together," Magnus muttered. He put two fingers in his mouth, and blew a sharp whistle. There were some yells, and a short scream, and three giant dogs trotted up to him.

"No, I only wanted one of you," Magnus said to them. "I wanted my dire dog, understand?"

I think that's our dog," the revived cultist said, pointing to one with greyer fur than the others.

"What do you mean, our?" Magnus muttered. The other two dogs, one with a white spot on his forehead and the other a more reddish colour, whined slightly. One of them rolled over. The other ate the horse that a cultist finally brought up for Magnus.

"All right, fine," Magnus said, surveying the carnage with a look of resigned distaste. "We should make good time anyway; you won't need to stop to rest or eat, at least, and the dogs can eat on the run."

"What do you mean, I won't need to eat?" the revived cultist asked, alarmed, but Magnus had turned to go already, and the cultist, like the dogs, had no real choice but to follow.