'It's most strange . . . this place is familiar to me. There are memories here yet not, a faint wisp of a dream long forgotten.'

Xindii joined him on the veranda and took a seat, as did the Flea King's regent. Both stared out into the dark garden, enjoying the cool night air and quiet.

'Perhaps that is what life is in the end, one big dream, the good ones we remember, yet they even fray. A first kiss. You remember it, but you forget the taste. The birth of an offspring, you remember the first night but the second blurs. The cup of life sometimes overspills and we lose our most treasured memories.'

Hadigan turned his gaze to the Mapper, the tight leather of his vestment stretching in the cool air. 'Quite the philosopher, Xindii. How far you have come my boy.'

'It's an observation, Hadigan. Nothing more.'

'Hadigan . . . that name is nothing now but dust. I've moved on from illness and petty crime. I've finally broken free from the shackles of Ravnor.'

Xindii started clapping in his chair, smiling inanely.

'Is there something that amuses you, dear Mapper?'

'Congratulations. You are the king of the impossible,' he remarked, then gazing into thin air, 'I'm sure there is a song there. But you are now tied to another unholy beast, the Flea King. You were a monster back then, Hadigan but at least you were your own monster. You even had a certain swagger. Now, you're just tied to the ankle of something even more grotesque than yourself.'

Hadigan looked genuinely hurt. 'Why don't you go straight for the jugular, Xindii? Do you think it was easy?'

'Easy? You knew what I was. Knew that the Reverie was strong within me. Turned me into a weapon to do your bidding, not to mention what came before.'

'You really are, Josiah's student. He was a complete whine bag. I gave you power, Xindii. Only enhanced what you had discovered yourself . . . you were a murderer before I found you. Didn't Josiah sense your power? He could have saved you from all that woe and heartache. But he let you go. Let you go to kill four people. I, well, I just took you in. Fed you, trained you to contain and control. I didn't have to.'

'We could wax lyrical all night, Hadigan. But when it comes down to the raw bone it's you who is the fiend. Josiah did his job in the end and I paid my dues.'

'And we all lived happily ever after,' Hadigan joked. He looked toward the Mapper and expected to see a smile. 'No?'

'You used Tyke as a life boat to prolong your already over-due life and in doing so have brought hell and ruin.'

'Oh wake up, Xindii. That's all that's left. Hell and ruin and a never ending dark. Do you think the dream pool will embrace you in the end, lead you to shores unravaged? It's a fallacy.'

'For you.'

'FOR EVERYONE.'

Hadigan pulled himself up from the chair, his frame dominating the Testament night sky, the red moon, kin' shet, standing sentinel with his fury. 'Do you know what it's like to be alone? To traverse the black tundra and be hunted by nightmares?'

Xindii stood and faced his old benefactor, his face and features that of a young man, yet the serpentine eyes, cold, calculating; predatory, still remained. There was a deep rupture in his tone, perhaps one of forgiveness, or pity, their situations reversed. Once, long ago, Hadigan had pulled the boy from Jeppa off the streets, his intentions not at all honorable or wholesome but Xindii had the feeling, the gut instinct that perhaps the man of pockets had been nurtured and groomed by power he too could not escape.

'What skills I learnt in my travels led me south, over the Lake of Perdition and the Screaming Skulls, and then the limitless black of Mo'Katha. A voice called to me on the wind, a voice that came with it the promise of power and unity. For years I wandered through the howling crags and heights of the black tundra.

'Fleas. Fleas are not a particularly nice thing to digest. But their meat, if you have the stones to swallow it can keep hunger at bay for more than a week. Over the course of the years I noticed that they began to follow me. Perhaps it was my scent, perhaps they could smell their slain brethren inside me. Fascinated by this newcomer, this haggard old man who had killed so many and still survived the howling tempests.'

'The pied piper of Mo'Katha?' Xindii asked. 'How quaint.'

Hadigan ignored him and then, strangely, nodded and accepted the analogy.

'Just because they follow it doesn't mean they like you or are curious. That's what I thought at first. Perhaps they were waiting for their chance to rip the skin from my bones. It wasn't until I reached the summit of Kinrashi that my doubts were realised.

'I was cornered by a pack of rabid wolves and was certain my number was up when the fleas bombarded the wolves. I had never seen anything like it. The blood curdling screams still haunt me to this day, they devoured the hapless creatures within mere seconds and the queen approached me with a clod of dripping wet meat in her jaws and laid it at my feet. At first I thought that they were fattening me up, like a goose for Grox Day. I took the meat and ate it and continued the ascent, the retinue of fleas followed me.

'One week later I found my goal. In a palace of black obsidian I found a book bound in slate and bone and scribed in blood, the fleas – my soldiers – the book my general. I took of its gospel and thought nothing more. Perhaps it was a story after all. A myth. Pure fancy. Nevertheless I took the tome and made my way back across the howling tundra and the fleas followed.'

'You should have burnt it there and then.'

'My dear Mapper. Could you? Could you resist the irresistible pull of adventure and enlightenment? Could you resist the chance to fight alongside Captain Zehbas and Loquin as they hunt for the white bat in the Gravity Wells? To take the journey to Bala'huh and share in the riches and adventure of The Jade Isle? Don't condescend me, Xindii. You don't wear hypocrisy well.'

Xindii ignored his jibe. 'It spoke to you?'

'Not at first. It was subtle, perhaps nervous of this individual that sought it out. But sometimes, at night, when the wind blew cold I could feel it, flicking through my memories like an eager child. Occasionally prodding me in my stupors, making sure its host was awake.' Hadigan smiled, 'Perhaps that is what those night time jolts are! Perhaps we all have a gospel inside us sometimes, eager for dominance . . .'

'So what's the plan, Hadigan?'

The man of pockets turned around and stared blankly at the Mapper. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Subjugation? Death? The story of the Flea King for all to see?'

'I have no idea!'

'What?' the Mapper asked, flummoxed.

'I am its regent, the fleas its vanguard. I'm not its mum . . .'

Xindii paused for thought 'So, death, then?'

Hadigan started to move forward, smiling. 'Most probably. Starting with yours, Mapper.'

Xindii backed away.

'And when I've dealt with you Testament will know hunger like never before and the gospel will flow-'

'So I take it the catch up is over now and we're down to the nitty?'

'Yes.'

'Thought so,' remarked the Mapper, as he smacked his burning fist into the floor beneath.

The burning pulse of Xindii's Beat slung the Flea King's regent across the finely cut grass, rupturing the verdant earth. He pulled himself up immediately and tore the ripped and frayed cowl from his shoulders, slinging it aside. Hadigan pulled two dagger-like weapons from his vestment, more akin to two stilettos. But as Hadigan's frustration grew so did the daggers, the thin steel rods elongating into a haggard serrated edge which then grew into a ghastly maw of razor sharp teeth, snake-like fangs ready to pierce the flesh. He held the weapons like you would a rapier or cutlass, the sheen of the guard around his hands, beckoning Xindii forward.

'The ability to cheat death isn't the only thing I learned on my travels, dear Mapper.'

'Oh, wonderful.'

Hadigan cut the air with his snake rods. The man of pockets – the edited version – was eager. The power of his Reverie, flowing through him. Xindii held his hand to his head, unsure of what to do, deciding to play the fool instead of the well-respected Mapper of word.

Xindii noticed the ancient trowel sticking from the plant pot and pulled it from the earth, raising it in front of Hadigan as a response to say the duel was engaged.

'The boy from Jeppa. How have you survived so long?'

'By not taking life so seriously, it would seem . . . on guard, foul spectre.'

'You are still a clueless child, Xindii. You know nothing of the power that lurks at Testament's door.'

'Maybe not. But for all your power and Reveries, Hadigan, you always fail to see the obvious!'

'Which is?'

'You still know nothing about me,' he stated, hiding the trowel within the folds of his long coat, turning about on the heels of his feet, the coat slipped from his shoulders and Xindii produced a fabulous blade of pure Darklands moon crystal, its sheen glimmered in the cool night air. Xindii held it directly at the man of pockets. 'Which is where everyone fails.'

'Not today.'

Xindii smiled and ran toward him, brandishing the moon blade. It howled in the air as the old soldier ran toward Hadigan's invite. The tomfoolery was over, it was time to end the man of pockets once and for all.

Snake rods and moon crystal clashed, Xindii hammering down a barrage of repeated blows which Hadigan blocked with a confident X- shaped defense. The Mapper kicked for the regent's groin and he teetered back, furious at such an obvious move. Hadigan dived forward and Xindii met the hammer blow, pivoting with his hips to the right and sweeping the degenerate's legs from beneath him. A slight shimmy of the legs and Hadigan was up, lunging with an upper strike with the rods. Dainty with his lithe frame the Mapper cantered back, standing poised, ready for the next attack.

The man of pockets swung the rods in a dizzying arc and Xindii met them midair, brute force, tempered by rage and aggression fighting for breath. Xindii felt the ground beneath him sinking, his boots submerged in the wet earth. Hadigan looked on gleefully, the dark shine of his teeth moving like living shadows.

Xindii held onto the sword for dear life, the sheer strength of the brute was phenomenal. He held his stance for as long as the earth would out. He reached for it, deep, deep within his heart. Xindii pulled it forth and didn't let go. Felt the Beat in his palm, swirling, gathering force, burning into the ivory handle of the moon blade. Hadigan was gaining height, the grass and earth ready to swallow the Mapper. The Beat burnt, flowing into the crystal of the blade, casting an azure shimmer across the regent's face. Hadigan knew what he was doing, but was steadfast, forcing Xindii into the earth where he would deal the hammer blow to end him but the Mapper's Beat was scolding, travelling through the rods with a blistering heat. Xindii pushed, pushed the Beat so high, but in his meditation failed to notice the moving maws of the snakes reaching forward, their gaping pink mouths and dripping white fangs snapped at the Mapper's cheeks, drawing blood and in his defense struck out with his blade in a torrent of blazing light and hissing serpents.

The light dispersed and the two adversaries remained. The Mapper with his bloodied cheeks, the regent with a cut to the stomach. Xindii didn't wait, running across the wet earth with the moon blade held high. He brought it round in an arc and Hadigan blocked it but the resulting contact blinded him and he reached for his eyes, the remaining energy from the Beat temporarily blinding the man of pockets. The Mapper took advantage and sliced into Hadigan's back bringing him to the floor.

Hadigan gasped for air. 'Well, I'm quite impressed. It seems you haven't been idle all these years.'

'Well, I didn't want to let you down.'

Hadigan started to laugh, fighting the pain. 'You haven't.'

Xindii noticed the gaping wound he had inflicted on Hadigan. A foot-long tear across the spine, which seeped blood. But that wasn't the most eye-catching thing about the regent's back. It was the moving tattoos. The ancient wording that slithered across his blood smeared back and burrowed into the wound, stitching the gash from the inside, soldering the ruptured flesh. It moved and heaved, the flesh bubbling with a foam-like residue. The pain must have been incredible as the regent clawed his fingers into the wet earth, grinding his teeth to bolster his resolve.

Xindii decided to take a few steps back. He had the distinct feeling that the fight had only just begun. Centuries ago, the man of pockets had fled Testament and in his travels discovered the tomb of the Flea King, read of its gospel and in doing so the Flea had lain its egg. Hadigan had discovered a power long thought extinct, and in its grateful thanks made him its regent, shared its power and secrets. But Hadigan had gone even further. He had tattooed certain glyphs upon his body in case of damage, glyphs no doubt taken and copied as part of the gospel. The words had slithered into him, fixed the ruptures to his body. Regenerated the skin. Hadigan started to rise.

'Bugger.'

The regent turned about. 'Don't feel so bad, Xindii. You fought valiantly.'

'Oh, good.'

He picked up the snake rods. Xindii stood his ground and raised the moon blade.

Hadigan aimed the rods at Xindii and a couple of chains burst from the snakes' mouths, toiling and swirling in the air, Xindii enveloped the chains with the blade and tried to slice through but nothing gave. He held the moon blade with both hands, his right holding the ivory handle while his other rested along the blade itself. He fought against the strength of the chains, bringing up the blade to a point where he could serrate the metal and break free. He did so, and with the avenue open to him pulled the blade out and across and serrated the chains. Xindii didn't hold back and made another attack, Hadigan blocking the resilient thrusts of the moon blade.

Thrust and counter thrust the old adversaries danced across the lawn, blocking, enveloping. Xindii made a valiant effort, holding the regent's attack from an upper cut and then pirouetting about to slice down into Hadigan's abdomen. He faltered but the glyphs inside powered him further, blocking the Mapper's next strike with his bare hands. His fingers bleeding, practically severed, but wriggling black tendrils took their place, enveloping the moon blade and snapping it in two. Xindii leaned in for an attack with his fists and Hadigan blocked it, but the resourceful Mapper turned Hadigan's arm the other way and broke it at the elbow. The regent screamed, slithering black tendrils writhing in the wet grass. Xindii didn't hold back, holding the Beat in the palm of his hand he ruptured the earth at Hadigan's feet and sent the man of pockets spiraling across the garden.

Mere moments later Hadigan pulled dirt and tufts of earth from himself and marched back through the garden. Xindii started to get a horrible feeling in the pit of his gut, especially when he noticed the heaving and throbbing black tendrils that had replaced his hands. It wasn't natural. It wasn't Reverie, he could smell it. He could usually feel the tangible electric of another man's dream. This was different. Abhorrent; ancient. It picked up the snake rods and ran across the grass. Xindii halted its assault with a barrage of ice, massive balls of rock hard ice pelted the regent and he waved them away with arms of fire. He wouldn't halt, the Mapper's Reveries notwithstanding. Xindii reached for the pond and a tidal wave of water ploughed across the garden, the regent separated it with a parting of his hands and turned it into dust. The Mapper then threw his raw Beat into the mix and the visage of Hadigan dispersed into a cloud of smoke, enveloping the Mapper, pulling him into the turgid air. Billows of smoke became fists punching the Mapper to the ground and against the slick brickwork of the House. It left him, battered and bruised where they had chatted quite casually only minutes ago.

Xindii coughed and heaved up a mouthful of blood. He looked to his left and noticed the black smoke forming once again. The finished form of Hadigan stepped from the shroud, the snake rods once again clasped in his tendrils.

He pulled what Beat he could, summoning the Reverie to his palm. Xindii bowled it over to the regent where he swatted it aside. The Mapper threw a punch and the man of pockets collected it in the black slimy tendrils and then kicked Xindii to the gut and launched him across the ornate decking. The snake heads moved once again, hissing at the broken Mapper on the floor. They retched and spat, eager to sink their fangs into Varosium's finest. Hadigan lunged with the rods and brought them down into Xindii's chest, the snake heads biting deep into the hard muscle. The regent pulled them up and the Mapper came with them, three feet off the floor, hanging, cured meat.

The man of pockets smiled and then launched Heironymous Xindii into the plate glass window of House Felstrom.