They stood at the foot of a narrow stepped track that descended in a zig-zag course from the chapel to the base of the escarpment. They had all appeared at the chapel come the dawn, none having found sufficient cause in Priest’s words to abandon their purpose. Pilgrim couldn’t decide if this made them a company of the brave or the mad.

Both, the voice chimed in. I’ve always tended to think they’re the same thing in any case.

The Priest was the first to step onto the sands, immediately sinking to his knees as he did so, hands clasped and head lowered as the heavy cloak he wore whipped in the stiff wind. He spoke in a low murmur, the language unknown to Pilgrim and his companions, save Book. The stocky northlander’s brows creased in an obvious sign of understanding as Priest’s prayer continued. From his expression, Pilgrim doubted he found much comfort in the cleric’s words.

Falling silent, Priest unclasped his hands and swept one over his head in a circular motion before getting to his feet. It was a gesture Pilgrim had seen many people make in the regions bordering the Execration, a warding against ill-luck or unseen danger, one that had evidently originated amongst the worshippers of the Absolved.

“Come,” Priest said, starting forward. “We need to cover as many miles as possible before nightfall. The less time spent on the Sands the better.”

He frowned when Pilgrim strode forward, taking up position at the head of their company. “You said you require our protection,” he said when Priest seemed about to protest.

He turned about and started walking, eyes scanning the sea of monochrome dunes and finding it hard to credit that anything could subsist in such a landscape. There wasn’t a scrap of greenery to be seen, nor any sign of water. But then, he knew enough of what these pilgrimages entailed to know the threat that dwelt here required no material sustenance.

Very true, my liege, the voice agreed, its tone for once free of any mockery. If anything, it was coloured by faint and rarely heard concern. If you perish here, it elaborated, sensing his surprise, I might lie beneath this ash undiscovered for centuries. I respond poorly to boredom, as you know.

They covered ten miles by noon, the loose ground making for slow progress. Although the sky remained mostly clear, the ashen plain seemed impervious to any pleasing aspect the sunlight might afford. It was, Pilgrim knew on an instinctive level, truly a place of death. There could no beauty in the Execration.