‘Aye, some obscure connection to do with friends of fathers and uncles and friends of friends or something like that. He first approached you, you know, but you didn’t catch on. So he found me himself.’

‘I don’t remember anything like that.’

‘A quote, attributed to Kellanved and recorded by the man arranging our escape – Duiker.’

‘A familiar name ...’

‘The Imperial Historian. He spoke on my behalf at the trial. Then, afterwards, arranged to be sent to Hissar by warren.’ He fell silent, slowly shook his head. ‘To save a bitter old man who more than once denounced his written histories as deliberate lies. If I live to stand face to face with Duiker, I think I owe the man an apology.’

A buzzing, frenzied sound reached them, coming from the smoky air above the town. The sound grew louder. Sinker Lake’s smooth surface vanished beneath what seemed a spray of hailstones.

Felisin crouched lower in fear. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

Heboric was silent a moment, then he hissed, ‘Bloodflies! Drawn, then driven, by the fires. Quickly, lass, scoop up mud – cover yourself! And then me. Hurry!’

Glittering clouds of the insects swept into view, racing like gusts of fog.

Frantic, Felisin dug her fingers into the cool mud between the reed stems, slapping handfuls against her neck, arms, face. As she worked she crawled forward on her knees until she sat in the lake water, then she turned to Heboric. ‘Come closer!’

He scrambled to her side. ‘They’ll dive through the water, girl – you need to get out of there – cover your legs in mud!’

‘Once I’m done with you,’ she said.

But it was too late. All at once the air was almost unbreathable as a cloud engulfed them. Bloodflies shot down into the water like darts. Pain lanced through her thighs.

Heboric pushed her hands away, then ducked down. ‘Mind yourself, lass!’

The command was unnecessary, as all thoughts of helping Heboric had vanished with the first savage bite. Felisin leapt from the water, clawed gouges of mud free and slapped them down on her blood-smeared thighs. She quickly added more down to her calves, her ankles and feet. Insects crawled through her hair. Whimpering, she clawed them away, then covered her head with mud. Bloodflies rode her drawn gasps into her mouth, biting as she gagged and spat. She found herself biting down, crunching them, and their bitter juices burned like acid. They were everywhere, blinding her as they gathered in frenzied clumps around her eyes. Screaming, she scraped them away, then reached down and found more mud. Soothing darkness, yet her screaming did not stop, would not stop. The insects were at her ears. She filled them with mud. Silence.

Handless arms wrapped tight around her, Heboric’s voice reaching her as if from a great distance away. ‘It’s all right, lass – it’s all right. You can stop screaming, Felisin. You can stop.’