The big man surprised her again. He made no appeal to the others, but simply turned away, taking a route at right angles to the one they had been travelling.

That’s it. He’s leaving. Out of my life, without a single word. She stared after him, wondering at the twisting in her heart.

‘Damn you, Felisin,’ the ex-priest snarled. ‘We need him more than he needs us.’

Kulp spoke. ‘I’ve a mind to join him and drag you with me, Heboric. Leave this foul witch to herself and Hood take her with my blessings.’

‘Go ahead,’ Felisin challenged.

The mage ignored her. ‘I took on the responsibility of saving your skin, Heboric, and I’ll stick to it because Duiker asked me. It’s your call, now.’

The old man hugged himself. ‘I owe her my life—’

‘Thought you’d forgotten that,’ Felisin sneered.

He shook his head.

Kulp sighed. ‘All right. I suspect Baudin will do better without us, in any case. Let’s get going before I melt, and maybe you can explain to me your comment about Dancer still being alive, Heboric? That’s a very intriguing idea...’

Felisin shut their words away as she walked. This changes nothing, dear sister. Your cherished agent murdered my lover, the only person in Skullcup who gave a damn about me. I was Baudin’s assignment, nothing more, and worse, he was incompetent, a bumbling, thick-skulled fool. Carrying around his father’s secret sigil – how pathetic! I will find you, Tavore. There, in my river of blood. That I promise—

‘—sorcery.’

The word jarred her into awareness. She looked over at Kulp. The mage had quickened his step, his face pale.

‘What did you say?’ she asked.

‘I said that storm rolling up behind us isn’t natural, that’s what I said.’

She glanced back. A bruised wall of sand cut the valley down its length – the hills she and Baudin had left earlier had vanished. The wall rolled towards them like a leviathan.

‘Time to run, I think,’ Heboric gasped at her side. ‘If we can reach the hills—’

‘I know where we are!’ Kulp shouted. ‘Raraku! That’s the Whirlwind!’

Ahead, two hundred or more paces away, rose the ragged, rock-strewn slopes of the hills. Deep defiles cut between each hump, like the imprint of vast ribs.

The three of them ran, knowing that they would not make it in time. The wind that struck their back howled like a thing demented. A moment later, the sand engulfed them.

‘The truth of it was, we were out hunting Sha’ik’s corpse.’

Fiddler frowned at the Trell sitting opposite him. ‘Corpse? She’s dead? How? When?’ Was this your doing, Kalam? I can’t believe it—

‘Iskaral Pust claims she was murdered by a troop of Red Blades from Ehrlitan. Or so the Deck whispered to him.’

‘I had no idea the Deck of Dragons could be so precise.’