The merchant’s voice filled her mind. Do not fear for yourself, my dear. Wealth and peace, every indulgence to sate your desires, and I am gentle – to those I choose, oh so gentle . . .

She hesitated.

Leave to me this hard-skinned stranger and the old man, then I shall deal with Messremb, that foul, most rude Soletaken who so dislikes me . . .

Yet she heard pain in his words, an edge of desperation. The Soletaken was sundering the barrier, its hungry roar deafening in its reverberations.

Baudin would not fall. He killed rat after rat, all within a shroud of flame, yet they surged over him in ever-growing numbers, the sheer mass of bodies smothering the burning oil.

Felisin glanced at the Soletaken, gauging its awesome power, its fearless rage. She shook her head. ‘No. You’re in trouble, D’ivers.’ She took hold of Heboric once again and dragged him to the dying barrier.

My dear! Wait! Oh, you stubborn mortal, why won’t you die!

Felisin could not help but grin. That won’t work – I should know.

The Whirlwind had begun its own assault against the sphere. Wind-whipped sand rasped against her face.

‘Wait!’ Heboric gasped. ‘Kulp—’

Cold gripped Felisin. He’s dead, oh, gods, he’s dead! Devoured. And I watched, drunk and uncaring, noticing nothing – ‘one thing at a time.’ Kulp’s dead. She bit back a sob, pushed the ex-priest into, then through, the barrier, even as it finally collapsed. The Soletaken’s roar of triumph announced its surging charge into the midst of the rats. Felisin did not turn to watch the attack, did not turn to discover Baudin’s fate. Dragging Heboric, she ran into the dusk-darkened storm.

They did not get far. The sandstorm’s fury battered them, pushed them, finally drove them into the frail shelter offered by an overhanging spur of rock. They collapsed at its base, huddling together, awaiting death.

The alcohol in Felisin pulled her down into sleep. She thought to resist it, then surrendered, telling herself that the horror would soon find them, and to witness her own death offered no comfort. I should tell Heboric the true worth of knowledge now. Yet he will learn that himself. Not long. Not long at all...

She awoke to silence, but no, not silence. Someone nearby was weeping. Felisin opened her eyes. The Whirlwind’s storm had ceased. The sky overhead was a golden shroud of suspended dust. It was so thick on all sides that she could see no more than half a dozen paces. Yet the air was still. Gods, the D’ivers is back – but no, the calm was everywhere.

Head aching and mouth painfully dry, she sat up.