From point, the sapper had become rearguard, as the group retreated from Gryllen’s nightmare pursuit. ‘The D’ivers has stolen powerful lives,’ said Apsalar, and Mappo, struggling to pull Icarium back, had nodded. ‘Gryllen has never before shown such ... capacity ...’

Capacity. Fiddler grunted, chewing at the word. The last time he’d seen this D’ivers, the rats had been present in their hundreds. Now they were in their thousands, perhaps tens of thousands – he could only guess at their numbers.

The Hound Gear had rejoined them and now led their retreat down side tracks and narrow tunnels. They were seeking to circle around Gryllen – they could do naught else.

Until Icarium loses control, and gods, he’s close. Far too close.

The sapper reached into his munitions, his fingers touching his last cusser, then brushing past, finding instead another flamer. No time to affix it to a quarrel, and he was running out of those anyway. The swarm’s lead creatures, scampering towards him, were no more than half a dozen paces away. Fiddler’s heart stuttered in his chest – Have I let them get too close this time? Hood’s breath! He flung the grenado.

Roast rat.

Heaving bodies swallowed the liquid fire, rolled and tumbled towards him.

The sapper wheeled and ran.

He nearly plunged into Shan’s blood-smeared jaws. Wailing, Fiddler dodged, spun, went sprawling among boots and moccasins. The group had come to a halt. He scrambled upright. ‘We got to run!’

‘Where?’ The question came from Crokus, in a dry, heavy tone.

They were at a bend in the path, and at both ends swarmed a solid wall of rats.

Four Hounds attacked the far mob, only Shan remaining with the group – taking the place of Blind, perilously close to Icarium.

With a shriek of rage the Jhag threw Mappo from his shoulders with a seemingly effortless shrug. The Trell staggered, lost his balance and struck the root floor with a rattling thud.

‘Everybody down!’ Fiddler screamed, his hand blindly reaching into the munitions bag, closing on that large, smooth object within.

Keening, Icarium drew his sword. Wood snapped and recoiled in answer. The iron sky blushed crimson, began twisting into a vortex directly above them. Sap sprayed from the walls like sleet, spattering everyone.

Shan attacked Icarium but was batted aside, sent flying, the Jhag barely noticing.

Fiddler stared at Icarium a moment longer; then, pulling his cusser free, the sapper wheeled around and threw it at the D’ivers.

But it was not a cusser.

Eyes wide, Fiddler stared as the conch shell struck the root floor and shattered like glass.

He heard a savage crack behind him, but had no time to give it thought, and all further sounds vanished as a whispering voice rose from the ruined shell – a Tano Spiritwalker’s gift – a whispering that soon filled the air, a song of bones, finding muscle as it swept outward.