Blistig shivered despite the sultry heat. They were a frightening pair. So cold, so silent. Two children who are not.

And Squint was still missing – the commander well knew that it was unlikely he would ever see that man again. Heroism and murder in a single gesture would be a hard thing for any person to live with. He only hoped that they wouldn’t find the old bowman floating face down in the harbour.

Keneb cleared his throat. ‘Those survivors, sir .. .’

‘I know, Keneb, I know.’ They’re broken. Queen’s mercy, so broken. Mended flesh can do only so much. Mind you, I’ve got my own troubles with the garrison – I’ve never seen a company so . . . brittle.

‘We should make our way below, sir – she’s almost at the gate.’

Blistig sighed. ‘Aye, let’s go meet this Adjunct Tavore.’

Mappo gently laid Icarium down in the soft sand of the sinkhole. He’d rigged a tarp over his unconscious friend, sufficient for shade, but there was little he could do about the stench of putrefaction that hung heavy in the motionless air. It was not the best of smells for the Jhag to awaken to .. .

The ruined village was behind them now, the black gate’s shadow unable to reach to where Mappo had laid out the camp beside the road and its ghastly sentinels. The Azath warren had spat them out ten leagues to the north, days ago now. The Trell had carried Icarium in his arms all that way, seeking a place free of death – he’d hoped to have found it by now. Instead, the horror had worsened.

Mappo straightened at the sound of wagon wheels clattering on the road. He squinted against the glare. A lone ox pulled a flatbed cart up Aren Way. A man sat hunched on the buck-board seat, and there was motion behind him – two more men crouched down on the bed, bent to some unseen task.

Their progress was slow, as the driver stopped the cart at every tree, the man spending a minute or so staring up at the bodies nailed to it, before moving on to the next one.

Picking up his sack, Mappo made his way towards them.

On seeing him, the driver drew the cart to a halt and set the brake. He casually reached over the back of the seat and lifted into view a massive flint sword, which he settled sideways across his thighs.

‘If you mean trouble, Trell,’ the driver growled, ‘back away now or you’ll regret it.’

The other two men straightened up at this, both armed with crossbows.