The temptation was immense. Borik could save himself from this ghastly torment. He could stop the revolting transformation that was wracking his body, maybe even be set free at last from this damned city he had never wished to come to in the first place. What loyalty did he owe his former comrades anyway? They had cut him loose! They had let him walk away! The code was clear, you stuck your neck out for your shipmates but everyone else was just a mark to be profited from. What profit was there in continuing to undergo torture for those who were no longer a part of his crew?

A single thought cut through his exhausted delirium, a clear memory from maybe a thrice-turning before Varlen donned that damned crown. It hadn’t been a special evening, hadn’t mattered at all in the grand scheme of things, but it had mattered to Borik. They’d finished a job watching over some ore caravans travelling between Char-Vale and Hammerhal, and he remembered it now because he had almost been dragged into a Lashrat nest. He certainly would have been if his comrades hadn’t risked their own lives to come back for him. After making it to their destination in one piece, they had taken their pay to their favourite ale house, the Vandus’ Revenge. They had been well into their cups, just laughing about some stupid jest of Varlen’s. Hendrick, quietly amused, happy in his garrulous brother’s shadow. Romilla sat close to him as she always tried to be, and Eleanora close to her in turn, utterly absorbed in whatever gadget she was tinkering with. Bartiman had been holding court and Olt had laughed so hard he spilled his ale. Even Aelyn had raised a smile. Borik remembered that night – how he had felt, for just a moment, that if he never took to the skies again he might feel contentment with that, providing he had these good souls to guide his course.

They might not have understood the artycles of the code, might not have seen the sense of what Borik had been trying to tell them, but they had been good and true comrades. He wouldn’t betray them now.

‘I have nothing… to say to you… grot…’ spat Borik. His voice sounded thick and weird in his ears, as though he might be melting from the inside out.

The crude stone pendant in Skragrott’s hand glimmered with a sickly light that hurt to look upon. It turned one side of the Loon­king’s grotesque face corpse-pale, and reflected in his maddened eyes.

‘I was very much hoping that’d be your attitude,’ said Skragrott with a grin, stowing the amulet back inside his robes. ‘I’m goin’ to make you talk anyway, just so’s ya know. But before I do, let’s have a quick look at what you got in store for ya when I’m done!’