The detonation should have killed Fiddler. There was fire. Towering walls of sand. The air concussed, and his breath was torn from his lungs even as blood spurted from his nose and both ears.

And the body lying atop him seemed to wither in shreds.

He’d recognized the voice. It was impossible. It was ... infuriating.

Hot smoke rolled over them.

And that damned voice whispered, ‘Can’t leave you on your own for a Hood-damned minute, can I? Say hello to Kalam for me, will ya? I’ll see you again, sooner or later. And you’ll see me, too. You’ll see us all.’ A laugh. ‘Just not today. Damned shame ‘bout your fiddle, though.’

The weight vanished.

Fiddler rolled over. The storm was tumbling away, leaving a white haze in its wake. He groped with his hands.

Someone jogged into view, settled down beside him. ‘Slamming gates, Fid – you’re Hood-damned alive!’

He stared at the man’s battered face, then recognized it. ‘Cuttle? He was here. He – you’re covered in blood—’

‘Aye. I wasn’t as close as you. Luckily. ‘Fraid I can’t say the same for Ranal. Someone had taken down his horse. He was stumbling around.’

‘That blood—’

‘Aye,’ Cuttle said again, then flashed a hard grin. ‘I’m wearing Ranal.’

Shouts, and other figures were closing in. Every one of them on foot.

‘—killed the horses. Bastards went and—’

‘Sergeant! You all right? Bottle, get over here—’

‘Killed the—’

‘Be quiet, Smiles, you’re making me sick. Did you hear that blast? Gods below—’

Cuttle clapped Fiddler on one shoulder, then dragged him to his feet.

‘Where’s the lieutenant?’ Koryk asked.

‘Right here,’ Cuttle answered, but did not elaborate.

He’s wearing Ranal.

‘What just happened?’ Koryk asked.

Fiddler studied his squad. All here. That’s a wonder.

Cuttle spat. ‘What happened, lad? We got slapped down. That’s what happened. Slapped down hard.’

Fiddler stared at the retreating storm. Aw, shit. Hedge.

‘Here comes Borduke’s squad!’

‘Find your horses, everyone,’ Corporal Tarr said. ‘Sergeant’s been knocked about. Collect whatever you can salvage – we gotta wait for the rest of the company, I reckon.’

Good lad.

‘Look at that crater,’ Smiles said. ‘Gods, Sergeant, you couldn’t have been much closer to Hood’s Gate and lived, could you?’

He stared at her. ‘You’ve no idea how right you are, lass.’

And the song rose and fell, and he could feel his heart matching that cadence. Ebb and flow. Raraku has swallowed more tears than can be imagined. Now comes the time for the Holy Desert to weep. Ebb and flow, his blood’s song, and it lived on.

It lives on.

They had fled in the wrong direction. Fatal, but unsurprising. The night had been a shambles. The last survivor of Korbolo Dom’s cadre of mages, Fayelle rode a lathered horse in the company of thirteen other Dogslayers down the channel of a long-dead river, boulders and banks high on either side.

Herself and thirteen battered, bloodied soldiers. All that was left.