“Don’t forget the fuckin’ centipedes,” Cully said. “I fuckin’ hate centipedes. And that’s when they’re smaller ’an my finger. Not bigger ’an my fuckin’ head.”

“What do they eat?” Gabriel asked the red-hot air.

“Each other?” Bad Tom opined. “Kill one, Cully.”

Gabriel paused to remonstrate, but Cully suited action to word. The next time one of the things showed a set of segments, Cully put a livery arrow at the joint.

The whole creature spasmed, and for a single heartbeat, it was clear in the sand; the incredible, hideous length of it and the legs . . . kicking . . .

A dozen other centipedes converged on it, their furry armoured bodies obscenely fat, their hundreds of legs working in sand. In the feeding frenzy that followed, one monster, gorging on a section of carcass that bled what appeared to be thick milk, clawed its way up the wall of the ridge or hillside from which the cave emerged.

Sixty livery arrows struck it. It fell away into the sand, and another horde of the things devoured it.

“Sweet Jesus,” muttered Michael.

The feeding swirls were dangerous; they forced the centipedes close to the walls, and seemed to remind them they could climb.

Gabriel tossed a small fireball out into the sand, well out.

The burst was very satisfying.

Like the tide turning, the insectile creatures turned away into the sand. This time, the feeding coruscations could be seen five hundred paces away as a temporary writhing hill was formed, the creatures warring for the choicest bits, rearing their great bulk.

The emperor shook his head.

“Yon’s disgusting,” Bad Tom said. “I seldom seen somethin’ I didn’t reckon on fightin’.” Yuck.”

The emperor just stood there in the furnace heat, shaking his head. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

He went back through to the cool underhall, and Tom Lachlan brought the whole casa back through. Although there was no “through.” The gate was real. There was no distinct feeling of passage, although the hot wind was warming the hall.

Gabriel went to the golden plate that now stood at waist level above the floor, inserted the key, and turned it.

The coloured window sprang back.

Gabriel nodded. The hall was packed.

“Water up!” he roared. “You have half an hour.”

Blanche was there. She looked at him, eyes wide.

“It’s real,” he said. A smile was threatening his face. “Damn, Blanche, it’s real.”

He and Michael narrowed the order of march, leaving the edge files plenty of room, and ordered more water brought forward.

Beyond the gate—The Red Knight