He walked to her and put a hand on her horse’s bridle. “Any thoughts?” he asked quietly. His people were skittish; everything was wrong, the colour of the air, the smell, the incredible heat; the crawlies, the huge red sun like a malevolent eye. It was all alien, and the scouts, who specialized in alien, were spooked.

Kriax was not looking over the edge; Kriax, who was, short of Bad Tom, the most insanely brave person Favour knew. “Holy fuck,” she said for perhaps the fifteenth time. “We go back and get a sorcerer,” she said.

Favour tugged at his short beard. “Costs the cap’n two hours,” he said.

Kriax shrugged.

Favour wished he were a scout and not a corporal. But he’d been briefed and she hadn’t. He knew that time was everything. “I want to try something,” he said.

She shrugged. “Sure,” she said, with an easterner fatalism that told him what she thought.

“I want you and Daud and . . . Short Tooth. You are the best archers. Pop a crawlie . . . way out. Like Cully did. Like the cap’n did with sorcery.” He gestured vaguely.

Kriax’s eyes were blank. “Sure,” she said. “And then what?”

“I try and get across the gap. On foot.” He shrugged. “We send Wha’hae back with two of your troopers to fetch help, but I go across and keep going.” He paused. “No Head will need to know exactly how wide it is.”

Kriax looked around. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is a good plan. Stupid and good. I will go with you.”

Favour was tempted to say something brave, but instead he smiled and said, “Good.”

They moved forward with the plan before Favour could have second thoughts, or really, fiftieth thoughts. Half a dozen arrows flew, and then another flight, and a third; well out in the sandy plain, the maelstroms started.

And the gap began to empty. The crawlies left like fish swimming upriver; Favour saw that they even had fishlike tails.

“Three down,” Kriax said.

“Ragnar,” muttered an easterner. “Look at that.”

Favour spared a glance to see that there was a towering pile of crawlies, all going for . . .

“We got two, right together,” the easterner said proudly.

Favour shook his head.

Kriax was already crawling down the broken embankment.

Favour followed. Wha’hae and two of the Vardariotes were mounted, their horses head-up and ears back.

He had trouble breathing. He’d sweated through his jupon in the terrible heat, and it was worse down on the plain. And the sand was soft; too soft. As soon as his foot touched it . . .

Kriax screamed.

She was sinking into the sand.

Favour didn’t hesitate. He powered forward, one foot and then another; he felt the slight sinking, the unnatural softness.

He threw himself full length on the sand and caught her hand.

“Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod,” she said.

He pulled and nothing happened.