‘For Throne’s sake! Help him!’ Macks yelled, her hands locked flat over the wound in Garofar’s torso.

‘He’s done for,’ called the overweight man, edging closer, his weapon aimed. ‘You can see that. But she’s intact enough.’

‘You said you’d help him,’ Macks pleaded.

‘I say all sorts of things,’ replied the bearded man. ‘Blayg is right. He’s done for.’

‘No! Get a bloody med kit!’ cried Macks.

The man with the violet eyes sighed. He brought up his autorifle and puffed two noise-limited shots into Garofar’s head.

Macks screamed and launched herself at the bearded man, clawing with blood-soaked hands.

He snapped his autorifle around like a club and met her face with the stock.

Nayl opened the door and looked out.

‘You think you can be quiet now, magos?’ he whispered over his shoulder.

‘Yes,’ said Drusher. He’d calmed down a little.

‘Follow me,’ said Nayl. ‘Stick with me. Do as I tell you.’

Drusher nodded.

Nayl looked at him, eyes narrowed.

‘Say it, quietly but clearly,’ he said. ‘I need to know where you are. I won’t be looking at you.’

‘I understand,’ said Drusher. ‘Yes.’

Nayl looked at Drusher for a moment, as if gauging how far he could trust him to behave. Then he appeared to make his mind up.

‘Follow,’ he whispered.

With the rifle up against his cheek, Nayl opened the door wider. Then, he switched his hand to the foregrip and edged out, panning the powerful assault weapon from side to side. Drusher followed him.

The door led into a long, high hallway. The walls were the same, seamless white stone as the room, the floor the same green marble. It was gloomy, and there was a constant, distant humming noise. Murky light seeped in through high window lights. The proportions of the hallway were odd. It was wide enough for three men to walk together, side by side, but the ceiling was so high, it felt narrow and confined. Drusher guessed the ceiling was five or six metres up. It seemed a curious choice, so much wasted space above head height. Despite the open air above him, he felt claustrophobic, oppressed by the blank, chalk-white walls.

Why build a corridor that shape? Was its grand architecture supposed to impress and intimidate? Then why so plain and austere? He was frankly glad the window lights were too high for him to see out of them.

His old adversary, imagination, decided to make mischief. The thought came to him that this was a very narrow corridor. A single-file passageway for very tall people. People so tall, they could see out of the high windows, because they would be at head height. And those tall people therefore wouldn’t be people at all…

‘All right?’ Nayl asked.

‘Yes,’ whispered Drusher.