‘Magos Drusher,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘You may face the censure of the ordos for your actions today.’

‘Yep,’ said Drusher. ‘And so will you. And I know which set of charges I’d rather be accused of.’

The smoke was getting thicker. Their clothes were heavy with the weight of crawling insects. From far below, they could hear the groan of tortured metal.

‘I vote we leave,’ said Nayl. ‘As fast as we can.’

They headed for the steps, left the gantry and walked towards the hatch. Macks and Drusher helped Voriet between them. Nayl gave his arm to support the limping Eisenhorn.

The hatch was open. They went through into the long, tall hallway of the shade hall. It was cooler there, but smoke was flowing out of the tower and gathering in thick black folds up in the high ceiling. Insects covered every surface, chirring and ticking. They swarmed in the air.

‘Did you open a door?’ asked Voriet.

‘I think so,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I feel a breeze,’ said Macks.

A figure stood in the hallway ahead of them.

It was Draven Sark. He had bathed and shaved off his beard and filthy hair. He wore the long white robes of a magos of Materia Medica.

‘You should have finished your work,’ he said.

Nayl raised his laspistol.

‘Come with us or stand aside, Sark,’ said Eisenhorn.

‘Goran made such a mistake,’ said Sark, gliding forwards. ‘He thought you were usable. Transmutable. What a fool. You cannot make a heretic out of someone who is already a heretic.’

+Stand aside.+

Sark winced slightly.

‘That will of yours,’ he said. ‘Indomitable. Unbroken, even by the Torment. You were already where the Torment wanted to take you. It just made you stronger.’

He smiled.

‘It made you stronger, and yet you still did not have the strength and purpose to finish your work. You could have defeated us, and you failed. Human weakness got in the way.’

‘Not my weakness,’ said Eisenhorn.

Sark shrugged. ‘Human weakness. It is why your side will lose, and the Rot-God-King will fall. It is why we will prevail.’

Nayl fired. The las-bolt hit Sark and left nothing but a tiny scorch mark on his white gown.

Sark’s eyes lit with a violet glare. A wall of force slammed down the hallway. Nayl, Macks, Drusher and Voriet were hurled off their feet, and went tumbling as if cast by a hurricane wind. Swarming insects billowed everywhere.

Eisenhorn remained standing.

‘I will unmake you now,’ said Sark. ‘Punishment for your abuse of the Loom, and for your obstruction of our work.’

There was another gust of force. Eisenhorn groaned and sank to one knee. The magos advanced upon him.

‘We have both known the Torment, Gregor Eisenhorn,’ he said. ‘It has changed us both. It has made me stronger. I carry it with me.’

‘You carry… something…’ said Eisenhorn, struggling to remain upright.