‘They’ve broken through the doors in the throne-room, Sparhawk,’ Ulath called from the rear. ‘There are some torches bobbing around back in the entryway.’

‘That more or less settles it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We don’t have time to start exploring side passages. Let’s go on.’

The lighted corridor began to twist and turn at that point, and the spots of blood on the floor suggested that they were still on the same trail Adus had followed.

The corridor turned to the right.

‘How are you bearing up?’ Sparhawk asked Bevier, who was leaning heavily on Berit’s shoulder.

‘Fine, Sparhawk. As soon as I get my breath, I’ll be able to make it without help.’

The corridor turned to the left again, then to the left again after only a few yards.

‘We’re going back the same way we came, Sparhawk,’ Kurik declared.

‘I know. Do we have any choice, though?’

‘Not that I can think of, no.’

‘Ulath,’ Sparhawk called, ‘are the men behind us gaining at all?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Maybe they don’t know the way through the maze either,’ Kalten suggested. ‘I don’t think anyone would visit Azash just for fun.’

The rush came out of a side corridor. Five spear-armed Zemoch soldiers dashed out of the dark entryway and bore down on Sparhawk, Kalten and Kurik. Their spears gave them some advantage – but not enough. After three of their number had been felled to lie writhing and bleeding on the flagstone floor, the other two fled back the way they had come.

Kurik seized a torch from one of the iron rings in the wall and led Sparhawk and Kalten into the dark, twisting corridor. After several minutes they saw the soldiers they were pursuing. The two men were fearfully edging their way through a stretch of the passage, each one of them hugging a wall.

‘Now we’ve got them,’ Kalten exulted, starting forward.

‘Kalten!’ Kurik’s voice cracked. ‘Stop!’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘They’re staying too close to the walls.’

‘So?’

‘What’s wrong with the middle of the passageway?’

Kalten stared at the two frightened men clinging to the walls, his eyes narrowing. ‘Let’s find out,’ he said. He prised up a small flagstone with his sword-point and hurled it at one of the soldiers, missing his mark by several feet.

‘Let me do it,’ Kurik told him. ‘You can’t throw anything with your armour binding up your shoulders the way it does.’ He prised loose another stone. His aim was much more true. The rock he had thrown bounced off the soldier’s helmet with a loud clang. The man cried out as he reeled back, trying desperately to grab some kind of hand-hold on the stone wall. He failed, however, and stepped onto the floor in the centre of the corridor.