Four figures could be discerned through the murk, fighting their way through a dark gloom many hundreds of metres below. Over fourteen had begun the trial. In truth, Ba’ken was surprised at how many had made it this far. He wondered if perhaps he was asking too much. Certainly, the inductions into Seventh Company had dwindled in the past few years. Humanity – his humanity – was getting in the way of clear thinking. Break them now, destroy them against the anvil and no bond would be formed, no room for grief later. If they survived, they were obviously strong enough to last as a Scout and go on to join the battle companies, where Ba’ken would no longer be responsible for them. But so few did, so few became Scouts at all. Was he building a stronger Chapter or merely insulating himself against further pain of loss? Ba’ken decided he would speak to Chaplain Elysius about it and seek his Chaplain’s counsel.

‘We are here for them,’ Ba’ken said, putting his thoughts aside, then asked, ‘Tell me, what do you see?’

He passed the monocular to Exor, servos growling in the captain’s scarred power armour as if in empathy with its wearer. A mantle of drake hide fluttered in the wind behind him, pinned to his shoulder guards by gilded clasps. He noticed that Va’lin eyed the skin enviously.

Exor observed the scene instead, and gave a quick appraisal. ‘They adopt formation. One ranging ahead, functioning as a vanguard…’ He paused. ‘A leader gives orders. Another acts as rearguard, but they are not all in accord.’

‘Your assessment?’ invited Ba’ken.

Exor lowered the scope and gave it to Va’lin.

‘They are in trouble.’

Ba’ken nodded slowly. ‘This is one of the fire canyons,’ he said, gesturing to the monolithic chasm, several hundred metres wide but filled with narrow gorges in some places and razor-edged crags. Even at distance, it was massive. And behind, far away to the north but still imposing, loomed the cyclopean Mount Deathfire. Without climbing tools the flanks of the canyon were unscalable; the only way to escape it was to pass through it. A walk of fire in all respects.

Lava channels threaded the canyon floor like pulsing hot veins, and where it dipped into shallow basins the lava pooled and caught fire. Smoke thronged the air in a choking fog, stinging the eyes and dulling all other senses until only instinct could be relied upon for guidance. Geysers spewed scalding steam in spastic fits and starts, the pattern of their expulsions unpredictable.

‘Its savage geography is obvious,’ Ba’ken explained, pointing to a rolling bank of cloud obscuring the canyon’s summit, ‘but its indigenous predators are not…’

Exor followed his captain’s lead and found shadows prowling the smoke and fog.