For the second time in almost as many minutes, Illion’s expectations were confounded. He thought he would see Kade’s back, the Themian manfully retreating along the causeway by degrees, Har’gaan slung over his shoulder like a sandbag.

Har’gaan wasn’t slumped over Kade’s shoulder. He was kneeling in front of him, the big Themian’s arm around his neck. He was whispering something to him. That struck Illion as odd; he didn’t think Kade was capable of whispering.

Just as he began to turn away, Illion saw movement. A savage twist, Kade releasing Har’gaan’s limp body to the ground where he kicked it forwards like an offering.

Then he ran.

Illion fought every instinct to cry out Har’gaan’s name for to do so would only seal his own fate. Something cold crept into his gut as he looked away at last, Kade leaving behind a feast for the serrwyrms after all. Before the Themian caught up, Illion gripped Za’tenga’s arm. As instructed, he had not looked back but needed to be warned about what the pathfinder had witnessed.

‘Keep your eyes ahead,’ Illion hissed, as loud as he dared, maintaining pace with Za’tenga so as not to throw them both off balance. ‘Har’gaan didn’t make it.’

Za’tenga almost turned out of shock but stopped just short. He stumbled but only a little, and kept his footing.

‘What? How?’

Kade provided the answer, bellowing from close behind.

‘Make haste. Our brother’s sacrifice will only buy us a little time.’

Illion felt Za’tenga stiffen in his grasp. He let go, numb at what the Themian had done to ensure their survival.

‘He killed him, didn’t he,’ said Za’tenga.

‘Yes.’

They reached the first descent, scurrying on hands and knees through the smoke-choked causeway. The second descent was sharper. At the front, Za’tenga nearly fell but Illion grasped the strap of his chest armour and righted him enough so the aspirant could regain his balance.

‘Gratitude, brother.’

‘Just keep going.’

Shuddering cracks, the wrench of stone splitting apart pursued them like a vengeful spirit as the causeway and the entire flank of the canyon started to disintegrate.

‘Move!’ Illion almost screamed, his eyes on Za’tenga’s back, feeling burning heat prickling the skin of his own. Lava crackled, the slow, deep snap of sloughing rock as it was dissolved in a glowing soup of immolation. A thick sheaf of the canyon wall slid away, crashing down amidst a rapidly expanding pall of smoke and blazing debris.

Illion was heading down, risking sure footing for a better chance of escaping the dissolution of the earth behind him. An ululating screech pierced the volcanic thunder and he stooped, not slowing, fearing a return of the mantarids. But the flyers were gone, fled beyond the storm and the hellish red clouds enveloping the canyon. It was the serrwyrms, burned away despite their chitinous armour. From his father Illion had heard of creatures on Nocturne, those of the low earth who could survive the lava lakes, even live in them, but serrwyrms were not that enduring. He gave brief praise to the Throne and Vulkan that at least one terror had been vanquished by another.