Nait edged his way through the blackened ash of the seared grass, the dust of the dirt and gravel powdered by the incalculable forces competing, thrashing, just above his head. Ants, just us ants down here. And me the dumbest of them. The High Mage was close, manoeuvring to edge the writhing, flailing shape of Yath above into the mar. Close enough to be blown to droplets by Tourmaline's cussors. What a monumental fuck-up!

Nait paused – which way? All looked the same: churned-up, flame-scorched, blasted wasteland. Then a glint of gold through the ash-grey and black. He shuffled over. The Moranth was in a bad way. Thrown soil covered her, disguising the worst of her injuries. As it was, Nait winced. Her back was one burnt scar of puckered flesh and the strange chitinous Moranth armour all melted and twisted. She was lying on a mound – the buried charge.

‘Tourmaline!’ Nait called, his head next to hers.

The helm stirred, turned to him. ‘You return, saboteur.’

‘Your charms.’

A chuckle. ‘You have no idea, little man. But get me out of this and perhaps I shall enlighten you.’

Don't think I won't take you up on that. He studied the mound of pressed earth. His hair stirred to stand and his breath caught as he glimpsed in one of the Moranth's gauntleted fists the tall slim length of an acid fuse. Using both hands he gently prised it loose and only then managed to exhale. Gods below – my nerves weren't going to take much more of this.

He studied the thrashing figure above in its cocoon of blinding, virulent energy, the arcs and sizzling connections between him and Tayschrenn below. The enemy, Yath, was close to the yawning, roiling lip of the rift. ‘Not much longer now,’ he called to Tourmaline. ‘Looks like we'll maybe get to keep all our goodies, hey?’

The banners of power quivered then as if struck. Some snapped to lash the air and ground like whips of flame sending up curtains of blasted earth that pattered down across him and Tourmaline. Nait covered his head. Damn, I should not have said that!

He peered between his forearms. Through the penumbra of energies surrounding Tayschrenn Nait glimpsed figures at the man's rear enmeshed in an eerie dance of move and counter-move. Three faced one who seemed some kind of a bodyguard, fending them off from the High Mage's back. This one, slim, short and blurringly quick, whirled a stave feinting at the attackers. And since those three were certainly not Claws, that left Crimson Guard Veils, probably Avowed. Come to take Tayschrenn while they had the chance!

Other figures came charging in; Nait recognized Blues, Ho and the other Avowed, Treat and Sept. But the bodyguard fell, having absorbed terrible punishment. Ho threw himself upon one attacker and wrenched the man or woman's head around. Blues and another fell together in a storm of knife-thrusts. The third leapt forward, rolling, evading all to strike the High Mage.

A detonation of power blasted everyone tumbling away like weeds uprooted in a cyclone. A wall of dirt and stones thrown up by the shockwave punched into Nait who yelled as all his earlier wounds pounded anew. But that was not the worst – the worst was his effort to hold the acid fuse steady against his chest like a babe. Once the pressure eased, Nait rolled on to his back, wiped his tearing eyes.

Staring upwards it took him a moment to comprehend just what he was seeing. Close to the rift two figures now rotated around each other – one flailing, the other limp – while the raw Warren energies reverberated between them, thrumming and gyring with the release of all that power. As Nait watched, open-mouthed, the wild spinning tumbled both of them into the open maw of the rift and they disappeared within.

Standing next to K'azz, Shimmer watched in surprise and alarm as all the Avowed mages within sight grunted and stepped back, rocked by an eruption of brilliance like the sun itself. A booming avalanche report washed over all, striking Shimmer full in the chest. Shell whispered low: ‘Tayschrenn's been hit. One of ours, I'm sorry to say. Isha, I believe.’ She took a breath murmuring a curse. ‘He's drifting, rising… there's a pull from the…’ She lurched forward, hands rising. ‘No!’

‘What!’

Shell faced them, her eyes revealing her utter disbelief and horror. She pushed a shaking hand through her short hair. ‘He's gone. Taken by the rift. Both of them.’

‘And that thing? The rift?’ K'azz demanded.

‘Still growing.’

Shimmer caught K'azz's eye and he nodded. ‘Commander Urko,’ she called gently, but firmly. ‘It would appear that we must pull together everything we have left.’

Urko's grimaced nod almost seemed to grind his neck. ‘I agree.’

‘We have some six, perhaps eight, Avowed mages. I understand there are many witches and warlocks among the Wickans. What of the mage cadre?’

His dark eyes hidden away beneath a great shelf of bone glared their anger then glanced away. ‘Crushed. We have some squad mages but no one of great stature, ‘cept maybe one.’

‘This Tiste Andii mage?’

‘No. There ain't no Andii mage – none I know of. There's an ex-High Mage named Bala. Bala Jesselt. She's at the east redoubt.’

‘Very well. Perhaps we may use the Imperial Warren to move-’

K'azz had held up a hand. ‘Excuse me, Shimmer. The Brethren report we may have one more option. We should wait.’

‘Wait?’ Urko growled. His gaze searched K'azz's face. ‘What's this? More of your old tricks? Wait for what?’

‘For it to grow a bit more.’

Nait could not believe what he'd seen. The big powers were supposed to bail them out of trouble. Not disappear into a great big steaming pile of it. He studied the slim acid fuse clenched in his dirty hand. Just me V you now, honey.

‘Are you all right?’ someone shouted over the roaring, which was so deafening and constant Nait had almost forgotten it.

Flinching, Nait peered around. Ho, on his knees in the dirt, was peering down at him. Nait nodded, completely bemused. He cocked his head, thinking of the puzzle of this man who seemed able to overcome everything thrown at him and he mouthed: ‘Who are you, anyway?’

The mage smiled crookedly, nodding his understanding. ‘I'm just another damn-fool mage, Sergeant Jumpy.’ He pointed up. ‘Just like this one. I thought I was capable of anything. But all my researches and experiments brought me only misery.’ Improbably, he eased himself down cross-legged, as if they were relaxing on a hillside. He cast one gauging look up to the rift then returned to studying Nait. ‘I was inspired by Ryllandaras, believe it or not. He is Soletaken, yes, a man-beast. But few remember now that he is also D'ivers – one who is many. Who is to know how many there are of him? Perhaps this one is the last. In any case, I attempted an incalculably ancient and complex ritual. One none dared re-create, since the few times it was invoked were far beyond living memory. And I did succeed. After a grotesque fashion. I am D'ivers, Sergeant. Human D'ivers. There are four of me left alive. The others conspired to have me cast into prison to be rid of me. But I am returned and they have fled.

‘Now,’ and he gestured to the mound. ‘Is this it?’

‘Yes.’

Others came jogging up, hunched, wincing in empathic pain from the churning lip of the rift now suspended so low. So low! Nait sat up. He waved to these others, Treat, Blues and Sept – Soliel help us! What a sad collection of street beggars! Blues’ face mottled in bruising, an eye swollen shut. Treat's clothes tattered, his limbs black with crusted blood mixed with dirt. Sept's ear and neck sliced in a gash that had soaked his front in blood. Nait pointed to Tourmaline. ‘Take her out of here!’