Kitabı oku: «Stormtide»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Chapter One: Steiner

Chapter Two: Kimi

Chapter Three: Kjellrunn

Chapter Four: Silverdust

Chapter Five: Steiner

Chapter Six: Kimi

Chapter Seven: Kjellrunn

Chapter Eight: Steiner

Chapter Nine: Silverdust

Chapter Ten: Steiner

Chapter Eleven: Kjellrunn

Chapter Twelve: Kimi

Chapter Thirteen: Silverdust

Chapter Fourteen: Steiner

Chapter Fifteen: Kjellrunn

Chapter Sixteen: Kimi

Chapter Seventeen: Silverdust

Chapter Eighteen: Steiner

Chapter Nineteen: Kimi

Chapter Twenty: Kjellrunn

Chapter Twenty-One: Silverdust

Chapter Twenty-Two: Steiner

Chapter Twenty-Three: Taiga

Chapter Twenty-Four: Kjellrunn

Chapter Twenty-Five: Silverdust

Chapter Twenty-Six: Steiner

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kimi

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Kjellrunn

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Silverdust

Chapter Thirty: Steiner

Chapter Thirty-One: Kimi

Chapter Thirty-Two: Kjellrunn

Chapter Thirty-Three: Silverdust

Chapter Thirty-Four: Steiner

Chapter Thirty-Five: Kimi

Chapter Thirty-Six: Kjellrunn

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Silverdust

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Steiner

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Taiga

Chapter Forty: Kjellrunn

Chapter Forty-One: Silverdust

Chapter Forty-Two: Steiner

Chapter Forty-Three: Kimi

Chapter Forty-Four: Kjellrunn

Chapter Forty-Five: Steiner

Chapter Forty-Six: Kimi

Chapter Forty-Seven: Silverdust

Chapter Forty-Eight: Steiner

Chapter Forty-Nine: Kimi

Chapter Fifty: Steiner

Chapter Fifty-One: Kimi

Acknowledgements

Also by Den Patrick

About the Publisher

Map

CHAPTER ONE
Steiner

It was just before dawn; a prelude to the sun lay across the horizon like shimmering gold. The few clouds that scudded across the sky were a spectral white, travelling over a sea of deep and majestic blue. Steiner stood at the prow of the Watcher’s Wait in awe, adoring every second of the early morning. Cinderfell, his home of eighteen years, had always existed under a pall of permanent grey cloud. The winters promised grey snow and the spring gritty rain. There were few places more bleak in all of Nordvlast, few places more grim in the whole of Vinterkveld. But not so today. They were many leagues from Cinderfell and the dark red frigate sailed ever further south. Steiner basked under the blue skies, savouring the briny tang of the sea with every league travelled.

‘How far south are we?’ said a woman’s voice behind him.

‘Hoy there.’

‘Hoy there yourself,’ replied Kristofine. He’d left her sleeping below decks so he could enact his new morning ritual of greeting the sun. Kristofine drew close and her arms encircled his waist. She pressed her nose against his neck and made a small, contented noise. Steiner slipped an arm around her waist in return and gave thanks to Frøya that he was free.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asked. She made a face.

‘You’re all elbows and knees and you move around in your sleep. If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re still trying to escape from the island.’

‘No double beds on a ship like this.’

‘But very thin walls,’ she replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘Where are we today?’

‘We’re down by Svingettevei, I think,’ he replied. ‘Romola said we’d have to put in at Virag for supplies.’ He kissed the top of her head and looked out to sea once more. The gilt on the horizon took shape and became a sliver then a soft curve of brilliant gold. The sky took on all the colours of the forge, fading to indigo and darker still where the night persisted on the opposite horizon.

‘I’m surprised the food lasted this long,’ said Kristofine.

Steiner ran a hand across his scalp. His hair, singed and burned away to nothing during his incarceration on Vladibogdan, had started to grow back. There was hard stubble on his jaw and the many scars across his face and arms were less livid against his pale skin.

‘I’ll be glad to get my feet on dry land after three weeks aboard,’ he said. ‘And I doubt I’m the only one.’

‘It’s so quiet,’ said Kristofine after a pause. Steiner nodded and smiled. The ship’s timbers creaked or groaned occasionally, and the waves met the hull with a hushed susurrus. Even the gulls, normally so raucous and loud, flew silently as if in reverence for the coming day.

‘That’s why I’ve started to come up here each morning,’ said Steiner. ‘To give thanks for my life and everything in it.’ He squeezed Kristofine tighter and her smile broadened.

‘You? Giving thanks to the goddesses?’

‘Don’t tell Kjellrunn or I’ll never hear the last of it.’

Romola appeared on deck and approached the prow.

‘Strange to see young lovers aboard my ship,’ said the captain. ‘Usually it’s stolen cargo and dried-out jetsam, right.’

The sometime-pirate, sometime-storyweaver wore her usual attire of a deerskin jerkin with matching knee-length boots. Her wrists were encircled by all manner of copper hoops, bright with verdigris, bangles of shining jet and polished ivory. Steiner wondered if all pirate captains were so flamboyant.

‘How are you this morning?’ asked Kristofine.

‘Concerned would be the word for it.’ Romola eyed the horizon.

‘Is Virag so terrible?’ asked Steiner.

‘No telling what we’ll find there,’ said the captain. Romola didn’t look at either of them, peering out to sea as if she might discern some clue of what awaited them once they went ashore.

‘We just need food,’ said Steiner. ‘We don’t have to stop for long.’

‘Clearly you’ve never restocked a ship’s stores,’ replied Romola, raising an eyebrow.

‘I overheard some of the novices talking last night,’ said Kristofine. Around two dozen novices had come with them from the academies of Vladibogdan, all students of the arcane. The Empire permitted children with witchsign to live only on the understanding that they would one day become Vigilants for its Holy Synod. The escaped children would be hunted to the very ends of Vinterkveld.

‘Some of the older children are talking about leaving,’ said Romola. ‘They want to find their way back to their families.’ The captain shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine that will work out well, but they won’t be told otherwise.’

‘But that’s not what’s bothering you,’ said Steiner.

‘When those children are caught the Empire will squeeze answers out of them, one way or another. And those answers will point back to me and my crew.’ Romola sighed. ‘But I can hardly keep them prisoner on my ship, can I?’

‘Tell me about Virag,’ said Steiner, keen to change the subject. He had no solution for Romola’s problem and felt an uncomfortable pang of responsibility hearing her mention her crew and the novices.

‘Virag is the capital city of Svingettevei. They’ve always maintained a more flexible relationship with the Empire than the other Scorched Republics. Officially there isn’t a garrison there but …’

‘There won’t be any troops,’ said Steiner. ‘Imperial troops only visit the Scorched Republics during an Invigilation.’

Romola rolled her eyes and nudged Kristofine. ‘A few months on Vladibogdan and he’s an expert on the Empire.’

Steiner had the good grace to cough and feel embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ The Scorched Republics clung to their sovereignty by the tiniest of margins, acquiescing to as few of the Empire’s demands as they dared.

‘Why don’t some of you go ashore before everyone else?’ said Kristofine. ‘That way you can scout ahead and see what’s waiting for us.’

‘She talks a lot of sense,’ said Romola. ‘You should make an honest woman of her, Steiner.’

Steiner smiled and felt the heat of a blush at his cheeks. He squeezed Kristofine’s waist with one wiry arm. ‘All in good time. There’s a few things I need to do first.’

‘Care to tell me what you’re planning?’ said Romola. ‘I’m not keen on surprises.’

‘I’ve had three weeks aboard this ship to think about my next move. I still can’t believe I’m free to be honest—’

‘The plan?’ pressed Romola.

‘Right. The plan. Well, I guess I’ll pick a fight with the Empire when I can and hide when I have to. Little by little word will get around, and maybe others will decide to pick a fight too.’

‘And you need to tell people about Vladibogdan,’ said Kristofine with a shy look. ‘About how the Empire is taking children and pressing them into service.’

Steiner nodded. ‘Of course, but my talents lie in fighting, not talking, so the raids will take precedence. Word will spread from there.’ Steiner was hoping for some words of encouragement from the pirate but his plan was met with silence, the only sound the lapping of sea against boat.

‘Is that it?’ said Romola finally, an incredulous look on her face. ‘You’re going to pick a series of fights and hope you don’t get outnumbered or unlucky? And that will inspire your uprising?’

‘Others will join me, I’m sure of it.’ Though he could hear the uncertainty in his own words. ‘And I’ll find Felgenhauer. Father and I will stand a better chance with Felgenhauer by our side.’

‘Right,’ said Romola with a slow nod and a concerned look in her eye.

Steiner spent an hour whittling driftwood and chatting to Kristofine on deck. They had rarely left each other’s side since he’d escaped Vladibogdan. They talked about everything, heads bowed close together in conversation, their voices low. They shared the details of their time apart and Steiner placed kisses on her cheek or neck when no one was looking. He found himself lost to long seconds of gazing, learning the shape of her, every gesture and expression.

‘It will be good to eat something other than ship’s rations,’ she said, leaning against the gunwale looking towards the coastline where Virag waited for them.

‘Can’t say I care too much for any more fish stew or ship’s biscuit,’ replied Steiner.

She smiled. ‘Perhaps we could find a room at an inn and have a little privacy of a night-time …’ The ship was more crowded than anyone liked to admit. It was hard to find a moment’s peace amid snoring, chatting, arguing, or defecating.

‘Privacy?’ Steiner raised an eyebrow and nodded as a slow smile crossed his face. ‘That sounds very fine. Think I’m long overdue for some privacy.’

The call went up from the crow’s nest that land had been sighted and the ship came alive with people from below decks. Steiner watched them all arrive from the prow of the blood-red frigate. A gang of novices arrived on deck first, seven in number and no older than thirteen summers. Their faces were bright with excitement, and a babble of questions and speculation filled the air. The last few weeks had put some meat on the children’s bones but they still resembled windswept scarecrows. Steiner wondered if their families missed them, or if their loved ones were ashamed to have had the stain of witchsign sully their history.

‘What’s troubling you?’ asked Kristofine, noting the frown on his brow.

‘Just wondering what welcome those children will get when they return home. If any.’

‘It’s not just the parents that are a worry, either.’ Kristofine turned her eyes back to the water. ‘The whole town takes against you.’

Marek emerged from his cabin and made his way across the deck to catch his son in a rough embrace. Steiner returned it with fierce smile.

‘We’ve been on this ship for three weeks now,’ said the blacksmith. He took a step back and took in the sight of his son once more. ‘And every morning I can’t quite believe we got you back.’

Steiner looked at his father’s scarred hands, so much like his own, with burns and blemishes stark against the pale skin.

‘There’s a lot that’s hard to believe about the last few months,’ agreed Steiner. ‘Best not to question it. Just be grateful.’

Marek laughed and raised his eyebrows at Kristofine. ‘Seems my son is growing up to be a warrior philosopher.’

‘Philosophy is fine,’ said Kristofine. ‘It’s the warrior part that bothers me. I’d rather he didn’t rush off and get himself killed. I have need of him.’

‘I think he’ll be yours for a good while yet,’ said Marek. ‘But for now it’s for the best you stay with Kjellrunn once we take to the road.’

Kristofine narrowed her eyes but said nothing and Marek failed to notice her silent disagreement as Kimi Enkhtuya arrived on deck. Marozvolk followed close behind. She still wore her Vigilant’s garb, but had eschewed the snarling wolf-faced mask. The two women of Yamal were distinguished by their dark skin and tightly plaited hair – so different to most of the pale-skinned crew and the many novices. Kimi eyed Steiner across the throng of bodies and nodded, but no expression crossed her face. She did not approach and Steiner felt the distance between them keenly. Kimi held hands with little Maxim, leading the boy to a place at the railing where they might watch Svingettevei slide into view. He was olive-skinned and might have passed for Spriggani at first glance, but a profusion of dark curls hinted at a Shanisrond heritage. Steiner felt a pang of something. Jealousy perhaps? Maxim and Steiner had kept an eye out for one another on Vladibogdan but now the boy had fallen in with the Yamali princess. Steiner couldn’t say he blamed him. There was a soft buzz of excitement from prow to stern as everyone waited to catch their first glimpse of Virag.

‘How are things between you and her highness?’ asked Marek quietly, shooting a concerned look at Kimi.

‘I think she’s avoiding me.’ Steiner turned away and looked across the sea. ‘She took a big risk in giving me the Ashen Torment. It must be a hard decision to live with.’ Steiner released a long sigh.

‘Hard to imagine such an artefact could exist,’ said Marek. ‘Hard to believe in a simple carving with all that power to bind the spirits of the dead.’

‘And command them,’ added Steiner, his voice a whisper. Kristofine squeezed his hand.

‘You did the right thing when you destroyed it.’ Kristofine had been full of questions about Vladibogdan, of course. Telling her about the Ashen Torment had been difficult. He’d woken in the middle of the night more than once in the last three weeks, haunted by the remnants of a dream. It was always the same. He had not escaped the battle in Academy Square but had died instead, becoming a cinderwraith bound to the island, bound to toil in service to the Empire for all eternity as the Vigilants watched over him from behind their masks. Steiner blinked away the nightmare and turned his eyes towards Kimi.

‘I promised her I’d find a way to stop the Empire harming the Yamali people, but I’m just one man and that promise is a far heavier weight than I ever thought.’

‘We’ll figure something out,’ replied Kristofine.

‘That we will,’ agreed Marek. ‘I’m all done with a life lived quietly. It’s time to take the fight to the Empire.’

The ship edged ever closer to the white and jagged cliffs of Svingettevei. Every league they sailed brought wider smiles and greater laughter.

‘Here he is,’ announced a gravelly voice from behind them. ‘The dragon rider of Nordvlast, if you can believe such a thing!’ Tief clapped Steiner on the shoulder and nodded to Kristofine and Marek. Tief was a Spriggani in his forties, his dark hair touched with grey. He wore patched trousers with a threadbare smock. A thick strap of leather crossed his body from shoulder to hip, festooned with tools and knives.

‘The dragon riding was a one-time thing,’ replied Steiner with a laugh. ‘And I’m glad to keep it that way.’

Sundra and Taiga joined them on deck moments after Tief’s arrival. The women spent a few moments greeting Marek and Kristofine warmly, which is to say Taiga was warm while Sundra merely greeted them. No one could accuse the high priestess of Frejna of being overly friendly. Sundra was attired in her usual black, the colours of her priesthood, while Taiga wore her customary green. Tief set about fixing his pipe for a smoke and Steiner felt a pleasant rush of relief that his friends had escaped their fate on Vladibogdan.

‘Do the bones still whisper my name?’ Steiner asked the high priestess, a small smile on his lips. Sundra looked at him from the corner of her eye and pursed her lips.

‘I have not communed with my goddess of late,’ she said. ‘And you would do well not to mock my methods of divination.’

‘I didn’t mean to mock,’ replied Steiner. ‘But if the goddess or her high priestess have any advice in the coming weeks …’ He let the request go unspoken, afraid he might reveal just how daunting he found the endeavour.

‘You’re a good boy, Steiner.’ Sundra’s usual severe demeanour softened and she patted him on the shoulder. ‘Not a Spriggani boy but no one is perfect.’ Steiner chuckled and ran a calloused palm over the long stubble on his jaw.

‘I’ve not been a child for a while now.’

‘You all look like children from where I stand,’ replied Sundra. There was a quietness to her words that almost hid the pang of sadness. Steiner was suddenly aware of the high priestess’s papery skin. The usual olive hue, so common to the Spriggani people, carried a hint of grey that had nothing to do with the forges of Vladibogdan. Her hair was run through with strands of dull silver, while her eyes, usually so quick and piercing, were heavy-lidded with a great weariness. Steiner offered her his arm.

‘The sooner we get you back on land the better.’

‘You’ll get no complaints from me,’ said Sundra, linking her arm with his. ‘Though I’d prefer Shanisrond to Svingettevei. Or Yamal for that matter.’

‘I’ll speak to the captain,’ replied Steiner. He cast his eye across the deck, over pirates and novices, pale-skinned and dark. It was hard to imagine where such a disparate gathering might settle in peace, if such a thing could be found.

CHAPTER TWO
Kimi

Seen from afar, Virag was a sprawling port city that discoloured the Svingettevei coastline like grey lichen. Plumes of smoke dissipated above the buildings creating a fug over the winding streets. The pall of grey reminded Kimi of Vladibogdan.

‘I never thought I’d set foot on the mainland again,’ said Kimi. She was almost shaking with nerves. Tears of relief shimmered at the corners of her eyes despite the fierce wave of happiness she felt.

‘How long were you on the island?’ asked Marozvolk.

‘Five years,’ replied Kimi. ‘Five years as a political prisoner. Five years as a token of loyalty to the Emperor.’

‘You must have arrived just after I finished my training,’ said Marozvolk. Kimi could feel her trepidation. There had been no jailers on the island: the number of soldiers and Vigilants present was more than sufficient for the task. ‘I served on Arkiv for a time but found myself back on Vladibogdan four years later.’

‘Why didn’t you come to me sooner?’ said Kimi with a note of frustration in her voice. ‘I spent five years without hearing my mother tongue. Five years without even meeting another Yamali.’ A pained expression crossed Marozvolk’s face but Kimi received no answer. ‘Five years in the forges,’ continued Kimi, ‘with only the Spriggani and the souls of the dead for company.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Marozvolk avoided her eyes. ‘It wasn’t as if I could simply visit you and take off my mask. I had duties. I was lost when I first reached the island, unsure of myself, unsure who I could trust. The academy fill your head with strange ideas. They instil a sense that we couldn’t possibly survive without the Empire.’

‘So you could be loyal to Felgenhauer but you couldn’t make yourself known to me?’

‘Vigilants watch each other with constant suspicion,’ said Marozvolk. ‘Especially the young ones, and especially the Vigilants close to Felgenhauer.’ The ship drew closer to Virag and sailors made ready to drop anchor.

‘Well, it seems you’ve figured out who you’re loyal to now,’ said Kimi over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘And who you are.’

Marozvolk watched her go. ‘You don’t sound very convinced, your highness.’

The view had not improved as the Watcher’s Wait made port. Kimi waited to disembark with Maxim, drumming her fingers against the side of the ship with impatience.

‘All these beautiful chalk cliffs and the city looks like this,’ muttered Marozvolk. The pirates tied off the Watcher’s Wait at the long pier they’d been assigned to and Kimi clenched her fists with impatience. ‘I’ll never understand why people would willingly live in a city.’

‘I’ve never been in a city before,’ said Maxim, staring wide-eyed at Virag. Kimi could feel his excitement. She dropped to one knee and took his hand in hers. For a second she thought of her younger brother, though Tsen would be fully grown now, ready to take on the responsibilities of a—

‘Kimi, why are you holding my hand?’ asked Maxim, frowning slightly.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Kimi smiled, aware even as she knelt beside the boy just how large she was. ‘You reminded me of my brother for a moment there.’

‘Can we go ashore now?’ he asked, eyes straying to the city and all the wonders and terrors therein.

‘I’ll need you to stay on the ship.’

‘But I wanted to see—’ Kimi held up one finger to silence the boy’s protests the way her mother had gently quietened Tsen when they were little. He was so like Tsen at the same age. Their mother had still been alive then.

‘It’s safer on the ship,’ explained Kimi, her tone calm and even. ‘We don’t know how unfriendly the locals are, or if there are Imperial soldiers here.’

‘But I can be useful!’ pleaded Maxim.

‘And more useful besides if you’re not dead,’ countered Kimi. ‘I don’t want to argue about this, Maxim.’

The boy’s shoulders sagged with defeat. ‘I’ll go up to the crow’s nest and watch you from there,’ he said solemnly.

‘Good. Keep an eye out for anyone unusual and stay up there if any fighting starts.’ Maxim nodded earnestly, then scampered off to start his long climb to the crow’s nest.

‘That’s your idea of safety?’ said Marozvolk, staring up the main mast to the crow’s nest above.

‘He’ll be out from underfoot,’ replied Kimi, ‘and so far away from trouble it might pass him over.’ She paused and waved to a tall woman with long, dark red hair who served with the crew and went by the name of Rylska.

‘Can you keep an eye on that boy up there?’

Rylska beamed a broad smile and saluted enthusiastically. ‘Of course! I don’t know much about children, but then I didn’t know much about sailing when the captain took me on, so why not?’ She began climbing, whistling cheerfully as she went. Kimi watched the red-haired pirate ascend to the crow’s nest.

‘That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, did it?’ Marozvolk chuckled and then looked at the city. ‘Will our reception really be that bad?’ she asked.

‘Two unescorted, dark-skinned women on the west coast of Vinterkveld.’ Kimi cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ She looked over Marozvolk’s cream robes. ‘But I do know we should get you some new clothes. Clothes that don’t hint at your former occupation.’

The boarding ramp had barely made contact with the stone pier when Kimi set foot on it. A few steps and she was swiftly on dry land. For the first time in weeks she felt as if she could breathe again, away from the novices, away from Steiner.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’ said Marozvolk, hesitating as she reached the cobbled pier, but Kimi was already moving, keen to be among the bustle of Virag’s winding streets.

‘Romola said we should split up and scout ahead,’ shouted Kimi over her shoulder. ‘So that’s what I’m doing.’ Maxim and Rylska waved from the crow’s nest while Steiner stood at the prow, watching her leave.

It took Marozvolk a few minutes to weave through the crowds at the docks and catch up with the princess. Kimi held her sleeve up to her nose and mouth as they pressed deeper in to the city.

‘It smells worse than the Izhorian swamps in summer,’ she muttered darkly in her mother tongue.

‘And what do they smell of?’ replied Marozvolk.

‘Death, mainly. Anyone travelling from Yamal to Midtenjord rarely survives that journey.’

‘I’m from the south coast,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘Or … I was before I was taken. There was never much call to go anywhere near Izhoria.’

‘Just as well,’ said Kimi with a grim smile. ‘The swamps don’t really smell of death, but they do smell of sulphur and I don’t know what’s worse.’ The two women turned a corner and found themselves on a wide thoroughfare full of carts and horses. Dung, mud, and rotting food spattered the cobbled street.

‘What kept you?’ said Kimi as she stepped around something foul.

‘What do you mean?’ replied Marozvolk.

‘You took a while to catch up after I disembarked. Did Steiner ask you to have a word with me?’ Marozvolk shook her head, then caught the stern glint in Kimi’s eyes and sighed.

‘He did speak with me. He’s concerned about you. He doesn’t blame you for being angry with him—’

‘I should think not,’ snapped Kimi.

Marozvolk cleared her throat. ‘What happened between you two?’ Kimi stopped walking, then pulled out the sliver of stone that hung from a chain about her neck.

‘This is all that’s left of the Ashen Torment. One of the mightiest artefacts in all of Vinterkveld and this’ – the jagged rock was no larger than Marozvolk’s little finger – ‘is all that’s left of it.’

‘Felgenhauer told me about its existence. And what it does,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘What happened? How did it …?’

‘I lent it to him so he could command the cinderwraiths to rise up against those loyal to the Empire.’ Kimi’s eyes became hard, her mouth a narrow line. ‘When he was done he destroyed it with that damn sledgehammer he’s so fond of waving about.’

‘No ordinary weapon could unmake an artefact of such power,’ said Marozvolk with a frown. ‘The Ashen Torment was crafted by Bittervinge himself.’

‘The sledgehammer is most decidedly not ordinary, that much is clear.’ They resumed walking at a much slower pace.

‘But the destruction of the Ashen Torment is a good thing,’ said Marozvolk slowly. ‘Those souls could pass on to the afterlife once they had been released.’

‘True enough, but when the Emperor hears that I let his most powerful artefact be destroyed he’ll send soldiers south to Yamal and wipe out every last one of us as punishment.’ Kimi felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and told herself it was the city’s smoke that made them smart. ‘I’d forgotten how fragrant western cities are.’ She coughed behind her sleeve.

‘Why didn’t you stop him from destroying it?’ asked Marozvolk, her voice low, a note of caution in her words.

‘I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since we left the island,’ Kimi growled with frustration. ‘He wanted to make sure no one else rose up as a cinderwraith. It’s hard to say no to something like that.’

‘And what will you do now?’

‘I need to return to Yamal and speak to my father. We need to gather the tribes and prepare for war. I owe the sly bastard that much.’

Marozvolk remained silent and looked uneasy.

‘What is it?’ asked Kimi.

‘Nothing. I just …’ Marozvolk, stripped of her snarling wolf-faced mask, was an open book. Her expressive face told of a deep worry that consumed her. ‘I’m not sure I can go back to Yamal, Your Highness. I want to. I want to help you, protect you if I must, but … my parents disowned me when I failed the Invigilation.’ Marozvolk shook her head and looked away.

‘What would your parents do if they saw you?’ asked Kimi gently, slowing her stride. ‘What could they do? They should be grateful you’re alive at all.’

‘Part of me would give anything to see my family again,’ said Marozvolk, eyes downcast. ‘But they disowned me in a heartbeat. I can’t go back to that.’

Kimi eyed the other woman for moment. They’d shared a cramped cabin for three weeks but carefully avoided any difficult conversations. Until now. All their efforts at interaction had been directed at caring for Maxim. Without the distraction of the boy, Kimi was painfully reminded that Marozvolk had been one of her former jailers, but it seemed even jailers had problems of their own.

The women continued into the city in silence. The buildings stood three storeys tall, so different to the nomadic tents of Yamal. Virag’s rooftops were adorned in grey slate as opposed to the thatch more common in the northern reaches of Vinterkveld.

‘Everything is grey and damp here,’ said Kimi. ‘It’s a wonder anyone gets out of bed.’

‘Hard to disagree with that,’ replied Marozvolk. The further they ventured away from the docks the more people watched them pass. Eyes filled with suspicion followed their passing, or was it merely curiosity?

‘I imagine most sailors from Shanisrond or Yamal stay near the docks,’ said Marozvolk.

‘We’re not sailors,’ replied Kimi. She looked at the shingles hanging outside each of the shops. Each bore an illustration of the profession practised inside. They appeared to be on a street of scribes, judging by the depictions of quills, scrolls and even the odd book. ‘We just need to find a …’ Kimi turned into an alley and pressed on before coming to an abrupt stop. Marozvolk walked into the back of her, apologising in hushed tones until she spotted what Kimi had seen moments before. Three dockers waited at the end of the crooked cobbled alley. All were heavy-set men with deep frowns and mouths set in flat lines. The largest of them clutched a cudgel in a scarred fist.

‘It’s a shame Romola didn’t have a few weapons to spare for us to come ashore with,’ said Marozvolk under her breath. She clenched her fists and a silvery glimmer of arcane power moved across her skin. Her fists began to turn the colour of granite.

‘You can’t use the arcane here,’ said Kimi just as quietly, grasping her arm quickly. ‘It will attract too much attention. Come on.’ She took Marozvolk by the hand and led her through a door.

The tailor was a gentleman who had not seen fit to die despite his great age. The elderly man’s spotted pate and rounded shoulders stood in stark contrast to his sharp eyes and firm jaw, and Kimi doubted she had ever met anyone so old. Even Sundra and Mistress Kamalov demonstrated a blush of youth compared to the tailor. Weak light filtered into the shop through the uneven windows at the front. It smelled of dust and sandalwood, stewed tea and quiet desperation. A fire snapped and popped in the hearth, lending the shop a reprieve from the dismal chill outside.

‘I do not make clothes for women,’ said the tailor slowly, first in his own tongue, then in Solska when it was clear he had not been understood.

‘I don’t want clothes for women,’ replied Kimi with a lift of her chin. ‘I want britches, a shirt, a good coat and some boots that just happen to fit my friend.’

‘And how do you propose to pay for all of this?’ replied the tailor, pursing his lips. He had a sour look about him, but Kimi imagined she’d be sour too if she’d lived a long life in Virag. She unfastened her thick leather belt and laid it across the counter, then slipped a few coins out of a false lining on the reverse side. Each was solid gold and bore the profile of the Emperor.

‘Given you speak their language, I assume you’ll take their coin?’

‘Solmindre crowns are very welcome here.’ The tailor attempted a smile but the expression might have easily been constipation.

‘Half now, half on completion,’ said Kimi.

‘As you wish,’ replied the tailor, smooth as silk. ‘Will there be anything else?’

‘Make the three shirts and as fast as you can. I don’t know how long we’re going to be in town.’ She cast an eye over his bony hands. ‘You have assistants to help you, I hope?’

The tailor rolled his eyes, then held up one forbidding finger and shook his head. It took Kimi a moment to realise the gesture was not for her but the three thugs waiting in the alley outside. They looked even more brutish through the uneven glass.

‘Friends of yours?’ asked Kimi.

The tailor took up a measuring tape and bade Marozvolk stand on a low stool. ‘They are not even friends to each other,’ said the tailor. ‘And they are only friendly to me when they come to collect their due.’

Kimi eyed the thugs in the alley. They stared back with dead-eyed indifference. ‘Is there somewhere close by that I can buy a weapon?’ asked Kimi in an idle tone. She held up four fingers in an obscene gesture at the thugs outside.

‘There is always somewhere to buy a weapon in Virag,’ muttered the tailor. ‘Which is entirely the problem.’

The tailor ignored the women in his shop once the measurements had been taken. A young girl was sent to round up seamstresses to begin the work. Kimi and Marozvolk left the shop and headed back to the main thoroughfare. They had barely walked a hundred feet when they spotted an Imperial Envoy, dressed in the customary blue robes of his office, with a soldier’s black cloak across his broad shoulders. His hair and beard were close-cropped, and he could not have looked more different to the men of the Scorched Republics, who wore their beards long and their hair longer still.

‘Frøya save us,’ hissed Marozvolk as Kimi pulled her behind a stationary wagon. The Envoy was escorted by four soldiers, looming over the crowd in black enamelled armour. Each helm bore the red star of the Solmindre Empire proudly on the brow. The soldiers were led by a sergeant carrying a two-handed maul, while his subordinates carried maces and shields.

‘What are they doing here?’ breathed Marozvolk, barely daring to peek around the corner of the wagon.

‘I think we’re about to find out,’ replied Kimi as the Envoy mounted the steps of an impressive but dilapidated building.

‘Citizens of fair Svingettevei!’

‘I loathe Envoys,’ muttered Marozvolk. ‘What is this place?’ she added, looking up at the building.

‘An old temple to Frejna if I had to guess,’ said Kimi. ‘Look at the crow sculptures over the windows, and the tree motif above the door.’

‘I speak to you today on behalf of the Emperor himself,’ called the Envoy in a booming voice. ‘I bring you warning of a terrible danger growing in the south.’ A crowd was starting to form around him. ‘As many of you know, the cities of Shanisrond are teeming with pirates!’

‘We should go,’ said Marozvolk, still remaining out of sight behind the wagon. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘I just want to hear what he’s going to say,’ replied Kimi.

‘Envoys are failed Vigilants that are too useful to kill,’ hissed Marozvolk. ‘If he has the sight then I could be in a lot of danger.’

‘These thieves have harassed Imperial shipping for many months,’ continued the Envoy. ‘And now we suspect they will come north.’

‘What do you mean, “sight”?’ Kimi frowned.

‘It’s how Vigilants detect witchsign. They can see the arcane about you. Some say they can smell it but it’s usually called the sight.’

‘You head back to the ship,’ said Kimi. ‘I just want to hear him out.’

‘Their agents may even be among you as I speak,’ added the Envoy. ‘And you will know them by their dark skins.’ At this, several of the people turned to glare at Marozvolk and Kimi.

‘I’m not leaving without you,’ said Marozvolk through gritted teeth. ‘Can we go now?’

Kimi stared at the crowd with a frosty look, then turned on her heel and slipped away into the next street.

‘I think it’s best I listen to you a bit more in future,’ said Kimi when they were safely away.

‘I’m not just trying to protect myself,’ replied Marozvolk, her words clipped with frustration. ‘I’m looking out for you too, Your Highness.’

CHAPTER THREE
Kjellrunn

Kjellrunn had stayed in her cabin all morning. She had no wish to be among the press and clamour of bodies as they vied for position on deck, no wish to squeeze past pirates and novices for the chance to sight land. Kjellrunn had never left Nordvlast before, never gone more than a dozen leagues from Cinderfell in any direction, and now the Watcher’s Wait approached Svingettevei with all its wonders and dangers but she felt nothing.

She had endured three weeks of nightmares, endlessly seeing her Uncle Verner killed by the Okhrana, and feeling her powers swell again with murderous fury. Over and over she dreamed of smashed corpses and the desolation she visited on the Imperial agents sent to hunt down Mistress Kamalov.

‘Kjellrunn. Do not tell me you are still in bed?’

Kjellrunn groaned and squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of Mistress Kamalov’s voice. She turned over in her bunk as the door creaked open and the renegade Vigilant pushed into the room. The old woman shook Kjellrunn firmly by the shoulder.

‘Up! There is much to do. We have made port at last.’ Kjellrunn pulled the blankets higher, as if they might fend off the day’s problems.

‘Come. I know you are dressed.’ Mistress Kamalov spoke Nordspråk with a harsh Solmindre accent that left no one in any doubt where she hailed from. ‘It’s time for you to get off this ship. We will have meat and wine and conversation with someone other than pirates and children.’

Kjellrunn rose from the bed without a word. It wasn’t wise to disobey the old woman once she’d set her mind to something.

‘I suppose Steiner has already gone ashore?’ Her voice was a sleepy mumble as she pulled a comb through the tangle of her blonde hair.

‘Of course,’ replied Mistress Kamalov as she fixed her headscarf. ‘But Kimi went first. She could barely wait for the boarding ramp to fall.’

‘Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until they come back? We don’t know what we may run into.’

‘Wise? Yes. But ship’s biscuit and dried meat are no good for children already half-starved from Vladibogdan. We must eat! And you most of all. Like a bag of bones, you are.’

Kjellrunn’s stomach rumbled as if on cue and she smiled with reluctance. ‘I’d just rather avoid running into the Okhrana again.’

‘This is good. It means you have some sense, but sense is no good if you starve to death on this stinking ship! Come on now, out of this cabin.’

They made their way through the dark confines of the Watcher’s Wait and up creaking steps to the main deck, where the escaped novices of Vladibogdan waited. The children were pale and slender in the main and numbered around two dozen.

‘Never much food on Vladibogdan,’ Mistress Kamalov had explained. Steiner had been little more than sinew and scars when he’d returned. The novices’ clothes were ragged and threadbare and many had naked feet. The faraway look that so often haunted the children’s eyes during the journey had been replaced by the fervour of excitement. The cadre of children fell silent as Mistress Kamalov crossed the deck. That she had escaped the Empire and lived as a renegade Vigilant had imbued the old woman with a legendary status among the children. But none had been told about the day a dozen Okhrana came for Marek and Verner in the woods north of Cinderfell. None knew that Kjellrunn had defended her father and the old woman. Not a single novice would be able to imagine Kjellrunn’s fury, manifested in such a display of arcane power that she had almost destroyed the old woodcutter’s chalet. Kjellrunn still saw the faces of the men she had killed when she slept, swept up in a storm of her vengeance, dashed against the trees and ground until they were bloody pulp.

‘Come,’ said Mistress Kamalov with a clap of her hands. ‘Cease your wool-gathering. You must keep your wits about you today, yes?’

Kjellrunn flinched and shivered. Even a passing thought of the dead Okhrana was enough to distract her.

‘We go to the city,’ said Mistress Kamalov to the children. ‘Stay close.’ Mistress Kamalov had never been given to ceremony or pomp and today was no different. The rag-tag band of two score children followed the elderly woman down the boarding ramp. Kjellrunn ushered the last of them off the ship and encouraged them to keep together. Such a large rabble of children attracted stares and comments from the dock workers as they went. Kjellrunn fell into step beside the old Vigilant and returned the hard stares of the locals, daring them to make trouble for her charges.

‘Kjellrunn. You are clenching your fists.’ The old woman directed a forced a smile at a nearby port official. ‘Try to relax, yes?’

‘This isn’t just a bad idea,’ said Kjellrunn under her breath as the children followed behind. ‘It’s a terrible idea.’

‘These children have been incarcerated for years,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘They have faced each day not knowing if they might live or die. Do you really think there is anything we can do to keep them on that ship?’ The old woman frowned. ‘Better we keep an eye on them if possible.’

Kjellrunn thought of all the times she had gone to spend the afternoon in woods north of Cinderfell.

‘I suppose I slipped away often enough to come and see you in the forest.’

‘Yes, for training. But these young souls want to spend their coin on stew and bread, clothes and boots, and Frejna knows what else.’

‘I don’t know how they’re going to pay for all this,’ said Kjellrunn, glancing over her shoulder at the ragged children in their threadbare clothes.

‘They looted the corpses of their captors.’ Mistress Kamalov grinned wickedly.

‘Corpses?’

‘There were a lot of soldiers on the island, a lot of loyal novices and Vigilants. These children have fought and killed for their freedom.’

Kjellrunn looked back over her shoulder at the novices with renewed interest. Some of the children were her own age but the majority were much younger.

‘Hah. You thought you are the only one who has killed, yes?’

Kjellrunn shivered as she tried not to think about the dead Okhrana. ‘I still think it’s a bad idea to head into Virag …’ Kjellrunn trailed off as they reached a wide thoroughfare, far more imposing than the crude roads and humble tracks of Cinderfell and Nordvlast. Carts and wagons filled the view and the various ethnicities of Vinterkveld hurried in all directions, bearing heavy loads.

‘Are you unwell, Kjellrunn?’ said Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn had stopped walking to take in the vista while the novices clustered around them, all whispering, bickering and laughing.

‘I …’ Kjellrunn blinked and looked around. ‘We’re really not in Nordvlast any more, are we? Cinderfell, I mean. We’re not home any more. We can’t go back.’

‘Darling girl,’ said the old Vigilant in a rare moment of tenderness. ‘We spend three weeks cooped up on a stinking ship, and only now you begin to understand.’ The old woman squeezed her close. ‘It’s to be expected, I suppose. Do not worry. We will make a new home, yes?’

‘Where?’

‘I do not know.’ Mistress Kamalov looked away. ‘But I do know two children have already slipped away.’ The old woman pointed down the street and frowned. ‘Come now. Quickly.’

Mistress Kamalov had many talents but moving quickly was not among them. The old woman hobbled as best as she could. Kjellrunn supported her and they followed the two novices a few hundred feet down the road. The other children whispered and pointed.

‘Go find your friends,’ snapped Mistress Kamalov at two of the older children. ‘Find them and bring them back here.’ She held up a finger in warning. ‘And no trouble!’ The children sprinted down the street, pleased to be given such a task by their hero. Kjellrunn glared at the other novices, daring them to wander off from Mistress Kamalov’s protection. Sounds of yelling up ahead forced Mistress Kamalov to walk faster.

The crowds scurried away, parting to reveal an Imperial soldier who had grasped one of the older children by her neck. The raven-haired girl struggled and spat. She cursed as if she’d been born to it, filling the air with profanity in three different languages.

‘It would be Trine,’ said Mistress Kamalov, sounding exasperated.

‘Who’s Trine?’ asked Kjellrunn.

‘Only the most unruly novice I’ve ever crossed paths with.’ The renegade Vigilant glowered as three other novices argued with the soldier. An Envoy across the street stared and pointed, his mouth hanging open in shock. His gaze alighted on Mistress Kamalov, Kjellrunn, and the other children.

‘I sense witchsign on a scale I have never …’ He said no more as the girl called Trine jerked free of the soldier’s grasp. Kjellrunn could only watch as events unravelled, powerless to stop them.

The soldier lost his patience, and backhanded Trine with a heavy gauntlet. A trio of boys ran to protect their friend but the soldier stepped forward and punched one of the boys in the face. The boy was all of twelve summers old and weighed no more than a bushel of potatoes. He crumpled to the ground and his head smacked against the cobbles, silencing everyone. The boy’s friend, a sandy-haired youth from Nordvlast called Eivinde, knelt down beside him.

‘He’s bleeding!’ shouted Eivinde, plaintive and desperate. ‘He’s not moving.’

The soldier hesitated, feeling all eyes in the street fall upon him. Trine shook her head and wiped her bloody nose on her sleeve.

‘You fucking pigs.’ There was a fury in her eyes that Kjellrunn knew all too well. It had been the same fury she’d felt when Verner had died.

‘Capture or kill them all,’ bellowed the Envoy. ‘I don’t care which.’

The soldier hefted his mace and Kjellrunn ran toward Eivinde, hands outstretched in desperation. Trine opened her mouth and her neck glowed blood red. She breathed out, exhaling a torrent of flickering orange and yellow. The soldier’s head was engulfed in arcane fire.

‘We’ll kill you first,’ screamed Trine, turning to the Envoy. The soldier stumbled backwards, clawing at the searing metal of his helmet, desperately trying to remove it. Kjellrunn felt the acid burn of sickness in the back of her mouth. Her hands were shaking.

‘Not again.’

Chaos broke across the street like a wave. The people of Virag fled as the soldiers advanced on the novices. Far from being afraid, the children unleashed their talents. An unnatural gale pushed one soldier back, tearing fitfully at his cloak. A choir of five Vozdukha novices laughed as they summoned the dire wind, sending the soldier tumbling backwards down the street until he lost his footing and crashed into a wagon.

Another soldier leapt aside to avoid a ball of fire and landed on the cobbled street in a clatter of armour. He lurched to his feet only to discover his cloak was alight. Three Academy Plamya novices held their ground with looks of terrible concentration etched on their faces, hurling more fireballs at their attackers.

‘Kjellrunn!’ barked Mistress Kamalov. ‘Don’t just stand there!’ But Kjellrunn’s legs were locked, every muscle tense, she could barely breathe. ‘So much death,’ she whispered.

A gang of four novices from Academy Zemlya ran forward, calling on their arcane affinity with the earth. Their skin darkened to granite grey as they closed on the sergeant, still bearing his two-handed maul. Kjellrunn could only stare as the novices punched with fists of stone. The sound of rock slamming against armour joined the cacophony in the street. The sergeant stepped back and swung hard with the maul. The strike caught the largest of the novices square in the chest and sent him sprawling. Two other novices fixed themselves to the sergeant’s legs, trying to wrench his armour off with brute strength. The third novice scaled his back, pulling herself up with fistfuls of his cloak. She clamped her hands around the sergeant’s helm, one hand covering the eye slit.

And still Kjellrunn did nothing. Everything was happening too quickly. Indecision held her fast as if she’d been run through with a spear. She stood in the centre of the street and witnessed a struggle everywhere she looked. All the novices had joined the fight in any way they could. Mistress Kamalov remained behind her, though she had been accosted by a soldier who tried to snatch hold of her arm. The old woman stepped out of reach, muttering something dreadful. The soldier faltered, then swung with his mace, but Mistress Kamalov stepped neatly past the weapon, slipping behind the man. Her knife flashed in the sunlight and disappeared beneath the soldier’s helm, the tip sinking deep into his throat.

The Envoy was shouting at the top of his lungs in Solska. He drew a short sword from a jewelled sheath and swiped at the nearest novice. The boy stepped towards the man and parried the blow from a stony forearm, the metal sparking as it glanced from his granite skin. The Envoy raised a leg and stamped on the novice’s chest, sending the boy sprawling backwards, then grabbed a young girl by the shoulder. He held his short sword to her throat, thinking to save his wretched skin by threatening hers, but no one was watching, no one but Kjellrunn.

The sergeant cast off the stone-skinned Zemlya novices one by one. A wild strike from the maul caught the girl clinging to his back square between the eyes. In her stone form the first blow merely caused her to flinch, but the second blow sent her to the ground where she lay unmoving. The two boys grasping the sergeant’s legs didn’t last much longer. The maul was reinforced with metal and the novices’ concentration faltered under a series of punishing blows. One boy retreated while the other wailed in shock as his stony arm shattered apart.

More soldiers emerged from the side streets and from behind, arriving in groups of four until sixteen of the number loomed over the novices, in black armour, maces grasped in armoured fists.

‘You will stand down,’ screamed the Envoy, still holding his short sword to the young girl’s throat. The sergeant continued his onslaught, swinging wildly with his maul at the novices, who fled and ducked and dodged back to Mistress Kamalov at the centre of the street. Kjellrunn counted at least four children strewn across the cobbles.

‘Kjellrunn,’ whispered the old woman as rain began to fall. ‘We are surrounded.’

CHAPTER FOUR
Silverdust

The wind howled around the jagged black peaks of Vladibogdan, ushering in a grey shimmer of rain from the Sommerende Ocean. Silverdust gazed at the sky from a tower in Academy Vozdukha as the waves crashed against the cliffs far below with a hushed roar. Rare were the times a wind blew in from the north east. Such winds had a way of invading the very island itself. Up through the darkened cove the winds would race, ascending a hundred blackened steps, keening through the gatehouse which lay quiet and empty, and into Academy Square.

The square had been cleared of rubble since the uprising and the shattered pieces of the dragon statue had been committed to the sea. The many bodies of the fallen had been taken below to the forges, where Silverdust himself had immolated them with arcane fire. No one had assigned him the role of the cremator, yet it was important to him that each body meet a decent end. Silverdust had taken a quiet relief in this. No one would rise as a cinderwraith since Steiner destroyed the Ashen Torment and the vast statue at the centre of the island. No longer would dead souls toil in eternal service to the Empire. Silverdust was now the last of his kind. His fate would not be passed on to another generation.

The dark pall that had lain heavy over the island for years had dissipated, drawn this way and that by winds from all cardinal points. Silverdust had enjoyed three weeks of peace until the north-eastern wind gusted in. Three weeks of peace until now.

A knock on the door roused the Exarch from his reveries. He reached out with his mind and found Father Orlov waiting in the corridor outside.

Come. Silverdust sent the word with telepathy; he had lost the ability for speech long ago. The door creaked open and Father Orlov edged into the room. He was a heavyset Vigilant, broad in shoulder and thick of arm.

‘Exarch,’ said Father Orlov with a half bow. His mask was a handsome face with nine stars embossed down the right-hand side, one star for each province of the Empire.

Father Orlov. Silverdust inclined his head, though in truth he had no respect for the Vigilant. We have not had a chance to speak since the uprising.

‘You have kept yourself very busy, Exarch.’ Father Orlov edged further into the room and Silverdust could sense the man’s wariness. ‘Appearing only at night to take the corpses from the courtyard. You have given the children much to talk about.’ Father Orlov paused a moment. ‘And much to fear.’

Cremation. A rotting body causes pestilence and we can ill afford a plague taking hold on the island. Not after everything that has happened.

‘Your wisdom is a guiding light in these dark times,’ replied Father Orlov. Silverdust ignored the sarcasm. ‘Will you walk with me, Exarch? I think it would do everyone good to see the highest-ranking Vigilant in the academy taking an interest in the living.’

I will walk with you, Father Orlov, though rank is rarely a comfort in the wake of disaster.

‘And truly this has been a disaster,’ said Father Orlov as he exited the room. ‘And someone will have to answer for it.’

Silverdust wondered if there were a note of warning in Orlov’s words, or if the man had tipped his hand.

There is always a price to paid.

Father Orlov glanced over his shoulder to check Silverdust was following him down the dark stone corridor. The children called him Cryptfrost behind his back, on account of his chilly temperament, and for the power he wielded over water and wind. Orlov would be keen to blame Silverdust for Steiner’s destruction of the Ashen Torment and his subsequent escape.

The Exarch and Father Orlov emerged in Academy Square and looked over the battered flagstones. Novices swept the square of grit and sand as best they could despite the wind.

‘I barely recognise the place now,’ said Father Orlov, unable to disguise how forlorn he was at the disarray before him. The Vigilant clenched his fists and Silverdust could sense a fierce eddy of disgust, shame and anger for what had happened during Steiner’s uprising.

It is much changed.

Blood stained the flagstones of Academy Square, each mark a reminder of someone who had risen up against the Empire or died to defend it.

‘It was quite the scene,’ said Father Orlov, after taking a moment to compose himself. ‘The Spriggani priestess killed a great many of our men, turning them to stone with her gaze.’

I had heard as much.

‘Your absence during the fighting was noted.’

I stayed close to Academy Vozdukha, protecting loyalist students.

This was lie, but one almost impossible to disprove. Academy Vozdukha was home to the school of wind, and though it had been a long time since Silverdust had taught, he had reason to be there.

‘I also heard you … negotiated with them. At the end.’ Father Orlov stopped walking and cradled a gloved fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘With the Vartiainen boy and the Spriggani.’

Silverdust turned to the Vigilant, his curving mirror mask reflecting the nine stars of Father Orlov’s proud visage. The Exarch loomed over his subordinate.

Careful, Orlov, you are perilously close to accusing me of treason.

‘And yet you were seen in the company of the dragon rider—’

I was merely trying to broker a temporary peace. The Vartiainen boy did not want to rule the island. He wanted to escape and to take his friends with him.

This much at least was true. Steiner had never wanted dominion over Vladibogdan. Destroying the Ashen Torment had been testament to that.

My intent was to put an end to any further killing. It is by my actions that we have any loyal novices left alive at all.

Silverdust could feel Father Orlov’s gaze upon him, sense the Vigilant’s own telepathy brushing against his mind for some clue to the Exarch’s dishonesty.

You will not find what you seek with the arcane. Silverdust touched two fingers to his temple. My aged mind is as bewildering and impenetrable as any forest.

Orlov bowed. ‘Forgive me, Exarch, but you can understand my caution. We have suffered the worst setback in the history of Vladibogdan. I need to know who I can trust.’

I can understand your caution, Father. Silverdust walked to the centre of Academy Square and for a moment the battle raged all around him, phantoms conjured by memory. Arcane fire flared brightly, guttering as renegade students summoned winds to fight it. Soldiers fell choking as cinderwraiths robbed them of their dying breaths.

Tell me how things stand on the island now the dust has settled.

‘Loyalty has largely been determined by academy,’ said Father Orlov. ‘The novices of Plamya are the most loyal, with Zemlya close behind.’ It stood to reason. The students of Plamya, the fire school, were wild and capricious, but loyal to the Empire nonetheless. Zemlya, the earth school, had always been headed up by hardline Vigilants. Their fanaticism had been duly passed on to their charges.

‘No one trusts the few novices of Vozdukha and Voda that remained.’ Vozdukha, the school of air, had ever had a reputation for difficult or eccentric students, while Voda, the school of water, was barely seen as an academy at all. Its students had never amounted to anything.

And yet those students did remain. Does that give indication of their loyalty? I will be most displeased if there is any more death on this island. Do I make myself clear, Father Orlov?

‘So I gather you’re taking command then?’ said the Vigilant, taking no pains to hide the sneer in his tone. ‘At last.’

This is why you summoned me from the tower, is it not?

Father Orlov said nothing.

I am the highest-ranking Vigilant on the island.

‘Perhaps you can drag yourself away from the cremations to start acting like it,’ replied Father Orlov, before turning smartly and marching towards Academy Plamya.

Silverdust would have sighed had he still had lungs to breathe with. The north-eastern wind howled more loudly in Father Orlov’s absence and Silverdust turned towards the gatehouse and approached the top of the stone stairs. White-tipped waves smashed against the dark stone of the cove far below. For a fleeting second Silverdust saw the ghostly outline of a ship. A second later and the vision had gone. A vision of the future, Silverdust decided. Guests would soon arrive on Vladibogdan.

Silverdust delegated as much as possible to the few Vigilants who had survived the uprising in the days that followed. He appointed Father Orlov as his deputy for no other reason than to keep a close eye on the man. Taking over Felgenhauer’s old office didn’t sit well with Silverdust, but necessity demanded his discomfort. The Matriarch-Commissar had never been given to decoration but had kept a fine selection of books, which Silverdust distracted himself with, despite having read them all a long time ago. A knock sounded on the door and Silverdust set aside the book he was reading with a flicker of irritation.

Enter.

The door creaked open and a half-starved waif of around ten years stared at the Exarch with wide eyes.

Fear not, I will do you no harm. There is a message, I assume.

The boy nodded, then blinked and shook his head.

‘No, not really. A ship has arrived and all the other Vigilants have gone down to the cove to greet it. I …’ The boy swallowed. ‘I thought you should know.’

I imagine Father Orlov is keen to make a good first impression and give his side of the story.

The boy nodded. ‘C-can I do anything for you, Exarch-Commissar?’

Silverdust wanted to laugh at hearing such a title.

Fetch me tea from the kitchen and instruct the cooks to make a fine stew – one fit for an Envoy. Go now and do not delay.

The boy pushed his fringe out of his eyes and raced out of Felgenhauer’s office as fast as he could. His office – not Felgenhauer’s office, Silverdust lamented, not any more. The boy departed with such haste he failed to close the door behind him, giving Silverdust a clear view to the antechamber beyond and the doorway that led to the stairwell. He spread his hands on the wide featureless table, waiting to meet the person he would have to spin a web of lies to.

The Envoy, when she arrived, appeared in the antechamber sheathed in blue silk with a stole made from a winter fox, the fur white and stark. Her smile was bitter and she sauntered into the room with a swagger that was almost theatrical.

‘Silverdust. There you are! Well, I thought I’d suffered a setback or two, but it seems Vladibogdan has endured nothing less than a catastrophe.’

Silverdust rose from his chair and bowed deeply. Now wasn’t the time for petty acts of ignored etiquette.

Envoy de Vries. We are honoured by your presence. How fares the Empire?

De Vries approached the office door, a circular portal, and made herself a work of art, leaning casually on the door frame.

‘The Empire is strong as ever, dearest Silverdust, but her forces.’ Envoy de Vries pursed her lips and tutted. ‘Shirinov and Khigir both dead, I hear. And a half dozen other members of the Holy Synod. And your precious Felgenhauer …’ The Envoy sighed and looked away as if she had become distracted, though Silverdust knew full well she was waiting for his reaction. He gave her none and the silence stretched between them until the Envoy turned to face him once more.

How may I serve, Envoy de Vries?

‘So inscrutable, Silverdust. So mysterious.’ The Envoy slunk into the room and sat down, putting her feet up on the desk. ‘What is it you actually do on this island, Exarch?’

I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure. Silverdust did not sit. He could sense Father Orlov waiting on the staircase, out of sight, yet close enough to eavesdrop. Silverdust could practically feel the man straining to hear, though the conversation would be one-sided due to his reliance on telepathy.

‘You don’t teach’ – the Envoy counted off on her fingers – ‘you don’t run the stores, you don’t organise the soldiers. You don’t perform any role or task as far as I can see.’

I am old. Felgenhauer, in her mercy, let me retire here. Not true, of course. Silverdust had carefully delegated more and more of his teaching duties until none remained.

‘I see,’ said the Envoy. ‘Well, Felgenhauer, in her mercy, gave me the slip while I was escorting her back to our beloved Emperor.’

How very unfortunate, Envoy de Vries.

‘Indeed.’ She forced a smile that could curdle milk. ‘The Emperor is very keen to hear what manner of events were taking place here on Vladibogdan leading to the uprising.’

He has always been the most curious soul. He was also impatient and bloodthirsty and petty, but Silverdust declined to mention this.

‘It seems the Emperor should have heeded Shirinov’s repeated requests, official and otherwise, for an audience.’

You would need to speak to Shirinov regarding his grievances. He never shared his concerns with me.

The Envoy stood and slammed her palm on the desk, but Silverdust did not flinch.

‘Shirinov is dead! And here you are, a supposed-retired Exarch, running Vladibogdan. What the Hel happened here? Who is Steiner Vartiainen, and why were you seen speaking with him after the uprising here?’ She leaned over the desk, struggling to keep her composure.

I stand behind this desk for no other reason than Father Orlov asked me to. Felgenhauer had some attachment to the boy, a boy without witchsign no less. He was brought here by mistake. Silverdust leaned over the desk, looming taller than the Envoy. Brought here by Shirinov’s mistake. The boy was sent to work in the forges and somehow entered into an agreement with the cinderwraiths. They massacred the soldiers and then the Vartiainen boy took wing on a dragon. He returned with a ship and took off with two dozen novices and most of our food. The ship sank in bad weather no more than two miles after they set out.

Envoy de Vries straightened up, adjusted her stole and smoothed back her hair. She stared at Silverdust for long moments then smiled, before giggling. Before long she had slipped into the chair, laughing uncontrollably. She all but shouted when her laughter stopped.

‘He left the island on a fucking dragon!’

Silverdust said nothing. The silence was interrupted as the waif entered the room and set the tray of food and tea down on the desk.

‘Well, I can’t fault your hospitality, Silverdust,’ said the Envoy as she lifted the lid of a small ceramic pot to reveal the stew inside. ‘Even if your storytelling leaves much to be desired.’

What happens now? He barely needed to ask. Silverdust could sense the Envoy’s thoughts and knew full well what she would say next.

‘We leave in the morning. You are to give a full account of the uprising here to the Emperor himself at Khlystburg. I failed him once by letting Felgenhauer slip through my grasp. You’ – she pointed at Silverdust with her fork – ‘will appear at the Imperial Court even if I have to chain you and drag you before the Emperor on a leash.’

There will be no leashes, Envoy. I will present myself to the Emperor willingly.

Envoy de Vries shook her head and began to eat. Silverdust said nothing more, lost to his thoughts, imagining how he might kill the Emperor before his courtiers.

CHAPTER FIVE
Steiner

‘I’m looking for a man called Tikhoveter,’ said Marek to the barkeeper. They had left the Watcher’s Wait shortly after Kimi, and Marek had led them from tavern to tavern since. Steiner was pleasantly muddled by the ale and stole kisses from Kristofine whenever his father wasn’t looking. They were sitting in the snug in a dimly lit tavern called the Silvered Palm while Steiner’s father spoke to the man at the bar.

‘Don’t you think it strange … Hoy! Stop that,’ said Kristofine. She moved away from where Steiner had been nuzzling her neck. ‘Strange? What’s strange?’

‘Don’t you think it’s strange that your father wanted to come ashore for something decent to eat and yet all he does is drink with the locals and chat with them about an old friend of his?’

Steiner shrugged. ‘What’s strange is that we don’t just leave him to it and book that room. Get ourselves some of that privacy you were speaking about back on the ship …’

Kristofine half-smiled, half-pouted, then shook her head. ‘I need you to think with your head, not your britches. What’s your father up to?’

‘I’m not one to sit around guessing. Why don’t we just ask him? Here he comes.’

Marek’s expression was serious as he took a seat in the snug. He stared into the bottom of his mug for a moment, then flicked his gaze up to Steiner.

‘What?’

‘Are you going to tell us who this Tikhoveter is then? You’ve been talking about him with just about everyone else here. Why not us?’

Marek snorted a laugh. ‘You’ve always been one to speak your mind, but those three mugs of ale have really loosened your tongue.’

‘He has a point, Marek,’ said Kristofine, her tone placating. ‘He’s curious. I’m curious. Who is it you’re looking for?’

‘I knew a man once. Not a Vigilant, but a man who could hear whispers on the wind and send words of his own. A messenger of sorts.’

‘Whispers on the wind,’ said Steiner with a frown. ‘That’s a trick of the wind school. You’re talking about someone from Academy Vozdukha.’

‘That’s who I’m looking for, but it’s been years since I was here and I’ve no way of knowing if he’s still alive or which side he’s on.’

‘Sides?’ Kristofine rolled her eyes. ‘What sides?’

‘There’s the Empire,’ said Marek. ‘And then there’s everyone else.’

Steiner stood up from the table. ‘I want to meet this old friend of yours. I’m going to need all the information I can get if I’m going to keep my promise to Kimi.’

‘I don’t understand how you’re supposed to protect the Yamali people when we’re on the other side of the continent,’ said Kristofine.

‘I’m hoping that if I create a big enough distraction in the west the Emperor will be too busy to send troops to the east.’ Steiner threw back the last of his ale. ‘What do we do now?’

‘I managed to get an old address.’ Marek eased out of his chair and didn’t look hopeful. ‘We’ll have to hope Tikhoveter still lives there.’

It was just starting to rain as they stepped outside the tavern and a deep chill settled over Virag, numbing Steiner’s fingers. Kristofine huddled close to him and he flashed her a smile and squeezed her waist.

‘So you’re a lusty drunk then?’ she said with a smile of her own.

‘Better that than maudlin or violent, I suppose.’ Steiner chuckled. Marek walked ahead, keeping a keen eye out for Imperial soldiers.

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Kristofine. Something was clearly on her mind from the way she chewed at her lip. ‘About the island, I mean?’

‘Of course.’

‘When you destroyed the Ashen Torment it set the cinderwraiths free.’

‘That’s right. They were no longer bound to the island, free to pass on to the afterlife.’

‘So why didn’t Silverdust go with them?’ Steiner thought on that for a moment as they walked the streets of Virag, following Marek in the rain.

‘He said he was going to stay on at Vladibogdan.’ Steiner thought of the strange Vigilant and his mirror mask. ‘He was going to stay there and lie for me, buy me time before the Empire found out what happened on the island.’

‘Will it work?’

‘Who knows?’ said Steiner, his mouth twisting unhappily. ‘The Empire has powers I can’t begin to guess at. Will the lies of one Vigilant make a difference? I hope so. Strange old thing that he is.’

‘You miss him?’ she asked, as the rain continued to fall.

‘I can’t say I really knew him, but I owe that old ghost a lot. I can’t say I’m happy that we left him on Vladibogdan now that I think about it.’

Marek pressed on through streets that grew more narrow and winding with each mile. The rain and the cold were sobering and Steiner grew tired and irritated in equal measure.

‘Slow down, old man,’ he growled, but Marek didn’t hear him.

‘Are we avoiding the main roads so we don’t get caught?’ asked Kristofine when they reached an abandoned alley thick with shadows and refuse.

‘Not exactly,’ said Marek, stopping outside a narrow townhouse with a battered front door. He beat the wood with a scarred fist and looked over his shoulder. ‘Keep an eye out for soldiers. The Empire might be watching this place.’

No answer came from inside the townhouse. No sound of muffled surprise, no holler or shout that they should wait a moment.

‘Not a promising start,’ said Steiner, taking shelter at the side of the street.

‘Come on, you old bastard,’ said Marek.

‘We should go,’ said Kristofine, her eyes darting to the end of the street. Steiner saw her then for the tavern-keeper’s daughter that she was. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging her into the chaos of his life. Marek opened his mouth to speak as the door creaked open. A woman peeked through the narrow gap between door and frame. She had a serious look on her deeply lined face that changed to a scowl as she realised there were three of them.

‘Well? Are you just going to stand there?’

‘I’m here for Tikhoveter,’ said Marek so quietly the rain near drowned out the words. The diminutive woman looked from Steiner to Kristofine. Her scowl deepened and she opened the door. ‘You’d best come in.’

The townhouse was a place of dark wood panelling and darker shadows. The candles remained unlit and the fireplaces held no cheer. The only light emanated from the lantern the woman held. Now they were inside Steiner could see her properly. Barely five feet tall, she had the olive skin and the dark eyes of the Spriggani.

‘Don’t say anything,’ said Marek, catching the look in his son’s eye.

‘This way,’ said the woman, crooking a finger at them. The stairs creaked under their weight and every footfall seemed a crime against the silence of the house. The woman opened double doors onto an empty room and gestured they should wait inside.

‘What happens now?’ whispered Steiner after the Spriggani woman had disappeared.

‘Now we wait,’ replied Marek, peeling off his wet cloak. ‘And hope he speaks with us.’

‘And what if this friend of yours still works for the Empire?’ said Kristofine with a frown. She shook the rain out of her cloak and her eyes darted around the room.

‘He was never a man that followed orders easily,’ said Marek and crossed to the window where he could watch over the street below. ‘Mistress Kamalov isn’t the first person to turn her back on the Empire. Or even the second,’ he added, as if remembering his own former allegiance. Steiner peeled off his own cloak before settling in to make a fire.

Tikhoveter, when he finally appeared perhaps half an hour later, did not look like the Imperial soldiers they were avoiding, nor did he look like an Envoy. Tikhoveter did not look like anyone the Empire would employ for anything. He was stooped with the passage of years, at least fifty of them if Steiner had to guess. Wild corkscrews of white hair fell about his shoulders and he was wiry-thin. His beard was trimmed but in all other aspects Tikhoveter was a shambles. His britches were patched and stained, his shirt and jacket no different, and the smell of drink was overpowering. Tikhoveter belched loudly, leaned wearily against the door frame, belched again and blinked a few times.

‘Hoy there,’ said Marek. ‘Did we wake you?’

‘On a day like this there’s little to do except nap and read old books.’ Steiner struggled to place the accent. The wiry man drifted past them and presented his backside to the fireplace. He smiled a moment and whispered, ‘There is nothing more wonderful in all of creation than having a warm arse in damp weather.’

‘Are you Tikhoveter?’ asked Steiner. Marek made a growling sound and Steiner fell silent.

‘No Tikhoveter here,’ said the man. ‘He died about ten years ago.’ His words sloshed against each other, and there was a tipsy sing-song quality to the way he spoke. ‘We still get Imperial sorts wandering in here from time to time. Looking for shelter mostly, or somewhere to hide for a night or two.’

‘That’s a real shame,’ said Marek. He remained at the side of the room watching the street outside through the window. ‘But we’re not Imperial sorts. At least these two aren’t.’ He nodded to Kristofine and Steiner, then returned his gaze to the street outside. ‘And I haven’t been for over twenty years.’

Their host turned his back on Marek and held out his hands to warm them. ‘Is that so?’

Steiner frowned, confused at the two men who seemed to be speaking yet ignoring each other.

‘I met Tikhoveter once,’ said Marek, not breaking his vigil at the window. ‘He was a sickly little runt with a hacking cough. The Empire had posted him to Arkiv Island. They had him working in the library but the dust was no good for his lungs.’

The man by the fireplace stiffened and turned his head just a fraction to glance over his shoulder. ‘Never met him.’ Steiner noted the drunken pretence slipping away.

‘And the strange thing about him,’ continued Marek, as if he hadn’t heard the man, ‘was that he had long hair that fell all about him like corkscrews. Never touched a drop of booze on account of his health, but always had an eye for women. Especially Spriggani women.’

The rain continued to drift down in the street and Steiner couldn’t help but smirk. Tikhoveter gave a long sigh and his shoulders slumped forward. He was very quiet for a moment.

‘Fuck my boots,’ he mumbled in defeat. ‘So who the Hel are you then?’

‘I’m the soldier who had you reassigned from Arkiv Island,’ replied Marek with a slow smile. Tikhoveter stood up straighter and frowned a moment.

‘Marek Vartiainen?’

Marek turned to the man at last and nodded once.

‘Have you come to kill me?’ asked Tikhoveter, a wary expression crossing his face like a dark cloud.

‘Do you think we’d just calmly knock on the door if the Emperor wanted you dead?’ said Marek.

‘I’m not so charming as to warrant a social call after all these years,’ said Tikhoveter. ‘What do you want?’

‘Are you still playing both sides?’ asked Marek.

‘Not so much these days. I get word to a few old friends who prefer to avoid the Holy Synod. The Empire leaves me alone by and large.’

‘Something big happened at Vladibogdan recently,’ said Marek. ‘We need to learn just how much the Empire knows.’

‘Information doesn’t come cheap,’ said Tikhoveter, running a hand across his beard. ‘And information about the Empire is more expensive still.’

Steiner reached into his pocket and fished out a guilder. ‘What do you know about Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer?’

‘Hel’s teeth, Steiner,’ muttered Marek.

Tikhoveter eyed the guilder and pursed his lips. ‘So the boy has money?’

‘He’s no mere boy,’ said Marek, anger flashing in his eyes as the fire roared in the hearth. ‘And he’s done more to fight the Empire in a few months than you or I have in two decades.’

Tikhoveter held up his hands. ‘I meant no offence.’

‘Yes you did,’ replied Steiner, hefting his sledgehammer. ‘But I’m more interested in Felgenhauer than trading slights.’

‘Last I heard,’ Tikhoveter cleared his throat, ‘is that she was summoned to the Emperor himself by an Envoy. They almost made it back to the Imperial Court at Khlystburg when she went renegade.’

‘Renegade?’ Steiner stood open-mouthed for a second. ‘And then what?’ Tikhoveter shrugged and looked away. Steiner tossed him the guilder and the wiry old man snatched it from the air.

‘Just rumours,’ said Tikhoveter. ‘Some are saying she’s started a mercenary company operating around Slavon Province. That’s all I know about her.’

Marek held up another two guilders. ‘We need to know what the Empire is talking about, and we need to know it quickly.’

‘Come back tomorrow,’ said the old spy. ‘This kind of work can’t be rushed. I’ll reach out to a few contacts and see what I can discover.’

‘Can we stay here?’ asked Kristofine. Tikhoveter started laughing, a cruel sort of sound that gave way to a painful cough.

‘You don’t have to be so rude,’ she replied.

‘Safer for everyone is we stay at a tavern,’ said Marek. Steiner led them down the stairs.

‘I’ll have word by tomorrow,’ said Tikhoveter from the top of the staircase. He did not see them out. The rain had slackened during their brief stay at Tikhoveter’s house but the temperature was dipping.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Kristofine. ‘It takes weeks for a man on horseback to carry messages from one town to another. How does he expect to have answers for us by tomorrow?’

‘It’s what makes the Vigilants of Vozdukha so necessary,’ said Marek. ‘They can set whispers on the wind and send them over hundreds of miles, faster than any man on horseback could ever dream of riding.’

‘Like Mistress Kamalov?’ asked Kristofine.

Marek nodded. ‘It’s why a Troika of Vigilants usually has one graduate from the Vozdukha Academy in its ranks.’

‘So they can stay in touch with the Empire, wherever they are,’ said Steiner.

‘And some folk with witchsign,’ explained Marek, ‘those who are too sick or troublesome, are pressed into service as envoys or spies.’

‘Folk like Tikhoveter,’ said Steiner, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Can we trust him?’

Marek shrugged. ‘Who knows. But he’s our best bet right now, so we have to take that chance.’

Steiner looked back at the townhouse and tried to feel some hope, but uncertainty carried a dread all of its own.

CHAPTER SIX
Kimi

The noise could be heard a few streets away. Kimi and Marozvolk exited the blacksmith’s where they’d purchased swords.

‘Smoke,’ said Kimi, nodding to the pale blue sky. Dark clouds had crowded in over the city and it was just starting to rain. She set off against the flow of people who hurried past them, hurrying away from trouble. Violence had come to Svingettevei and Kimi knew in her bones it was no mere sailor’s brawl. Panic was written across the face of every person who fled down the street or cowered in a doorway.

‘It could just be a house fire,’ said Marozvolk. They exchanged a glance that confirmed neither of them really believed such a thing. A brisk walk became a jog and then, on some unspoken agreement, they both ran towards the sound. Kimi shouldered her way through the crowd, staring down any that blocked her way. She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword to make her intent clear. There was a wail of pain from ahead of them, cries of dismay, people calling out to each other. Most of the voices were children.

‘It has to be the novices,’ muttered Marozvolk.

‘What in the Hel is …’ Kimi got no further. Marozvolk rounded a corner and almost ran into three soldiers, lurking at the edge of the street in their black cloaks and heavy armour. No doubt the soldiers were as shocked as Kimi, trying to make sense of the unfolding chaos in Virag’s streets. A wagon was bright with fierce flames and a handful of children lay strewn on the cobbles, unmoving, bleeding or both. Mistress Kamalov and Kjellrunn stood in the centre of the street, shielding the children as best they could. The renegade Vigilant looked both severe and forbidding, while Kjellrunn was ashen with fear, her eyes wide with shock.

‘This is bad,’ muttered Marozvolk.

Kimi searched for Steiner, cursing under her breath when it was clear he was nowhere to seen. ‘Where is that damn fool?’

‘Stand down and cease all use of the arcane this instant!’ bellowed a man’s voice. Kimi noted the speaker; he stood on the opposite side of the street, holding a short sword to a young novice’s throat. It was the Imperial Envoy they had seen earlier. Kimi gritted her teeth in frustration. She should have gone back to the ship to warn people.

‘He won’t do it,’ muttered Marozvolk, nodding to the Envoy.

‘How can you be so sure?’ whispered Kimi.

‘The children are more useful to them alive. Always have been.’

A burly sergeant with a two-handed maul kicked one of the children on the ground, who cried out and curled up into a ball. Somehow the many soldiers – Kimi guessed over a dozen – hadn’t noticed the Yamili women emerge from a side street. Nor had they seen the vast cloud of birds that stared balefully from the rooftops, nor the knot of Spriggani who appeared beside the burning cart. Mistress Kamalov, Sundra and Kimi shared a nod and all the terrors of Hel descended on Virag that day.

Mistress Kamalov reached into the sky, urging a commotion of gulls, cormorants, and gannets to dive from above, summoning them with the arcane. Her lips moved silently and she frowned in concentration. The various birds buffeted the soldiers. Individually they had no hope of harming the armoured men, but their confusion was all Kimi needed. Kimi caught the first soldier square across the back of the neck with her sword. There was a bright gout of blood as the blade cut deep, all but decapitating him. Seconds later he was an armoured corpse littering the cobbles.

Marozvolk grabbed the nearest soldier from behind, one hand clamping over the man’s faceplate, blocking the eye slit. The soldier jerked backwards but Marozvolk pulled with all of her strength and the helm came free. Confused and off balance, the soldier had barely turned to see his attacker before Marozvolk slashed him across the throat in a bright torrent of crimson.

‘Worth every penny,’ said Marozvolk, hefting the new blade.

Kjellrunn used the cover of screeching birds to circle around the soldiers and reach the Envoy. A fallen mace leapt up from the cobbles and her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t meant to use the arcane, but the weapon had come to her as if summoned. The Envoy stared in disbelief, hands shaking, face pale, as Kimi and Marozvolk carried out their grim trade of death, besting the soldiers.

‘Surrender your weapons at once!’ the Envoy shouted as Mistress Kamalov’s birds swooped and slashed at him with their claws. Kjellrunn closed on the Envoy with a snarl on her face. She pulled back the mace, every muscle tense for the strike to come.

‘You will surrender!’ shouted the Envoy in desperation.

Sundra glowered at the scene, her eyes a dark and terrible grey. A soldier raised his mace to strike her brother, Tief, as he fought another attacker. Sundra muttered an invocation to her goddess and streaks of grey covered the soldier’s armour. The man inside the armour stiffened and became still, until with a final gasp the soldier was petrified. Tief shoved the newly formed statue, grunting a curse. The soldier fell backwards and shattered apart on the cobbles with a terrible crash. Tief snatched up the soldier’s mace and, wielding a long knife in his other hand, snuck up to a soldier attacking the children. The long knife took the soldier in the back of the leg. The soldier fell to his knees and turned just as Tief caved in his helm with three savage blows.

Marozvolk and Kimi bludgeoned and slashed a bloody path through the soldiers, but were soon split up. Marozvolk fought to defend the many novices, while Kimi surged forward to kill the Envoy. The children, initially cowed after the loss of their friends, saw their allies fighting for them and began to rally. Trine, the dark-haired, fire-breathing novice, hurled a javelin of arcane flame, which punched through a soldier’s armour and into his chest. Another of the men was lifted into the air by a trio of Zemlya novices, only to crash to the ground seconds later. He screamed as his legs broke.

Kimi was a dozen feet from Kjellrunn when she reached the Envoy but no matter what she did, she couldn’t find a way past the soldiers. Kimi deflected and dodged their strikes and replied with thrusts of her own, but she drew no closer.

The Envoy still clutched at the young girl, his short sword at her throat, his hand visibly shaking. He backed away from the fight but there was no escaping Kjellrunn. Her first strike came down on his sword arm, smashing the elbow. The sword fell from the Envoy’s numb fingers and clattered on the cobbles. The second strike almost connected with the Envoy’s head, but was nothing more than a glancing blow to his temple. The young novice slipped free of his grasp and fled.

‘Who are you people?’ mumbled the Envoy as he staggered backwards, holding his head with both his hands. Kjellrunn didn’t answer him, but hefted the mace, making her intentions clear. The Envoy’s expression hardened before spreading his feet wide and gasping down a breath. There was a tell-tale orange glow at the Envoy’s throat that Kimi had seen before.

‘Kjellrunn! Get down!’ Kimi was locked in combat with another soldier a dozen feet away and had no way of reaching her. The Envoy breathed a gout of fire that engulfed Kjellrunn’s head and torso.

‘Kjellrunn!’ screamed Kimi. She slashed the knee of the soldier she was fighting with her blade and sprinted towards Steiner’s sister. The Envoy stared ahead in disbelief. The young woman he had immolated had not dropped to the ground in agony. Kjellrunn had barely flinched. Her blackened skin showed traces of stone beneath the scorch marks. She threw down the mace from granite hands and seized the Envoy by the throat before punching him with a series of wet smacking sounds.

‘Kjellrunn! Stop. You’re killing him.’ Kimi stared from the Envoy to the barely recognisable girl. ‘I didn’t know you could change your skin.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Kjellrunn. She released the bloodied Envoy and stared at one hand, a look of sickened worry on her stony face. Her granite skin shimmered a moment before returning to its normal colour. Marozvolk emerged from the violence to stand beside them.

‘Kjellrunn,’ said the former Vigilant in quiet awe. ‘It takes years to learn how to do that.’

But Kjellrunn paid no attention. She gestured at a cobble by her foot, which she wrenched out of the road by arcane force. Then cobble shot over Kimi’s shoulder, barely missing her ear.

‘You nearly took my head off!’ Kimi shouted before turning to follow Kjellrunn’s furious gaze. The cobble had dented the sergeant’s chest plate and knocked him back a step, but he was still within arm’s reach. Kimi raised her sword but staggered backwards as the soldier slammed her in the face with the butt of the maul. Kimi fell into Kjellrunn and they both sprawled across the Envoy in a heap of limbs.

‘Get off of me!’ complained the Envoy, through a bloody and ruined mouth. Kimi stamped on the man’s face as she regained her feet. Marozvolk parried the sergeant’s next strike, stepping aside and looking for an opening. His armour was scored and dented, but the man showed no sign of giving in.

‘The Envoy has fallen!’ shouted the sergeant, then stepped in closer and swung his maul in a wide arc. Kimi sidestepped the blow and swiped at the sergeant’s knees but the armoured man was surprisingly nimble. Her sword missed its mark and the sergeant replied with a strike at Kimi’s head. The princess folded at the waist to avoid the maul and Marozvolk charged into the man, catching him in the midriff and knocking him down. There was a frenzied scrabble as Marozvolk grasped the sergeant’s maul at each end and pressed down on the man’s throat. He pushed and punched and clawed at Marozvolk but her skin shimmered and turned to stone, weathering his frenzied and desperate attacks. Long seconds passed before the sergeant stopped moving. His arms went slack, his legs stopped kicking, and a dreadful silence descended on the street.

Kimi offered Marozvolk a hand, helping the former Vigilant to her feet.

‘I thought he was going to kill you, your highness,’ said Marozvolk, breathing hard, suddenly formal.

‘I thought the same thing. Thanks for saving me.’

All around were bodies of soldiers. Tief was finishing off the ones who still drew breath, while Sundra attended to the dead and wounded novices.

‘So much for going ahead and scouting to make sure things are safe,’ said Kimi as Romola rounded a corner and looked at the scene of carnage.

‘What have you done?’ said the pirate captain quietly.

The rest of the day was spent disposing of the dead soldiers in the bay. Marozvolk hauled another corpse from the back of the wagon. The novices watched from their position on the ship. They stared down with pale faces, too shocked to speak. They were six less in number now, just seventeen souls. Mistress Kamalov had retired to her cabin, refusing to speak to anyone.

Tief helped Romola and her crew loot the soldier’s bodies, setting aside the coin and stripping the armour. ‘How long before the Empire notices they’re missing?’ he asked quietly.

‘I count eighteen bodies,’ said Kimi.

‘There’s usually ten men to a section,’ said Marozvolk, ‘and three sections to a troop.’

Tief swore under his breath and Romola pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘So there’s another twelve soldiers out there?’ said Tief.

‘We don’t know that,’ said Marozvolk. ‘They might have been under full strength. The other section might be in the next town.’

‘We keep three crew on watch at all times,’ Romola said to her crew. ‘As soon as we sight Imperial soldiers I’m casting off, and I don’t care who’s still ashore.’ She flashed an angry look at Kimi. ‘Where is Steiner?’

Kimi shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him. I was scouting ahead. That was what we agreed.’ She eyed the captain with a sour look. ‘Who let Mistress Kamalov off the ship with all of those children?’

‘I was overseeing the resupply,’ countered Romola, squaring up to the princess. ‘I can’t be everywhere at once.’

‘You didn’t notice two score of children and an old woman sneaking off your ship?’ said Kimi, taking a step closer. ‘Are you blind?’

‘This isn’t helping,’ said Marozvolk quietly. ‘We dispose of the bodies, we get the supplies, we cast off. You two can blame each other all day long once we’re at sea.’

CHAPTER SEVEN
Kjellrunn

Kjellrunn sat on a coil of rope at the back of the ship, hunched and folded in on herself, one hand resting against her brow. Time and again she had tried to clear her mind of the street battle, tried not to remember the dull echo of weapons on armour or the shrill calls of the dying. Every noise from the docks sounded threatening to her. Every raucous voice belonged to a Solmindre soldier. She snuck a look over the side of the ship, holding her breath until she was sure they were safe.

The corner of the stern and the coil of rope were a poor substitute for her cabin, but she had no wish to be close to Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn didn’t know what was worse, the way the old woman cursed under her breath or the moments she gave in to silent weeping for the dead children. Kjellrunn nested down on the rope once more and blinked away the memories of the carnage. Six children beaten and bloody on the streets of Virag. Beaten until they stopped moving and breathing. Beaten for bearing the ‘taint’ of witchsign and the misfortune to run across an Envoy with the sight.

‘Frøya save us,’ whispered Kjellrunn as a chill wind whipped across the deck, bringing spots of rain with it. The crew of the Watcher’s Wait went about their tasks under a pall of surly silence, keen to sail away under the cover of night. The glee of ransacking Vladibogdan had subsided and the men and women shared sidelong glances, muttering bitterness when they spoke at all. They wore their weapons openly and all humour had been cast aside. Romola directed the resupply of the ship’s stores and not one of them shirked under her stern gaze. Mistress Kamalov appeared on deck and scowled at the grey sky and the promise of rain as if it were a personal affront. She spoke with Sundra and Tief for a moment.

‘They can’t wait to be rid of us,’ said Tief, indicating the pirates. ‘We’re bad luck. We’re worse than bad luck.’

Kjellrunn couldn’t hear Mistress Kamalov’s response, but moments later the old Vigilant was hobbling across the quarterdeck and up the steps. She approached the stern of the ship as if she hadn’t seen her pupil then leaned against the rail a dozen feet from where Kjellrunn sat.

‘It is quite a thing to hide in plain sight,’ said Mistress Kamalov, staring out to sea. Kjellrunn shrugged, too tired to argue, but there could be no question that hiding was what she was doing.

‘Sometimes it’s good to hide,’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘Sometimes hiding is necessary but sometimes hiding costs people their lives.’

Kjellrunn flinched at the last word and felt the heat of anger in her cheeks.

‘This isn’t about me sitting in the corner of the ship, is it?’

‘I always said you were a smart girl.’ Mistress Kamalov looked out to the city of Virag and curled her lip. ‘This entire city smells like rotting fish heads and wet dung, but I doubt the cities of Shanisrond will be any better.’

Kjellrunn released a breath of relief, glad for the change of subject, glad that the old woman hadn’t taken her to task for failing to protect the children. She was more than capable of doing that for herself. Neither woman spoke for a moment and Kjellrunn stood up, keen to reach the quiet of the cabin and avoid anyone else.

‘Strange that you take up arms against that Envoy but not fight with the arcane the way I taught you.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said Kjellrunn quietly. ‘I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t …’

‘What can you not do?’ asked Mistress Kamalov, hobbling forward, a frown fixed above her furious eyes.

‘I have nightmares,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘dreams where the souls of all those dead Okhrana drag me back to the woodcutter’s chalet in Nordvlast. They take me down to the deep places in the earth. I can taste death, feel the decay of creatures gone to their rest. Those Okhrana want me dead for what I did. I can’t use the arcane like that again. I can’t destroy a score of people in a heartbeat.’

Mistress Kamalov looked away and rubbed her face. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and Kjellrunn suspected there would be many more to come.

‘You killed the Okhrana with the arcane to avenge Verner,’ said the old woman quietly. ‘And you should have killed those soldiers with the arcane to protect those children. Now they are dead. They are dead because they trusted an old, foolish kozel and a student who has suddenly lost her nerve.’

‘What?’ Kjellrunn stepped closer to the old woman.

‘You had no such qualms about sinking an entire ship of Imperial sailors off the shore of Nordvlast.’

‘That was to stop the Empire coming to Cinderfell.’

‘So.’ Mistress Kamalov held up one finger. ‘It is permissible to use the arcane when you wish to avenge a loved one, or to protect yourself, but not to protect anyone else.’

Kjellrunn pulled back her hand to slap the old woman across the face when she noticed the raven-haired novice just a dozen feet away. Kjellrunn lowered her hand. The remaining novices had gathered at the stern and were watching the exchange.

‘What do you want?’ said Kjellrunn. She eyed the girl with an unfriendly glare and the girl returned it with one of her own. For a brief moment Kjellrunn was back in the street, watching the girl breathe fire, killing the soldier who gripped her arm while Kjellrunn did nothing.

‘I’m Trine,’ said the girl. Kjellrunn took a moment to look at her more carefully. She was around the same age as Kjellrunn with the same pale complexion, made stark by the shock of black hair that tumbled down her back. Kjellrunn stood a little straighter but no good came of it. They were roughly the same height, the same scrawny build. They might have been twins if not for their hair. ‘I came to tell you’ – the girl looked at Mistress Kamalov – ‘that we’re staying on the ship. All of us. We’ll come with you to Shanisrond.’ For a fleeting second the girl looked apologetic. ‘And we promise not run off and get into trouble.’ The young girl looked over her shoulder with a hard expression, as if warning the other children.

‘How old are you, Trine?’ asked Kjellrunn.

‘Sixteen.’ Trine jutted her chin and stared at Kjellrunn with a note of challenge. ‘And I’m not scared of using my powers.’ Kjellrunn felt the rebuke as clearly as if she’d been struck.

‘Then perhaps you should be Mistress Kamalov’s new student.’ Kjellrunn pushed her way through the centre of the novices and kept walking until she was at the prow. She didn’t look back.

The crowds at the end of the pier shifted uneasily but Kjellrunn couldn’t see any soldiers among them from her place on the ship. A small contingent of guild masters lingered for a time, locked in discussion despite the inclement weather. Only three guild masters remained as the evening drew on, along with four of the city watch. A cruel wind whipped at their tabards and coats and Kjellrunn shivered. ‘Where are you, Steiner?’ she whispered, knowing all too well that her brother was spoiling for a fight with the Empire. She’d rather not lose him so soon after getting him back from Vladibogdan.

‘Frøya’s teeth, Steiner. Don’t leave me on this rotting ship.’

The guards on the pier intercepted two people before letting them approach the ship. Kjellrunn didn’t recognise them at first in their new clothes, but it was unmistakably Kimi and Marozvolk that stalked down the pier and not Marek and Steiner. Kimi looked cold and furious, much as she’d done for the whole voyage, while Marozvolk spared a backwards glance towards the city. Kjellrunn watched the former Vigilant bend closer to the Yamali princess and exchange words before both of them broke into a run. Marozvolk had seen something.

‘Not again,’ said Kjellrunn. Her mouth went dry.

The crowds at the docks broke apart and a single scream pierced the confused mumbles of the city folk. More soldiers in black enamelled armour and black cloaks approached. Kjellrunn counted a dozen at least, possibly twenty.

‘Cast off now!’ bellowed Romola.

Kjellrunn’s stomach turned to ice. Kimi and Marozvolk hit the boarding ramp even as two sailors attempted to drag it on board. The soldiers were moving down the pier as fast as their heavy armour would allow.

‘Archers!’ Romola’s voice again. She had drawn her sabre and pointed towards the pier. Kjellrunn ran, heading for Romola at midships. Sailors were heaving and grunting as they drew up the anchor and Kjellrunn struggled to slip past them.

‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘Wait, gods damn it! My brother is still ashore.’

The pirates’ arrows raced through the air, embedding in the thick wood of the soldier’s hastily raised shields. Other arrows clattered off the stone pier and ricocheted into barrels and crates near the guild masters. The soldiers had dropped to one knee behind their shields, their advance slowed.

‘Keep firing!’ shouted Romola.

Kjellrunn reached the captain and took her by the arm. ‘We have to wait for my family!’

‘It’s your family or my ship and my crew,’ shouted Romola. She shook Kjellrunn off.

‘Just a few more minutes!’

‘A few more minutes and there won’t be a ship to come back to.’

Sundra emerged at Kjellrunn’s side and took her hand. ‘Come away from the captain, no good will come of it.’

A soldier on the pier had slung his shield across his back and ran towards the ship, sprinting as best he could in the heavy armour.

‘Cast off, damn you,’ shouted Romola. ‘Push off from the pier.’

The soldier leapt on, mounting a pile of crates as arrows fell all around him. He was almost at the gunwales when Romola planted a foot against his head and forced him off the ship. The deck was a flurry of action as sailors went about their tasks.

‘Look out!’ shouted a pirate beside Kjellrunn. Moments later a handful of grappling hooks streaked over their heads, ropes arcing behind them after. The metal clattered on the wooden deck and the ropes became taut. Someone screamed and Kjellrunn discovered a sailor pinned up against the side of the ship, a grappling hook, thrown from land, embedded in his thigh. Kjellrunn drew the pirate’s cutlass as the pinned man clutched at his leg and howled in agony.

‘What are you doing?’ he gasped. Kjellrunn severed the rope attached to the grappling hook and a soldier on the pier collapsed backwards.

‘I have wounded here!’ shouted Kjellrunn.

More grappling hooks were thrown, prompting more calls of alarm.

‘How did they know to bring grappling hooks?’ said Romola. ‘They’re soldiers, not marines.’

‘Whatever they are,’ said Kjellrunn, pointing to another contingent of soldiers further up the docks, ‘there are a lot more of them.’

‘Marines don’t wear armour, halfhead,’ said the captain. ‘Keep firing, you filthy dogs!’ she bellowed at the archers.

The hissing sound of fabric unfurling filled Kjellrunn’s senses as the main sail dropped from its boom. Kjellrunn caught a glimpse of Mistress Kamalov at the stern of the ship with four novices, all standing with feet spread wide and arms outstretched, fingertips splayed. The sail snapped out and the ship lurched forward. The shouting stopped as all aboard clung to whatever was closest to hand. Kjellrunn dropped to her knees and blinked through the unnatural wind. There was a moment where no one said a word and the only sound was the shrieking arcane gale and an almost unhinged laughter. Kjellrunn turned to see Romola staring up at the main sail with a wide grin.

‘May you have witchsign!’ shouted the captain above the howling gale. ‘Glorious witchsign and a fair wind at your back!’

The Watcher’s Wait surged away from Virag and the sailors dropped more of the sails. Kjellrunn ran to the stern, ignoring Mistress Kamalov and her charges, who squeezed their eyes closed in concentration. The pier was taken over by black-clad soldiers, who stared after the ship in mute fury. Kjellrunn watched the city as it grew smaller and smaller with distance. Somewhere in that sprawl of people was her brother, her father. Did they even know they had been left behind?

CHAPTER EIGHT
Steiner

The docks were awash with people, some shouting, some crying. Most were staring slack-jawed at the blood-red frigate heading for the open sea. The sails were full with a wind that shouldn’t have existed.

‘Seems our good fortune didn’t last long,’ said Marek. Steiner could just make out the gaunt frame of Mistress Kamalov standing at the stern, arms outstretched, summoning a gale to speed them on their way. Four novices stood beside her, following the renegade Vigilant’s lead. Was that Kjellrunn staring from the back of the ship? He hoped so.

‘The pier is crawling with soldiers,’ said Kristofine, clutching Steiner’s hand with a wild look in her eyes. The crowd near the pier started to dissipate, keen to be away from the armoured men in black cloaks.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Steiner as the Watcher’s Wait departed Virag. ‘Romola left without us.’

‘She did warn us she’d set sail if soldiers came,’ said Marek. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with one calloused hand. ‘At least Kjellrunn and the children will be safe.’

‘That’s good for Kjellrunn,’ said Steiner. ‘But what about us?’

‘We need to get out of the city,’ said Marek. ‘The Empire will be asking a lot of questions over the next few days.’ He walked away and headed towards a side street. Kristofine and Steiner followed, their gazes lingering on the ship as it receded into the distance.

‘Shouldn’t we try and book passage on another ship?’ asked Kristofine with a worried glance over her shoulder.

‘No one will be going anywhere for about a week,’ said Marek. ‘They’ll forbid the captains from leaving port. Every hold and crate will be inspected.’

‘You don’t know that,’ she replied. ‘We could still catch up with them at the next port.’

‘Actually I do know that.’ Marek’s voice was low and his words clipped. ‘I used to serve with those men. I used to give the orders.’

‘Fine,’ replied Kristofine, though her tone of voice said otherwise. ‘But we’re on our own and need to be prepared.’

‘If we delay we’ll be caught,’ said Marek, his expression grim. Steiner could tell his father was struggling to keep his anger in check.

‘But we have nothing but the cloaks on our backs,’ replied Kristofine from between gritted teeth. ‘What’s the point of escaping if we starve to death on the road?’

‘She has a point,’ said Steiner, stepping between them. He pointed out a handful of market stalls further up the street. ‘Come on.’

There was a perfunctory attempt at haggling, but Marek was more committed to being on his way than commanding a good price. Moments later they were outfitted with a satchel and two packs filled with food that would keep them going for a few days at least. The stalls were packing up for the night and the rain, which had never really stopped, began anew.

No sooner had they gathered their supplies than two Imperial soldiers appeared and began to question one of the vendors. As one, Steiner, Kristofine and Marek pulled up their hoods to shield them as much from prying eyes as the drizzle that fell in Virag’s crooked streets. Steiner hid the sledgehammer beneath his cloak and prayed they were not searched.

‘What else do we need?’ he said.

‘Something to sleep on,’ replied Marek. ‘And Kristofine should have a blade.’

‘But I don’t know how to fight.’ The tavern-keeper’s daughter from Cinderfell looked at the older Vartiainen, shock and worry writ plain on her face.

‘Not yet you don’t,’ replied Marek. ‘But you’re going to learn now that you’re on the road with us.’

‘Is that wise?’ Steiner wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

‘Do you have a better idea?’ Marek’s impatience was clear as he paced down the street, away from the soldiers. Steiner leaned in close to his father.

‘I just don’t want her getting hurt is all,’ he whispered.

‘That makes two of us,’ replied Marek.

‘Three of us,’ added Kristofine, with a curl of her lip. ‘And I can hear you. What do I say if the soldiers ask us our business?’

‘We’ll tell them we’re mercenaries,’ replied Marek. ‘There’s never a lack of violence in Vinterkveld.’

‘Fine,’ said Kristofine, though this time Steiner had the sense she had made up her mind about something. ‘Where do I get one of these swords, then?’

It took around an hour to get what they needed. The rain fell harder with every coin they spent and a deep chill settled over Virag as the sun slunk towards the horizon from its hiding place behind the clouds. Steiner clenched his numb fingers into equally numb fists and Kristofine huddled close to him.

‘If we leave now we’ll never know if Tikhoveter discovered anything,’ said Steiner, slowing his pace.

‘We can’t be sure Tikhoveter didn’t sell us out to the local garrison,’ said Marek, clearly wanting to be on his way.

‘But he may be my best chance of finding out where Felgenhauer is.’ Marek shook his head and cursed softly. ‘We don’t have the luxury of time for that sort of thing.’

‘Luxury? She’s family! Family isn’t a luxury. I’ve already lost Kjellrunn to gods know what port in Shanisrond. I may never see her again.’

‘I’ve more a mind to search for Kjell than Felgenhauer,’ said Marek, his expression hard. ‘Come on. Now isn’t the time for this.’

‘Your father has a point,’ said Kristofine. ‘Let’s leave.’

‘If this uprising is going to stand a chance I’m going to need someone with the arcane on my side. I’m going to need Felgenhauer.’

‘Steiner.’ Marek’s tone was pleading now. ‘She’s likely dead, and us along with her if we go back to Tikhoveter.’

‘I’m going to speak with the spy,’ said Steiner. ‘We paid him and he owes us.’ He set off down the cobbled street as the drizzle continued to fall.

‘Gods damn it,’ muttered Marek, but he followed his son all the same.

‘Is there any chance we’ll agree on anything today?’ said Kristofine to Marek as they followed Steiner through the winding streets.

‘I don’t have much hope,’ said the blacksmith.

Smoke rose up over the city and obscured the few stars that peeked through the dreary clouds. Every chimney on every street gently exhaled more soot into the darkening sky.

‘Cities are wretched places,’ said Kristofine. ‘I feel like I’ll never be clean again.’

Steiner was too tired to form any sort of reply, could think of nothing else except Tikhoveter and what the spy might know about Felgenhauer. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the Matriarch-Commissar until the old spy had mentioned her name, but now her whereabouts consumed his thoughts.

A shout of alarm from the next street was their first clue something was wrong. They pressed on through the winding streets, keeping a bleary eye out for Imperial soldiers.

‘There shouldn’t be this much smoke,’ said Marek, struggling not to cough.

‘Surely it can’t be much further.’ Kristofine said no more as Tikhoveter’s townhouse came into view. Tongues of fire spoke destruction from every window. The stones of the beautiful old house were blackened and Steiner guessed the wooden beams had surrendered during the fire. The roof had collapsed, no doubt killing anyone inside that hadn’t already burned to death. Dozens of neighbours stood in the street clutching buckets. They did their best to ferry water from the nearest well, but the blaze had done its fearsome work.

‘We need to go,’ said Marek quietly. ‘The Empire will be watching this place to see who comes calling.’

‘You don’t know it was the Empire that did this,’ said Kristofine, but she became silent as she caught Marek’s stern gaze. The old blacksmith disappeared into a side alley. Marek didn’t speak as he strode away, hands balled into fists. Kristofine held Steiner’s arm tightly.

‘Do you think Tikhoveter escaped?’

Steiner shrugged. ‘The Empire are thorough. When they take an interest in someone …’ He grimaced. ‘They usually end up dead.’

‘Will we end up like that?’ said Kristofine. ‘Burned in our sleep?’

‘They’ll be looking for me too,’ replied Steiner. ‘You’re only caught up in this because of me. If things get bad you start running and don’t stop. Understand?’

Kristofine looked at him from under her hood, neither nodding in agreement nor refusing his request. He wished she was on the ship with the others.

Marek led them to a canal at the edge of the city where an inn hunched low under a rickety roof. The low din of merchants could be heard from within, no doubt arguing about the day’s events and the losses they had suffered.

‘What are we doing here?’ asked Kristofine hopefully.

‘Change of heart,’ said Marek. ‘You two are dead on your feet, and I’m not much better. Smithing is one thing but dashing around takes its toll. We stay here tonight and set off in the morning with a proper meal in our bellies. It may be the last time we eat well for some time.’

‘That’s the first bit of good news I’ve heard all day,’ replied Steiner, shouldering the door open and stepping out of the rain.

‘Seems we all agree on something after all,’ said Kristofine as Marek held the door open for her.

The night at the inn was far from restful. There was a low rumble of conversation from the bar until closing time and occasional shouts from the city outside their window. Steiner took first watch, waiting outside their chamber door, watching for the Imperial soldiers he feared would surely come. Kristofine took a turn and Steiner was deeply asleep by the time Marek took a shift.

‘Is this how it’s going to be now?’ asked Kristofine the next morning as they packed their things. ‘Always looking over our shoulder for trouble?’ There was a stillness to her that Steiner hadn’t seen before, as if the gravity of their situation had settled on her shoulders overnight.

Marek nodded. ‘It’s been that way for us for some time now. Welcome to the family.’ He smiled but Kristofine didn’t laugh at the joke and Steiner felt a pang of guilt. He took her hand in his as Marek stepped out of the room.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered to her.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Kristofine replied, but her gaze was fixed on the floor. ‘When I left Cinderfell I simply wanted to be away from my father. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into.’

‘It is my fault,’ replied Steiner. ‘If we hadn’t spent the night together, the night before I was taken to Vladibogdan, then people in Cinderfell wouldn’t have suspected you of witchsign.’

‘Even if that hadn’t happened I’d still have had to flee Cinderfell. It’s not every day a man arrives on the back of a dragon and burns an Imperial ship to ashes.’ Finally she looked up and forced a brave sort of smile.

‘One day we’re going to find a place we can live without worrying about the Empire,’ said Steiner.

‘One day.’ Though the way Kristofine said it made Steiner wonder if that day would ever come.

They enjoyed a repast of warm porridge, hot tea, and dash of honey that made everything seem better. The canal was filled with boats that bumped up against one another. The air was filled with the sound of fraying tempers and stifled curses.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Kristofine.

‘People are trying to get their cargo out of town by canal now the port has closed,’ said Marek. ‘A lot of people, all with the same idea.’

Steiner took an anxious breath. An idea was starting to form. A woman passed them in the street and glanced at Steiner. There was a frozen moment as she recognised the three of them before she turned away. It was the Spriggani woman from Tikhoveter’s house. Steiner sprang forward and caught her by the arm.

‘Wait! What happened?’

‘What do you think happened!’ hissed the woman, one hand straying to her hood, making sure it stayed up. Now Steiner was closer he could see she had a pack on her back, just as they did. She too wore a cloak for the road and sturdy boots. ‘They killed Tikhoveter and waited nearby for you. I set fire to the house to warn you off.’

‘You set fire to your own house?’ said Kristofine.

‘I only stayed because he wanted me to. I’ve begged him to leave for Shanisrond for years but he couldn’t give up his old life.’ Her mouth creased with grief and tears shone at the corners of her eyes. ‘I think he liked the danger, but I didn’t need a hero. I just wanted a husband. Now I have neither.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Marek. ‘Did he tell you anything before the soldiers came?’ The Spriggani woman blinked away her tears.

‘He was excited. Said he couldn’t believe it. The Emperor has learned of what happened on Vladibogdan and flew into a rage so terrible his own court feared to attend for three days.’

‘Did he mention any names?’ asked Steiner. ‘Anything about dragons?’

‘Dragons?’ The woman scowled as if he were simple. ‘How dare you speak to me of children’s stories now.’ She took Steiner by the hand, her grip hard and icy cold. ‘The greatest monster to stalk Vinterkveld is no dragon. The Emperor is by far the most dangerous creature to have ever lived.’ The woman looked away, her shoulders slumped as the energy drained out her, and then she walked away without farewell or a backwards glance.

‘We should follow her,’ said Kristofine. ‘If she’s headed to Shanisrond—’

‘No,’ said Steiner. ‘I made a promise to Kimi. I said I’d find a way to lead an uprising against the Empire. People are going to find out about Vladibogdan soon enough, they’re going to find out about the novices, and we need to tell people why these things are happening.’

‘Steiner, this is madness.’ Marek looked away. ‘We’ll be caught in no time at all and everything you’ve fought for will be for nothing.’

‘And if we don’t? Then what?’ Steiner struggled not to raise his voice. ‘How many more people like Tikhoveter will be killed? How many Yamali people, how many Spriggani will continue to suffer?’ Kristofine and Marek said nothing. ‘I’m going to catch a barge down river and start telling people what happened on Vladibogdan,’ said Steiner. ‘If you want to sail for Shanisrond’ – he shrugged – ‘I can’t stop you, but I’m headed for Slavon Province.’

Kristofine took his hand and kissed his scarred knuckles. ‘You can’t go on your own, I won’t let you.’

‘Just my bad fortune to have a son as stubborn as I am.’ Marek shook his head and gave a weary smile. ‘We do it your way. We tell people what’s happened, and we fight when we can.’

‘And we find Felgenhauer,’ said Steiner. ‘Now let’s find a barge and leave this place.’

CHAPTER NINE
Silverdust

The Envoy was true to her word and the novices worked through the night to unload the supplies though the chill was deep and bitter. Silverdust had no need to pack for he had long given up the mundane pleasure of possessions. He took a spare uniform and packed a handful of curios so that he might pass as human.

No one spoke as he headed across Academy Square. The gaunt novices, wrapped up against the cold, shared wary looks at Silverdust’s passing. The remaining Vigilants of the Synod assembled to watch Silverdust depart. None had words of farewell for the Exarch. He nodded to them and turned his back. It would be many hours until the sun rose at this time of year, yet Silverdust’s aura of arcane light emanated brightly around his feet. He turned to take in the brutal splendour of the four academies. It pained him to know he would not return here. Vladibogdan had been his prison these long decades but it had also been his home. The Envoy slunk from the shadows, the white fox stole that hung from her shoulders ghostlike in the darkness. She joined him at the centre of the square and followed his gaze to take in the buildings.

What will happen to these children?

‘Such sentimentality.’ Envoy de Vries grinned. ‘Come, pay no mind to them. The Emperor needs new Vigilants now more than ever. I am sure they will be treasured.’

Silverdust began the many steps down to Temnet Cove where the Imperial galleon waited in the darkness. The silver light followed him and threw weak shadows all around.

‘I’ve long been aware that individuals of certain power manifest the arcane in strange and forbidding ways,’ said the Envoy from behind him. ‘For Khigir it was tongues of flame that danced at his feet.’ She paused. ‘They never did find his body.’

Most unfortunate. Though in truth Silverdust had hated Khigir. He’d been glad to hear Steiner had put an end to the hateful man.

‘I trust you can suppress this nimbus of heat that surrounds you?’

I am sure I can accommodate you, Envoy de Vries.

‘I don’t like you, Silverdust,’ said de Vries dispassionately. ‘I don’t like the way you never speak.’

I was injured. My face. It is difficult to form words and so I use the arcane. He didn’t really care if she believed the lie; she had no way of proving him false short of wrenching off his mask. They were halfway down the countless steps to Temnet Cove, the stone worn smooth by the passage of time. How many novices had scaled these steps only to die during their training?

‘I don’t like the fact that you retired,’ continued the Envoy, her voice quiet but no less dangerous for that. Silverdust reminded himself de Vries needed him alive.

‘And I can never tell if you’re mocking me or not.’

I would never mock you. You are the Emperor’s representative.

‘I don’t like your mask, and how it reflects my face back at me.’ Silverdust reached the bottom of the steps and made a mental note, adding Envoy de Vries to the list of people he wanted to kill.

I will think on what you have said and make efforts to appease you.

The Envoy stopped and stared up at him. Silverdust could feel her frustration as she tried to get the measure of him. She released an irritated sigh and headed towards the boarding ramp. The ship was lit by lanterns, the masts gilded in soft light. A dark shape awaited them on the main deck.

‘Father Orlov,’ said Envoy de Vries with a smile. ‘Have you been waiting long?’ The Vigilant gave a shrug as if it were no matter. Silverdust approached the man with the sense that something was amiss.

I trust the island will be safe in your hands, Father Orlov.

‘In my hands? Ah, you are mistaken, Exarch. I am not staying on Vladibogdan.’ Silverdust looked at Envoy de Vries, who smirked at him with her hands on her hips. ‘I too am journeying to Khlystburg,’ continued Father Orlov. ‘So that the Emperor may benefit from both of our accounts of what happened here.’

Silverdust nodded. His hopes to assassinate the Emperor wavered with this new complication. No matter. It was a long way to Khlystburg and a plan would present itself in good time.

It did not take the galleon long to reach Cinderfell with Father Orlov and Silverdust lending their talents. Both of them had studied at Academy Vozdukha and could summon arcane winds with a gesture. The white sailcloth billowed out from the mast and snapped taut as more and more wind was conjured into being. The day favoured them with a lazy drizzle and pale grey skies. Silverdust was grateful that the Envoy stayed below decks. Her endless affectation of boredom made him want to burn things.

Soon the ship had crossed the Spøkelsea. Cinderfell was just as drab and dreary as Silverdust remembered. The cottages and hovels were squat, built from drab grey stone with thatched roofs, scattered over a steep incline that looked out to sea. Envoy de Vries emerged from her cabin and stood at the prow. The town was silent as a tomb.

‘Where is everybody?’ she whispered.

‘Perhaps Shirinov put them all to the sword when he came here,’ said Father Orlov. ‘He was always keen in that regard.’

Orlov, Silverdust and de Vries took a small boat to the stone pier, escorted by two soldiers who rowed without a word.

‘Why was Shirinov so desperate to come here?’ asked the Envoy.

I do not know. Silverdust wondered if the Envoy believed anything he said. He couldn’t blame her for distrusting him.

‘The Vartiainen boy had a sister,’ said Father Orlov, happy to oblige the Envoy with facts. ‘It was concluded that she should have been brought to the island instead of her brother. This was Shirinov’s and Khigir’s mistake.’

Khigir never had the sight. He could not have detected witchsign even if his life depended on it.

‘This sister,’ said de Vries, striding down the pier. ‘Her name?’

I did not learn it. Another lie in service to Steiner, another attempt to keep someone safe.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ said Father Orlov. ‘Shirinov took a ship to Cinderfell with around twenty soldiers. Surely they can’t all have disappeared.’ Silverdust left the pier and crossed the beach, noting large pieces of blackened driftwood tumbling to and fro at the water’s edge. The Envoy joined him and looked around.

‘Damn you, Steiner Vartiainen.’

Something troubles you, Envoy?

‘Your talent for understatement is masterful, Silverdust. Where is the ship? Where are the soldiers?’

Silverdust pointed to the several pieces of burned driftwood.

Your missing ship has been ravaged by fire. It sank close by, or perhaps it washed ashore and the locals broke the hull down out of fear of reprisal.

Silverdust studied the beach. Three weeks had passed since Shirinov’s ill-fated journey. The rain and tide had long since washed away any tracks that might tell a useful story.

‘Emperor save us,’ said Father Orlov from further up the beach. Silverdust and the Envoy made their way to where the Vigilant was pulling something free of the shingle.

‘It seems you have found Ordinary Shirinov,’ said the Envoy. Father Orlov shook the sand from a silver mask with a gently smiling expression. A smear of blood had dried at the corner of one eye.

‘B-but where is the body?’

Silverdust extended one arm and pointed out to sea.

‘Shatterspine,’ said de Vries, invoking the name the novices had used for the man. ‘The old bastard really is dead after all.’

Or gone renegade.

The envoy laughed bitterly. ‘Shirinov would sooner sprout wings and fly than turn against the Empire.’ She stalked off towards the town without a backwards glance. Father Orlov cradled the mask in his trembling hands.

Are you unwell, Father Orlov?

‘No.’ Orlov straightened up and gripped the mask more tightly. ‘I’d never known a Vigilant be killed before the uprising. Now this Vartiainen peasant appears and even the most venerable of our number fall. It is … It is unseemly.’

Did you think us invincible, Father? Immortal?

Father Orlov shook his head, and though Silverdust could not see his expression he knew the man felt disgust. Disgust for Shirinov’s fate and disgust at Silverdust’s insolent question.

Father Orlov tossed the mask onto the stony beach and followed the Envoy. Silverdust watched him go and waited, feeling the wind whip all around him. It must have been a fight to inspire the storyweavers, he decided. A lone peasant boy riding a dragon, taking on a seasoned Vigilant and twenty soldiers. This was the stuff of legend. Something the people of Vinterkveld would grow drunk on. Silverdust stooped to retrieve the mask and drifted into town, though he was certain all the inhabitants had fled. To stay would be madness. To stay would invite difficult questions and a swift death.

They found rooms in an abandoned inn and the soldiers took roles as cooks, servants, and waiters. Envoy de Vries insisted on a hot bath and Father Orlov turned in early. He had said little since uncovering Shirinov’s mask. Silverdust waited in his room, sending his focus out beyond the wooden walls to ponder at the soldiers in their company. His attention brushed against the minds of men drawn from many provinces across the Empire. Most of the soldiers were useful fools that cared nothing beyond getting paid and fed, but one approached, younger than the rest, who he sensed was different. Silverdust opened the door before the young soldier could knock. He held a tray with a bowl of borscht, a plate of dark bread, and a stout mug of ale.

Come in.

The soldier hesitated at the door, then entered the room with a wary expression on his face. Silverdust knew full well what the rank and file thought of him. The way he seemed to glide rather than walk unnerved people. That he never spoke aloud but dropped the words directly into a person’s mind earned him greater mistrust. And there was the question of his loyalty.

What is your name?

‘Streig,’ said the young soldier as he set the tray of food down. He was barely older than Steiner, with a downy fuzz masquerading as a beard, and hair shorn down to stubble across his scalp.

I have already eaten, Streig. So I invite you to stay and enjoy this food.

‘I … I can’t do that,’ said the soldier.

You and I both know that the Emperor has so many soldiers he cannot afford to feed them properly.

‘That’s no secret,’ replied Streig. ‘The peasants in the Scorched Republics eat better than we do.’

And you are hungry, are you not?

Streig’s stomach chose that very moment to growl.

I wish to take the air outside. Being cooped up in these sombre dwellings does not suit me.

Streig had the good sense to remain quiet and watched Silverdust leave. The streets outside the inn were shrouded in the deep darkness of winter night but Silverdust had his own illumination. He drifted along the lonely winding lanes of the town. Something else was in Cinderfell, some other presence that he could not put a name to. The buildings became fewer as he drifted onward, following the steep incline up through the town. The Exarch paused, staring up at the star-flecked heavens, before turning north and advancing into the woods. The leaves and grasses at his feet grew black as he passed by, scorched by the aura of argent light. This was novel; for decades he had only walked the corridors of Vladibogdan and now he travelled in the shadow of moonlit trees, beckoned by an unknown feeling, almost a sound to his arcane senses.

Something wailed in the darkness, something pained and anguished. The trees crowded around Silverdust with dark and threatening branches, then all at once opened out to a clearing. The ruins of a chalet stood on the far side and scores of broken branches littered the ground. Silverdust paused at the edge of the clearing.

You can step into the light, Envoy de Vries.

‘And here I was thinking I’d been so good,’ she said, stepping out from behind an old oak tree a dozen feet behind him. ‘I do so hate the cold.’ She shivered in the night’s chill and stared up into the Exarch’s blank mask. ‘And what brings you out so late at night, Silverdust? What have you seen?’

Silverdust cast his gaze over the clearing where writhing ghostly forms stood weeping and moaning. There had to be a dozen of them, broken in body and mind, cradling old swords and crooning to themselves like tired children.

Can you not see them?

‘What?’ The Envoy drew her knife from the golden belt that hung from her hips.

The ghosts of the Okhrana haunt this place. They linger over shallow graves and cry out for absolution. I hear them.

‘This is nonsense,’ replied de Vries. ‘No Vigilant has ever had such gifts.’

They speak of a peasant girl with terrible power. She summoned the stones from the earth and smashed everyone alive to a pulp.

‘More of your cryptic foolishness. Don’t you think I know you’re hiding something, Silverdust?’

I am not hiding the ghosts of the Okhrana from you, I give you my word on that.

The Envoy looked over her shoulder and for a second Silverdust wondered at how easy it would be to kill her in the darkness of the forest. It was no good, he decided. He needed her to gain audience with the Emperor. Only after the Emperor was dead could he rid himself of the Envoy once and for all.

They haunt this clearing and yet remain hidden from you.

‘There is much that remains hidden from me.’ There was a sour curl on her lips. ‘Not least the events of Vladibogdan.’

The ghosts say one name, over and over.

‘Vartiainen,’ said the Envoy. Silverdust nodded. She stepped closer and dropped her voice to a deathly hush. ‘I don’t believe you can see these ghosts. You’ve told me nothing I did not already know.’

You knew a dozen Okhrana had been sent to Cinderfell, Envoy?

Her silence confirmed she had not.

We could return in the morning and dig them up if you need proof.

Envoy de Vries looked around the clearing as if it might come alive with stalking nightmares at any moment.

‘Perhaps you can see ghosts. I don’t care. I’m going back to the inn. You will keep me informed if you learn anything else.’

Silverdust said nothing and watched the woman leave. He wandered the clearing for long moments, drifting between the phantoms who cried or wailed in the night. As a man he might have fled from such a vision, but as a cinderwraith he had no fear of death. Never before had he seen such apparitions, but much had changed since Steiner had taken his hammer to the Ashen Torment.

Finally he came to a grave with a marker. The soul that had belonged to these bones had moved on to whatever rest awaited. Silverdust crouched down and leaned closer to the wooden marker. A name had been carved into the wood.

Verner.

Silverdust stood slowly and nursed a pang of jealousy. How he longed for the peaceful slumber of death’s cold embrace. How he yearned to pass on from this existence. Silverdust glided from the clearing back towards the town. There would be no peace, not while the Emperor still drew breath.

CHAPTER TEN
Steiner

It took two weeks to make their way along the Rusalka River. Steiner had never travelled anywhere by barge before, nor had he ever been so absolutely bored. The persistent damp leeched any good mood out of the three travellers. The owner of the barge was a stooped man called Rezkh who might have been any age from fifty to seventy years old. Long, iron-grey hair emerged from under a battered grubby hat and he rarely said much on account of missing most of his teeth. When he did communicate, in a series of grunts, mumbles and gestures, the conversation was directed at Marek.

‘There’s not even a view to look at,’ said Kristofine, gesturing to the ever-present mist surrounding them. The river was the colour of unquenched steel and the riverbanks were thick with reeds the height of a man on both sides. Trees would emerge from the mist like ghostly sentinels as the barge slunk along the river. In the distance crows called out to one another in strident tones muffled by distance.

Kristofine spent the time learning swordplay from Marek, though there was scarcely enough space for the lessons. Rezkh the boatman would let Marek teach for an hour or so before complaining bitterly about ‘the gods-damned racket of swords crashing against each other’.

It was after one of these training sessions that Kjellrunn and Marek joined Steiner at the prow and stared ahead into the gently swirling mist. They settled down under their cloaks and pressed their hands into their armpits to keep warm.

‘Just our bad fortune to be travelling in winter,’ said Marek.

‘Better this far south than up in Nordvlast,’ said Kristofine, still catching her breath from the lesson.

‘Why is it called the Rusalka River?’ asked Steiner, trailing a hand over the side of the barge and into the water. ‘Why not just the Virag River?’ Marek cleared his throat and looked around to check that the bargemaster wasn’t eavesdropping on them.

‘Before the Empire came into being it was more common to meet things on the road that weren’t human. And sometimes they lingered near the canals too.’

‘Things that weren’t human?’ said Kristofine.

‘The old stories tell of water nymphs who served the land,’ explained Marek. ‘It was seen as good fortune to have one close to home. The fields and forests were more fertile when a nymph was happy, so they said.’

‘And when they weren’t happy …?’ asked Kristofine.

‘The Emperor’s hatred wasn’t merely confined to dragons. He hates all arcane beings. The Empire placed a bounty on the heads of the nymphs and for a time the men of Virag earned coin by murder.’ Steiner pulled his hand back under his cloak, his water-chilled fingers clenched into a fist. Kristofine huddled closer to him.

‘But the Emperor hadn’t counted on the true power of the nymphs. They didn’t pass on to Frejna’s realm and die like the Emperor had hoped. The nymphs came back but now they called themselves rusalka. Where once they had brought life, now they brought only death.’

‘What happened to them?’ asked Kristofine.

‘The rusalka wrought a terrible vengeance on the living for their treachery. Trade by barge stopped completely in Vannerånd, Svingettevei and Drakefjord. The Empire sent Vigilants to kill the Rusalka and many were slain on both sides. Some say the Rusalka were wiped out, but I think some still exist near lakes, where it’s quiet and people are few.’

The barge bumped against something and Steiner flinched. He looked around with one hand on the haft of his sledgehammer, then breathed a sigh of relief. Rezkh had found a small pier to tie up to for the night.

‘Maybe it’s time we went ahead on foot?’ said Steiner. ‘I think I’d like to spend some time among the living. This endless mist is getting to me.’

Marek smiled and clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We’re close to the final stop anyway.’

‘How do they get you?’ asked Kristofine. ‘The Rusalka, I mean. How do they, you know, kill you?’

‘A rusalka appears as a beautiful woman bathing in the river. When a man gets close by she calls to him, and the man can’t help but draw close to her.’

Kristofine rolled her eyes.

‘And when the men are close enough the rusalka’s hair comes alive and wraps about the man’s neck, dragging him under the water and drowning him.’

‘We should really go the rest of the way on foot,’ said Steiner.

‘Seems to me the people of Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Svingettevei could have maintained their barge trade if they’d had any brains,’ said Kristofine, gathering her bag.

‘How’s that?’ asked Marek.

‘If the rusalka lured only men to their deaths, they should have employed women to run the barges.’

Marek laughed long and deep and Steiner found himself caught up in the sound, laughing along with him. It was the first time any of them had laughed since Tikhoveter had been killed.

The riverside inn was a welcome sight after two weeks aboard the narrow barge. A small village spread out from beside the canal though most of the buildings were little more than shadowy outlines in the mist. Once they had settled in, Steiner took a bath and joined Marek and Kristofine downstairs in the bar.

‘We’ve wasted two whole weeks on the barge,’ he said. ‘I need to start telling my story now.’

‘Steady now, Steiner,’ warned Marek in a hiss. ‘We only just escaped Virag. We need to be cautious. The Empire has ears everywhere.’

‘Even here, in a riverside inn lost in the mist?’

Marek shrugged. ‘I’m just saying we should be careful is all.’

Steiner cast his gaze around the bar and searched the faces of the local men and women. Wasn’t it the business of spies to blend in and look like everyone else? He approached the bar and nodded to a handful of heavyset men in muddy smocks and forced a smile.

‘Hail, friends.’

‘Friends?’ said tallest of them. He was a bull-necked man with a heavy brow and black beard shot through with grey. ‘Were only friends if you’re buying the drinks.’ The men around Bull-neck chuckled and looked away.

‘I bring news about the Empire. A story really.’

‘A story!’ Bull-neck grinned. ‘What a delight.’ Steiner couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic on account of his accent. ‘An’ you come all the way from …?’

‘Nordvlast,’ supplied Steiner.

‘So you come all the way from Nordvlast to interrupt our conversation with a story about the hated Empire. The Empire that took my niece three summers ago.’ The man’s expression darkened. ‘Go back to Nordvlast, halfhead.’

‘There have been two uprisings against the—’

‘Go back to Nordvlast,’ repeated the bull-necked man. ‘There’ll be no uprising in Svingettevei. We prefer to keep our heads attached to our shoulders. Go.’

Steiner headed back to his table where Kristofine waited with an anxious look. Steiner slumped down in the seat beside her and stared into his mug of ale.

‘I need to get better at that,’ he said quietly.

‘People are strange creatures,’ said Kristofine. ‘Territorial. You can’t just walk into their place and tell them a thing. It makes them feel stupid, ignorant. You need to make them curious. I used to see this done a lot in my father’s tavern. A person would come in and hint that they had just arrived from somewhere or perhaps knew something everyone else didn’t. Just a hint really, to make people curious, make them ask a question or two.’

‘Making people curious,’ repeated Steiner. He looked at his father over the top of his mug. ‘And what do you think?’

‘I think I’m an old soldier who doesn’t know much about storytelling. But I think Kristofine has a point,’ said Marek. ‘Let’s try it her way next time.’

Marek insisted that he needed a room of his own on account of not having a moment’s peace in the last month. ‘We have a little coin to spare,’ he said. ‘One night’s luxury won’t kill anyone.’

And so Steiner found himself alone with Kristofine that night when the bar finally stopped serving and the lanterns downstairs were extinguished one by one. They headed up the creaking wooden steps hand in hand and spent a minute fussing at the candles before Steiner sat on the bed and gave a deep sigh.

‘What’s got you frowning so, dragon rider?’ said Kristofine, running her fingers across his scalp and down his neck. She pressed closer to him and he rested his head against the soft curve of her stomach. Her fingers continued to trace the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

‘Dragon rider?’ He huffed a bitter laugh. ‘They called me the Unbroken back on the ship. At Nordvlast I wielded the Ashen Torment and fought Shirinov in single combat. Out here I can’t even make a handful of men listen to what I have to say.’

‘It will come in time. You’ll work out the trick of it. We’ll work it out together.’

‘Everything will fail if I can’t make people pay attention.’

‘I’m paying attention to you,’ she whispered. ‘And we have our own room for the first time since you were taken by the Empire.’

‘When you put it like that …’ Steiner gave her slow smile and stood up to kiss her.

‘Much better,’ said Kristofine as he began to unbutton her skirt.

They were late joining Marek for what passed for breakfast the following morning, and even the paucity of the fare couldn’t dim Steiner’s spirits.

‘Took us a while to pack,’ said Steiner, setting down his bag and sledgehammer, which he hid under his cloak. Marek raised an eyebrow. Kristofine blushed and Steiner took a seat. They ate their food in the bar and tried to ignore the stale smell of ale and the sweat of men long in their beds. Kristofine smiled a lot but said little, and Marek approached the innkeeper and his wife at the counter.

‘Folks are talking of trouble up north,’ said the innkeeper after the usual round of pleasantries. The innkeeper looked towards the door and then conspiratorially over his shoulder, even though the bar was empty save for Marek, Kristofine and Steiner. ‘Never heard anything like it, I tell you.’ The innkeeper was a thin man in his fifties, with a ratty ponytail of greying brown hair and a patchy beard. He’d introduced himself as Gerd or Ged – Steiner wasn’t quite sure on account of the man’s accent.

‘We’ve been on the road for a few weeks now and not heard a thing,’ replied Marek loud enough to attract Steiner’s attention.

‘Word is that the Empire have a fortress on a secret island.’ Gerd leaned across the bar and dropped his voice. ‘An’ they’ve been taking the children there this whole time.’

‘You know,’ whispered his wife. ‘The children with witchsign.’ She was a short bulb of woman called Lena, as generously proportioned as her husband was lean. She’d been pretty once, but decades spent ushering drunk fools out of her establishment had given her a hard look. ‘An’ to think, this whole time we supposed they were taking them to be slaughtered in Khlystburg.’ She raised her eyebrows.

‘That’s quite a tale,’ said Marek. ‘How did you come by such news?’

‘A trader came into the village late last night,’ said Lena. ‘He told us some Nordvlast man escaped the island.’

‘Said he was seven feet tall an’ covered in scars,’ explained Gerd. ‘Said he wielded a sledgehammer that could fire lightning bolts.’

Steiner half-laughed, half-snorted, as he attempted another spoonful of thin porridge, drawing affronted looks from his hosts.

‘Sorry.’ He coughed. ‘Excellent breakfast, by the way.’ Steiner shared a look with Kristofine and they both held their breath to keep from laughing.

‘Ignore my son,’ said Marek with a frown. ‘He’s a touch simple. I shouldn’t let him drink ale of an evening, but it helps him sleep.’

‘Never seen no enchanted sledgehammer,’ said Lena in a frosty tone of voice. ‘An’ our trader friend said the man flew on the back of a dragon and killed a dozen men an’ a Vigilant.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But he was drunk as a lord and I’m not so foolish as to believe everything I’m told.’

‘She’s not foolish!’ crowed her husband, his eyes wide and earnest in his thin face.

‘And what will happen now?’ said Kristofine, rising from the table to join the conversation at the bar.

‘Same as always happens when someone crosses the Empire,’ replied Lena with a scowl. ‘They’ll find this man an’ kill him, fancy sledgehammer or not.’

‘Probably send those wicked Vigilants after him,’ moaned Gerd.

‘How much of what your friend told you do you believe?’ asked Kristofine. Gerd blinked at her and Steiner supposed he wasn’t asked for his opinion on a great many things.

‘Can’t say I know.’ He looked to his wife. ‘I suppose there could be one or two dragons hiding out from after the war. An’ I suppose it might be possible to ride one.’ He sighed. ‘But a sledgehammer seems like a stupid weapon for a man to carry. Never seen anyone fight with a sledgehammer before.’

‘And the lightning,’ said Marek. ‘That seems like pure invention.’

‘Aye, invention,’ said Gerd, nodding.

Steiner chose that moment to stand up and pull his cloak around his shoulders, then picked up his bag and hefted his sledgehammer. Gerd and Lena stared at him and he could almost feel their eyes counting the many scars on his face, scalp and the backs of his hands. He approached the counter. ‘Sorry I’m not seven feet tall,’ he said to Gerd and Lena, before turning to Marek and Kristofine. ‘Come on, we need to get going.’

They were a dozen feet from the inn when Gerd called out to them from the doorway. ‘Don’t be leaving so quick now.’ Steiner looked over his shoulder. ‘Is any of it true?’ said Gerd and Lena joined him in the doorway.

Steiner nodded. ‘The island. The children. They train them to be Vigilants.’

‘And the lightning?’ said Gerd, and Steiner could see the tiny spark of hope in his eyes.

Steiner shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, no lightning.’

‘You’re not him,’ scowled Lena. ‘Come on now!’ And she ushered her husband inside.

Marek, Kristofine and Steiner walked for some time, leaving the misty village until at last Steiner spoke.

‘Think he’ll tell anyone?’

‘Without a doubt,’ said Marek with a slow smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kjellrunn

‘They caught us by surprise, right.’ Romola was sitting against the edge of the table in her cabin with a hard look on her face, her head cocked to one side. She’d patiently listened to Kjellrunn’s complaint, waiting for the stream of anger and frustration to abate. ‘I’m not happy about it either. I’ve known your father for a long time and I like Steiner. I like him a lot.’

It had taken Kjellrunn a restless night to get up the necessary courage. Her frustration and dismay had grown with every hour that passed, and with every league they sailed further south.

‘We have to go back. They won’t stand a chance.’

‘We have to, do we?’ Romola shook her head and moved around the table to pour a drink. ‘Let me tell you how it works.’ She poured two tots of rum and downed the first before she’d finished pouring the second. ‘The Empire has graduates or cast-offs from the Vozdukha Academy in most towns, especially the ports. They’re not Vigilants but ones with a gift for sending whispers on the wind, right? Messages can be sent for leagues with the arcane, far faster than men on horseback or birds with scraps of parchment tied to their legs. Word of your street fight may have spread across the Empire by now. The Emperor himself will be spitting blood when he finds out.’

‘The Emperor is hundreds of miles away!’

‘But his soldiers are close. Closer than we think sometimes. They’ll be looking for us, just as Imperial ships will be looking for us.’

‘Then we’ll fight!’ replied Kjellrunn.

Romola raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘Like you fought in Virag?’

Kjellrunn felt the anger drain out of her.

‘I’m a smuggler, not an admiral,’ replied Romola. ‘And the Watcher’s Wait is a fast frigate. She can’t take on those big Imperial galleons. She just doesn’t have it in her.’

For a moment the woman and girl eyed each other over the captain’s table. The ship creaked as it voyaged further south.

‘What will happen to them?’ said Kjellrunn quietly. ‘Do you even care?’

‘I care about plenty of things. My crew, my ship, my skin. And I care about rum, of course.’ Romola knocked back the second tot. ‘Marek and Steiner are more than capable of slipping out of a city unnoticed. Maybe you forgot, but Steiner the Unbroken escaped from Vladibogdan. I don’t think Virag will give him any problems.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Kjellrunn, hating the pleading note in her voice. ‘I may never see them again.’

‘But you’ll be alive to miss them. And so will I. The Watcher’s Wait is not returning to Virag, Kjellrunn. You can get off at the next port if you don’t like it, but we are not going back.’

The door to the captain’s cabin slammed open and a tall woman with red hair entered, one of the crew. Kjellrunn scowled but the pirate simply grinned.

‘Hello!’ She turned to Romola. ‘Here’s the inventory you asked for.’

Romola took the parchment from the tall pirate and it was clear the conversation was over. Kjellrunn sighed in defeat. She slunk out of the cabin, not bothering to close the door behind her.

She was halfway across the deck of the ship when her fingers strayed to the hammer brooch her father had given her.

‘None of this would be happening if you’d just stayed pinned to my cloak.’

The brooch had no answer, which only put her in an even worse mood.

Kjellrunn spent the afternoon sitting in the prow of the ship running over her conversation with Romola and cursing herself for not persuading the captain to turn around. She’d wrapped herself in her cloak so that it came up under her nose and only the top of her face could be seen. The gunwales shielded her from the worst of the wind, but the weather was cold enough that she half considered going below decks. It was almost nightfall when Mistress Kamalov appeared on deck. Trine, the fire-breathing novice, hovered nearby, shooting dark looks at any sailors who came too close to the old woman. The renegade Vigilant hobbled across the deck and Kjellrunn felt another pang of irritation.

‘You hurt no one but yourself when you don’t eat.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ replied Kjellrunn, looking up to the rigging in order to avoid the older woman’s eyes.

‘As you wish. The food is gone now. Too many mouths to feed.’

‘I just want to be left alone.’

‘It’s right that you are upset for your family, but you must see the sense in the captain’s decision.’

‘I must, must I?’

‘It was going to happen anyway, Kjellrunn.’ Mistress Kamalov rested a hand on the side of the ship, supporting herself as the waves rocked the slender vessel. ‘Your brother would have disembarked sooner or later. He is keen to take the fight to the Empire. His path is not yours—’

‘His path is going to get him killed!’ Kjellrunn stood up, feeling the familiar heat of her anger stoked to life once more. ‘What was the point of escaping Vladibogdan if he’s going to run back to the Empire so that they can kill him?’

‘He has found his purpose, Kjellrunn. Now you must find yours.’

‘Purpose? What purpose? The Empire has taken everything from me. My home, my father, my brother, my uncle.’ Her voice broke slightly. ‘I never had the chance to meet my mother.’ Mistress Kamalov shook her head, pursing her lips in a look of disappointment Kjellrunn knew all too well.

‘And you are the only person aboard to have lost something precious to the Empire, I suppose?’

Kjellrunn turned her back on the renegade Vigilant. ‘I just want to be left alone.’

‘Soon we will reach Shanisrond,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Where people with witchsign are not hunted. We can live quietly with the novices.’

‘And I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what happened to my family, wondering if they’re still alive. What’s the point? I want to get my family back and I’m going to leave this stupid ship and find them.’

Mistress Kamalov bowed her head and made her way back across the deck. Trine did not follow, but eyed Kjellrunn with a curious, unfriendly stare.

‘Hoy there,’ said Kjellrunn, more out of habit than any desire to speak to the girl.

‘Are you always such a whining bitch?’ replied Trine.

Kjellrunn stepped forward. ‘They’re my family. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I imagine the Vigilants stripped all the decency out of you on the island.’

‘Mistress Kamalov said you were her best student, but you just seem like a snivelling child to me.’

‘You have some some cheek. Those six children might still be alive if you hadn’t snuck off in Virag.’ Trine’s eyes widened in surprise at Kjellrunn’s rebuke. ‘Perhaps you’ll consider other people in future, now that you have blood on your hands.’

Trine shrank back a step, shaken by Kjellrunn’s words, then remembered herself and followed after Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn watched her go, anger beating loudly with her pulse. She slumped down in the prow, tired beyond reason with tears of loneliness brimming at the corner of her eyes. Maybe she was a snivelling child, she decided. A snivelling child who wanted nothing more than her family returned to her safely.

The scent of pipe smoke and the sound of soft voices woke her. Sundra and Tief had sat down next to her and were chatting.

‘What time is it?’

‘Too late to be sleeping on deck when you have a perfectly reasonable cabin,’ said Tief with a crooked smile. He toked on the pipe and breathed out a few smoke rings. ‘What foolishness is this?’

‘I had an argument with Mistress Kamalov. Two actually.’

‘You and your brother have a fine gift for stubbornness,’ said Sundra. She stared up at the night sky and clucked her tongue. ‘I do miss that boy.’

Kjellrunn felt the beginnings of tears at the mention of Steiner. ‘As do I. And that seems to be a problem for some people.’

‘I’ve got something for you.’ Tief reached under his jacket and pulled out a small sack. ‘Steiner would kill me if I let his little sister starve, so eat up.’

Kjellrunn reached into the sack and pulled out an apple. ‘Thanks. Is this bread too?’

Tief nodded. ‘I’ll give you nip of rum too if you don’t tell Mistress Kamalov.’

Kjellrunn ate for a time and they listened to the shushing sound of the waves against the prow. Stars shone overhead and the ship rumbled and groaned as the timbers moved. The sails billowed from the masts and Kjellrunn felt calm in the presence of the two Spriggani.

‘What will you do?’ asked Sundra.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What will you do in the weeks ahead? We won’t always be on this ship.’ Kjellrunn couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Here was a high priestess of Frejna, representative of a proscribed religion, asking about her future. Here was a woman four times her age if not more, speaking to her as if she were an adult with a plan.

‘I don’t know. My family … It seems we’re destined to be pulled apart. I’ll never be able to find them on my own.’ It was tough to admit to such a thing, but the words needed saying.

‘It is difficult to be away from the ones we love,’ said Sundra, though Kjellrunn realised the words were intended for Tief rather than her.

‘I’m going on to Yamal with Kimi and Marozvolk,’ explained Tief. ‘We’re going to present ourselves to the Yamali king and explain what happened, try and rally the tribes for the forthcoming war.’

‘You don’t know they will go to war,’ snapped Sundra.

‘Hopefully Steiner will raise such a ruckus the Emperor will be too busy to send an army to Yamal.’ Tief toked on his pipe a moment. ‘But if he does send an army …’

‘And Taiga has decided she has to go with him,’ said Sundra to Kjellrunn with a note of disgust in her voice. ‘Everyone rushing off to get themselves killed. Did we escape the island for nothing!’ The old priestess rolled her eyes in a rare display of pique and Kjellrunn almost laughed, though she shared the sentiment entirely.

‘And Taiga is coming,’ agreed Tief. He blew out the smoke and cleared his throat. ‘The thing is—’

‘The thing is,’ said Sundra, her voice brittle with irritation, ‘is that I am too damned old to go wandering around this continent. I will leave the ship and stay with Mistress Kamalov and the children. I should very much like it if you were to become my apprentice.’ Kjellrunn nearly choked on her apple. She stared at the older woman in disbelief.

‘Apprentice?’

‘I am getting old and our religion has all but died out. I need someone to carry these traditions and beliefs on to the next generation.’

‘But I barely know anything about the goddesses,’ said Kjellrunn.

‘As it is in all the provinces of the Solmindre Empire and the Scorched Republics. There was a temple in Virag, you know? Dedicated to my goddess. They boarded up the windows and the doors were locked.’

‘All knowledge of the old ways is prohibited in Nordvlast,’ added Kjellrunn.

‘But this did not stop you, did it, Kjellrunn?’ Sundra narrowed her eyes with a smile of admiration on her thin lips.

‘Well, no,’ Kjellrunn admitted. ‘I always loved the old stories.’

Sundra clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘They are not just old stories!’

‘Pah! You’ve upset her already.’ Tief gave an earthy chuckle. ‘You’ll make a fine initiate.’

‘And what of my family?’

‘I’ll be out there,’ said Tief, jerking a thumb towards land. ‘There can’t be too many people rushing towards Khlystburg in the hopes of killing the Emperor. I have hope that I’ll cross paths with your brother before too long. I’ll be sure to bring him back to you.’

Kjellrunn smiled.

‘That’s it, girl. You keep smiling. There’s too much pain in the world and every smile is a rebellion against it.’

Sundra made a dismissive snort. ‘So says the grumpiest man I know.’

‘Nothing to say I can’t be a grump and hypocrite at the same time,’ replied Tief proudly.

‘An initiate of Frejna,’ said Kjellrunn, testing the words out. Sundra nodded. ‘And we’ll live in Shanisrond and wait there until my family comes back?’

‘We will.’ The high priestess got to her feet, though it took her some time and a helping hand from Tief. Sundra was quickly swallowed by the darkness as she retired for the night. Kjellrunn stood to watch her go.

‘Thank you for that,’ said Tief when his sister had gone. ‘I’ll be glad to know someone will be keeping an eye on her.’

‘You looked after my brother on the island, didn’t you?’

He grinned. ‘I did, although Frøya knows he was a pain in the arse more often than not.’

‘I’m beginning to think everyone is a pain in the arse,’ said Kjellrunn as her thoughts turned to Mistress Kamalov and the ever-present Trine.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Tief. ‘But some of them are worth fighting for.’