Dancer's Lament

Chapter 15

SILK WAITED IN the night just north of the city walls. The broken ground was hard, glinting with ice and crescents of wind-blown frost particles that could not yet be called a proper snowfall. The sky was clear and it was unusually chill. The cold bit at him and seemed to stab his very bones. He drew his thick fur cloak tighter about himself as his breath plumed.

To the west, across bare trampled fields and the broken black skeletons of burned trees, a battle raged on.

But it was not an engagement between the besieged Hengans and the invading Kanese forces. Rather, it was a running confrontation between the mercenary Crimson Guard and their quarry, the man-beast Ryllandaras.

A battle that began at sunset after he betrayed the creature’s whereabouts to the Guard.

All for the eventual benefit of Li Heng, of course. After all, he reasoned, the monster had served its purpose – driven the Kanese from the north – yet the fiend remained a menace to any future peace and so one would be negligent to let such a moment pass.

At least that was how Silk had presented his case to his fellow city mages. And they had concurred. The future prosperity and safety of the city and its citizens had to be considered.

He rubbed his hands to warm them then nodded back to Smokey who stood at the black cave opening sunk at the base of the city wall; a hidden tunnel that would be sealed and never re-used after this night. Smokey raised an arm in acknowledgement and ducked back within.

Now it was up to him. He ran his hands over each other slowly, feeling the cold smooth flesh, then opened his Warren. Once more he reached not for the familiar paths of Thyr but beyond, searching for that trace – or flavour – of Elder Liosan. Not that he would dare try to summon such potency again. No, this night the mere suggestion of its presence should suffice. The merest scent upon the night air, so to speak.

It should be enough to bait the trap.

Finished, he headed back to the tunnel opening. For it was the opinion of Koroll and Ho that the Crimson Guard – for all their vaunted martial expertise – did not themselves possess the power necessary to slay the beast. It was an ancient piece of wisdom that only an Ascendant could slay another Ascendant. And while Silk had no idea as to the accuracy of the saying, having seen Ryllandaras up close he doubted that the Guard could finish the job.

Halfway there he stopped, turned back, and crouched, waiting. He did not have to sit long. Out of the dark came the thump of heavy footfalls. A pale shape emerged, crashing into broken trunks, half falling, loping onward.

The form resolved into a blood-streaked Ryllandaras. Chains snaked behind him. One trailed from a wrist, another from his neck.

‘M’lady!’ the creature bellowed, roaring, desperate. ‘You are here?’

Silk straightened, waving. ‘This way!’

The man-beast lumbered towards him. Behind came calls and the clatter of armour. Ryllandaras frowned down at Silk, blinking. Though slashed and bloodied he still emanated ferocious power and vitality. Silk considered the old saying that a wounded animal is the most dangerous. ‘You?’ the beast roared, pulling up short.

Silk pointed to the tunnel. ‘She waits within – she offers sanctuary from your hunters.’

The man-beast examined the chain dangling from his wrist, shook it, and barked a rolling laugh. ‘Sanctuary from my hunters! Ha! I was besting them!’

Appalled, Silk crossed his arms. ‘Do you wish to see her or not?’

‘This way!’ came a distant shout from the dark.

The monster ducked, grunting his agreement. ‘I will enter, little mage. But not in search of sanctuary from any foe. I go to see her.’

Silk waved him on. ‘Very good.’ The man-beast thumped past, heading for the opening. Silk followed, walking backwards, his Warren of Thyr now raised.

Shapes in dark armour came running out of the night. Silk raised a bright flare of light, causing the closing mercenaries to halt and throw their arms up over their faces. Silk recognized Cal-Brinn among them, who blinked at him. ‘Stand aside!’ one of their number called.

‘The hunt is over,’ Silk answered.

‘Just kill the bastard!’ shouted another of the Guard, and he pushed forward.

Silk intensified his light into a sizzling white ball that he waved before him. ‘Would you make war upon Li Heng as well?’

Cal-Brinn threw an arm before his companion and addressed Silk. ‘You do not know what has happened.’

‘Inform me.’

‘The beast has slain Malkir, heir to the throne of Gris.’

Silk merely shrugged. ‘He was a fool to have risked hunting him.’

Cal-Brinn gestured to the wall. ‘And what is it you are risking?’

Silk dared a quick glance back: the aperture of the tunnel was even now closing as a great slab of dressed stone descended. He lowered his Warren and blinked in the dark. ‘You could not have slain him – we’ll finish the job.’

Another shape came lumbering out of the dark, the Guard’s commander, Duke Courian D’Avore, together with some twenty more of his force. His iron cuirass was splashed with blood and he gripped his neck where fresh drops ran down his raised forearm. His son K’azz sought to support him but he shook him off. ‘He’s ours!’ the man bellowed, spitting in rage. ‘Paid for in blood! Yield him to us!’

Silk bowed to the Duke. ‘The city mages of Heng will see to Ryllandaras.’

‘Keep him as your pet, you mean!’

Silk felt far from confident, surrounded as he was by a maddened crowd of mercenaries who felt cheated of their quarry, but he crossed his arms nevertheless, hoping to convey complete indifference. He wished Koroll, Ho or Mara were here rather than he. But they no doubt had their hands full at the moment attempting to subdue the man-beast, wounded though he may be. Thinking on that, he reflected that perhaps he was better off here than closeted in a narrow tunnel with an enraged Ascendant.

Courian raised his bloodied blade. ‘Yield him to me now, or by the beast gods I’ll separate your smirking head from your slimy body.’

K’azz took hold of his parent’s sword arm. ‘We have made one enemy today, Father. Let us not make two.’

The duke glared down with his one good eye, scowling his confusion. ‘An enemy? What do you mean? What enemy?’

‘With Malkir dead his twin, Malle, is now heir,’ said Cal-Brinn. ‘She spoke against his coming and will not forgive us. I fear we will not be welcome in Gris.’

The duke grunted his assent, drew his blade across his already red cloak, and sheathed it. He peered at Silk through his one eye, slitted until it was almost closed. Silk had the impression of a bull squinting through a fence. ‘You’re lucky, little mage. If it were up to me alone I’d cut you in half just on general principles.’ He motioned Cal-Brinn onward. ‘We’ll return the body. Come, we’re moving out.’

The Guard backed away, covering their commander. All but the young K’azz, who remained behind. ‘What will you do with him?’ he asked Silk.

Silk studied the slender youth looking so very martial in his battered blood-red armour of overlapping iron bands, mailed sleeves and skirting, his bright pale eyes quite open and curious. Still to come into his full growth, yet already a good hand’s breadth taller than he. So this was the Red Prince romantics sang of. He felt an unaccustomed sensation of envy and it was so new he almost savoured it. He shrugged again, his arms crossed. ‘We cannot be certain of slaying him, so we will entomb him.’

The youth nodded, backing away. Silk turned to go.

‘You betrayed us,’ the youth called. ‘You used us to weaken him and drive him to you.’ Silk stilled, saying nothing. ‘One good betrayal deserves another,’ the lad called again from the dark, and disappeared into the gloom.

For a time Silk stood motionless, frowning at the night. Then he shook himself, shuddering with the chill, and hurried to the one remaining northern tunnel entryway to aid his fellow mages.

Finding his brethren together with the entrapped Ryllandaras was not difficult; the creature’s bellows shook the catacombs’ stone walls. Clashing chains and angry, frustrated yells guided him to the site of the struggle. All the tunnels were far too low to allow the man-beast to stand, and so he lay flailing and lashing. The chains crashed and rattled against the walls.

Ho was shouting to Mara: ‘Hold him still, dammit!’

‘Don’t you think I’m trying!’ she snarled.

Koroll had two of the beast’s chains in his hands and was struggling to drag the monster up the tunnel. Silk stepped over to where Smokey stood leaning against a wall. ‘Took your damned time,’ the mage of Telas murmured beneath the cacophony.

‘How’s it going – or need I ask?’

Smokey waved to indicate their lack of progress. ‘The damned beast’s not cooperating in his imprisonment. Rather like a drunken soldier.’

‘How unreasonable of him.’

Ho threw down the end of one chain and backed away to draw a sleeve across his sweaty face. ‘All right, you stubborn bastard. We tried being nice.’ He nodded to Smokey.

Smokey cracked his knuckles. The man-beast turned his long head to glare up one-eyed at the mage. ‘Don’t make me burn you bald,’ Smokey said with a smile.

Silk missed it; a telltale tensing of the muscles it must have been, or a slight drawing in of the limbs, but Mara caught it and even as the beast lunged forward, jaws agape, his head was smashed aside into the wall. Everyone cursed their surprise, ducking and backing off. Clouds of dust obscured the narrow tunnel. Silk slapped it from his fine blue shirt and black vest.

The dust settled, revealing a hole bashed through the wall to a neighbouring tunnel, and Ryllandaras, blinking, shaking the stone dust from his head.

‘I’ll twist your head off if I have to!’ Mara called, her voice taut with anger, and perhaps a measure of fear.

The beast’s lips drew back into something like a mockery of a smile, revealing black gums and canines the length of daggers. ‘You can try,’ he growled with a panting, jackal-like laugh.

Ho set a hand to his hip, ran the other over his brush-cut grey stubble, and looked to the ceiling. ‘Not going to make it easy, are you?’ He motioned to everyone. ‘Grab a chain and pull . . .’

*

A sharp jab woke Iko. She opened one eye, fully aware, to see Hallens peering down at her, a fierce grin at her lips. ‘Ready yourself, little sister. Word has come. We leave immediately.’

She jumped to her feet, pulled her quilted aketon over her head, asked, ‘Where?’

But Hallens had already moved on.

Iko yanked on her mail coat, belted it, and threw her sheathed blade over her head and on to her back. All around, her fellow Sword-Dancers readied themselves. All was silent but for the soft tinkle of fine mail armour and the shush of leather sandals. At the doors, sisters signed commands: double file, quick.

They formed up and set out across the gardens. Two sisters waited there. Knotted ropes had already been secured over the wall. When Iko reached the top she glimpsed the sprawled shapes of palace guards among the bushes – unconscious only, she hoped, as she bore them no particular ill will.

Their route took them south through the empty night-time streets; the city’s own strict curfew aided them in their passage. They were running in double file, as swiftly as was possible in potentially hostile territory. Sisters posted at turns, or forced-open posterns or minor gates, directed them on then joined the rear of the file as it passed. Soon, Iko knew, it would be her turn to be posted as they cycled through their number.

When she reached the fore, Hallens was there giving commands. At this point they had reached a section of the second-last of the ringed rounds, the Inner, and were next to the tallest building in sight. Its third-storey roof was pitched, which was unusual for the city, and allowed the easiest access to the parapets rearing above. A sister was already at the top straddling the ridge, readying ropes. Hallens nodded to Iko and another, Gisel, to make the climb. They started up the building’s side, cat-walked up the steeply pitched roof, and took hold of the rope.

Iko went first. The ropes were knotted and she climbed by alternately raising hands and feet. So far their blazing speed had served them well; if any alarms were being sounded, they’d left them far behind. The climb was strenuous, and after the months of waiting she was in far from her best shape, but the adrenalin of action drove her on. She slid in through a crenel and fell to the catwalk to roll to a crouch, then froze.

A guard was approaching from less than thirty feet away; perhaps he was on patrol, or the scraping of the iron grapnel had drawn him, but in any case her sudden appearance had shocked him as well. Only now did he begin to raise the crossbow in his hands.

She charged, eyes fixed on him, searching for the telltale signs of imminent firing. Luckily the lad gave them: a sharp inhale and that rise and tensing of the shoulders. She fell, rolling. The bolt cut the air above her. She came up but was still short of her target and had to roll once more, coming up with one arm to brush aside the weapon and the other jabbing, fingers straightened, up into the throat.

She caught both him and the weapon as he fell choking, hands clutching at his neck. She pressed a hand over his mouth and whispered, close: ‘Hush now – it’s all right. It’s over. You did your best. Hush now . . .’

He strained for breath one last time. Terror of death filled his wild eyes as his gaze pleaded with her. Then they lost focus, easing into a fixed empty stare. She straightened from the corpse.

Behind, her sisters were descending the wall on the outside.

She continued to stare down at the body, studying the clean face. A boy. Just a lad. Perhaps forced into the watch, handed a weapon, and told to walk the walls. Hardly any training at all. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair at all.

Steps behind and Hallens stood with her. She too studied the dead youth, then turned to her. ‘That must have been a hard one.’ She motioned to the sisters waiting their turn. ‘Take the rear.’

Somehow unable to speak, Iko merely nodded.

They ran in double file along the streets of the Outer Round. To Iko’s growing surprise and dismay she realized that they must be headed to one of the main city gates. If their mission was to take and hold the gate how could they hope to prevail against the city mages? It was plain suicide – they would be brushed from the position in an instant.

Being at the very rear she did not have to participate in the various skirmishes that accompanied the taking of the gate. All was over in a bare few minutes. She stepped over fallen Heng guards, found kicked-in doors and broken furniture. The counterweights were released, initiating a great shuddering and groaning within the walls, and the enormous slabs of iron-plated wood – strong enough to withstand the beast Ryllandaras – began grinding open. Iko joined Hallens and five sisters waiting at the mouth of the entrance tunnel; the rest of the Sword-Dancers had spread out to hold the gatehouses and adjoining parapets. Without, the dark of mid-night betrayed no movement.

Iko looked to Hallens who stood with arms crossed, displaying no unease. ‘Where are they?’ she whispered. ‘A city mage will be here soon.’

Hallens merely lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug. ‘We will fulfil our mission.’

Then noise brought Iko’s attention to the raised road outside. Dark shapes now rose from all sides. They seemed to swarm the road, advancing in a tide. Kan Elites, their tabards and gear smeared in soot, came jogging in. They parted, swerving to the right and left of the main way. One halted before Hallens and nodded. ‘Hallens,’ he said.

‘Kuth.’

‘You are relieved.’

Hallens inclined her assent. ‘We’ll hang about, if it’s all the same to you.’

He answered the assent, gave a drawled, ‘Always welcome,’ then turned to ordering his troops.

Bells now clamoured all about the city and the sounds of fighting echoed from far down the main avenue. A long column of green-coated regulars was advancing up the south road. They must already have been on the move even as she and her sisters took the gate, Iko realized. ‘Why have we decided to attack tonight?’ she asked Hallens.

The captain considered, tilting her head in thought. ‘Must have been a tip. A Hengan traitor sending word that now was a good time for some reason.’

Iko nodded at that. Yes, that was how most sieges ended. Betrayal from within. ‘So it is over, then. The city taken.’

Hallens eyed her in tolerant amusement. ‘This is only the first wall. Three more nested defences face us now. Each as strong as the first.’

As if on cue, crossbow bolts came arcing down among them, smacking into wood or skittering from stone. Everyone ducked behind cover even as the first ranks of the regulars came marching up the tunnel and followed directions to split to right and left.

‘You see?’ Hallens said from her side of the guard-post doorway where they’d taken cover. ‘Each inner wall is taller than the outer. They can shoot us at will.’

‘And where are the mages?’

Hallens’ answering grin was knowing. ‘Where indeed?’

Iko was shocked. ‘You think it was they? Betrayed their mistress?’

‘Chulalorn might have given them a better offer.’ Hallens shrugged again. ‘It’s possible.’

As a trained warrior, Iko was raised to value honour and duty above all. But she was not naïve or some callow youth; she understood that others carried far looser interpretations of those words than she – and that some knew them not at all. Still, it was unsettling. What, then, of trust?

Eastward, up the avenue, the clash of battle rose. After a few moments Iko could see that a sudden press of Hengan defenders was pushing the Kanese regulars back. Hallens had also been studying the fray, and she stepped out, offering Iko a wink. ‘Shall we—’

Something knocked the woman spinning and she staggered, peering down at her chest. Iko stared as well, horrified yet fascinated to see blood now spreading in a rich red bloom down the armour. Hallens fell to her knees. Iko and three other Sword-Dancers rushed out to drag her to the cover of a gatehouse.

She lay on her side, coughing up great mouthfuls of blood. The fletched butt of a crossbow bolt protruded from her back. She reached out to Sareh, kneeling before her, and strained to say something, but no words emerged. The effort seemed to take all her remaining strength and she sagged, her chest no longer heaving.

Sareh rose, still staring down. ‘They’ve killed her.’ She said it as if she couldn’t believe it.

‘The cowardly scum,’ Yuna breathed, too stunned for rage.

Iko could not take her eyes from the corpse. Hallens, dead? The best of them? How could this be?

‘We will exact such a blood price,’ Yuna snarled. She snapped her gaze to Iko. ‘And you? Still think they are worth any respect?’

Blinking, Iko looked to her, and saw that tears marked gleaming streaks down the woman’s face. She raised a hand to the grip of her whipsword, clenched it there, fierce. She had to force open her jaws to answer, ‘No. None.’

*

It was only Koroll’s incredible Tartheno-Thelomen might, combined with Ho’s own surprising display of strength, that allowed them to drag the chained Ryllandaras into his stone sarcophagus – that and the powerful pushing of Mara with her D’riss Warren. Silk and Smokey contributed little, it was true, other than to remain as additional hands should the beast break free.

Along the entire route the man-beast maddened them all with his constant panted chuckling and obvious mirth at their groaning and sweating to scrape him along. As they dragged him up and over the lip of the stone sarcophagus, Silk could contain his irritation no longer and he glared down at the bound beast, snapping: ‘And what do you find so funny about this internment?’

Ryllandaras shrugged his monstrous shoulders as best he could, wrapped in chain and pressed within the carved stone depression as he was. ‘I wish to thank you,’ he panted. ‘You, my enemies, deliver me to my love. Now she can come to me whenever she wishes. Many hours shall we while away in the dark.’

Silk flinched from the stone lip and it seemed to him that the beast’s new bout of laughter was directed solely at him. Ho began drawing on the hanging chain and the thick granite lid of the sarcophagus suspended above began creeping down.

The stones grated as they met and Silk thought to hear some final threat or curse from the beast, but instead all that came to him was a last murmured, ‘Fear only love, my little mage friend.’

Ho shook the chain, saying, ‘If this is released, counterweights will lift the lid.’

Koroll nodded. ‘Very good. For we are risking a feud.’

Silk eyed the half-giant. ‘A feud? Who would fight for this one?’

Koroll appeared surprised. ‘Why, his brothers, of course.’

Now Silk was surprised. ‘Brothers? Who—’ He cut the words off short as Ho threw up a hand for silence.

‘Listen!’

Silk cocked his head but heard nothing untoward echoing up the empty tunnels.

‘Fighting,’ Koroll rumbled.

‘They’re in the city,’ Ho breathed, astonished.

Mara’s usual sour glower deepened even further. ‘What? How?’

Smokey was staring up at the ceiling. ‘Never mind how. We must go – now.’

The four set off, raising their Warrens as they went. Silk, however, lingered. Swift movement – through streets or through his Warren – had never been his forte in any case. And he had further reason to hesitate. How had the Kanese known to attack now?

How indeed.

He brushed a hand over the dusty top of the crudely carved granite and remembered the last words from that damned lad the Red Prince. One betrayal deserves another. The bastard. He may have handed Li Heng to the Kanese – and all for what? A fit of pique? Just to get even?

He brushed his hands free of the dust and sighed. Well . . . it was only the death of the heir to the Grisian throne, after all. While in their charge.

He turned to go to join the fray, but paused as there came from within the great block of solid granite the definite tones of low panted laughter.

The mocking laugh followed him all the way up the tunnel.

*

Dorin stood on the roof of one of the towers that dotted the comparatively thin wall of the Palace Circle. It was long past midnight, coming on towards the first of the predawn light. He was facing south, where the fighting had entered a heightened pitch now that the city mages had finally thrown their weight into the battle.

He wondered what had taken them so long.

The streets below were heaving in what could only be described as plain chaotic panic. Never in living memory had any enemy penetrated the walls of Heng, and now its citizens were choking the streets. Half were determined to flee the various gates of the ring walls, while the other half were just as determined to squeeze their way in. The Hengan militia and reserves could only look in frustration at gates jammed open by wagons, carts, and a solid press of human flesh. The streets were equally impassable as hordes rushed from gate to gate.

Like a fire in an anthill, Dorin imagined.

For the first time in many nights he felt relatively at ease. The Nightblades, he knew, were now quite busy elsewhere and he could relax. As for the fate of the city, a Hengan or a Kanese administration, it mattered not one whit to him.

The salmon and orange glow of the predawn gathered in the east while the deep purple of the night retreated to the west, and Dorin saw that he was not alone. Another solitary figure stood on a roof a little way off. He, or she, also appeared to be studying the battle. Curious, but wary, Dorin made his way towards this other watcher.

Gaining the same roof, he saw that it was a woman, though quite lacking in the curves that would normally proclaim the gender, and unusually tall. She wore old travelling clothes that had seen hard use, stained and a touch ragged. Her black hair was also a mess: unkempt and roughly hacked to a medium length.

She startled him by turning at his first steps; her face was pale and long, the eyes large and strangely luminous in the dark. She unnerved him further by inclining her head in greeting, as if she knew him, then turned her back to return her attention to the battle.

Dorin paused, rather uncertain how to proceed; her manner reminded him of various dangerous mages he’d seen. And various madmen, and women. He approached, but kept his distance, finding his own vantage where he could glimpse the streets of the Inner Round. Closer, he discovered that his instinct had been correct. His senses were highly trained, and though he was not a mage he could almost see the power sizzling the air about this one.

The woman’s arms were crossed and she unlimbered one to point to the southeast. ‘They have lost another toehold on the Inner.’

Dorin obligingly studied that quarter. Here the eruptions of power that rocked the night, accompanied by the occasional flash of energies, had been more concentrated. Now they were dying down.

‘They should pull back,’ he opined. ‘Secure their gain of the Outer.’

‘Yes,’ the woman agreed. He noted her gaze sliding sidelong to him. ‘But will they? Sometimes early success leads to overreach. Many campaigns – and careers – have been cut short by recklessness.’

‘Recklessness,’ he suggested, now feeling as if he were the new object of study, ‘is sometimes just inexperience.’

‘Agreed. The remedy, then, would be due caution and care, would it not?’

Dorin felt his chest tighten with a strange dread. He was now certain they’d left behind the topic of Heng’s fate. He began, tentatively, ‘Challenging the unknown requires the taking of risks . . .’

The strange woman’s gaze hardened, almost in warning, he thought. ‘Of course. But beware of recklessness.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. She turned her face away, asked, ‘What is he like?’

Dorin did not need to ask who. He cleared his throat, considering. ‘He is . . . odd.’

She nodded at that. ‘Good.’ And she added, half under her breath, ‘Oddness is probably a requirement.’

For his part, Dorin was becoming rather curious about her. He asked, ‘And who are you?’

‘Just a curious observer.’ She motioned to the streets once more. ‘Barricading the gates. They are relinquishing the Outer.’

‘A foregone conclusion. The mages are too few to roust the Kanese.’

The woman nodded. ‘Shalmanat may lose the entire south. I wonder if she will cut all the bridges across the Idryn.’

‘She will not see Heng destroyed. I believe she will sue for peace before then.’

The woman studied him anew, nodding. ‘I believe you are right. And what is your name?’

‘Mine to keep.’

A near smile tugged at her lips. ‘You are learning.’ She dropped her arms and inclined her head in farewell. ‘We may meet again.’

Dorin answered her nod. She crossed to an open trapdoor and descended the ladder. Dorin sat, rather shakily. He knew that the Dal Hon mage had accessed something, some potential source of power, and now he understood that others had noticed and were interested as well. Some – like this one – might be content to watch and wait, but others might not. He and Wu would probably have to defend what they’d dug up.

An echoing bellow rolled from the tangled streets to the south. It announced Koroll in his battle glee as he waded into the Kanese once more. Smoke from countless spot fires plumed in an arc across the Outer Round. Some were no doubt set intentionally, others accidentally. They marked the worst of the engagements.

Dorin waited for the dawn to reveal who now controlled the south of the city.

*

Iko held open a door for her sister Rei, then slammed it shut, watching through its slit. She was panting with exertion, her chest shuddering. Numerous minor cuts and bruises pained her, but nothing incapacitating. She pushed loose hair aside, worked to steady her breathing.

She and her sisters had wreaked bloody murder among the Hengan defenders, taking one of the gates to the Inner Round only to lose it again when the city mages appeared in flames and blasts of Warren energies. It was their bad luck to have been stranded on the wrong side of the gate. She now regretted her weakness in yielding to her rage and lust for revenge. What had it gathered them? Other than fallen sisters and nothing to show for it. They should have marched away once their objective had been reached; their duty lay with the king.

She turned an eye on Rei, nearly as young as she. ‘Well . . . it was good to finally stretch our limbs but it appears to be over. We will make for the nearest gate. No doubt the others are withdrawing as well.’

Rei’s answer was to wince as she gripped her hacked arm, and nod.

‘Stay behind me.’ Rei nodded curtly once more. Their fine mail was proof against edges and piercing, but some Hengan had managed to strike her with a wood-axe – only banded armour could have withstood the blow. Iko gripped the door. ‘There should be one near to the west, shouldn’t there?’

Rei straightened, gripped her whipsword in one hand. She ground out, ‘I will follow.’

‘Very good.’

Iko yanked open the door and slipped out into the street. Two guards spotted them almost immediately. They charged and Iko answered, rushing as well. As always, the far greater reach of the whipsword saw them through. Both Hengan guards fell aside as the keen blade snapped out, slicing across their faces. Iko charged past.

Crossbow bolts ricocheted from the stone walls next to her. They were fired from rooftops and the north wall. She dodged round burning upturned carts and wagons, jumped over debris and sprawled corpses.

She drove off two more gangs of roving Hengan guard. For that was what the battle had degenerated into: disorganized street-fighting where packs sought to consolidate their small sections of buildings. She had no idea as to the larger drift of the attack, but it did seem that the Hengans were merely cleaning up the Inner, what with the arrival of their mages.

She led Rei out into the wreckage choking an intersection so that she could try to get a look up the street. Through black smoke boiling out of the doors of buildings she glimpsed a gate, now barricaded and hung with banners of Kanese verdant green. ‘Almost home.’

A barrage of arrows fell about them and clattered from the stones. Rei grunted then, falling to one knee. An arrow had passed almost entirely through her thigh. Iko knelt to pick her up while searching for the source. A column of Hengans was advancing up the avenue, at their fore a black-robed Dal Hon woman bearing a wild mane of ropy kinky hair. Mara. Iko cursed her luck and turned to make for the gate, half-dragging a moaning Rei with her.

Crossbow bolts skittered from the cobbles all about her and snapped from the walls. Heavier answering fire cut through the air from the gate and the Hengans scattered for cover. A bellow of rage brought Iko’s attention round: Mara, a raised hand clutching the air, her eyes on them.

The building next to Iko started groaning. Stones grated, sliding.

Iko ran, dragging Rei, as the entire shop front next to them tottered outward over the street. Dressed sandstone blocks rained around them. The cobbles beneath her feet juddered as the wall came crashing down. She threw Rei forward. Something cracked into the back of her leg, driving her to the road. Dust obscured her vision and she choked on it, coughing.

Figures moved like ghosts through the hanging particles. Iko tried to rise but her foot was pinned. She sought among the broken stones for her weapon, found its grip gritty with powdered rock.

‘Sword-Dancer!’ one figure called in a strong Kanese accent.

‘Here!’ The figures closed, revealing dusty surcoats of green. ‘My leg—’ she began.

‘No time.’ They heaved and she screamed as her foot seemed to snap off.

The next moment she knew she was being half-carried with each of her arms over a soldier to right and left. Crossbow fire continued to strike about them as they wove between barricades held by crouching Kanese regulars. Her feet dragged behind her and she felt as if she were in a delirium. ‘Rei,’ she called, suddenly remembering.

‘We have the other,’ one soldier said.

‘Good.’

‘You are the last, I think. That hellion Mara really wanted you.’

Iko wanted to answer, but her foot, knocking among stones and fallen timbers, twisted in a way it shouldn’t, its bones grating, and she knew nothing more.