They pounded down the back stairway, polished wood creaking beneath their feet, rich panelling flashing past. The back ways of the Bridge House were a labyrinth, each turn of the stairs offering a glance of another corridor of identical, ornate doors, the symbols above indistinguishable as he galloped by. The smell of oil and incense permeated everything, but at least the thump of footsteps covered the gasps and moans that seemed to leak from the walls around him.
Blood thundered in Chel’s ears, but all he could think of was Loveless, Loveless kissing him, her hands on him, the heat of her in the cold room. Loveless retching, vomiting, their chance gone, Rennic shouting, raving. What had he said? Everyone was coming. Coming for the prince?
Loveless beat him to it, her pallor lifting as her cheeks flushed from their run. ‘What the fuck happened back there, Gar? You were supposed to be scratching an itch, not setting a fucking hunter on us!’
Foss’s breath was coming heavy, his cloak long-gone, sweat staining his clothing beneath. ‘What’s going on, boss? Who’s coming?’
Ahead of Chel, Tarfel was running, bandy-legged and reeling. ‘The gall, Vedren!’ he spat as he stumbled down the stairs. ‘The shame and the … the … impertinence!’
Rennic had run fast to catch them, his still half-fastened clothes streaming behind him as they rattled down the stairs. ‘Word’s out, there’s an open contract. Everyone is looking for us,’ he barked back. ‘Him, princeling, and his entourage: us!’
Loveless slowed to let him draw level. ‘Then why the fuck didn’t she shiv you with one of those hairpins the moment she laid eyes on you, instead of taking you out for a gallop?’
‘Because she didn’t know we were the entourage!’ Rennic’s breath rasped at his words. ‘You know she doesn’t hold with affiliation. They only just arrived from the north.’
‘So what tipped her off, Gar? What changed her mind?’
Rennic didn’t reply immediately as they heaved around another twist in the stairway.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I mean, it’s not really important how she found out …’
‘Gar, you fucking idiot.’
‘I never know what to say afterward! It was awkward!’
‘Who did you mean by “they”, boss?’ came Foss’s anxious huff.
‘Just keep running, she gave us a headstart, right? That was fair of her!’
A loud whistle sounded from above, piercing the air and echoing through the floors.
Foss’s steps were getting heavy. ‘I’d say that headstart just expired, my friends.’
Ahead of them, a door flew open and two burly figures burst onto the stairs, draped in tan leather, edged with fur. Mawn, but not like the hunters Chel had seen on the mountain. These were broad and stocky, and they took one look at the fleeing company and charged.
‘Tarf, duck!’
Chel went to throw himself forward, but his drunken foot slipped on the polished stair and he crashed sideways, just as Foss and Rennic surged past him. They leapt at the Mawn, driving them back into the hallway beyond, while Chel staggered back from the wall nursing a fresh bruise to his temple. At least everyone inside is unarmed, he thought, one hand to his head.
Lemon bounded past him, still carrying a bottle from upstairs. ‘We’ll take care of these boys, wee bear. Follow Whispie, get princey out the back door, eh? See you at the wagon.’ She tossed the bottle in her hand, caught it by the neck, then with a wild cry she charged toward the open doorway after Foss and Rennic just as another Mawn heavy appeared.
Loveless had Chel by the scruff. ‘Go, go, go!’
Whisper leading, they ran, Kosh keeping a nervous and disapproving pace beside Chel and Tarfel, Loveless to their rear. Chel felt light-headed, fighting a rising tide of bile at the back of his throat. He was flying down the stairs, never faster on his feet, but his body was exacting a terrible price. He rubbed a sleeve over his face, mopping at a sudden, stinking sheen of sweat.
The walls had changed, they had reached the lower floors and now slabs of unpolished dark stone loomed alongside them. No more corridors, instead a wide hallway at the stairway’s end, and across it, a heavy-timbered archway with a rolling double-door.
‘There,’ Loveless urged, pointing ahead. ‘The courtyards are beyond. Shit!’ She came up short, a look of panic in her eyes.
Chel crashed to a halt, the others with him, and fought back a revolting burp. ‘What? What is it?’
‘My sword. I need to get it back from the steel-room.’
Something thumped over their heads, hard enough to shake dust from the floorboards above.
Chel raised a sweat-slicked eyebrow. ‘Seriously? Now?’ He thought he could hear Lemon roaring overhead.
She met his eye with a look so fierce he released the noxious burp.
‘Give me your tokens. I’ll get everything I can, meet you at the wagon. Whisp, get the horses hitched and be ready to go.’ She gestured to the door. ‘It’s one-way, once you’re through, you can’t get back. If the rest of us don’t appear by the time you’ve hitched the team, make for the bridge and we’ll meet you there.’
Chel found his legs were trembling; it had to be from the run down the stairs. ‘And what if you don’t show there, either?’
She flicked her eyes back to him. ‘Stick with Whisp. She’ll look after you, cub.’ Then she was away down the hallway, around the corner and gone from sight.
Whisper put one hand on his arm. Time to go.
They made for the door.
***
Chel stared blankly around the torchlit courtyard. ‘Where did Lemon park the wagon? Did anyone see?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Tarfel huffed. ‘I was nowhere nearby.’
‘Indeed,’ Chel replied through gritted teeth. They were somewhere around the back of the main building, its stacked tiers towering overhead, yet still well within its complex of walls and outbuildings. The courtyard itself was grand if functional, wide gates at the far end and parked wagons suggesting a loading zone for the cellars. A low retaining wall and short run of steps separated the entryway where they stood from the main courtyard itself. Braziers burned at the fringes, but much of the courtyard’s centre was lost to the murky steam that issued from vents somewhere beneath them.
‘Kosh, did you— Ah, where the fuck’s she got to? Come on, Akoshtiranarayan!’
‘The mechanism is not so complex as it appears, simply a ratchet and a spindle, allowing foot traffic to exit the building but not return. Of course, reversing it would only be a matter of—’
‘Leave the fucking door alone! Find the wagon!’
Chel scanned the gloomy courtyard, one hand pressed to his temple, which had developed a menacing throb. People were moving around the fringes, their voices muffled by the surroundings, loading or unloading, carrying and clinking their cargo. There were far more wagons and carts than he’d been expecting, and this might not even be the right courtyard. His throat felt very dry.
Whisper pointed, and Chel spotted the wagon beneath a canvas canopy by the courtyard’s far wall, lurking in near-darkness beside another, heavier wagon stacked with kegs and crates.
‘Thank the Shepherd. Come on!’
He raced forward, Whisper marshalling the others along behind him. No horses, of course, but a quick check over the side confirmed that everything else was where it was supposed to be. The wagon beside theirs sat very low on reinforced axles, and its sides were plated with steel. Something about the kegs poking from its summit was naggingly familiar, a delivery of brandy, most likely. ‘Whisper, can you get things untied? I’ll track down the horses. I can certainly smell the stables from here. Kosh, Tarf, jump aboard and get under cover!’
The prince hadn’t moved, hunched against the wagon-side and huffing his displeasure. As the immediate panic of their descent passed, Tarfel had wrapped himself in self-pity like a cloak. ‘How dare he, Vedren? How dare he! How can I command the respect of my subjects if I’m dragged naked through a whorehouse?’ He kicked at a wheel, scuffing a boot, and yelped.
Chel slid back down, attempting a calming voice despite the hammering in his head and chest. ‘You were officially incognito, Tarf. And I think they prefer “House of Friendship” here.’
Whisper looked over, pausing in her task, concern in her eyes. Chel waved her back, out of the prince’s eyeline. I’ll handle it.
‘Not the point, Vedren! Not the point! Am I being unreasonable? He could have knocked, warned me in good order – instead he smashed in the door and dragged me out in the all-together. These people, Vedren, they’re not like us. Their only recourse is violence. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you here to look after me. And once again, I’m denied my birthday feast!’
‘I’m sure once you’re king—’
‘People need to start listening to me, taking me seriously!’
Chel rested a tired hand on the steel-sided wagon beside them as the prince began to pace. ‘I quite understand, Tarf. You’ve every right to feel aggrieved. But do you think, perhaps,’ he swallowed, ‘we could get the wagon hitched and get things moving? For all his, uh, impertinence, Rennic did seem mightily concerned that we get out of here without delay.’
The prince paused, one finger raised, recollection interrupting his pity-procession. ‘Why did he say that was?’
‘People are coming, he said. For us. For you.’
‘For me? Here?’
Chel nodded, his fingers on the cold metal of the keg’s band. There was something so familiar about them. ‘Have I seen these kegs somewhere before?’
The prince turned and squinted in the gloom, as if noticing the heavy wagon he’d been pacing beside for the first time.
‘Saints’ breath,’ he whispered.
‘What? What is it?’
Tarfel was ghost-white in the distant firelight, sweat popping from his sallow brow. ‘From … from Black Rock. The keg your sister placed at the wall, for the d-diversion.’
Chel whipped his hand back and stepped away from the wagon. ‘The one that exploded and blasted a hole in the citadel wall?’
Tarfel nodded, his throat bobbing like a raft in a storm.
‘But there are … dozens of them here.’ Chel took a step around the wagon, peering over its side. ‘And these crates? What are these?’
‘Don’t touch them!’
Kosh’s head poked up from the canvas behind them. ‘What is all this wittering? I thought we were to depart without— What is that?’
Chel couldn’t help himself. He levered up a loose lid, exposing a nest of packed straw inside, and within it, a handful of strange objects. They were metallic, a dull grey in the low light of the courtyard, and roundish, about as big as two fists. Short, uneven, jutting prongs covered them, like spikes. They looked heavy and unpleasant.
‘What in hells do you think these are?’
‘Great spirits!’
Kosh was beside him, descended from their wagon, her eyes wide and white-rimmed in the gloom, flares of distant torchlight reflected in the onyx gleam of her irises.
‘This is bad, right?’
‘Get back!’
‘What are they?’
She was backing away from the wagon, her mouth working, eyes trembling, beads of sweat clear on her brow. ‘We must get away from here. We must flee this place immediately. Immediately!’
Tarfel was already moving away from the wagon, back in the direction of the one-way door. ‘You know, Vedren,’ he called softly, ‘you were quite right, we really must be going now.’
‘But what are they?’ Chel insisted.
‘Ajagarandan,’ came Kosh’s reply. ‘Demon eggs.’
Chel stepped back from the wagon as Whisper reached them. What is it? Are you all right?
He nodded at the heavy wagon. ‘I think,’ he said, finding his voice harder to work than normal, ‘I think this wagon is loaded with witchfire.’
She stared at him, then at the wagon, then back to him. Why is it here?
‘I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Let’s get out of here. Fast.’
I’ll get the horses.
‘No, there’s no time. Grab what we need from the wagon and run for the gate.’ Chel put out a hand. ‘Wait. The others could come charging out here any moment. Someone needs to warn them.’
Tarfel looked back in naked horror. ‘You want us to loiter here until we’re incinerated?’
Chel looked past him. ‘Kosh, did you say you could get back through the door?’
She swallowed. ‘I have no wish to return to—’
‘I’ll go,’ Chel snapped, ‘just do what you must to get me inside. Go!’
She went, scrabbling away across the courtyard, visibly relieved to put distance between herself and the wagon of witchfire. ‘Whisper, you and the prince take what you can from the wagon, then get him and Kosh round the front. I’ll warn the others, we can all meet there. If we’re lucky.’ He offered her a nervous grin, which she returned.
Got it.
‘Then let’s—’
Light flickered from the wagon’s far side, casting sudden dancing shadows at their feet. Whisper put up an urgent hand and they froze but Tarfel continued making a tiny whimpering noise.
Voices followed the light. ‘Keep those torches back, Shepherd’s tits! Have you forgotten it all already? Yes, yes, you’ll have passes once your watches are over. On the Steel Terrace. Oh, stop moaning, at least you get to go inside, you worthless fucks. Think the rest of the legions would be allowed within a mile of this place, let alone inside?’
That voice, had he heard it before? A woman’s voice, sharp-edged, one accustomed to command. He’d certainly heard a few of those over the last year or so. Not to mention his mother, come to think of it …
‘New plan: let’s back up to the door,’ Chel whispered, edging into the deep shadow between the wagons and the wall. ‘Either we all get through, or you two skirt round the far side and we meet out the front, right? Remember, the place is busy, and we could be anyone. Chances are, nobody will recognize us anyway. Let’s look like we belong here, draw no attention, then get gone.’
They nodded, Tarfel whey-faced, Whisper calm but focused.
‘Let’s go.’
Chel took a deep breath, steeled himself against the shiver of the night air, and stepped out from behind the wagon to find himself face to face with Nadej.
***
The leaf-chewing Bakani captain of Gold Peak Company wasn’t looking at him. She was looking straight at Tarfel, one pace behind, who seemed to glow waxen in the torchlight.
‘Fuck me, the runt prince. Jaul, it’s the fucking runt prince. He just … walked right into us.’
The enormous man behind her grunted in appropriate astonishment.
‘Nadej,’ Chel said, then realized he had nothing to add. Rennic’s words upstairs had acquired deeper meaning. They are coming for you. Everyone. That’s what Grassi had told him. Had all the mercenaries made their choice?
Nadej twitched a look at him, her head snapping around like a bird’s. ‘That’s Captain Nadej to you, commander of the 11th Legion of the Merciful Shepherd. Or at least I will be, when I hand them this quivering quim. Who the fuck are you?’ Her eyes moved fast in the darkness, never still, taking in Chel and Whisper, now standing protectively in front of the prince. ‘You were at the Gracechurch. Both of you. The runt’s minders. Hand him over and you walk away with all your parts still attached.’
‘It was you. Tipped off the confessors about the extraordinary council.’
She scoffed. ‘Fuck, no. That was Fest, the sleazy prick. Always one to hedge his bets, old Fest. Not that you can blame him.’
Chel balled his fists. ‘What are you doing here? Why are you hunting him? The tide is about to turn, in another few weeks the confessors will be on the run. You should be fighting beside us!’
‘Horseshit,’ Nadej snarled. ‘There’s one game left in town, and it wears red robes. Those tome-fuckers made it abundantly clear that we go their way or go the way of the Keys.’
‘And which way was that?’
‘Immo-fucking-lation. Hard to keep a company together after an offer like that. Most of my people deserted straight to them, took up the confessor’s cloth in a heartbeat. The others fled. Those of us left, we take what’s offered, and we keep our eyes open. I’ll tell you one thing, there’s a damned sight better chance of ascension if we come bearing gifts than when they reel in our chain. And they will.’
‘What are you doing with all that witchfire? Ascending?’
‘It’s called black powder, you ape. And we’re doing what we’re told, something you might care to try.’
‘You don’t understand, Nadej. The south is about to erupt. Reavers, tribes, free city rebellions – the church army will be torn apart.’
Nadej raised her hands, exasperated. ‘You fucking people. Who cares? Reavers pillaging the south-west, tribes the south-east, good fucking luck to them. They’ll all be ash come summer.’
‘That’s not all, the Norts in Denirnas Port will come to our aid—’
Her laughter battered the courtyard walls. ‘The Norts? The Norts are gone, little boy.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’ He swallowed. From the very corner of his eye, he could see Kosh at the courtyard door, hunched over the mechanism, apparently engrossed in her task. He tried not to draw Nadej’s attention to her. ‘Sailed away?’
The mercenary’s voice was rasping and low, jagged-edged. ‘Scoured. Seared. Blasted into the sea by the forces of divine unification.’
‘What?’ Chel blinked and stammered. Behind him, he heard Tarfel’s sharp in-breath.
Nadej took a sharp step forward, and Whisper shifted to block her path to the prince, but she went no further. ‘They said it was like a storm,’ she whispered, round eyes bulging, mouth pulled wide in malicious delight, torchlight gleaming from her tapered teeth, ‘a maelstrom of lightning and flame, a tempest of terror, the mother of nightmares. Razed the port and sunk the Norts, did in one day what the cowardly northern lords never could. The peoples of the north would be rejoicing if they hadn’t already starved or fled.’ The smile faded, leaving only a wide-eyed grimace. ‘That’s what’s coming. That’s what’s coming for all of us. Denirnas is only the start. There’s no one left but the confessors, and it’s him they want, you dog-fucking half-wit. They want the prince. And ascension awaits for she who brings him.’
‘No.’ Chel’s voice was raw, hoarse. ‘We can stop this. We can stop them.’
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, little boy?’ she said with a trembling shake of her head, the corners of her mouth tweaking upwards once more. ‘No one can stop us. Jaul, bring me the ghost. If the other two get in the way, rip their arms off.’
The big man nodded, and lumbered forward.
‘Not just a figure of speech,’ Nadej added, her grin fully restored.
Chel pushed himself beside Whisper, blocking the big man’s path to the prince. He was shaking all over, his wrecked body surfing one last blast of adrenaline. ‘Highness, run for the door, get through with Kosh. Whisper and I will hold them up.’
Hold them up, not off. His slip of the tongue betrayed his pessimism. The only bright spot was that they were within the grounds of the Bridge House, and weapons were forbidden. He glanced down at the advancing Jaul’s enormous fists. Being pummelled to death suddenly didn’t seem very bright after all.
‘Wait,’ Nadej grunted, her gaze over her shoulder and one hand raised. ‘What’s that grimy little pig-dog doing over there? One of yours, runt?’ She whistled through her teeth, hard and piercing. From the gloom beyond the heavy wagon to Chel’s left, four figures emerged into the courtyard’s misty murk. They might have been unarmed, but they were evidently well-armoured, and held themselves like professional soldiers. The sigil of Gold Peak still emblazoned a couple of breastplates.
‘Captain?’ said one. ‘We were in the middle of a game of—’
‘Boys,’ Nadej called, her voice loud with cruelty, ‘fuck these apes up, but bring me the pale one. Enough of him to be recognizable. Jaul, get the little one by the door.’
Chel stopped dead. They were trapped at the courtyard’s edge, hemmed in by the wagons, Nadej and Jaul between them and Kosh at the door, the new men between them and the far gate to the night beyond. Jaul had turned, and was making for the door where Kosh crouched, oblivious of anything but her work. She was muttering to herself, Chel could hear her clearly over the crunch of footsteps on the courtyard’s loose stone. How could she be unaware of what was happening behind her?
‘Kosh!’ he bawled. ‘Is that door open yet? Getting urgent!’
Finally she looked around, her irritation melting into surprise, then alarm as she took in the scene in the courtyard.
‘Jaul,’ Nadej called, ‘hurry it up! Boys, bring me that bleached bastard.’
Jaul broke into a jog. Whisper stepped ahead of him, dodged a meaty swing from the big man and lashed a kick at his knee. He shuffled back, shielding himself, and she followed with two sharp blows to his kidney then, as he turned to take another swipe at her, drove a forearm into his throat. Gasping, Jaul collapsed backward, thudding to the courtyard floor in front of the incandescent Nadej.
Whisper looked back to Chel and Tarfel. Run.
They did, sprinting across the courtyard toward where Kosh hunched, her movements frantic. ‘Kosh, door!’ Chel yelled as they closed.
‘It’s not … I can’t make it …’ she gasped back, voice cracked with desperation and no small embarrassment.
‘Fuck.’ Chel pulled up short of the steps from the courtyard.
The prince skidded to a halt beside him. ‘Vedren, why have we stopped? Why have we stopped?’
Chel swallowed. ‘There’s no point leading them right to her if we can’t get through.’ Sweat was dripping from his forehead, despite the bite of the cooling night, and he had to blink it away. The breath in his lungs felt hot enough to scorch his throat. ‘We need to draw them away, give her time.’
Jaul, spluttering and wheezing, was regaining his feet. He looked vexed. The four newcomers were closing, skirting around the courtyard toward Chel and the prince, well wide of where Whisper faced down their captain. Chel’s empty fingers twitched. Six against three. There had to be some way to even the odds.
To their right stood a line of wagons, the nearest loaded with what looked like pottery. With a yell to Tarfel to follow him, he lunged for it and scrabbled up, just as the Gold Peak mercenaries began to close.
‘I think we’ll struggle to ride this wagon out of here, Vedren,’ came the prince’s panicky squeak as Chel hauled him aboard. ‘There aren’t any horses!’
Chel grabbed the nearest piece of earthenware, a stout vase around half his height, and hoisted it upwards. ‘Start throwing things, highness!’
The first man to reach their wagon took the vase straight to his chest, hurled by Chel two-handed with all the force he could muster. To his disappointment, it didn’t shatter, but the man was knocked backward and left winded in the dirt. Chel grabbed another pot this one smaller, and flung it at the next mercenary, who shied away with arms raised. The third pot did shatter, carving a dark line down one mercenary’s cheek as he stumbled.
‘They’re coming, Vedren, they’re coming!’
‘Kick them off and hit them over the head!’
Whisper, meanwhile, had ripped a torch from its mooring and was swinging it like a flaming quarterstaff, keeping Nadej and Jaul at arm’s length. Jaul tried and failed to grab the haft, scorching his palm in the process. He now looked sorely vexed.
‘Kosh, the door?’
‘Nearly, nearly – there is something—’
Behind Chel, Tarfel smashed a pot and squealed.
‘Tarfel! Are you hurt?’
‘I, uh, cut my finger, Vedren. Some of these edges are rather sharp.’
From his vantage aboard the wagon, Chel looked around the courtyard. Their situation was not improving – the door remained closed to them, they were a long way from the far gate, and while three of the four mercenaries chasing them were nursing bumps and cuts, they were far from defeated. Whisper, meanwhile, was hemmed in, keeping Nadej and Jaul from passing her to get to Kosh but not much more. The courtyard seemed otherwise deserted. Their cries for help had done nothing more than send those nearby fleeing for cover.
‘Kosh!’
‘Almost!’
He kicked at a clambering mercenary, dragged his foot clear as the man tried to grab it, then smashed a small, ornate vase over his head. It wouldn’t be long before they ran out of earthenware, either. He looked up to see Whisper being driven back by another lunge from Jaul. She was running out of room before the low wall.
‘Tarf! Pass me a smallish pot, Whisper’s in trouble.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it— Whoops, butterfingers.’
The prince heaved, sending a glazed water-jug arcing through the air with a stripe of bright blood down its side from his wounded finger. It shattered beside Jaul’s right boot, and for a moment, he looked down, distracted. Whisper pressed her advantage, batting Nadej to one side with her torch, then driving her elbow into the side of Jaul’s head. He dropped like a stone, and did not move.
‘Yes!’ Chel cried, then aimed a kick at the last mercenary, who had paused mid-climb to watch the scene beyond. The man grunted as Chel’s boot connected with him and dropped from the wagon-side, although the sharp pain that lanced up Chel’s leg suggested that, should he live to see the morning, walking comfortably was unlikely to feature in it.
‘I have it!’ came Kosh’s victorious squeal from the door. Beside her, the door clunked, then began to turn. Then, with a juddering thunk that echoed from the courtyard walls, it stopped.
‘Ah,’ said Kosh.
Her foes at bay, Whisper turned to the door. Chel saw movement behind her, a smear in the drifting mist, then Nadej was there, one arm wrapped around Whisper’s neck, her other hand rising and falling in a blur. Five, six, seven times, faster than Chel could blink. Whisper gasped, flexed and threw her clear, then dropped to her knees, one hand on the torch, the other clutching her side. A long shard of broken pottery dropped to the earth before her, one end splattered dark.
Chel hadn’t even realized he was running. ‘Whisper!’ he bellowed, crossing the courtyard on numb legs as Tarfel strained to keep pace behind him. ‘Whisper!’
Nadej was still there, clambering to her feet, her eyes searching for her improvised weapon, and Chel hit her like a runaway cart. One fist caught her jaw, the other somewhere on her upper arm, and the two crashed back to the dirt. He landed another two flailing punches before she rolled clear and scrambled away, one hand pressed to her cheek, back to where her battered mercenary crew were regrouping.
Chel dropped to his knees beside Whisper, trying to ignore the terrible pulsing of his knuckles. ‘Are you hurt? How bad is it?’
Tarfel was crouched behind them, burbling apologies about the pot. Chel tried to hush him but couldn’t think how.
Whisper looked up at him, took a sharp, pained breath, and, with a tight, tearful smile, shook her head. Her arm was clutched close around her middle but the torch’s dancing light caught the cascade of dark blood that pumped over it.
‘We’ll …’ He swallowed. ‘We’ll get help. The others will be coming through any moment. You’ll be all right. Kosh! Where’s the fucking door! Get it open, one way or the other!’
The Nort sounded on the verge of tears. ‘I can’t … It is stuck! Something is blocking it!’
In the background, on another register of his brain, he heard Nadej order her crew to break out the weapons, heard their protestations about losing access to the Bridge House, heard her angry snarls that the head of a prince was worth more than a lifetime’s access to the house’s upper floors. He looked up to see them heading back to the heavy, keg-laden wagon, which it seemed smuggled weapons as well.
Whisper pressed the torch gently into his hand, then met his eyes and began to sign one-handed. Go to door. I stay. You go to door.
Chel shook his head. ‘We’ll get you out of here, the others will be here soon, we just have to hold on—’
She shook her head again, and a single tear tracked down her cheek. Watch. Remember.
Then she signed three words, only two of which he recognized. In the distance he heard the clatter and clang of the Gold Peak mercenaries retrieving their contraband ordnance.
He tried to protest that he didn’t understand, but she stilled him. Remember. Yes?
‘Yes.’
She began to push herself to her feet, and he helped her stand. He could see the Gold Peak crew now, pulling spears and axes clear of a compartment beneath the heavy wagon’s axle. The Bridge House needed to improve its cargo scrutiny.
Standing with a wince, she took the torch back from him, her fingers cool and smooth, then nodded toward the door. Chel stood there for a moment, unable to speak, unable to breathe, feeling tears forming thick in his eyes. She leant forward and kissed his forehead, then gave him a gentle push with her shoulder.
‘Don’t—’
She met his eyes and he fell silent. She held his gaze for a moment, her own eyes full of tears, then turned and began a slow limp toward the wagon, one hand clutched to her body, the other holding the torch aloft, leaving bloody footsteps in the courtyard’s grey dirt.
The Gold Peak crew began to notice. A shout went up, followed by another, warning then confusion as they watched her approach. She limped faster, then broke into a halting jog, then a stumbling run, and too late they realized her intent. Weapons went up, first to challenge her, then in a panicked attempt to get clear. Nadej stepped forward, a long spear in her hand, trying to block Whisper’s path, but the lanky scout vaulted her – one foot to her midriff, the next on her shoulder – and flung herself onto the wagon.
The straw went up in an instant, hissing smoke merging with the drifting steam from the courtyard’s vents, then Chel was running, fleeing behind Tarfel as they made for the low wall by the steps. ‘Kosh,’ he screamed, ‘get down!’
They were five strides from the wall before the first flash came from behind. Immediately the courtyard seemed lighter, new shadows growing from their pounding feet as a delicate glow rose behind them. Chel could see the lip of the wall ahead, a shrinking line of shadow, seeming ever darker as the orange light lit the walls. Ahead of him, Tarfel stumbled, dropping to his hands two strides short of the wall as Kosh scuttled back from the door and behind it.
Chel seized Tarf by the collar and dragged him up and on, hauling him over the lip of the wall, when around them the courtyard went white. Something popped in the air, then the wave hit as they threw themselves down past the stone, a wall of sound like the smashing of a thousand pots, the beating of a thousand gongs. The heat followed, a flame-tongued shock that blasted over their heads like the wash of a furnace as big as a city.
Chel felt the air leave his lungs, incredible heat, and then he was chewing dust, the loose stone of the courtyard floor pressed to his singed face. Rain was falling, cold and distant against his battered back, trickling down his neck.
He sat up, feeling the groans and cracks of his body, the raw patches of skin and smouldering hair. His eyes were still gummy with tears. The courtyard was transformed. The wagons were gone, the canopy gone, the wall behind a blackened smear, its remaining stones marked by a scatter of lingering flames. The other wagons had been blasted off their axles, thrown into a shattered mass on the courtyard’s far side. Thick black smoke boiled up into the night. And behind them, the grand embossed door of the archway had buckled inwards, the fine lacquer visibly scorched.
There was no sign of Nadej, or Jaul, or any of the Gold Peak mercenaries, in any form Chel could recognize in the smoking crater where the wagon had stood. There was no sign of Whisper.
Kosh was hunched beside him, huddled in her cloak, still but breathing. Tarfel was crying, snivelling in the rain, whimpering over and over that he was sorry, that the pot had slipped from his hands, that he should never have sneaked off in the first place. His voice sounded distant to Chel’s numbed and ringing ears, irrelevant, useless.
Behind them, the archway door clanked and lurched, its bolts dangling loose, its mechanism wrecked. Then it fell open. An orange-girdled head emerged from within, grazed and battered but otherwise whole. ‘Aye, right, finally! That’s got it, just needed a big old bang. Ah, there you are, you wee pricks.’
She took a moment to absorb the scene, her eyes distant, still fuddled with booze. ‘What in the name of galloping fuck happened out here?’
Another pause. ‘Where’s Whispie?’
Chel couldn’t speak, but the desolation of his gaze must have told its own story. Her face fell.
‘Oh, no. Oh … oh, no.’