David A Mcintee

The Light of Heaven

Prologue

The storm that smashed into the side of the Vigilant was pure, immense, power. It bit and tore like a starved prehistoric leviathan taking its first meal in months. Thick skeins of rain lashed against the timbers of the two-masted caravel, gouging at them as harshly as whipcord tore the skin and muscle from men's backs. Walls of water crashed down onto the deck with tumultuous booms to rival the thunder overhead. Lightning flickered among the clouds.

Any man with authority to give orders was screaming those orders at the top of his voice, but there wasn't a chance of anyone hearing a word over the storm's primal roar. The sails snapped and boomed overhead, and Captain Jonas Wylde wasn't sure whether his precious Vigilant could hold herself together. A tall and burly man with not much of a neck, Wylde had seen a lot of storms in his thirty-odd years at sea, but few as ferocious as this one.

He scanned the clouds for a glimmer of hope, and was rewarded with a razor cut of blue to the southeast. From the direction of the winds, it wasn't the edge of the storm, but the eye. If he could get the ship to it, and hold a matching course, he could sail along in the eye until the storm dissipated. Wylde cursed himself for sailing this far from shore. The Stormwall that surrounded the known world was not negotiable by any vessel that Wylde had ever heard of, and the Vigilant had sailed far too close to those lethally turbulent waters. Wylde had thought the faster northern currents would save them time between Sarcre and Allantia, and time was money when there was cargo to pick up and drop off. Money, he now realized, that he and his crew could never spend, if his decision led to the death of them all. It was as if a part of the Stormwall had taken exception to the ship, and separated itself to come after him.

As the ship pitched and rolled until the deck was almost vertical, Wylde sent his bos'un, Farrow, forward to relay his orders. In a minute or so, sailors were scrambling up the ratlines to tie off the sails in the desired arrangement, while it took two men with forearms like iron to hold the wheel in place. The Vigilant slowly heeled over, every plank creaking, and every hawser humming with the strain. The ship's tortured cries were audible even over the barrage of waves and thunder.

As the deck settled back to something resembling horizontal, Wylde kept his eyes fixed on the blue scar in the storm's swollen grey-black belly. Knowing that none of the men would hear him, he prayed quietly for the ship to stay in one piece long enough to reach the more gentle climes of the eye of the storm. The blue scar in the clouds opened wider, filling his heart with hope. When he had built up just enough hope to think he may have saved his crew, there was a sound from above that Captain Wylde could have sworn was a thunderbolt.

A hawser had snapped, and Wylde leapt aside as the lower part of the rope struck the deck where he had been standing, cracking the plank. The upper part of the rope whipped across the fore-topgallant, catching one of the boys on a ratline there beneath the armpits, and ripping him clean through. The lad's torso and legs crashed to the deck, his lungs and heart spattering across the wood nearby. The fore-topgallant flapped madly, and the Vigilant slowed her progress towards the eye. The crew worked as hard as they could to recover the sail. If any of them wept for the dead boy, those tears were blasted away by the rain and wind.

Then came what felt to Wylde like a miracle. The winds dropped, the rain abated, and a shaft of sunlight played over the Vigilant. The last boom of thunder faded and the sails puffed out as if catching their breath. The Vigilant had reached the eye of the storm.

In his dayroom a short time later, Wylde closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the relative quiet. There was still shouting all around as the crew tried to repair the damage sustained in the storm. He plastered his thin hair across his pale scalp, and rubbed his eyes before looked up at Farrow.

"Casualties, bos'un?"

"Three men with broken limbs. Another four knocked senseless, but a spot of grog will bring them round right enough. We were bloody lucky, sir, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

"Lucky?" Wylde echoed. "We were more than lucky. And the lad on the foremast was the only fatality?"

"Cottell, sir, yes."

"Well, there's no denying it could have been worse. Much worse." Before Wylde could say more, there was a knock. "Come."

A fresh-faced youth of barely sixteen bustled in. He was soaked to the skin and wild-eyed. "Sir," he gasped. "There's another ship off larboard, perhaps a thousand yards."

Wylde was on his feet immediately. "How does their crew look, Midshipman Kale?"

Kale seemed flustered. "Can't tell, sir. Didn't see none."

"Lead on then." Wylde grabbed a spyglass from the desk. When he and Farrow emerged onto the quarterdeck, the other vessel was visibly closing, and clearly adrift. It was a Brigantine, out of Freiport, by her colours. Through the spyglass, Wylde thought it looked as if their lanterns were lit, but her sails were gone, leaving only a few strips of charred cloth hanging from the masts. The decking and masts were charred and blackened. Wylde then realised that the little orange lights weren't lamps, but the guttering remnants of fires.

"This doesn't look like the work of the storm," Farrow said.

"No, Mister Farrow." Wylde agreed. "Unless it was a lightning strike…" He shivered at the thought of fire on board ship. Fire at sea was a certain death sentence, and there was no shame in abandoning a blazing ship. He aimed his gaze at the peeling paintwork on the stern. It read: Belle. "Let's get alongside. If there's no answer to a hail, take a party across. She might be salvageable, though I doubt she'll bring too great a prize back in Allantia."

"Every little helps, sir."

Wylde allowed himself a chuckle. "True enough, Mister Farrow."

Farrow studied every inch of the Belle through a spyglass as they approached in the small relief boat. There was still no sign of life aboard, and charred corpses littered the deck. Any living men on the ship would have at least rolled them overboard, Farrow considered. He shivered as they reached the ship and climbed up the side, but made sure to be the second man to board, in spite of his fears. Going first would have looked foolhardy to the sailors.

A ferry to the pits of Kerberos itself couldn't carry anything more gruesome than the sight and smell that assaulted him on deck. Numerous charred and blistered bodies sprawled across the deck. Their melted flesh had half stuck them to the planks, so they didn't roll with the ship, but seemed almost part of it. The damage to the timber was strange, too; the starboard side of the ship was charred almost completely black, and still smouldered, while the larboard was untouched. The mainmast was black on one side, and polished brown on the other, all the way to the top. He stepped aside to run his fingertips along the undamaged side of the mainmast.

"There ain't no fire arrows stuck in the timbers. No sign of broken pitch-pots." Kale said as he studied the ship.

"Then she was struck by lightning in the storm. The sails caught fire, and — " Farrow began

"And no fire on a ship I ever heard of only burnt one side of her, however it started." The sailors who had accompanied him all looked at Farrow, and he could see in their eyes the same desire that was in his heart: to get back in the boat, row back to the Vigilant, and leave this cursed ship to sink and be cleansed by the ocean's depths.

It was an order he couldn't give, even if he had to bite his tongue to keep the words in. Wylde had given him his orders, and not carrying them out to the fullest would be a gross dereliction of duty.

"Take four men and go forward through the ship. See if you can find any survivors. We three will go aft and visit the Captain's day room, and recover the ship's books."

Kale nodded hesitantly, tightening his grip on his dagger, and led his men forward. They moved nervously, as if expecting some devil of the sea to leap out at them at any moment. Farrow couldn't blame them. Swallowing his gorge, he pushed on aft, and rolled a blackened corpse away from the companionway leading down below the quarterdeck. The sound as it peeled away from the wood was the most repulsive thing Farrow had ever heard.

The darkness was almost total — but for blades of light stabbing through between cracked timbers — and the stench was thick enough to swim in.

"Lanterns," Farrow said in a choked voice, and a sailor fumbled to light a small oil lamp. In a few moments, waxy light illuminated the narrow passageway, and Farrow led them on to the day room.

The Captain's inner sanctum was almost as badly damaged as the passageway. The air stank of wood smoke and roasted meat, and the walls and ceiling were black. At least there was more light here, coming in through the stern ports.

Farrow searched quickly; he didn't want to be in this place any longer than was absolutely necessary. A small chest contained a pouch of Pontaine coins — which Farrow shoved into his shirt while his back was to the other men — but nothing else of interest or importance. He examined what was left of a rough desk, and found a locked drawer. Forcing it open with his dagger, he found a sheaf of scrolls, papers and tablets in an oilskin pouch, tied with a leather thong.

"This is what we want."

Returning to the quarterdeck, the two groups met at the mainmast.

"We've got what we come for," Farrow said. "Any survivors?"

"None. Whatever happened here it was devilry," Kale replied looked about nervously.

Farrow emitted a nervous laugh. "That's as may be, but it didn't finish the ship. We'll take her in tow, at least until the Captain decides what to do with — "

"Mister Farrow!" It was a sailor on the larboard side. "I think there's a man alive here!"

Farrow and the others ran over to where the sailor was peering into a water-barrel.

A very bedraggled-looking man was looking blearily back up at them. His skin was puffy and cracked, his hair seared off down to the scalp.

"If you call this alive," Farrow whispered, unable to keep the horror and revulsion out of his voice.

The survivor smelled blood in the darkness; old blood long since hardened into the wood that he could feel against his cheek and chest. Then the redness of his vision parted, letting in the sight of the dark wooden planking, and he realised he was scenting the salt air of the sea with every deep shuddering breath he took.

He opened his eyes to see two tall masts stretching dizzily away from him, and a number of weather-beaten unshaven faces looking down. None of them were faces he recognised, and he thanked the Lord of All for that. He snatched at a proffered ladle, and took a sip of water.

"Welcome aboard," a large man in a Captain's garb said. The man loomed over him, and he felt that his eyes were squeezing every memory out of his mind, examining them.

"Thank — " The word scraped in his throat, and he coughed and swallowed. "Thank you. Where am I? What ship?"

"You are aboard the trader Vigilant, out of Sarcre, on our way for Allantia. I'm Captain Wylde. We found your ship adrift. You appear to be the only survivor."

He tried to look as if he cared that the others were dead. Maybe he would care, if he could forget what had happened to him. If he could forget both the pain, and the stench of his own flesh burning.

He thought as carefully as he could about what to tell them. It would mostly have to be truth, as he found that he could barely think at all. "I was a soldier, a guard, on the Belle. Our ship was hit and then there was lightning… I was on fire… I ran… I thought the water would put out the fire!" He collapsed into sobs.

"You've certainly had a lucky escape," Wylde agreed. "Well, we lost a man in the storm, so we've a berth for you. You'll have to work, though."

"Anything."

"All right, I'll have the clerk add you to the muster-book."

"Thank you, again."

"That's all right, Mister — " Wylde frowned. "Your name, sir?"

"Kord," Travis Crowe said hesitantly.

Wylde looked at him for a moment, as if sensing the lie. "All right, Mister Kord. Farrow will show you to a hammock. Get some rest and some food. We'll speak again shortly, after I've had time to read your Captain's book."

By dusk, the storm that had surrounded the eye had eased off and they were now far enough away from the Stormwall to resume their course to Allantia. When Wylde finally retired to his quarters he felt satisfied that all would be well. The further he got his ship away from the Stormwall, the happier he became.

The Vigilant heeled slowly eastwards and the Belle followed meekly, under tow. Wylde wondered idly what his newest recruit — this man who called himself Kord — would think of the rescue of his ship.

Exhausted beyond words, Crowe slept well. He finally awoke to the clinking of tin mugs and plates as the day watch broke their fast. Crowe swung himself out of the hammock and slipped upstairs to begin his first watch.

He emerged onto the deck, and immediately felt the wind knocked from him. The ship riding under tow was an impossibility. The Belle could never have survived the fire, let alone the storm. Yet there she was, riding low in the waves, taunting him. Then he remembered something else his rescuers had said, about reading the Captain's book. Still weak, his legs and arms aching, Crowe leaned on the rail and let his head drop in resignation.

"Crowe?" someone said. For a moment he thought it was a memory, and he was just remembering a voice, but then a hand tapped him on the shoulder and turned him around. "Travis Crowe?" The sailor asking the question didn't look familiar, but Crowe had spent enough time in Freiport and Allantia that it was always possible that this was someone he had propped up a bar with, or fought alongside.

He turned away again, quickly. "You must be seeing things, mate — "

"It is you! I'd know your voice anywhere!" Crowe cursed under his breath, and turned back. He glanced left and right, checking to see how many other eyes were looking in his direction. He needed to silence this fool as quickly as possible, and grabbed a short knife that was stuck into a barrel near his hand. It was meant for cutting rope and net, but would cut a throat as easily. He lunged for the other sailor, but the man darted backwards, shouting: "Murderer!"

That drew more direct looks from other members of the crew, and a couple of the onboard mercenary guards stepped forward. "What's this?" one asked.

"I don't even know you," Crowe said to the sailor.

"You murdered my brother, Crowe," the man snarled. "You don't remember me, do you? But I remember you." He looked at one of the mercenaries. "Fetch the Captain. He'll want to know we have a murderer on board." Both mercenaries exchanged a nod, then one went below. The other grabbed Crowe by the shoulder, and Crowe let the knife slide back on to the top of the barrel before anyone noticed he had it. They would be jumpy now, and trying to silence his accuser would just guarantee that he would be overpowered and hanged from a yard-arm.

"This man has mistaken me for someone else," Crowe said. He gently touched the scarring on his left cheek, which still stung and tingled. "If my own face was in one piece things would be different."

"Your voice is still in one piece," the other sailor snapped. He jabbed a rabbit-punch into Crowe's gut. The punch was slow enough that Crowe could have dodged it, but instead he simply tensed and took it. It was a weak hit, but it would make the other man look bad, so Crowe doubled over as if it had hurt more than it did. By this time Captain Wylde had appeared on deck.

"What's going on here?" Wylde demanded. "Mister Kord? Mister Dass?" Crowe came alert at the name of Dass. He did remember a Jonen Dass from a year or so back. He had gone into business with Crowe, smuggling goods through Freiport. He had tried to keep Crowe's share of the profits, but Crowe was better with a blade than Jonen Dass had been.

Sailor Dass didn't miss the look of recognition on Crowe's features, and jabbed an accusing finger at him. "He knows my name, Cap'n!"

"So he should, I did just use it Dass. Now, what is this matter between you and Kord?"

"Kord? His name isn't Kord! It's Travis Crowe. He's a smuggler and a murderer, on the run from Freiport for over a year." Wylde looked between them, his lips thinning. The air around him seemed to darken with his mood.

"You know this man?"

"Not well. But I know his face and his voice. He murdered my brother, Jonen, in cold blood."

Wylde scrutinised Crowe closely. "Is that true?"

"Of course not! My name is Grantan Kord, first mate of — "

"It's just that I've been looking through the books of your ship, and there was a Travis Crowe listed among the crew."

"I bet there was, sir, because there was a man by that name aboard. One of the mercenary guards. Blade for hire." Wylde nodded slowly. "And," Crowe went on, "my name is in the crew list as well. At least, it bloody well should be, seeing as I was first mate."

Dass struggled to lunge at Crowe again. "First mate, my arse! When you killed Jonen to steal his half of your partnership's money, I was a-bed in the next room. But I heard his screams, and woke in time to see you take his purse." He sneered. "And it was the right side of your face that was to me, Crowe. For all I know your left could have been burned a ten-year ago."

"You're imagining things, lad," Crowe said softly.

"I bet you said that to Jonen when he challenged you about the profits you were stealing."

Crowe remembered it all now, of course, but concentrated on looking sympathetic and baffled. That was his only chance to avoid a noose here.

Wylde stepped in between them. "Grantan Kord is on the books as first mate of the Belle right enough," he said thoughtfully. He sighed. "Truth to tell, both your stories have the ring of truth about them." He straightened his lapels and closed his eyes for a moment. "Dass has been a member of my crew for almost a year, and I have found him to be an honest and trustworthy man. You, Mister Kord — if that is who you are — I do not know well enough to judge your honesty. But I shall try not to assume that you are untrustworthy simply because Dass is trustworthy. So, do either of you have something more that you can tell me, that would swing the matter one way or the other?"

Crowe wished he had made a better choice of word than 'swing,' under the circumstances. If Dass had seen his brother die, he might have something else on Crowe.

Dass grinned, a crude and hungry look. "Yes, Captain, I do." Crowe couldn't help the flicker of tension that tightened his lips. He saw that Wylde noticed it too. "He had a tattoo on his upper left arm. A wolf's head."

Relieved, but trying not to show it, Crowe rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt. The flesh was scarred and half melted, as his cheek and jaw were. The scarring had obliterated the tattoo. "I'm sorry for your loss, lad, but I'm not your wolf's-head man."

"Yes you bloody well are!" Dass struggled again, trying to reach for him

"All right, that's enough," Wylde decreed. "Dass, get back to work."

"But Cap'n!"

"But nothing Dass! I believe… Well, I believe that you believe this man is who you say he is. But men forget faces over time, and mistake them."

"Would you forget the man who murdered your brother?"

"Back to work, Dass." He stepped closer to the sailor, leaning in to his ear and whispered: "We'll keep a close eye on him, just in case." Wylde turned Dass around, and nodded to the men holding him back to walk him to his duties. He turned back to Crowe. "Come with me."

The hand on his shoulder let go, and Crowe followed Wylde to his day-room below the afterdeck. The two mercenaries followed closely behind him, and remained standing when Wylde bade Crowe to sit. Wylde carefully laid the Belle's logs and daybook on his desk, then gestured to one of the mercenaries. "Bring Mister Farrow, would you?"

As the mercenary left, Crowe knew what would happen next. No sailor could resist the lure of treasure, or the prize of salvage.

Wylde held his gaze for a long moment, with only the creaking of the ship's timbers and the muffled clatter of men at work to break the silence. Shortly, there was a knock at the cabin door, and the mercenary returned with Farrow. Wylde nodded Farrow to a seat.

"I have discovered something interesting," Wylde began. "We have found your ship's logs. It seems she was on a course for the Isle of the Star."

Crowe hesitated. "A fool's errand, sir. No such — "

"Place?" Wylde looked sidelong at the other mercenary who had accompanied Crowe. "You've heard of it, haven't you?"

The mercenary nodded. "An island made of pure diamond, like a star here on Twilight. Not a man-jack of us hasn't heard the story in a dozen wharf side taverns."

"From a hundred wharf-rats with pickled brains." Crowe scoffed.

Wylde nodded slowly, a hungry look now in his eyes. "What did you make of your Captain, mister Kord?"

"Sir?"

"What sort of man was he?"

"Fair," Crowe said, after some thought. "Hard working, sensible."

"A shrewd seaman?"

"I suppose so, sir, yes."

"Not gullible, then."

Now Crowe saw where Wylde was going with this. "No, sir. And, before you ask, he didn't believe in the Isle of the Star either." It was a lie, but Crowe prided himself on being a good liar.

"The Isle of the Star…" Wylde pursed his lips. "According to the last entry in this day-book, the Belle was anchored offshore of the Isle for at least one night. Would you care to tell me how that can be, if your captain was a pragmatic man and the Isle doesn't exist?" Crowe didn't answer. "Can you do that, mister Kord? Or, perhaps I should say mister Crowe?"

Crowe merely smiled. "And why would you say that?"

"That tattoo Dass mentioned might not show on your arm, but another interesting entry in your Captain's books tells us how he paid a sum of ten copper pieces to First Mate Kord for the loss of the last two fingers of his left hand. Your fingers are all present and correct. So you're not Grantan Kord."

"That wouldn't necessarily make me Crowe. There were seventy-odd of us."

"And I'm sure you could pick any name out of the crew list. I saw your expression up on deck, Crowe. You did a good job of hiding it, but I've always had an eye for truth or lies."

Crowe spoke carefully. "All right, you believe I'm Crowe. Fair enough. So why am I in here and not dangling at the end of a rope, or lying under Dass' fists?"

Wylde very deliberately tapped the logbooks. "Because the question about the Isle of the Star still stands. If your Captain didn't believe in it, why does he claim to have been anchored off it?"

"He was being paid good money to go to the area where someone thought it might exist. Even if it didn't exist, the money was still worth the journey."

"Quite a lot of money, I see…"

"Enough that he could afford the likes of me."

"In my experience," Wylde said, "the sort of people who can throw such amounts of money around are not fickle with it. They want to keep their wealth, or increase that wealth, not waste it on chasing smoke. Someone thought the existence of the Isle of the Star likely enough to be worth a heavy investment in it."

"Maybe. I never met whoever was paying Captain Margrave, so I wouldn't know."

Wylde grinned mirthlessly. "I have an ear for truth and falsehood as well as an eye for it. Please don't lie to me, again, or I may be forced to change my conversational style to something less companionable. You can hang if you want, or throw yourself upon young Dass' mercy…"

"I can hear another 'or' coming, Cap'n," Crowe said, dropping the pretence. "You can take it that I'm all ears."

"Or you can prove yourself useful."

Crowe shrugged. "I've always tried to be useful to employers. That's where the profit is."

Wylde turned the papers around so that Crowe could read them. Crowe tried not to show any reaction. "Where is it, Crowe? The charts show you as having come to, well, not far from our current position. Does this mean the Isle is close?"

"Yes and no," Crowe said at last.

"Continue."

Crowe rose and went to the ports that were set into the rear wall. He opened one, and pointed back at the thick black clouds that roiled on the horizon. "You see that, Captain?" he handed Wylde a spyglass from the desk.

Wylde looked through it. "See what? All I see is the Stormwall."

"That's what I mean. The Isle of the Star is beyond that."

Farrow's brows knitted in confusion. "But, Sir, I were always taught that the Stormwall couldn't be passed, not by any ship e'er built."

Wylde nodded slowly. "That's correct, Mister Farrow. It cannot." He smiled at Crowe. "And yet it would appear that the Belle managed it."

Crowe shook his head. "Believe me, the Belle was the exception."

"Why? What was so special about the Belle, Mr Crowe, that she was able to navigate the way to the Isle?"

"Nothing," Crowe said with a sudden cocky grin. "Maybe it was us fantastic crewmen, eh?"

"Then perhaps you can pull off the same trick for us."

"I couldn't, no. Only a magician could, and, to be honest, you don't want to be using magic around the Isle of the Star. Or so I've heard."

Wylde hesitated, then handed Crowe the relevant books. "You can write as well as read?"

"Just about."

"What I need is your Captain's navigational notes decoded into plain speaking, and help for my navigator to plot a course to the Isle. We'll return to Allantia and pick up whoever or whatever we might need, then begin a new voyage."

Crowe realised that Wylde had him against a wall but it took him only a few moments to realise what he had to do.

"I can try and give your navigator the help he'll need. But you won't find anything. However, if you will allow me to return to my cot I can retrieve my notes and begin right away."

"Return here in half an hour," Wylde said, nodding to the mercenaries, so that they would let Crowe past. "And then you can show me the route to the star."

When the mercenaries had escorted Crowe out, Wylde put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. He looked across at Farrow. "What think you, Mister Farrow?"

"If the Isle is truly beyond the Stormwall… No ship ever built could sail there."

"The Stormwall… Impassable by the stoutest timbers, by sail, by oars… But what of magic, eh? What of sorcery?

"Sorcery?" Farrow sounded nervous. Like most sailors Wylde had known, he was deeply superstitious.

"Nature magic, or elemental," Wylde suggested. "Maybe one of those — or some mixture — could have done something to let the Belle through. Transported them there, or made a hole in the Stormwall, or… something." Wylde stood, straightening his lapels. "We don't have anyone with those talents aboard, sadly. But there will be magicians for hire in Allantia."

"And Crowe, sir?"

"Keep Dass away from him. Just in case. As far as the other men are concerned, Kord is exactly who he says he is, and Dass is understandably mistaken."

"Aye, sir."

Alone once more — or at least left to his own devices as the crew worked all around — Crowe looked around for a means of escape from what was surely going to be the carriage to his death. The Vigilant mustered double the crew the Belle had, by his judgement. As if the weight of numbers wasn't bad enough, there were warriors on board. Mercenaries, rather than Royal or Faith troops, but they'd still know one end of a sword from the other. The two who had accompanied him kept at a discreet distance, lurking by the companionway, watching him. They stayed close enough to keep him in sight, but not so close that they could see much of what he was doing. Crowe knew that the trick was to not appear furtive. Every man in a ship's crew knew his own job, and only the officers could change that. Only the officers were likely to notice that a man was doing something he wasn't meant to, especially if that man was new.

There was a voice in Crowe's head, hissing one phrase over and over: "Protect the Isle." It wasn't like a voice he imagined, but a real one, belonging to someone or something outside of himself. Unlike an imagined voice, he couldn't ignore it or silence it, but had to try to endure it

"Protect the Isle," it repeated firmly. "Protect the Isle." He could endure it, or obey it. Barely realising he was doing it, he insinuated himself into the gaps between busy crewmen. One pair, then another, and suddenly the line of sight between the two mercenaries and himself was broken. He ducked into a passageway down to the hold.

A couple of boys of no more than ten or eleven years were in the hold when he arrived, but he sent them off to get something to eat. Then he set about moving the barrels of oil and alcohol that were stored there. Pitch was used for waterproofing the hull, and there were buckets of it against a bulkhead. Next, he loaded a small crossbow and then led a slow fuse from the barrels. It was about ten minutes' worth of fuse, and he used flint and tinder from his belongings to light it. "Protect the Isle," the voice in his head said soothingly.

That done, he returned to the deck, and walked up behind the mercenaries.

"Looking for me, mates?"

They glared at him. A few minutes later, they returned him to the Captain's day room.

"Fast work," Wylde said, pleased. He held out a hand for the translations.

Crowe remained motionless and silent for a moment. "No work."

"I'm sorry?" Wylde glanced at the mercenary, who's eyes brightened slightly, becoming more alert.

"The code isn't the one I'm used to. I can't translate it."

Wylde sighed. "I told you about being lied to, Mr Crowe." He motioned to the mercenary guard. Both men kept their hands near their short swords. "Tell me why you're lying — is it because you want to keep the island's treasures for yourself?"

Crowe laughed bitterly. "No, Captain, it's not that." Wylde looked puzzled. "It's just that I can't let anyone try."

"Why not?"

"Protect the Isle," someone was saying.

Crowe shook his head. "You'd never believe me if I told you."

The burning fuse reached the oil and alcohol barrels. They exploded and the entire ship lurched. Spray erupted from the waterline on the larboard side, drenching the men on deck.

Everything in the day room juddered, candles falling onto charts and setting them alight. It was all the distraction he needed as Crowe pulled the small crossbow from under his notes and let loose. The bolt charged through Wylde's belly and out through the back of his chair.

Before Wylde's mercenaries were able to draw their swords, Crowe hit one in the face with the grip of the crossbow. He heard teeth and bone splinter as the man staggered back. Crowe drew a dagger from the first man's belt, and rammed the blade into the other man's gut. He wrenched it up under the ribcage, and the man fell onto the desk. Crowe spun, slamming the dagger into the chest of the man with the broken nose and teeth.

Crowe pulled the dagger free and ran, leaving Wylde screaming in agony amid his dead men. Everyone on deck was shouting, and running. Carpenters and sailors were running for the hatches to see what they could do about the damage, while others scrambled up ratlines to try to rig the sails so as to heel the ship over the other way, and keep as much of any hole in the side out of the water. Crowe took advantage of the confusion to lower a launch before cutting the tow cables that held the Belle to the Vigilant.

As the cut ends splashed into the water, he followed them overboard, and hauled himself aboard the launch. He took up the launch's oars, and began rowing as far away from the noose and the Vigilant's yard-arms as he could get. As Crowe pulled further from the Vigilant, no bolts came his way. Instead, a bloom of fire sprouted from a hatch, rising to set the mainsail and mizzen staysail afire. Smoke was pouring from the Vigilant's hatches and ports as she heeled away from him. Crowe only regretted what he had done for a moment. No man deserved to witness the horror that he had. Even if the Vigilant had been extremely lucky and reached the Isle, he didn't want to contemplate the chance that any man could go through what had scarred him so horribly. With his arms straining against the pull of the rough seas, he made for the Belle.

The Vigilant lurched out of his view, and he wondered whether anyone would miss it back in Allantia, because it was surely doomed. By the time he had climbed aboard the Belle, the Vigilant had gone.

Two Years Later

The Theatre of Heaven was at the heart of Miramas, both literally and in the minds and thoughts of the citizens. The inner city was filled with columned libraries and hemispherical playhouses, but all paled in comparison to the Theatre of Heaven. It was a full amphitheatre, large enough to hold the average market town within its circumference. That wouldn't have been impressive enough for the proud citizens of what they felt to be the most beautiful city in Pontaine, if not for its position.

There hadn't been an area wide enough to construct such an edifice in the centre of the city, and none of the existing artistic buildings could be sacrificed. A narrow tower had been built instead, rising over a hundred and fifty feet, and just wide enough to contain four intertwined staircases allowing entrance and exit to the Theatre, which was then built at the top of the tower. The amphitheatre spread outwards and a little further upwards, until the whole structure resembled a delicate wine glass. It provided shade for the streets below in summer and shelter from rain the rest of the time.

Visitors from Vos or Allantia were often seen to marvel at the architecture, and the theatre's builders knew that architects in those nations were practically tearing their hair out as they tried to deduce how it actually stayed up. The answer was simple, of course; the Guilds of magic had woven spells to reinforce the stonework and help it resist the efforts of gravity.

Dai Batsen was neither impressed nor unimpressed by the structure. It was merely a place, and he had never found himself able to get worked up about a mere place. A man of average height, and for the moment wearing mousy brown hair, Batsen had wrapped his more than averagely athletic build in the pastel trews, tunic and robes of a moderately prosperous citizen of Miramas; the sort who had some money to spare that could be spent on going to the opera on a fine summer's day.

He paid at the base of the tower and ascended to take his seat at the Theatre of Heaven. It was only four rows back from the stage, and gave him a clear view of the two men, directly opposite, who seemed more interested in the contents of a scroll they were poring over than in the performance of the nude and painted players on the central stage. One of the pair was a rough-hewn type with greying hair tied back with a bow in the fashion of sailors out of Allantia. The other, making more of an effort not to look anywhere near the stage, radiated the arrogance of a Final Faith official.

The opera was erotic, the players the most beautiful examples of humanity, but it didn't stir anything in Batsen. Not even boredom. He simply ignored it. He didn't feel any need to cloak himself yet — even if they looked across, they had never seen him before, had no idea who he was. He was just another face in the crowd. He was content to watch the opera without really seeing it, mostly concentrating on being alert for any movement from the two men across from him.

In the interval, the two men exchanged a glance and got up. Batsen stayed where he was for a few moments, as they looked around to be sure no-one was following them. They descended into a busy stairwell, and Batsen immediately rose and made for the nearest staircase to him. The theatre was well-filled today, and it seemed like half the population of Miramas had come to see this performance. All manner of people, all wearing their finest robes and tunics, were circulating in search of privies or refreshments, but it was easy enough to steer them out of his way with a flick of the mind. Where everyone else bumped and jostled against each other, Batsen passed through the crowd as if it just wasn't there. None of the people looked at him, or showed any sign that they even noticed the person who they so neatly just avoided bumping into.

In the stem of the tower, four wide staircases with marble banisters wound around and through each other in an eye-straining helix, and Batsen immediately saw the two men again on the opposite side of the central shaft, a little lower down. Satisfied, he reached out with his mind, and spread the fingers of his hands, drawing on the threads to bend the light around him so that no-one would see him leap across the central shaft. Thickening the air below him so he would travel further without falling, Batsen landed, catlike, on his feet three steps behind the two men.

Batsen's elbow slammed into the back of the older man's head, just behind the ear, and he started to sag. Even before the second man, or anyone else traversing the stairs, could turn to look, Batsen had grasped the banister and let the elemental magic flow into it. The section next to the crumpling old sailor shattered into fragments just in time to allow him to topple through it. There were several screams, but only one ended with a wet slapping sound far below.

The nearest people looked down into the central shaft, gesturing and exclaiming wildly. They all seemed to be assuming it was an accident; a terrible shame that a piece of marble must have had a crack in it. Only the second man was looking around, his thin face pale, and limp blonde hair flying, and Batsen knew that the man was looking for him. Batsen marched forward, planting a hand on the startled man's chest and walking him back into an alcove behind a statue of one of Miramas' most famous playwrights.

"Hand it over," Batsen ordered.

"They'll see you! You'll never get away."

"All they see is an entertaining accident that's giving them a better thrill than anything on stage. Now, hand over the scroll. I won't ask again, and I will be leaving with it."

The man raised his head, looking haughtily at Batsen. "You've made a great mistake, heretic. You have no idea who you're dealing with!"

"I'm dealing with a minor functionary of the Final Faith and, I might add, one who seems far too reluctant to become one with his god."

The man swallowed. "If I do — ?"

The unasked question was obvious to Batsen. Would he spare the man?

"Your journey to Kerberos will be quick and painless."

Batsen held his hand out. The man was foolish; he grabbed Batsen's wrist and twisted it, shoving the assassin aside. He never made it out of the alcove, as the statue suddenly turned, under Batsen's control, pinning him to the wall with enough force that Batsen heard ribs crack. Batsen slipped a hand under the statue's arm, extracting a tight bundle of scrolls from a poacher's pocket hidden in the folds of the man's tunic. "

"You'll burn for this!" the man hissed.

"You first," Batsen promised.

In the folds of the man's tunic tongues of flame started to take hold.

The man twisted, still pinned by the statue, trying to beat out the fire. The flames spread rapidly, consuming flesh and bone. More screams could be heard from up and down the staircases, as people saw the flames and heard the tortured screaming of the burning man.

Batsen had already crossed to the central shaft in three long steps, and stepped off into thin air. Rather than cloak himself from view, he concentrated on the threads of elemental magic, drawing up the air itself to thicken beneath him and slow his descent. The uprush of air also had the effect of blasting aside the corpse and the people surrounding it. While they struggled to stay upright, as if trying to walk into a hurricane, Batsen touched down and set off, running as easily as if he had simply jumped down from the back of a cart.

In seconds he was out into the wide open streets of Miramas and slowed his pace, walking briskly out from under the shelter of the theatre and into the sun a few hundred yards away.

He didn't run, knowing that would attract the Miramas guard but simply passed calmly into a market square.

As he passed through an archway, he removed the brown wig from his shaved head, and dropped it into the gutter, igniting it with little more than a passing thought. A moment later, he recovered the black tabard and grey cloak he had secreted behind a water-butt and pulled them on. The average, brown-haired, pastel-clad theatre-goer was gone, as if no such person had ever set foot in Miramas.

Satisfied that all had gone well, Batsen made his way to a tavern, where many people were taking shelter from the blazing summer sun. He went to a corner table and sat beside a tall man, who hid his warrior's build under shabby clothes. His golden hair was braided, his features hard and angular.

"It's done," Batsen said simply.

"The documents they were carrying?" Batsen passed him the scrolls under the table, and the blonde man gave them a cursory glance. "Have you read them?"

"You know me better than that, Kell. I've no interest in them, beyond ensuring they are indeed the documents you engaged me to recover, and I've no desire to suddenly be counted as one who knows too much."

Kell smiled. "I knew I could count on your discretion. The payment will be made in the usual manner."

Batsen hadn't expected anything else, though he had, of course, been prepared. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Probably. But not today."

Batsen rose, no longer interested in spending any more time in Miramas. "Then you know how to contact me." He slipped out of the tavern, and was out of the city within the hour.

When the assassin had gone, Goran Kell took a few minutes to finish his ale, just in case anyone was watching; he didn't want to be seen leaving at the same time as Batsen. When he did rise, he gave a barely-perceptible nod to a swarthy man propping up the bar. This man, who wore loose green and blue clothing, and had his black hair tied up in a topknot held with a gold ring, followed Kell out.

They walked a short distance in silence, then entered a coaching inn and went upstairs to the small room that Kell had rented for a Tenday. It was directly over the kitchen, and the smells of cooking vied for attention with the less savoury smells from the stables next door.

Safely inside, Kell changed his tunic and shirt, just in case anyone had spotted them in the inn and was looking out for them as a way to recognise him. There was a tattoo over his heart, showing two linked circles.

Once changed, Kell began unrolling the scrolls with delight. The ones tied up in an oilcloth were the ones he was most curious to see, but he glanced through the others very quickly beforehand. Most of them were uninteresting reports on the appointment of Faith officials to various positions in three Pontaine cities. The Faith didn't have anything like as large a presence in Pontaine as it did in the Empire of Vos but the cathedral and adjacent abbey in Andon formed the religion's main centre of operations in the nation. There were only two other Faith cathedrals in the whole of Pontaine; one in Gargas, and one in Volonne.

Once he started reading the scrolls, he found that he couldn't stop. It was as if he was spellbound. The swarthy man, sitting by the window, coughed to get Kell's attention.

"Are you all right, sir?" he asked.

"More than all right, Chaga," Kell said, a grin sweeping over his features. "Far more than all right. This isn't just the usual Faith paperwork, old friend. This is…" He fell silent.

"Something more interesting?"

Kell thought for a moment, seeking the right term. "This is such an important thing for our Brothers, but that means it's also going to lead to a lot of hard work. It's time to move on. The Faith may not be as endemic here as they are in the Empire, but when they realise a courier has gone missing they'll find someone to come and look for him."

"I'll get the horses seen to." Chaga said. Kell gave an approving nod, and began to roll the scrolls back up. "What about Scarra?"

"Scarra?"

"Are you going to bring him in on this?"

Kell barked a mirthless laugh. "Scarra has his uses, but he also has his problems. That big mouth doesn't just let too much food and wine in; it talks too much as well. The less he knows about this, the happier I'll be, and the more I can trust him. Still…"

"Yes?"

"There are arrangements that must be made, old friend. Things must be set into motion. I'll tell you what this is, Chaga," he said gesturing to the scrolls. "It's freedom.

"Freedom, for all our Brothers."

CHAPTER 1

Half a year after Kell had met Batsen in Miramas, ashen flakes fell from clouds the colour of old bathwater, and gathered at the feet of walls throughout the grey Vos city of Kalten. In summer, the greens of leaves and bushes had clashed brightly with the rocky coastline, but now the winter storms came in and drenched the cold granite on which the castle stood.

Castle Kalten overlooked the river mouth and the sea beyond. It was almost crescent shaped, as much carved out of the rocky promontory as built upon it. From the esplanade, which doubled as a market square, the castle's curtain wall looked wide and squat, seeming much less high than it really was. Narrow wooden tenements encrusted with sea salt huddled together on South Cliff's rocky terraced steps down to the river mouth. Rickety jetties meandered out across sandbanks from their lower levels. On the North Cliff, taverns and merchants' holdings clustered around the esplanade in front of the castle.

Five travellers in thick winter cloaks strode briskly along a narrow street leading to the esplanade, almost running down anyone who didn't get out of their way in time. Few others were in the street as the bells tolled the changeover from the Hour of Walkers to the Hour of Smoke. Four of the hooded heads turned back and forth, scanning the men and women around them, but the centre man's unseen eyes kept to the front.

The citizens in the street gave the group a wide berth, trying not to look at them when the weapons and armour under their cloaks clanked and rattled. The group made directly for the castle gatehouse, where two soldiers in mail, wearing the Ducal crest of Kalten in addition to the stylised Vos eagles on their red surplices, emerged to meet them. The leading cloaked figure handed one of the guards a scroll bearing a wax seal. The guard immediately saluted, and allowed the five men inside.

Once within the castle, the travellers lowered their hoods. Four of them wore highly polished helmets, with a T-shaped opening for their eyes, nose and mouth. The fifth man had only neatly-combed jet-black hair on his head. His pale blue eyes and thin-lipped mouth remained as expressionless as any steel helmet. Several pages met them at a further interior door, and took their travelling cloaks. While the four escorts wore mail over thick gambesons, and sleeveless white surplices with a crossed circle on the chest, the black-haired man wore expensive robes of deep blue. Golden thread was woven around the hem and sleeves, and the same crossed circle hung in silver from a chain around his neck.

While the armoured guards took up sentry positions, another page led the man in blue up a spiral staircase, and showed him into a room that was lavishly appointed. Murals of ships were painted on the plaster walls, while colourful tapestries gave the room a cheerful warmth. A fire burned in an impressive stone fireplace. Bread, cheese, fruits and meat were spread on platters spread across a long dark table, interspersed with pewter tankards and goblets.

There were three other people in the room already, wearing similar blue robes and crossed-circle pendants. The two men were in the middle of some discussion, but they stopped when he entered.

"Eminence Kesar," the sole woman in the room said.

Elena Fehr would have been attractive if her expression wasn't one of cold detachment. Her black hair was cut short and the upturned tip of her nose took a few years off her which the crinkles at the corners of her eyes added back on.

She raised a goblet. "Your health, Eminence Kesar."

Rodrigo Kesar nodded in return. "Well," he said pleasantly, "I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting. He began helping himself to food. "Suffice it to say the weather hasn't been getting any better."

Jan Voivode turned his large and watery eyes on them. He was the oldest person in the room. The waves of his hair now flowed as much with silver as the copper that had burnished it in his youth.

"You should, perhaps, have come by carriage," he suggested. "At least that would have brought you all the way into the castle."

Kesar merely smiled. "The journey down from Oweilau is quicker by ship. Or at least it usually is." He took his platter and moved to a window, opening a wooden shutter to look out over the courtyard. "Four Eminences to witness a single wedding. Interesting."

"Freihurr vom Kalten is an important man," Ludwig Rhodon said, all business-like. "For a secular noble," he added quickly.

Rhodon's hair was whiter than Voivoide's, having been born albino. Somehow the white suited his almost baby-faced appearance. "It is only proper for the Final Faith to acknowledge his standing."

"And for the Duke to acknowledge ours," Fehr added.

"Which he has done, by inviting representatives of the Collegiate of Eminences." Rhodon, ever fastidious, dabbed at the corner of his mouth to remove a crumb. "I hadn't expected a marriage to take place at this time of year though, to be honest."

"People get married at all times of the year," Voivode said with a shrug.

Fehr shook her head, smiling. "Not Dukes and royalty, or their families. A summer celebration is more usual."

"And would be, shall we say, a little too late." Kesar said.

"Too late?" Voivode echoed.

Fehr merely nodded to herself.

Kesar glanced briefly around. "By summer the blushing bride's condition will be far too obvious for either family to make political capital out of it. After today, it will mean good news in the spring — a happy cementing of an alliance — but a summer wedding would be an all-round embarrassment."

"And none of us want that." Rhodon said.

"Our blessing is a sign to other nobles that Freihurr is an important man in the eyes of God as well as in the aristocracy," Kesar mused. "Perhaps he has some plans to expand his influence and the backing of the Final Faith will certainly help him make any proposed advancement stick."

Fehr scowled. "I'm not sure the Anointed Lord would be so approving of a bride in this condition."

"Indeed not, but at the same time she recognises that Kalten is loyal and important, so this compromise suits both sides. With the wedding being earlier, we can attend and not have to make public our disapproval of a staunch ally." Kesar locked gazes with Fehr. "Unless you're suggesting that you wish to withdraw?"

"I never said that."

"I'm certainly not withdrawing," Ludwig Rhodon said. "A winter wedding allows us all to appear at our best, and the alliance between Kalten and the Duchy of Malmkrug is a positive one, should we need to call on the western cities for anything."

Voivode nodded. "A strengthening of our alliances can only be a good thing."

"I suppose you're right," Fehr agreed. "But the tacit agreement to these… laxer morals troubles me. And it troubles the Anointed Lord."

"Are you claiming to speak for her?" Kesar asked.

Fehr flushed slightly. "Not at all, but her beliefs on such matters are well known."

"I know she's concerned with that which gets between Man and God. I don't believe a child does that, do you?"

"The pursuit of pleasures of the flesh does." Fehr snorted. "Still, everything is set, and the Anointed Lord has given her blessing, so I will give mine."

Rhodon and Voivoide exchanged relieved glances, while Kesar's features remained bland. As their meeting broke up, he remained where he was, keeping that bland expression; it had taken him many years to perfect it, and it was too useful a weapon to leave unused.

Kesar didn't relax until he was alone in the room, then he smiled. Tomorrow would prove to be an interesting day.

The shooting cell was cramped, but it was well hidden, and that was the most important thing to the man inside. A person could stand right outside the base of the tower and look straight up at it, and see nothing but stone and wood, with no sign of the opening that looked out at the Esplanade. To see the opening, an observer would have to be a magician, hovering at least twenty feet in the air.

The shooting position itself was a bare two feet high, forcing him to lie flat, with a small loophole giving a good field of vision. Thankfully there was a small cubby-hole behind it, just large enough to stand up in and stretch. He made sure to do this at least once an hour during wakefulness. He knew better than to let himself become cramped or numb and so miss the shot when the time came.

He had placed a covered chamber pot and a knapsack of provisions in the cubby hole. He also had a bucket of earth next to the chamber pot, to hide the smell with. It would be embarrassing, as well as fatal, to be discovered because of an out-of-place stink. He had spent one night sleeping in the cell already, and there would be another before his chance would come. He had known that when he first entered the cell, but the timing had felt right. It was better to already be in position, waiting, than to try to slip in when the target was already on the way.

The cell granted a good view of the esplanade that fronted the castle, a blank white expanse with a cliff face to the right, and tradesmen's stalls and shops in a descending terrace to the left. Despite the chill weather, there were people on the streets below. Most were tradesmen going about their business, or hawkers selling their wares to sailors and fishermen selling the day's catch. A dog stood out stark black against the snow and a cart rumbled out of the castle.

The assassin had a keen eye, and was confident that he could put an iron-tipped bolt through the chest of anyone in the esplanade below. But he was after one target, and one only. Besides, some of the people below were there to confuse and confound any pursuers while he escaped and he didn't know who they were. They didn't know him, he didn't know them. It was safer for all of them that way.

The man in the cell smiled and aimed his crossbow at a couple standing near the dog. The woman was pretty enough, the man not sufficiently handsome for her, in the shooter's opinion. The man looked on his woman proudly, as if he wanted any observer to see what a catch he had made. Then, for an instant, he looked up at the clouds, and his throat was an inviting target. He would never see his death coming. However, the man in the shooting cell settled for cocking a finger at him instead.

A madman — a role in which he was certain the aristocracy, if not the Final Faith, would cast him, until they knew better — could create great terror and confusion from this position. A few seemingly random bolts from the blue piercing heads and hearts would create outrage across the nation. Shoot the dog too, and the populace would really get into a frenzy. There were people who would get a thrill of pleasure from that. He wasn't one of them, but for a moment he could understand them. He shivered, thinking that this was a sort of understanding he could do without.

He slid out of the narrow shooting position and made use of the chamber pot and the earth. By touch alone — he daren't light a candle and give away his position to the outside world — he then retrieved a small water skin from a knapsack and warmed himself up with some stinging liquor.

Getting the right balance of simplicity and forward planning had been at the forefront of his thoughts for many months. The best way to kill someone with the least chance of getting caught was always — and would always be — to hit them over the head with a piece of street debris in a dark alley one night. The more one planned and set conditions, the more likely it was that some element would become a stumbling block that would get you hanged. With that in mind, he didn't wonder that he had nightmares of being trapped in a coffin. He almost regretted the decision to take up his position two days in advance of the duty he had been hired to undertake. Almost, but not quite. It was better to be part of the scenery, invisible, than to skulk his way to a good position when the streets were thronged.

He squinted up at Kerberos. It looked the colour of a bruise tonight, like blood purpling under dead skin. He looked away, half imagining that it was a bilious, sickly eye, watching him. It felt like a spotlight, picking him out for all to see, and that, at any moment now, he would hear the cries of alarm and anger. Then the soldiers would come.

He turned away with a grimace, but could still feel its diseased light on him. He curled up and closed his eyes, as he often did when he felt troubled. He always hoped that he would sleep, and find the thing that troubled him gone in the morning.

CHAPTER 2

Erak Brand was awake and alert as soon as he stepped out onto the esplanade. An army of servants from the castle had swarmed around the open space overnight, putting the finishing touches to the banner-draped enclosures that now housed the various groups who had come to view the wedding of Freihurr vom Kalten's eldest son, Motte, to Undina of Malmkrug. He was lucky to have seen any of it, of course, since he'd been on duty in the castle itself most of the time, but a wedding always gave him a cheerful buzz. It wasn't so much the dancing or the food as the idea that two people were so committed to each other and to the Lord of All.

Well, maybe it was the dancing and the food as well, if he was honest with himself.

Erak was of average height and had a wiry build under his amour, but that didn't mean he was more resistant than anyone else to the lure of extra food. Any soldier in the Empire soon learned that rations, like sleep, were something to be savoured whenever available, just in case there was a dearth of them around the next corner.

He walked around the edge of the esplanade, watching the people who were beginning to fill it up, ready for the happy couple to be presented to them. Weddings had always been a time for a celebratory drink, and carousing, and if people were going to flaunt the local temperance laws that Freihurr had instituted, it would be at an occasion like this.

Ducal soldiers of Kalten lined the castle walls, their dress amour glinting even in the overcast light of the winter's day, scarlet surcoats covering their mail. Erak himself, like the other knights of the Order of the Swords of Dawn who were in Kalten, wore his normal amour and a white Final Faith surplice. In the eyes of the Lord of All, it was a day for vigilance, like any other.

That buzz was still there, though, and he was determined to enjoy it just enough to be glad of it but not enough to be distracted by it.

Watery dawn light woke the man in the shooting cell. There was no more claustrophobia now and he knew that he wouldn't have to spend another night crammed into this cell. Outside, the day was beginning. Flatbed carts pulled by teams of two or four horses were moving to and fro along North Cliff, fetching and carrying goods around the city from the various docks and markets.

The assassin's crossbow was particularly powerful, to get good distance, and needed a windlass to draw. The man unrolled an oilskin, which had half a dozen quarrels nestled in its slim pockets, and slid one bolt out. Its tip was diamond-shaped and it weighed two ounces. It was surprisingly short for something intended to be shot by such a large bow, only eight inches instead of the usual fifteen or so. The assassin had chosen this bolt for its balance of range versus stopping power. Shorter, it would go further than an average bolt, but hopefully the weight meant it would still pack at least as much punch when it hit flesh.

He rolled the oilskin back up, with five quarrels still inside. He wouldn't like to be arrogant enough to think that he would need only one, but nor did he think it likely that he would get to fire a second time.

As the morning wore on, more people gathered in the esplanade. The smells of hot foods became stronger, and Erak wondered how much of it was masking the smell of grain spirits. The wedding ceremony was taking place in the castle's main hall, of course, but it was the tradition that the bride and groom be presented to the people beforehand, for their approval as well as the approval of the Lord of All.

Everybody loved to see a happy couple, especially if it meant a chance to take an hour's break from hard labour to taste a delicate sweetmeat from foreign parts, not usually served to a fisherman on the west coast.

Finally, an honour guard of Ducal soldiers marched out of the castle gates and formed up on the esplanade. Eight members of the Swords emerged, their raised swords forming an archway through which Motte and Undina walked. Freihurr vom Kalten and Undina's father followed, as did an Eminence of the Final Faith. From the white hair, Erak knew he was being honoured with a sight of Ludwig Rhodon. Three more Eminences were approaching the gate behind him, blessing the crowd.

And that was when the buzz of pleasure stopped.

The albino that had just emerged onto the esplanade didn't look that remarkable. He wore robes that were carefully tailored to give the impression of piety. Only the small crossed circle of the Final Faith on his cloak-pin indicated how important he was.

There were only eight members of the Order of the Swords Of Dawn visible as an honour guard. A few more Swords were meandering through the growing crowd, and one of them stopped to cuff a man who was surreptitiously drinking from a small skin. The knight sent the man on his way, and poured the contents of the skin over the cobbles. The assassin smiled to himself. If the Swords were more concerned with enforcing the crazed local temperance laws than with security, so much the better.

The man loaded the quarrel into the crossbow and wound it. When it was cocked, he lay flat, putting the business end of the bow to the loophole overlooking the esplanade. He nestled the stock into his shoulder. Snow was still falling, but he was confident that he had a clear shot.

The bowman wished he could take the time to wait, and enjoy the first sight of an Enlightened Eminence of the Final Faith in front of his bow. He had seen Rhodon before at public services, of course; but on those occasions, the Eminence was not a target, and he had had no bow to aim. Even if he had never seen the man before, he would still have known his target, because there were hardly likely to be two albino Eminences in the Faith.

He squeezed the trigger bar gently, the taut cable snapped forward, and the quarrel was launched, spinning, through the air. It was a beautiful shot, and he wished there was some way for people to admire his skill. The quarrel soared in a long, shallow arc and passed between the bride and groom.

If his estimate was correct, it hit the Eminence Ludwig Rhodon just to the right of the sternum. At least four inches of it would have gone through his robes and ribcage to rupture his heart. People had always said that aristocrats and Eminences had blue blood, but it was the red kind that was spilling loose from the man as he crumpled to the ground.

The assassin's next order of business was simple survival.

He left the crossbow where it was, and slid out of the shooting cell. He slid down a ladder and exited from the thirty foot high beacon tower that dominated the eastern edge of North Cliff. A staircase wound its way up the outside, to allow a constant stream of wood to be taken up to the beacon itself, but the assassin doubted that even the Order of the Swords of Dawn knew that the interior still retained the ladders and scaffolding of the builders who had constructed it. They hadn't built a secret shooting cell intentionally, of course; it was simply a part of the internal support structure, which the builders once used to store materials during construction.

The opening he was using as a loophole to shoot out of was originally just mean to let light in so that, by means of mirrors, the builders inside could see what they were doing. Perhaps it had once also been used as a camera obscura, so that people manning the beacon could survey the horizon from inside. This use had been long since forgotten by most people.

Not looking back, he darted across to the drovers' road and began to walk briskly but calmly. Running would attract attention. By the castle the knights of the Swords were barging around, harried by one of their own Eminences as they set up a perimeter around the victim. The shouts of Ducal soldiers began to be taken up.

The assassin merely kept walking.

Every Knight of the Swords on the esplanade dashed towards the falling Eminence, Erak running at their head. The Ducal soldiers spread out, shoving the crowd back, while the honour guard ushered the bride and groom, and their families, back into the castle.

Erak grabbed the green robe of a Healer hesitating near the castle gate, clearly unsure whether to risk entering the killing ground for a patient, and shoved him forward.

"See to the Eminence!"

The Swords of Dawn were swarming out of every nook and cranny, but no-one seemed to know what had happened. Questions and counter-questions flew across the esplanade and within the castle courtyard. Erak himself only had one thought: where was the assassin?

The assassin was two streets away, and walking further. It had all gone perfectly, as far as he was concerned. Every man-at-arms he passed was rushing towards the castle, while the bowman, drab in his charcoal-coloured cloak and grey tunic and trews, walked slowly in the opposite direction.

He kept up this slow pace him though every fibre of his body wanted him to run. This way he looked like an over-fed celebrant who had left before anything untoward happened. Nothing could get in the way of his simple ruse now. Feeling genuinely in need of a touch of the celebration he deserved, he helped himself to a shot from a silver hip-flask. It was the good stuff, brought up and across the Anclas from Pontaine. It burned smoothly on the way down — and exploded more roughly into his front teeth when a fist smashed into them. The fist belonged to an athletic-looking knight from the Order of the Swords of Dawn.

The knight wore a tunic, gambeson, and trews bound tightly to what looked to be shapely legs. Greaves were strapped to the shins, and bracers to the forearms. Iron caressed the shoulders and torso, under a surplice bearing the crossed circle of the Final Faith. Staring out from under the helmet were a strange and arresting pair of eyes. One was clear sapphire blue, the other a striking almond flecked with gold.

The assassin froze for a moment, startled out of his confident walk.

"What the — "

Instinctively, he pushed past her and started to run. How could they have found him?

Gabriella DeZantez started to run, bolting after the fleeing man. Why was he reacting so strongly when he had only been breaking a local prohibition on drinking spirits? He wouldn't have gone to the gibbet for that. On the day of a Ducal wedding he'd have got away with having his booze poured away.

Her heart pounded, every other beat feeling as if it was being given a kick by the slam of her feet on the cobbles. The street ahead sloped down towards a shallow grey estuary. Boats bobbed up and down there, making a fence between the slope and the dark muddy pools. Falling snow curtained off the warehouses and docks on the southern side. The clunking of woodwork and distant calls of men floated, muffled, across to Gabriella, under the dark segments of a wooden pontoon bridge which loomed up close, before stretching into the grey void. Ahead, the fleeing man darted left, onto the bridge across to South Cliff and Gabriella followed. At the other end of the bridge, the man darted left, towards another street opening.

Behind her, she heard horses' hooves booming thunderously on the thick planking. Gabriella was baffled. Who were they chasing? She looked around and saw that several mounted Knights of the Swords had crossed the bridge. The horses heeled around, the leading knight waving to Gabriella. It was a lanky man named Markus. The tone of his hoarse shout convinced her that something major was afoot.

"Sister DeZantez! Have you seen anyone?"

"Just the man I'm chasing. Who are you chasing?"

"Someone put a quarrel through Eminence Rhodon!"

She had no reason to assume her fleeing drinker was the same man, but some sense told her that it was a good enough reason for him to run.

"My man went down Three-Tun Alley! You'll never get those horses through there!"

"Keep after him, and we'll set up a catchment area. Drive him towards us."

Gabriella threw herself back into a run, wishing she had a bow. It didn't have to be one of those Volonne-designed repeaters either, just something that would bring him down quickly.

She turned into the narrow opening her quarry had run into, and skidded down a near-vertical alley that was as much a sewer as an alleyway, before bursting forth onto a promenade fronted with food stalls.

A ruffian suddenly lunged out from the shadow of a hay-wain, slashing at her with a dagger.

Gabriella pivoted aside, drawing her pair of short swords in the same movement, and catching his wrist between them. His hand, still gripping his weapon, arced to one side, while the rest of him crashed back against the wagon under a heavy kick from her boot.

She didn't spare him another glance.

A few travellers and labourers ducked aside as she pushed past them to keep her quarry in sight. As the cold gulps of air burned her lungs, she saw the fugitive sprinting for the base of the south cliff itself, which gave this side of town its name. Gabriella wouldn't be surprised if her quarry started making for the Jolly Sailors, as most criminals seemed to these days. The Jollies was a veritable thieves' den, though none in Kalten called it such by name.

She stopped trying to work out his course; the Jollies was all she needed to know. Get into that rat-warren of rotgut tap-houses and flophouses, and he could disappear completely. Gabriella would have to keep her eyes and ears very much open.

The man's footfalls were audible enough for her to keep track of them, and she followed him through an alley barely wide enough for her shoulders to fit through. She burst out into an old yard filled with cluttered little workshops, huddling tight against the base of the cliff. The yard stank like the privy that people clearly used it as, and was surrounded on three sides by the old brickwork of some kind of warehouse, three storeys high. The fourth side was a row of plastered walls with narrow back doors to the shops.

Gabriella looked around. There was no sign of the man, but she could still hear his footsteps. Something clattered above her, drawing her gaze to the warehouse roof. She couldn't see anyone there, but there was a decaying zigzag of steps leading up the side of the warehouse.

As soon as she started up the steps, two scruffy-looking beggars bounded down the stairs from above.

"Stop her," one of them rasped. "She mustn't catch up to him."

This one leapt at her from half-way up, slashing wildly with a wickedly curved dagger. She spun, letting his attack slide off the blade in her left hand, and slashed with the right. The man fell screaming, filling the air with the coppery stink of blood. The second man stumbled and that gave Gabriella the moment she needed to step forward with a stopping kick, planting her boot in his chest before smashing his nose with a pommel.

She jinked past his crumpled form and ran the rest of the way up the steps, sheathing her swords. As she reached the top of the flight the man was at the far end of the roof, just dropping out of sight and Gabriella sprinted in pursuit, as the man ran across the next roof.

Gabriella dropped off the edge without thinking. She landed on a lower roof, the impact jarring her from heels to hips. She rolled back up without losing momentum, and kept running.

Ahead, the man scrambled up a wooden ladder, pausing halfway to look over his shoulder. He then redoubled his speed, and disappeared up on to a higher roof.

Gabriella reached the foot of the ladder and scrambled up it and then she saw that he was across the roof, almost at the opposite edge already, but she was definitely gaining on him. There was a narrow gap between the end of the roof and the roof of the boathouse across the way and Gabriella kept going, landing not far behind her quarry. The tile under her leading foot gave way with a crack and — her heart in her throat — she flung herself forward, grabbing at the roof as the rotted beam under the tiles collapsed. She rolled forward and was off again as a shower of wreckage clattered an awfully long way down inside the building.

The fugitive had now extended his lead, and she pushed herself to keep up. She wasn't running so hard that she didn't have the energy to smile, as she saw the next gap was wider than any they had so far crossed. The chase would soon be over. There was no way the fleeing man could jump across that the way he had jumped the narrow cuttings so far, but nobody seemed to have told the man about the physical impossibility of such a leap as, incredibly, he accelerated off the edge of the roof.

Gabriella darted forward but was careful to not repeat his suicidal error.

As she reached the edge of the roof she saw the man roll face up in mid-air, and the glint of the crossbow's iron lath, just as his fingers clenched on the trigger bar.

Gabriella was already diving before the bolt was launched, flying headlong, out into the space between the roofs.

There was no sudden pain, so she knew the bolt had missed, but now she was also falling.

She slammed into the end of a cartload of straw bales a few seconds after the fugitive. He was already rolling out of the cart and onto the street between boatyards as she landed with outstretched hands. Gabriella rolled out of the cart and slammed onto the cobbles.

Tasting blood, she staggered to her feet. She stumbled off after the fugitive, drawing a sword. She held no illusions that it would be of any use against a crossbow bolt, but she didn't intend to give him the chance to launch another one.

The fugitive dashed towards the large double doors of a warehouse. A small door set into the main doors was ajar. He ducked inside, and Gabriella pushed through a moment later.

The warehouse was half empty, the remaining crates bearing rough scrawls identifying their ownership. It stank of mould and darkness. Bare wooden scaffolds and stairs led up to a catwalk halfway up the wall. The vast space was dark and gloomy, filled with enough pools of shadow to hide an army of ambushers, but there was plenty of dust on the floor, so it was easy to make out the fugitive's tracks.

Trying her best to stick to the shadows herself, Gabriella crept along after the footprints. They led to a trapdoor near the rear of the warehouse. She listened for any sign of the man. There was none. If the cellar was just a bolt-hole, well, even a cornered rat will fight, and the man she was chasing had already showed a willingness to attack. On the other hand, if there was a tunnel to a neighbouring building, or to Kalten's poor excuse for a sewer system, he could be long gone.

She broke off a piece of wood from a crate, opened the trapdoor and tossed it down into the hole, listening for any reaction. There was none, but the wood sounded as if it had hit something, very softly and quietly just before hitting the floor. Taking a deep breath, Gabriella leapt into the hole.

He was waiting for her ten feet down. If she had taken the ladder down she would have got his knife in her back. As it was, he got both her boots in the head, and they tumbled and rolled. The crossbow clattered into the darkness and Gabriella kept a hold of the fugitive's tunic.

He tried to throw her off, spinning and slamming her back against the ladder. Gabriella kneed him in the groin, and then slammed her elbow down between his shoulder blades when he doubled over. She punched him repeatedly before he could recover, then hauled him to his knees and smacked his head against the slick walls until he fell unconscious.

Shaking as she recovered her breath, she leaned against the wall. Was this the man who had shot Rhodon, or just a random sinner? Three people had attacked her as she pursued him, and at least two of them had done so specifically to end that pursuit. That fact suggested that he was more than a man taking an illicit drink.

Now her problem was going to be waking him up.

CHAPTER 3

Rodrigo Kesar watched impassively from a crenulated walkway. The position gave a good view of both the courtyard within the curtain wall, and the esplanade outside and was mercifully out of the way of the people who had to rush around to go places and get things.

Eminence Voivode had taken charge of several guards, and was having them cover the Healers rushing in and out the castle with their shields, as if he thought they were on an open battlefield under constant arrow-storms. Kesar couldn't fault him for his devotion, but he felt those guards could better serve by helping with the perimeter cordon being thrown around the city.

Eminence Fehr was in some kind of argument with vom Kalten's guard captain, and was gesticulating wildly. Doubtless she was trying to take direct control of his troops. Or perhaps she was blaming, or even implicating, them. Kesar wouldn't be surprised.

For his own part, Kesar was content to observe. That, after all, was his talent. The Anointed Lord would probably have heard the news by now relayed to her by a mage, but he doubted that she would want to take any action before reading the report that he would shortly write. Already a courier was being briefed to take a scroll on the first leg of its journey to the Great Cathedral in Scholten.

Rodrigo was careful to keep his expression calm and unreadable. It wouldn't do for anyone to think that an assassin could ruffle any of the Faith's higher ranks. Nor would it do to make light of things and potentially be proved a fool. Kesar always preferred to let others wonder what he was thinking. Usually he was thinking about probabilities. Not odds, he told himself; odds would have made him a gambler, while probabilities made him a mathematician and thinker.

There had been no further shots and so the most likely probability was that the bowman had been after Rhodon, and had already initiated an escape plan. That meant there was no further danger here, except from overly excitable guards getting in each others' way. Kesar had many questions, about who may have hired the assassin, and why, but he knew there was nothing that could be done until the person was found and made to confess his secrets. Until then, Rodrigo wasn't going to be stupid enough to get in the way of all those excited guards.

The ordinary Ducal soldiers of Kalten looked on warily as the Order of the Swords of Dawn took up positions in twos and threes around the esplanade. The Ducal Captain-at-Arms approached the stocky Preceptor DeBarres, commander of the Knights. Short but muscular, with a greying moustache and a pockmarked face, he was the military leader of the Order of the Swords of Dawn west of the Drakengrat mountains. He didn't look round from directing his subordinates as the Captain approached.

"Enlightened One… My troops have the situation under control."

"I'm sure you have, Captain, and you have my thanks for it. However, the Order will now take charge of security in the surrounding environs, for the sake of the safety of all. We'll try to inform you when we assign your troops to their new positions."

The Captain's face reddened, his lips thinning. "My troops — "

"Captain," DeBarres snapped gruffly. "You have done your duty to the best of your abilities but the Swords are now in charge here."

The Captain's spine stiffened, but, instead of saying anything, he looked towards a large, bear-like figure with a blond beard and aristocratic bearing. Duke Freihurr vom Kalten shook his head slightly, and the Captain stepped back a pace.

"Forgive my Captain's over-eagerness, Preceptor. We are all angered by the outrage that took place today."

DeBarres nodded, and led his men away. Freihurr leaned in slightly to his Captain's ear. "Don't be too offended. Whoever tried to kill an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is probably connected to the Brotherhood of the Divine Path" The Captain nodded, relieved that the Duke was taking his man's side. He was relieved, but not surprised; he had served Kalten for a long time, and appreciated the loyalty that the Duke had always showed to his people.

"Let these religious types handle their own arguments, while we keep out of it," Freihurr added.

The Captain nodded, wondering how, if these Knights were so special, they had failed to prevent the attack.

Gabriella rolled her prisoner over onto his front, and tied his hands behind his back with a rope taken from a nearby block and tackle. During the process, she gave him a quick search. He carried no more weapons. She stepped back, deciding not to tie his legs. She wanted him to be able to walk back to the castle. Waking, he mumbled incoherently for a moment before shouting and swearing. He was covered in dirt and bleeding from his scalp. He was pinched-faced, the sort of person who's features were made for sneering. He was trying that now, but it wasn't working.

She watched him thrash his legs around, trying to get himself free.

"This is an arrest by the Order of the Swords of Dawn, for morality offences contrary to the proscriptions of the Final Faith here in Kalten."

"Morality offences?"

"The consumption of hard liquor in a region where it's prohibited by Ducal law, for starters. Which I'll admit is a technicality. Attacking an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is a much graver charge."

Gabriella could barely keep her voice from shaking; she hadn't had time to really assimilate what had happened at the castle. She wasn't sure whether she should be angry or shocked, and settled for both.

"On your feet. We'll talk about extending the charge to cover the shot at Eminence Rhodon when we get back to the castle."

'The shot.' What else could she say? She didn't even know whether the Eminence was still alive, let alone whether this prisoner was responsible.

"Let's not. Kill me and be done with it!"

"For someone who just tried so hard to get out alive, you're suddenly very keen to die. Conscience troubling you? I think you might benefit from a nice long chat with our Confessors. Come on."

"You must be joking, bitch!"

With that, he lashed out with his legs, sweeping her feet out from under her. She crashed to the floor next to him, and he reacted immediately by wrapping his ankles around her throat, and trying to twist her head. Her neck exploded into fire, and agony flared between her collarbone and her ears. She grabbed desperately at his legs, trying to pry them away. It was like trying to bend solid iron bars.

With a roar, Gabriella drew one sword and slashed at the outside of his right thigh, keeping clear of the artery, and cutting across muscle. The man screamed and his legs loosened.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Gabriella gasped.

Lightning-quick, he slammed his foot into her head, and her blade clattered away as she slid backwards across the floor.

Gabriella could see the pain explode in the fugitive's eyes as he bounced back onto his feet, but his wounds didn't stop him rolling for her fallen sword.

She lunged for him then, drawing her other sword, but he batted her blade aside with his and head-butted her. She fell back, dropping the sword.

He twirled the blade theatrically as he stood over her.

"This one's with love from the Brotherhood. Give their regards to Ludwig Rhodon when you see him in Kerberos!"

A flying white blur suddenly crashed into Gabriella's assailant from behind and she rolled to her feet as metal clanged beside her. When she had risen, the man's head was staring up at her. His body was still falling, next to a new figure. It was Erak Brand.

Gabriella shivered, and grasped his forearm tightly. Beyond him, six more Knights entered, as did a matronly woman in the white cloak of a Confessor.

"You're a hard girl to find, even after Markus reported you were heading this way." Erak said.

"What… what did you do that for?" she said, gesturing at the corpse.

"He was going to kill you!"

"He was going to try!" Gabriella protested.

"He might have succeeded."

She went over to the headless body and began searching through its clothes for anything that might identify the fugitive.

"Are you saying you go easy on me in sparring?" Gabriella said. "This man wasn't as good as you, and might I remind you who won our last bout?"

"I'm saying it doesn't matter how good a fighter is," Erak said. "You can always have a bad day. Everybody has some bad luck from time to time, and if it's when you're fighting for your life… The enemy only needs to be lucky once."

The Confessor prodded the headless corpse with the sole of her sandal. "Well, if this was the man who shot Eminence Rhodon, he was lucky."

Gabriella looked up at her, feeling a terrible sickening sensation.

"Did the Eminence — ?"

The Confessor shook her head. "I don't know about that. I mean this one died quickly. Lucky for him. I don't suppose he said anything before he left us for the pits?"

Gabriella shook her head. "Just best wishes from the Brotherhood."

Confessor Kamil didn't look very surprised. "Well, if he is the one who shot at Rhodon, I'd expect a Brotherhood link. Unless, of course it's a political game and he's from one of the Pontaine cities, trying to stir up trouble." She glared at Gabriella and Erak. "It would have been nice if you'd left him in a fit state to tell us." She sighed. "Still, perhaps the body will tell us something."

"Let's hope," Gabriella agreed.

CHAPTER 4

Mud spattered up from under hoof as a column of riders passed down a trail at speed. The bridleway was wide, the silver birches set far enough back that no-one need fear being pitched from their mount by a stray branch. The horses were a motley bunch of breeds and colours, and all but one of the riders wore shields strapped to their backs and iron helms, tinted to the shade of blood by the sun.

As the valley widened, and threads of smoke became visible rising from below, a second group of hooded riders waited in a village so small it didn't even have a name. A farm at each end was separated by a few stone cottages and wattle fences. A river of churned mud running parallel to the fencing passed for a road through fields frosted white. A forested ridgeline on the horizon separated the countryside from the cliffs of Kalten. The two groups met in the middle of the village and one man from each side dismounted to meet the other.

"Scarra," Goran Kell said. He carried himself like a soldier, or a noble, and despaired of the slouching fat man. Scarra was far from ascetic, and far from a fighter, but his family was rich, and that made him useful.

"Everything is prepared, Kell. Our man knows what he has to do. There's backup to cover his escape."

Kell smiled mirthlessly. "There's been a change of plan." He beckoned to a tired-looking youth who was waiting in his entourage, on a tired-looking horse. The youth trotted forward. "Tell Scarra what you've just told me."

"Ludwig Rhodon was shot not an hour ago."

"Excellent news!" Scarra exclaimed. "You know, my boy, I have had my doubts about this scheme, but it's a great relief to know that it was merely needless worry." A frown crossed his face. "Actually, isn't it a little early? I thought it was supposed to happen at the feast."

"Oddly enough," Kell said calmly, "I thought that too. I know that, and you know that. But it would have been nice if you'd made absolutely certain that Lukas knew that as well."

"He knew! Of course he knew the plan!"

Kell's expression didn't change. "Someone didn't. So I'm changing the follow-up, just in case. We can't remain in this area. The Swords of Dawn are scouring all of Kalten. I suggest you find a safe territory for a few days. That's certainly what I shall be doing."

Scarra stiffened. "You can't just leave like this!"

Kell raised an eyebrow. "You'd prefer if I stayed here, got caught, and told the Confessors where to find you?"

"We should — "

"We should leave and neither of us should tell the other where he's going." With that, Goran Kell returned to his horse and rode away, his entourage falling in behind him.

Karel Scarra suddenly felt very cold and alone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be rising among his peers, basking in the glow of history.

He turned and walked back to his retinue. The waiting mercenaries wore tabards bearing a red dagger. By the time he reached them, he had worked out how to tell them that Kell had messed things up and fled. Yes, that explanation would suffice. The brighter thought struck him that perhaps he could make some advantage out of this. He had spent a great deal in bribes lately, so perhaps he could recoup some of the costs now, cutting down on some more outlay.

He composed himself, arranging his features into an expression that mixed anger, apology and, hopefully, some charm. He mounted his horse before addressing his personal guard of mercenaries, feeling that he would be more commanding from the saddle than from the ground.

"My friends, we are betrayed!" he announced dramatically. "Something has happened in Kalten that was not part of Kell's plan. And Kell has decided to flee, abandoning us to our fate. I have decided that we should not go with him, as he will doubtless lead us to disaster."

"What's the plan?" a shaven-headed mercenary with large ears and a scar across his brow demanded.

"We'll make for the vineyard, Hasso. There I shall pay you my share of your wage, and we'll decide our next — "

"Wait," Hasso snapped. He nudged his horse next to Scarra's, as the other men murmured among themselves. "What do you mean, your half?"

"Kell has taken half our funds with him."

Scarra felt a sudden chill. His instinct for survival struggled with his instinct to be tight with his money, and it was a case of the proverbial irresistible force meeting the immovable object. He smiled beatifically, hiding his fear.

"We hired you together, but while he robs you, I will stand by my promise, and pay what I owe…"

"You mean half of what we are owed, don't you?"

Scarra considered throwing himself on their mercy, but couldn't bring himself to do so. They were his employees, after all. Most of them were just thugs, not particularly intelligent and he was sure he could convince them that the absence of Kell meant the absence of half their fee. Scarra himself, of course, had been the richer of the two, and he could have paid the mercenaries their full fee many times over, but it was much more satisfying to smear Kell for running out on him.

"If Kell has stolen from you, there is little that I can do."

"We could ride after him," Hasso pointed out, "and take it."

"We could," the Captain of the Red Daggers said at last, "but we won't. We'd be fighting our own."

"Since when did that stop us, Sarkos?"

"Cut it out, Hasso," Sarkos snapped. He sighed. "Scarra has a point." Hasso grunted derisively. "And so long as you're in the Red Daggers, you'll show some respect to our employers."

"Respect?" Hasso scoffed. "You're going to swallow his guff and keep working?" He shook his head. "You might be that way inclined, but I can't say I am."

Captain Sarkos nodded slowly. "Like I said, as long as you're in the Red Daggers."

Hasso balled his fists, digging his nails into the palms. This was how he and his fellows were rewarded for their service? Short-changed? His right hand reached for his sword, but he stayed it just before grabbing the hilt.

He didn't want to kill the men he'd been serving with. Sarkos was a good man in a fight, even if he wasn't sensible about money. Most importantly, Sarkos was good enough that Hasso wasn't sure he could take him; not if the rest of the company sided with Sarkos.

There were too many men in the company, and most of them, like Sarkos, were cheap enough to accept the pittance that Scarra offered them. Most of them used to work for cheap protection rackets and were used to being paid a couple of copper pieces; they didn't know what a real professional soldier's wage should be.

Hasso was a real professional soldier, however, and he was used to being paid at least a silver piece per day and that was what Scarra had originally promised. He grimaced, knowing that he should have known better than to trust the word of the fat man. There was little, if any, sincerity visible in Scarra's eyes or audible in his voice when he spoke.

"I didn't sign on for half-pay," Hasso said bluntly. "You're right, Sarkos, I've no place in the Red Daggers." He reined his horse in, and walked it slowly away from the other mercenaries. "I'll take my cut of your half now." He held out a hand.

Scarra hesitated. Perhaps he should order the others to attack Hasso. He was, after all, just one man against several. Then again, he was a good fighter, and Scarra dreaded to think what would happen if he triumphed. He knew that Hasso would kill him, and not swiftly. There would be pain and… And he didn't want to think about that.

He counted out the appropriate number of coins from his purse and slapped them into Hasso' hand.

"I am a fair man," he said primly. "I will always pay you what I owe you."

"You owe me this much again."

"Kell and I as a unit owe you this much again. I've paid my share."

Hasso scowled, and stuffed the coins into a pouch. He wheeled his horse away.

"Where are you going?"

Hasso considered for a moment, then gave a cruel smile. "I'm going to get the other half." He nudged his horse into a gallop, in the direction that Kell had gone. Sarkos and a few others drew swords, clearly intending to pursue him.

"Hold," Scarra said. He was tempted to let them kill Hasso, but after a few seconds' thought realised that Kell would do the job for him. Why risk the safety of the men he had left? It wasn't as if the mercenaries knew the details of his plans. "Kell will pay him off, one way or the other."

Sarkos sheathed his blade. "True enough."

If it was possible for an albino to appear pale Eminence Ludwig Rhodon was getting there. His skin was almost as transparent as melting ice. Rodrigo Kesar stood by the window as he watched the Healers conferring in whispers.

"Well?" Kesar finally asked.

"Eminence," the one closest to him began nervously. "We have been discussing the Eminence's situation, and — "

"I was listening. Will Eminence Rhodon survive?"

"Yes, Eminence," the Healer managed. "That is to say… With help, he should survive."

"Should. Not 'will'?"

"That is the… the unpleasant truth, Eminence."

Kesar nodded. "So be it. Certainty has its virtues, Healer, but not at the expense of the truth. If Eminence Rhodon does not survive, it will be a great loss, but at least I won't have to have you executed for breaking a promise."

It had been a long day for Gabriella and Erak, retelling their stories to various Confessors, and to their superiors in the Swords. They still wore their full armour, and had had no opportunity to eat anything since returning to the castle.

The Swords and the city guard had made several more arrests, and the Confessors were being kept as busy as the Duke's Inquisitors, but it had become increasingly clear that there were no other suspects as likely to be the assassin as Gabriella's late prisoner. His body had been returned to the castle, and the head was being shown to both guards and arrested suspects in the hope that someone would recognise him.

As the sun drifted behind Kerberos, Gabriella and Erak finally returned to the barracks and found three men waiting in the refectory. One was Eminence Kesar, the second was the Duke, and the last was Preceptor DeBarres.

"I don't know what you do to the Brotherhood, or Ogur, or anybody else," DeBarres rasped gruffly, "but you certainly scare the crap out of me." He and the two knights laughed together. "Good work. People will remember this day for the right reasons more than the wrong ones. Quick and decisive action from the Swords. They'll remember that."

"And not an assassination," The Eminence added. He stretched out a hand for them to kiss his signet ring. "Since Eminence Rhodon survives."

"Thanks be to the Lord of All." Gabriella said in a hushed voice. Erak repeated it after her.

"Thanks be to the Lord of All," Kesar echoed, "and to Healers, and to the incompetence of assassins." He turned to the Duke. "These are the two who caught the assassin, your grace."

"And made him talk?" Freihurr vom Kalten asked.

Gabriella looked, almost imperceptibly, to DeBarres and Eminence Kesar. Kesar nodded and Gabriella answered. "A little, your grace. He mentioned the Brotherhood, before he died."

Freihurr cocked an eyebrow. "Died?"

"He was trying to kill Sister DeZantez at the time," Erak pointed out.

"Nevertheless," Freihurr went on, "dead men tell no tales, and — "

"And we would have preferred him to be a little more chatty, your Grace," Gabriella agreed. "But, knowing the Brotherhood was involved, we can start looking at their members in the area."

"Do we know who they are?"

"We have a list of their senior figures," Kesar said, "extracted from various sources during the hearing of Confessions. Unfortunately, knowing a few names, which in all probability are aliases, doesn't guarantee finding the person. Nevertheless, DeBarres' men already have a wish-list of people we should like to speak to in general, and this event merely makes the desire more… urgent."

As the sun moved behind Kerberos and the world turned dull and grey Goran Kell turned his mount on to the game trail, and began to thread his way through the foliage. Once the trade road had vanished into the murk, Kell and his followers dismounted, and led their horses deeper into the woods.

Kell knew there were men out here and was on alert, trying to judge how long it would be before they reached them. He was still shocked when a hand suddenly reached across him to grab one shoulder and the icy tip of a short sword pricked his throat.

"It's raining blood," a voice said.

Kell coughed, trying to lubricate his throat. He hoped he was only imagining the sensation of blood slipping down his collar. "But… But the sun will be dry and bright." He sounded more hopeful, and less confident, than he intended.

The blade and the grip vanished and a shadowy figure reached past him to take the horse's reins. "You're early, sir."

"It's an extra day's pay to you and your men, Chaga." He didn't mind that his faithful soldier had threatened him. It was his duty, after all, to be sure that Kell wasn't an impostor disguised by magical or other means.

"It certainly is. Where are we going, sir?"

"Turnitia first, I think. And I want no interruptions from the Swords of Dawn."

Chaga grinned, showing missing teeth. "That goes without saying, sir."

The bath-house was a stone-walled chamber attached to the castle's largest tower. The water was heated by fires in the next room, before flowing down and into the wooden tubs. Gabriella handed her armour for cleaning and put the rest of her clothes into a large basket for the castle's staff to take for laundry later.

The water was refreshing, and Gabriella ducked under the surface, shaking her head to get any trace of the day's exertions out of her hair. She still felt tense, and wished it was so easy to wash away what had happened to Eminence Rhodon. His wound wouldn't disappear with warm water and soap.

A surge of water brought her back to herself and back to the surface. Erak was just settling in opposite.

"It's been a long day," he said, enjoying the soothing effect of the hot water.

"For everybody. Half the Order will probably be joining us any minute."

"Not unless they bring a battering ram, Gabe." He grinned, passing her a large iron key. "I thought you wouldn't want to be disturbed."

"I've been disturbed enough for one day," she admitted. "That man I caught… He was a maniac. Possessed, maybe."

"Then there's a well-fed demon in the pits."

She nodded. "Erak, do you think that that man was the same one who shot Eminence Rhodon?"

Erak slid round to sit next to her and leaned his head on her shoulder.

"You've nothing to be guilty or ashamed about. Unlike the rest of us."

"What have you got to be ashamed about?"

"You must be joking, Gabe. A whole troop of the Swords couldn't protect our own Eminences?"

"A determined assassin who doesn't care for his own life will always get through."

"Next time try to sound like you believe that."

"Don't you?"

Erak was silent for a moment. "The Lord of All is on our side. He doesn't look the other way but he demands that we're worthy of him. And we weren't."

Gabriella shook her head. "Somehow I don't think the Eminences will agree, nor will the Anointed Lord."

Hasso, formerly of the Red Daggers, wasn't stupid. Goran Kell was a warrior, unlike Scarra, and wouldn't think twice about killing him. Again, Hasso was confident of his own fighting ability, but he knew that he would be outnumbered if he tried to take on Kell's bodyguards. He didn't particularly believe that Kell had ran off with half the money, and knew he would only get himself into a fight against impossible odds if he went after Kell.

No, Scarra was the one who had cheated them all, and Scarra was the one who needed punishing for it. With that in mind, Hasso had turned away from Kell's trail as soon as he was out of sight of Scarra and the others. He knew that they'd expect Kell to kill him, or perhaps they thought he'd join Kell's half of the company. Either way they wouldn't feel threatened.

If they knew he had gone off on his own, however, they might see a threat. They might worry about who he'd run into, or what he'd say. As he camped overnight in a tumbledown cottage, he thought about that. More accurately, he tried to think about that, but kept becoming sidetracked by the thought of how to punish Scarra and make up the shortfall in his fee.

By morning, he realized that he hadn't been as sidetracked as he had at first thought. He realized that the two things were actually the same. By the time he had fed his horse and rolled up his bedding, he knew just where to go, and what to do.

One of the Duke's troops came to fetch Gabriella and Erak as they finished breaking their fast in the castle's refectory.

"Enlightened Brother, Sister, the guards have brought in a man who's been causing a stir in the marketplace this morning."

"Stealing?" Erak asked. Neither of them were interested; that was the town guards' business, not theirs.

The guard shook his head. "Asking awkward questions and demanding to talk to either an Enlightened One or a member of the Swords." The guard shrugged. "You're here, and all the others are busy, so…"

"Define an awkward question," Gabriella suggested.

"He's been asking about the shooting of Eminence Rhodon. Asking if there's a reward for information." Gabriella and Erak exchanged rueful looks. This would be the fifth such inquiry she had heard this morning and the Lord alone knew how many more the other Swords or the Duke's guards might have handled. "Funny thing, though," the guard mused, "the man claims he only got into Kalten this morning."

That did interest Gabriella. It wasn't unusual for the people of a town to seek to profit from some event that had just occurred, but how would an outsider even know to ask yet? Gabriella decided that that would be the first question she asked him.

"I didn't," the man who called himself Hasso had said, answering Gabriella's question. She, Erak and Hasso were strolling within the courtyard of Castle Kalten, as the cells were already full, and Gabriella wanted to both keep an eye on the man, and make him think he was being dealt with as a contact rather than as a prisoner.

Hasso was eyeing his surroundings warily; he seemed wisely cautious, but not intimidated. Gabriella took him for a soldier at once and his mismatched equipment suggested a mercenary. She doubted that this was his first time dealing with the Order, or the Faith as a whole.

"I came to find the Preceptory to ask if there was a reward for information on the whereabouts of a Brotherhood man," he went on, "but when I got into Kalten I found the whole place still in this uproar. I asked a few people, and they said that an Eminence had been shot."

"And suddenly you decided to ask if there was a reward about that?" Erak asked dubiously. "Or did you just assume that mentioning it would get you an interested ear?"

Hasso narrowed his eyes and Gabriella was glad that the guards had disarmed him. He seemed a very angry man, for some reason.

"Let's just say I have good reason to think that the man I originally came in to talk about might have had something to do with it."

"Because he's Brotherhood?"

"Because he and another fella had a meeting a couple of leagues out of town, and they seemed pretty excited about something that had happened here. Being civic-minded I thought it might be of interest to you."

Gabriella kept her eyes on his. If she was any judge, he was being fairly truthful, though probably not about his motives in coming.

"All right, who was it you were going to talk about to start with?"

"Do you know a man called Scarra?" Gabriella and Erak looked blankly at each other. "He's a fat slimeball. Lives down in Pontaine, though he's Empire-born." That was unusual, but not unheard of. Gabriella herself had been born in the Pontaine city of Andon. "He has various holdings northwest of Andon. The one you'll want is a vineyard."

"And why will we want that one?"

"Because that's where he's heading now."

"And why are you telling us this? And please, no crap about civic-mindedness."

Hasso shrugged. "Scarra crossed me. He wanted to hire me and my mates in the Red Daggers as bodyguards, but stiffed us on the payment. Some of them went with him, I didn't."

Gabriella understood perfectly. "And a reward would make up the shortfall? Of course, you realise serving under someone you knew was Brotherhood is a sin."

Hasso nodded again. "But I'm not serving him. I'm here, turning him in."

"The other man he met; do you know his name?"

"Goran Kell."

"What do you know of their plans?"

"Sod all."

"You expect us to believe that?"

"Not really, but it's true anyway. I'm just a sword-hand escorting people through bandit-country. Scarra didn't tell me anything."

"But you may have overheard something?"

Hasso shook his head. "Scarra and Kell walked out together, away from us, for their chat. They wanted to keep it quiet. But when a Brotherhood organiser looks to hire a mercenary company, you have to think he's got a good reason. And when I got here and heard about the Eminence, that sounded like a good reason to me." He finished and looked at the two Knights. "Are you interested?"

Erak led Gabriella a few steps to one side. They didn't worry about Hasso as they knew that other guards around the courtyard would be watching, with bows at the ready. "What do you think?"

"I think he's telling the truth about this meeting between two Brotherhood types called Scarra and Kell. Probably also that he doesn't know what they were up to. They'd be idiots to take the hired muscle into their confidence."

"Let's see what Preceptor DeBarres thinks."

DeBarres and Kesar were in conference with Freihurr in his office in the central keep. It was Kesar's voice which called out "enter" when Gabriella knocked. When she briefly described Hasso's story, all three were immediately on alert.

"These two names this man mentioned?" Kesar said with a frown.

"Scarra and Kell," Gabriella said with a nod. "Both Brotherhood men."

"Karel Scarra and Goran Kell." Kesar echoed. "Ah, I think I understand."

Freihurr turned to a guard and snapped his fingers. "Fetch a scribe to copy a proclamation. The men named Karel Scarra and Goran Kell are hereby declared outlaws. Double the usual reward, if they're taken alive."

"Indeed," Kesar agreed.

"You know these two men?" Freihurr asked.

"The names Scarra and Kell are not particularly rare in themselves," Kesar said, "but those two men who've been named are known to the Final Faith." He turned to DeBarres. "Your two Knights have done some excellent work today, but it's only the beginning. This assassin can't have been working alone in Kalten, not counting the fact that we have these two names as potential paymasters."

"There were men running interference for him during his flight," Gabriella said.

"And they won't escape the city." Freihurr promised.

"I shall remain in Kalten for two or three more days before returning to Scholten," Kesar said. "It would be nice to take further good news with me when I next have an audience with the Anointed Lord. Preceptor, I think this duty takes precedence for you." He gave a short bow and Gabriella knew that the Knights of the Swords were dismissed. DeBarres accompanied she and Erak out.

"Preceptor," Gabriella said as they left the office. "I was wondering who Goran Kell actually is?"

"How'd you mean?"

"This mercenary has told us who Scarra is, but Eminence Kesar and yourself seemed to recognise the other name also, Kell."

"It's no secret," DeBarres said. "In fact I apologise for not having made sure everyone out here was kept up to date on the Brotherhood's faces."

"Kell also belongs to the Brotherhood of the Divine Path?" That made sense to Gabriella.

DeBarres nodded. "Goran Kell is what the Brotherhood call a Bishop — the equivalent of our Archimandrites — responsible for spreading their heresy in Fayence. Scarra probably joined with them to spite the Makennon family. If your mercenary isn't on the level, then he's remarkably lucky to pick such a name. Let's find Confessor Kamil and see what she makes of him."

Confessor Kamil had been up all night hearing the confessions of the many people who had been brought in since yesterday's attack. Most of them were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a little drunk, and had been given penance and thrown out of the castle. A few, in Kamil's opinion, bore closer scrutiny to determine whether they had been involved in interfering with the pursuit. They had been kept in separate cells overnight, so they wouldn't conspire over their stories, and Kamil could get back to them later.

One of the men Gabriella had fought had survived and Kamil was with him when the knights came to find her. He was lying, heavily bandaged, in a filthy cot in one corner of the dungeon. His eyes widened as soon as Gabriella came into view.

"Ah you recognise her?" Kamil asked him. "What about you, Sister DeZantez? Do you recognise this man?"

"He tried to stop me on a staircase." She had been too focussed on catching the running man to stop and see whether this one or his friend had survived. "Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Paid," he mumbled dreamily. From his pallor it was obvious he was in pain from his injuries.

"Who paid you, and why?" she asked the man.

"Dunno. A fat man gave us ten silver each to make sure that anybody chasing a man in grey on that street was stopped."

"Why?"

"He didn't say and we didn't ask. Didn't expect to see a chase. Took the money and laughed about it."

"But you did what you were asked."

"Took the money, didn't we?"

"Yes," Kamil commented, "Sadly for you, you did." She leaned in closer to Gabriella, Erak and DeBarres. "It'll be the gibbet, of course."

They all nodded; it was only natural that he should end that way.

"This fat man," Gabriella said to him, "What was his name?"

"Scar, or something."

"Scarra," she whispered thoughtfully. So Hasso's story had a bit of corroboration now.

"Do you know something?" Kamil asked, puzzled.

"Not necessarily, but maybe." She quickly told Kamil about Hasso's quest for a reward. "The mercenary says this fat man called Scarra is a member of the Brotherhood. Eminence Kesar knows the name too, from Faith records."

"So do I," DeBarres put in. "His grandfather was an Eminence, as was his mother before him. They're from Nurn, same as Erak here. There's been two generations' worth of gossip about how come our Anointed Lord's father became Anointed Lord instead of Scarra's dad. Scarra's father defected because of it. He left the service of the church and became a merchant in Pontaine."

The Confessor nodded slowly. "Suddenly we have a motive."

"Family feud," Erak agreed. "If that's true, it won't stop with one attempt."

Gabriella shook her head. "It'll stop. Whether they want to or not. Confessor, will you hear Hasso's confession? Everything he knows about the Scarra, we need to know." Kamil nodded and Gabriella suddenly remembered there was one other source of information. "The assassin that Erak killed… Do we know anything about him?"

"No-one recognizes the face, so he isn't local. The body had a Brotherhood tattoo on its collarbone."

"Necromancers?"

Kamil grimaced. "Not with the head severed. They always go mad when they're that way." Gabriella glared at Erak, who responded with a hangdog look.

"All right," DeBarres said decisively. "I'll have this Hasso come down to you. Find out everything he knows about Scarra and Kell, and any other Brotherhood connections he might have witnessed or been involved in." He smiled thinly. "Also find out whether he deserves that reward, or to have to atone for his sins."

Later that day, Gabriella was summoned to the lushly-appointed room in which Rodrigo Kesar sat on a chair that wasn't far off being a regal throne. Gabriella sat on a simple stool before him. Two silent servants stood in the corners, awaiting their master's commands.

"Sister DeZantez," he began. "I gather you've been throwing yourself into the work of getting to the bottom of this vile attack on Eminence Rhodon."

"Yes, Eminence. As a matter of fact I'd like — " Gabriella hesitated, suddenly feeling that she had overstepped her mark. Then it occurred to her that if she had done so already, it was too late to back down. "I'd like to be a part of the hunt for Kell and Scarra."

"Would you, indeed?" Kesar's smile was faintly mocking.

"Yes." She met his gaze as evenly as she could. "We know from his defecting mercenary that Karel Scarra is making for a vineyard near Andon. We know he is a ranking member of the Brotherhood and we know the bowman who made the shot was a member of the Brotherhood. We also know that Scarra met a Brotherhood Bishop named Kell not far from here, at around the time of the attack."

To her surprise, his smile warmed somewhat, becoming more genuine. "And will you define 'a part of' for me?"

She flushed. "I know I haven't the rank to lead the hunt," she said at last, "but I'd like to do whatever I can to help."

"Of course." Kesar paused. "You acknowledge that you are not ranked to lead this hunt, and yet you bring the concept into our conversation."

"Eminence?" She inwardly cursed, for making herself look a fool.

"The question of leadership needed no mention here, least of all by someone who acknowledges that she is not the one to lead. So why mention it all, other than to put the word 'lead' into connection with yourself?" Gabriella could feel her face growing ever redder. "Don't worry, Sister DeZantez; the ambition to do one's best in the name of the Lord Of All is not a sin. And nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about." He sniffed. "Very few people ever became leaders, who did not first seek to put themselves in that position."

"Eminence, if I were to ask to lead the hunt… Forget it, it would never happen."

"Perhaps not. I'm sure Preceptor DeBarres has many eminently qualified and suitable Knights who he can assign to the task. Then again, perhaps you are one of that number. I wouldn't know."

"Thank you, Eminence." She wasn't sure whether she had done herself any good or not, but the discussion itself had been more than she expected. He extended a hand so that she could kiss his signet ring once more before leaving.

When she had gone, Kesar gestured to one of the servants. "Have Preceptor DeBarres sent to me without delay."

A rap at the Eminence's door a few minutes later proved to herald the arrival of Preceptor DeBarres. He had shed his armour and now wore robes and the tabard of the Order.

"I'm ready to present my report," DeBarres said without preamble. He gave Kesar a scroll.

"I'm sure it makes interesting reading." Kesar laid the scroll on the table. "I didn't invite you here just to read a report, Raul."

"Raul?" DeBarres echoed. "Is this an off-the-record meeting, then?" Kesar nodded. "Then I'll take a seat."

"What think you of Sister DeZantez?" Kesar asked.

DeBarres raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"As a soldier."

"She's a fine soldier," DeBarres said proudly. "Strong, well-skilled, can take hits that would floor me. She has a good grasp of tactics and works well both on her own initiative and in any team arrangement."

"As an Enlightened One?"

DeBarres smiled, still proud. "She's devout, well-read… There's a touch of Heaven in all of us, but she has more than most."

"And as a person?"

DeBarres thought for a moment. "It would be a cliche to say 'the daughter I wish I had,' but I'm damned if I can think of a better answer to your question, Rodrigo."

"Raul, what would you say if I told you she wants to hunt for Scarra and Kell."

DeBarres grinned. "I'd say she wouldn't be the Knight of the Swords I think she is if she didn't want that."

"Would you let her?"

DeBarres closed his eyes for a moment and a shadow seemed to pass across his pockmarked features. "As the Preceptor of a Knight of the Swords, yes. As a man with a near-daughter… I don't know." He chuckled. "If I said that in front of her, she wouldn't be very happy."

"At being protected?"

"Exactly." DeBarres let out a long breath. "I'd regret it — not in the sense of fearing she'd fail, but in the sense of feeling guilty at sending her into danger, but yes, I'd let her go after Scarra and Kell. It'd be a damned harder thing to stop her from going."

"Of course there will be a hunt, that's not in question. But who do you have in mind to lead such a hunt?"

"That depends on what sort of hunt it is. If it were a full scale military operation with mounted patrols, then Brother Markus would be ideal."

Kesar shook his head. "Scarra and Kell aren't stupid and they have a lead on us. This won't be a chase across fields for a fleeing man, or a sweep through a city. The search will have to be more subtle."

"A select few Knights as muster-captains, working with observers and agents?"

"Exactly."

"Then there are several options, depending on how much ground needs to be covered. This close to the Anclas… They could even have gone across to Pontaine, either together, or they could split up. Andon isn't that far for some travellers with good horses." DeBarres thought for a moment. "Tomas Marek is Archimandrite of Andon; he's a former Preceptor of the Swords. I'll send a message to him, and see if he can assign some of his Knights to keep a watch out in Andon and the nearby border.

"I will make sure every Enlightened One and Walker in the Anclas knows who they're looking for."

"I'll pay a visit to Turnitia soon. The Brotherhood may have moved most of their centres to Freiport, but Turnitia's an old home to them. It wouldn't surprise me if either of them headed there to try to catch a ship somewhere."

"They'd be mad to try, given how tightly we now control that city, but then again they were mad to attempt this assassination." Kesar shrugged. "Very well, Raul, let us see how the Lord favours us, and begin the hunt in earnest."

"Who first?" Gabriella asked. She and Erak leaned against the battlements of Castle Kalten. The snow had melted, but fog had brought a damp chill to the town. They watched the grooms brushing down the horses they would soon use. "If we're permitted to take part?"

"Karel Scarra and permission is granted." It was DeBarres, poker-faced, but with a lightness in his eyes. "Every member of the Order will have their part to play in this manhunt. The Eminences and I think teams of Knights, soldiers and agents making quick and discreet visits will be best. I've decided that you two should lead one team of hunters. I'm assigning you four Knights and their men-at-arms." He thought for a moment. "Take Tanner, Karlsen, Oaks and Komo with you."

"What about the mercenary, Hasso? If he's accompanied Scarra on his travels, he might be able to guide us."

"He might also be a liar or a distraction, for all we know. Or willing to switch sides again for a larger purse. A one-off reward for information is one thing, but I don't trust him enough to hire him."

Gabriella nodded. "I'm thinking it would be useful if Scarra was taken alive? He must know a lot of names and faces."

"That would be my suggestion," DeBarres conceded, "The same goes for Kell, if you come across him in your hunt for Scarra. But I don't want anybody risking letting either of them escape for the sake of wanting him able to talk. Alive would be a bonus, but if it comes to a choice between a dead man telling us no tales and a living man getting away and prolonging the chase, you put him down, hard." He leaned against the wall between them. "I'll be taking a trip to show some force in Turnitia, and I'll have Markus on the coast and the Anclas, just in case we can catch him making his run for home. I want you two to go into Pontaine and check through the satellite towns around Andon, to find that vineyard that Hasso has told us about."

"And the Pontaine military?" Erak asked. "They haven't been very welcoming since the war."

"Be civil, but don't hold your breath waiting for assistance. But it may be that Hasso is fooling us all, and the real fugitives are in Freiport or somewhere already and you won't see either, but good luck anyway. And good hunting."

CHAPTER 5

Spring was still some weeks off, but away from the coast and further east into the rolling lands of Pontaine, the air was warmer. The trees lining the sides of the old pre-Imperial Highway between Turnitia and Andon were still bare in spite of the milder temperatures and insects were only just beginning to buzz around. The centuries-old cobbles were worn away in most places and overgrown by scrub grass. There was some mercenary traffic along the highway, but those bands all steered clear of the column of religious warriors.

Gabriella and Erak were riding at the head of a group of four mounted Knights of the Order of the Swords of Dawn and forty five men and women on foot. Each Knight had a Squire, and ten soldiers-at-arms as support, plus a sergeant-at-arms. While the Knights rode in front, their squires followed, then most of the soldiers-at-arms.

There was a straggly line of mercenaries camped by the side of the road into the small village of Hallam's Creek. There were a few houses, a couple of taverns, a small Faith church and a smithy all nestled around a well. There were mercenaries among the regular citizens, holding the reins of half a dozen tired-looking horses They wore a mixture of different styles of armour and their tabards bore the hammer insignia of a company from north of the Drakengrat. There were no Red Daggers among them.

Gabriella recognised the insignia as that of a reputable company and one which had fought alongside the Faith several times. While the Faith retainers sought out refreshments and tended to the animals, Gabriella and the other Knights went into the small church to pay their respects. The smell of incense and old stone was welcoming and comforting. There were a couple of mercenaries, unarmed and with bowed heads, sitting in the pews. As Gabriella watched, a mercenary came out of the confession chamber and left the church. The Enlightened One, in his blue robes, emerged a moment later, yawning.

"A long day, Enlightened One?" she asked.

The man nodded. "Very busy. The visiting mercenaries have upped my workload somewhat."

Gabriella noted that a couple more mercenaries were already lining up, ready to confess. "If you need any help…"

The Enlightened One grabbed at the chance. "Could you? I feel quite dry and the chance for a jug of water would be — "

"Don't worry about it," Gabriella said. Like all the Knights, she was qualified to perform any duty an Enlightened One could, if there was no Enlightened One available.

"I won't be long," the Enlightened One promised.

As he hurried off, Gabriella slipped into his place in the confession chamber. It was a small, bare, octagonal room, with two chairs and no other furniture. When one of the mercenaries entered a few moments later, he seemed surprised to meet a person in armour.

"Well met," Gabriella said. She gestured to the other chair. "Have a seat. Has it been an easy journey from wherever you've been?"

"Easy enough," the mercenary said. "We've just come up from Andon, and there isn't much traffic at this time of year. Plenty of other companies though. There are more mercenaries looking to take on escort duty than there are merchants needing guards."

"That's nothing new to the Anclas."

"True enough. Work has been getting thinner on the ground since peace broke out."

That was the price of peace, Gabriella supposed, but there was too much violence inherent in man's nature for peace to be universal. When the Faith guided man to unity with the Lord of All, then there would be peace, but for now there was always a fight somewhere. "You can't all be out of work."

"We're not selling off horses because we got sick of them, Enlightened Sister. We're selling them because we can't support them."

"I imagine that makes you a little jealous of companies who have contracts."

"Not half!"

"I hear the Red Daggers landed themselves a fat contract with a fat merchant…"

"Hah. The Red Daggers got lucky," he spat. "We passed what's left of them half a day out of here, with the bloated sheep who's managing to fleece them, instead of the other way round. Scabby, or something I think he was called."

Gabriella's ears pricked up at that, but she kept her expression neutral. "Scarra?"

The mercenary snapped his fingers, and nodded vigorously. "That was it! Some local landowner. Has a big fat belly he carries in front of him like a wheelbarrow."

Gabriella forced herself to seem no more than curious in passing. "Oh, I think I've heard of him. He has a vineyard somewhere outside of Andon, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, that's where they were heading for," the mercenary confirmed. "Down past Dead Tree Brook."

Inside, Gabriella was grinning. "Now, if you came in here, you must have sins you want to confess…"

The border between the Anclas and Pontaine proper was the White Saw. A fast-flowing river bordered by high rock walls, its frothy peaks cutting a deep gorge on its journey westwards. The Imperial Highway was supported by several bridges west of Andon and a detachment of the Swords crossed the thundering river by means of the Dwarf Bridge.

A small tower stood at the Pontaine end of the bridge. Erak halted the column as a few bored guards, wearing the tabards of Andon's standing army, came out to examine their credentials. Like all the Pontaine city-states the Lord of Andon paid for a private army, rather than drawing troops from a central force as Vos cities did with Imperial troops. Though the troops guarding Andon's lands were simply called the Andon Militia in official documents, the region's people tended to refer to them as the Border Brawlers. Gabriella couldn't help smiling as she remembered that from her youth. She had been a child not far from here, before her parents sent her to safety in Vos during the war.

The Faith was keen to maintain as much a presence in Pontaine as it did in the Empire and, as far as Gabriella was concerned the service of the Lord of All ought to be above such petty things as nationhood and politics, though she had no illusions about the practical truth of that matter. The proportion of Faith devotees among the population in Pontaine was, according to the best efforts of Faith scribes, about half that in the Empire. She wondered whether the Border Brawlers would try to talk the Knights out of proceeding towards Andon, for the simple reason that the Swords had fought on behalf of Vos in the last war. It was before her time in the Order, but Gabriella knew that people tended to harbour deep feelings about such things.

After a few moments of chatting to the soldiers, Erak came back to join Gabriella and the others. "You look happy," he said. "Stop it, you're frightening the guards."

"I thought I had a nice smile."

"They're simple men."

"Is there another kind? Speaking of different kinds of men, did they say anything about Scarra's merry band?"

"They confirmed what the mercenary at Hallam's Creek said. They've offered to request a detachment of the Brawlers to be sent with us."

Gabriella wasn't surprised, but didn't like the idea either. When even one group had bad feelings about another because of past incidents, there was too much risk of accidents or outright betrayals and she didn't want anything interfering with them getting to Scarra. "My first instinct would be a polite refusal."

"Mine too. It's not that I don't trust them not to warn him, but…"

"Neither do I. On the other hand, if we wanted to show a bit of solidarity down here it might make diplomacy a lot easier. Here's a thought: we could send Karlsen on ahead to the cathedral to deliver the messages we're carrying on to Archimandrite Marek. They could escort him. That way they get to do something, and we don't have to worry about them."

Erak nodded. "I'll see what they say." He turned away and went back to the little fortress tower. Gabriella watched, half closing her eyes and enjoying the fresh air. Things were going well. The Lord of All was with her.

The next morning, Gabriella DeZantez held up a hand, halting the soldiers-at-arms as they moved in a skirmish line through a dry olive grove north of Andon. Gabriella reined in alongside Erak, Tanner, Oaks and Komo. Karlsen, the fourth knight who had been given to them, had continued on the Imperial Highway to Andon, accompanied by a detachment of Andon's Border Brawlers.

Neither of the Knights wore their helmets, and their mail coifs hung around their shoulders like unworn hoods.

"What do you think?" Oaks asked. He wore a neatly-trimmed red beard and had a copper-coloured mane. Komo, characteristically quiet, was a flat-faced but powerfully-built knight. Tanner was tall and looked too thin for his armour.

Erak squinted at the next rise across the olive grove. "The estate begins just over there. If Scarra or his hired blades have any sense they'll have people watching the approaches."

"If he had any sense he wouldn't be a member of a heretical sect." Gabriella said disapprovingly.

"No, if he had enough sense he wouldn't be a member of a heretical sect," Erak agreed. "Then again, given his stupidity in returning home, I'm glad he's one of them rather than one of us. I always prefer it when we're competent and they're not."

"Trust you to see a bright side." She tried not to grin back; she was trying to be professional here. "We'll have Scarra tonight, I'm sure."

"I think so — " Erak broke off at the sound of a snapping twig. "There's someone over there!"

Gabriella was already riding towards the source of the sound. As her mount bore down on a pile of leaves and branches, they suddenly flew apart and a lanky boy was sprinting away, over the ridge. Gabriella cursed and kicked her horse into a gallop, but the boy ducked into the undergrowth and through a hole in a thick hedge that the horse couldn't go through. Gabriella looked for a way round, her heart pounding with urgency. By the time she found the end of the hedge, there was no sign of the boy.

She returned to Erak. "We're screwed."

"What?"

"Some kid saw us. He got away."

"Then we have to assume Scarra now knows we're coming."

"He's got mercenaries," Gabriella reminded him. "If we're lucky he'll stand and fight." She hoped so, she didn't want to have to waste more time looking for him. Something told her he'd run though.

The estate comprised a large two-storey house at the centre of an olive grove at one end of a small town. Two streets of residences for the local farmers ran towards a ridge with a small church at the centre of a square. Scarra was ensconced in one of the town houses. That had been the mercenaries' idea. They all knew that the main house was the first place the Faith would look.

A boy in filthy homespun clothing ran in from the street and made straight for Scarra, in a cramped and dark living room. One of the mercenaries made to bat him away, but Scarra caught his wrist. "The children of these villages are the Lord of All's eyes and ears."

"That's what I was just thinking," the mercenary captain, Sarkos, muttered. Scarra had hired the best protection he could find, albeit for half their usual fee now, and a dozen men in brigandine were posted around the house.

"What is it, boy?" Scarra said to the child.

"Soldiers, Master Scarra. Coming along Dead Tree Brook."

"Secular, or religious?" Sarkos asked, suddenly all business.

Scarra was grateful for his alertness, but despaired at his gruffness with such a clearly terrified boy.

"Did they wear a symbol?" Scarra asked.

The boy nodded. "A circle, with a cross through it."

"The Swords. Makennon's private army. As if the true God would need anything so crude."

Sarkos smiled lopsidedly. "The true God can make do with a handful of hired blades?"

Scarra glared. "He can if the hired blades are as good as their Captain says they are." He turned back to the boy. "How many soldiers?"

"Six Knights."

"On horseback?"

"Yes. And almost ten times as many men on foot, with leather armour."

Sarkos snatched up his broadsword and belt from a table. "They outnumber us but we have more horses."

"Have my mount saddled." Scarra said.

"No."

"I wasn't planning to come along."

"I guessed that much," Sarkos said, managing not to sneer too much. "I'm saying don't try running, at least until my men have scouted the routes out of here. They'd have to be as thick as pig shit to not have put guards on all your exits." He sighed. "Hasso was right, wasn't he?"

"They're the Faith," Scarra muttered darkly. "Pigs all right. Pigs who take on the responsibilities of the Lord Of All and think women can tell men how to get closer to God."

Sarkos shrugged. "A woman can take me to heaven any day. Anyway, the Faith may be pigs, but they're not thick."

"True," Scarra admitted.

"So, you just stay here until my scouts confirm an escape route."

Something settled in Scarra's mind. He didn't like that Sarkos had opined that Hasso had been right about being short-changed. Hasso had run out after that, and Scarra had thought he had followed Kell and got himself killed. Now another idea struck him; Hasso might be the one who had led the Faith straight here. The further thought occurred that Sarkos and the other Red Daggers might change sides and join with their old comrade to turn Scarra in. In which case, he didn't want them to know what he would do now. That way they couldn't tell the Faith. "No… Never mind the escape routes. I've run enough. We'll make a stand."

Sarkos nodded. "Good for you."

"I will, however," Scarra said, "return to the main house. If it comes to it, it is more defendable."

"You've got guts, I'll give you that."

"The Lord of All is with me," Scarra assured him. He didn't say that he was simply bone-tired. Maybe he'd been frightened enough over the past few days for the power of that emotion to wear off. He had grown up in Nurn and moved down to Pontaine well before the last war, when his father defected to the Brotherhood and raised him into that sect. He had earned the right to buy this estate from his father, who had handed over the deeds with great pride. The small church would stay in the hands of the Brotherhood this way.

Scarra momentarily remembered the service in which he, his father and several other members of the family had joined the Brotherhood of the Divine Path in the wake of the elder Scarra's failure to become Anointed Lord of the Faith. So much could have been different if that had happened, Scarra knew. For one thing, he would never have ended up subordinate to that arrogant schemer Goran Kell.

Scarra knew that he had been used and he hadn't minded so long as it hurt the Faith, but he knew Kell had kept secrets from him. Worse, he knew Kell hadn't really trusted him, despite his years of loyalty to the Brotherhood. And now Kell had abandoned him instead of protecting him. Intellectually, Scarra knew Kell was protecting himself, but in his heart it was still a betrayal that had to be repaid.

At least his father had died in the war and thus been spared burning in a gibbet at the behest of the Faith. His father had made a good escape and so Scarra would too; preferably without dying though. A diversion would do the job as just as well.

"Good luck, Scarra." Sarkos gave him a salute. "We'll do what it takes."

"I know." With a sigh, Scarra shook Sarkos' hand in a warrior's wrist to wrist grip.

"You paid for a service, you get that service," Sarkos said. Scarra wished he could tell whether the man was being sincere, or making some dig about only being paid half. If it was the latter, then it was a surely a sign that he was about to betray Scarra.

Dead Tree Brook was small but trickled quickly along a wide, stony bed between two slopes of olive trees. The vineyard was beyond it, further upstream. The Swords were progressing on both sides of the stream, creeping towards Scarra's estate.

Nobody was surprised, as they neared the estate, to hear a distant rumble.

"Riders," Erak said. "decent horses too, not farm drays. Form up. We're about to have company."

Gabriella tensed as fifteen riders emerged from the groves on either side of them. They were all in leather amour, some with mail shirts or iron helms, and all carried swords or axes. There were no javelins or crossbows as far as Gabriella could see. Their shields were painted with blood-coloured daggers.

The mercenaries didn't attack, but took up positions in a semicircle in front of the Swords, blocking their path. One of them rode forward. "This is private property, friend," he said firmly. "I'm going to have to ask you to turn around."

Gabriella glanced at her comrades. Erak looked surprised, as did Oaks and Komo, while Tanner kept a poker face. The soldiers-at-arms were all professionally blank, waiting for orders. Erak nudged his horse forward.

"Captain…?"

"Sarkos."

"Captain Sarkos, We are members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn — "

"So I can see."

Erak kept his voice polite but low. "We are on our way to the estate of one Karel Scarra. I suggest you let us past. You may escort us if you wish."

"I'll be perfectly happy to escort you off this land."

"That's not what I meant." Erak kept his voice level, but Gabriella could see in his eyes that he knew which way this conversation was going to go. She was also certain that every moment they spent here meant a bigger lead for Scarra, who was no doubt wobbling off in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry his ungainly load.

"I know." Sarkos smiled and Erak's fingers began to flex.

"Let me," Gabriella said, putting her hand on Erak's forearm and gently pushing his hand away from his sword. "Are you religious, Captain Sarkos?"

He hesitated, put off his stride by the interruption. "Depends what you mean?"

"Do you observe the Tenthday?" Gabriella asked. "Make the proper offerings and tithes?"

He nodded reluctantly. "You don't meet a lot of soldiers who don't. It's always a good idea to keep your soul in good shape when you know you might end up in the clouds or the pits any minute."

"Sounds wise to me. So, here's the deal to keep your souls in good shape," Gabriella said, smiling. "You dismount, chat to our Confessor, pay a penance for your sins."

"Or?"

"Or you stay mounted, take on a numerically superior, better-trained force, and make your confessions to the Lord of All when you meet him; which you will, very quickly thereafter."

"You're threatening our employer."

"I'm dealing with a serious morality crime. The attempted assassination of a Final Faith Eminence by a member of a heretical sect." The mercenary Captain paled, clearly shocked by this news. "By rights I should have you under arrest already."

"Then why haven't you?"

Gabriella leaned back in the saddle. "Because you, personally, haven't committed those crimes yet. But the instant you draw down on any of us, you're contributing not just to the morality crime, but to the heresy. And there's only one course of action we can take about that."

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

Gabriella shook her head. "I'm sure that's what Scarra and his Brotherhood friends would want you to think of us but, all things being equal, I'd rather there was another troop of faithful soldiers raising mankind towards the Lord in the world, than another bunch of heretics burning in the pits."

The mercenary stiffened. "I assume you mean well, but your implication that we would betray our paymaster — "

"I wouldn't have used quite those words — "

"Once my men have been paid," he said grimly, "they follow the job through. If we accepted a contract and a payment, then abandoned our client to his enemies, then we'd quickly be out of business."

"You'd be alive."

"If you call that life." He wheeled his horse around.

"Are you going to die for the ignorant?"

"Maybe that's what I take their coin for. I'm paid to protect Scarra from attack, not bring him intelligence. I won't be mentioning our meeting."

Gabriella understood. Sarkos wanted to be honourable and professional. That was fine, but aiding and abetting a heretic was not. The mercenary had made his decision. She wished she didn't have to do what now became necessary, but as her father had always said, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Sarkos was quick. He actually managed to raise his shield just in time to deflect her first cut, so it barely scraped his ear rather than rip his throat out.

Hanging onto the reins with her left hand, Gabriella couldn't draw her other sword, but she could make her horse rear. It rose up on its hind legs, its front hooves slashing down onto the mercenary's shield. The sheer weight of horse and rider smashed Sarkos clean out of his saddle and his horse staggered sideways under the impact.

Sarkos rolled, frantically trying to get out of the way of his own animal's stamping hooves. The horse finally got its balance and bolted off towards the ridge, and Sarkos gained his feet, drawing his sword. He made a wild cut at the neck of Gabriella's mount, but she pulled back just in time. Gabriella knew that he had the advantage for the moment; she'd find it difficult to lean down far enough to get in a killing blow at him, but he could easily strike at her horse, and try to bring it down and pin her under it.

She jumped down, away from him, ready to face him on more equal terms.

As the other mercenaries drew their swords, Erak spurred his horse forward, followed by the other Knights. They crashed into the line of mercenaries and Erak slammed his shield into the nearest man's face. The mercenary rolled out of his saddle, his helmet flying aside. Erak rode over him, his mount's iron-shod hooves splintering his skull.

The soldiers-at-arms on foot had grouped into threes and fours to box in the mounted mercenaries. They thrust spears at the riders to keep them at bay and try to unhorse them. Meanwhile Tanner had drawn a longsword and was running down the mercenaries on foot. Oaks and Komo circled the fight, trying to draw off some of the Red Daggers and cut them down.

The stream bed rang to the sounds of blade against blade and shield, punctuated by grunts of effort and the screams of pain from those who took wounds. Men were running and swinging swords and axes, dodging horses, while riders slashed downwards at heads that passed by. No-one on either side tried to run from the fight but that was more because they were sensible enough to not turn their backs on their enemies, than because they didn't want to seem afraid.

Gabriella drew her second sword. Sarkos wasn't going to want to give her the chance to come at him again, so she was ready to catch his blade between hers and backhand him in the face with one pommel. He fell backwards, landing with a crash on his tailbone. Gabriella stamped on his wrist and dropped the point of her knee onto his chest. Even through his brigandine armour, the blow knocked the wind out of his lungs and Gabriella jammed her blade through his throat and into the ground below him.

She held him down as he twitched, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Nothing personal," she said. "I'd rather you'd given yourself to the Lord of All than died for Scarra's sins, but…"

Sarkos had stopped twitching. She was surprised how clean the blade was when she pulled it out; all the blood had flowed down into his lungs rather than out of the wound.

Gabriella was so surprised that she paused to look at the blade and almost lost her head for her trouble. There was a rush of air as a mounted mercenary swung at her. She rolled aside, slashing at the horse's legs. It screamed, a disconcertingly human sound and staggered sideways. The rider managed to stay in the saddle, but was unable to control his horse for the moment. This gave Gabriella a chance to scramble up into a stout olive tree and launch him from the saddle with a flying kick.

They crashed to the ground and she was up immediately, cutting his throat. She leapt back up onto her horse and wheeled it around to charge over to where Erak was duelling with two more mercenaries.

Gabriella's arrival distracted one of the mercenaries long enough for Erak to cleave his head clear from his shoulders. He ducked instinctively as the second mercenary's sword flashed overhead, only to be blocked by Gabriella. She caught the blade on hers, and twisted it away as Erak leaned past his mount's neck to run the man through.

The screaming had stopped and when Gabriella caught her breath, she saw that none of the Red Daggers were still standing. Soldiers-at-arms were darting from fallen body to fallen body, making sure they stayed down, while a couple of wounded men of the Swords were tended to by their colleagues.

She moved back to the others. Erak was waiting, mopping his brow with a rag, and looking around at the bodies.

"Did any get away?" he asked.

"Not that I saw. Idiots."

"Idiots?"

"Dying for nothing." She shook her head. "Not for themselves, not for honour, not for the Lord. Idiots."

"For money?"

"For half what they were promised? How are they going to spend it anyway?"

Erak shrugged. "Who cares. Just be glad they had no spell casters with them." He sniffed and spat. "Forget them, we've got more important business here."

"I've been thinking about that," Gabriella agreed.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go and have words with Scarra, before he has the chance to work out that his rented muscle isn't coming back."

"You're going to talk to him?"

"Have words with. There's a difference."

"On your own?"

She feigned a look of surprise. "Why? Aren't you lot coming?"

"If you'll give us a couple of minutes."

Gabriella nodded. "I'll ride point. He'll probably play at talking only to you and not to the woman who he thinks shouldn't be doing the Lord's work. Always assuming he hasn't fled already, so let's have the men-at-arms ready to comb the far side of the estate for him."

"I thought as much. And I know how to keep quiet if he's still there and you want the last word."

Erak mounted up and stood up in his stirrups to address the soldiers-at-arms.

"All right, remember what we came for. Karel Scarra must atone for his sins. He should be brought in alive, that we learn more about his fellow apostates. Having said that, it is most important that he is sent to the pits of Kerberos before he can spread the Brotherhood's heresy. So if it comes to a choice between cutting him down where he stands and letting him run…" He brandished his sword. "Well, you just had enough practice."

Gabriella kept her mind centred as she rode into the little village that was at the heart of the estate. Inside, her stomach played host to a whole swarm of butterflies. It wasn't fear of a fight or even of someone in one of those narrow little doorways with a bow. She was still on a high from the clash with the mercenaries and damn well looking forward to more victory. Yet her nerves felt more like fear of disappointment.

What, she wondered, if he had made good his escape while his mercenary guards were buying his life with their blood and she was now just about to discover the extent of her failure to serve?

She could hear the hoof beats of Erak, Oaks, Komo and Tanner's mounts a short distance behind her and the rattle of the soldiers' weapons and armour, and they reassured her.

She rode slowly past the tiny church, admiring the simplicity and beauty of its architecture, and was angered at the thought that something so positive in the world would need to be re-consecrated after being used by the Brotherhood.

People were appearing in the doorways of the little houses. They were all men, and all carried weapons. They stepped out into the street, glaring with obvious hostility, but didn't attack yet. Behind her, the soldiers spread out, making sure a trained man was always in the way of each of the most dangerous-looking of the townsfolk.

There was a sudden clatter from a large house at the end of the road, but Gabriella couldn't see what had caused it. Realising it must have been a back door, she galloped forward and around the house. Half a dozen men in servants' livery were running up a narrow trail, carrying short swords. Further up the trail, a single horse was pulling a two-wheeled trap. She overtook it easily, the other mounted Knights following her and surrounding the trap, which was forced to a halt.

The horse pulling the trap shied nervously, but didn't try to break through, even though the fat man on the driver's bench was whipping it frantically. Gabriella knew that horses had to be trained to run at other animals or people, and this one clearly hadn't been.

She dismounted and snatched the whip from his hand. She could almost feel the horse's sense of relief.

"Karel Scarra, I presume," Gabriella began, stopping in front of him. In her peripheral vision, she could see the townspeople close in. They probably thought they were being intimidating and didn't realise they were giving her an audience to play off. She could hear Erak and the others taking up positions behind her, but didn't bother looking round. She had known Erak since they were twelve year-old squires together and trusted him to be in the right place at the right time.

"That's right," Scarra said. His voice was measured and jovial, but his eyes were wide, the smile a little too fixed. He stepped down in front of her and backed away. "This is one of Makennon's harridans," he called out to the crowd. He looked at Erak. "So, you've come to accuse me of something, I suppose?" Erak stayed silent, to Gabriella's satisfaction.

"Is there something you feel guilty about?" Gabriella asked.

Scarra looked toward Erak again, then to Tanner, to Oaks and to Komo, but none of the men would speak to him.

"Perhaps there's some reason you think a woman shouldn't be talking to you? Or at least a woman in religious service?"

"The Lord Of All needs no woman to spread his word," Scarra snarled. "Only to spread his worshippers."

Gabriella grinned. The man was an idiot. "There's only one worshipper who I want to spread right now. As ashes." The crowd shifted, unsettled. "Just one," she repeated. A few eyes darted between her and Scarra and back.

"She's a witch," Scarra scoffed dismissively. "You know what to do with witches?"

"Burn her!" someone in the mob shouted. A murmur of agreement spread all around.

Gabriella's eyes flicked to the source of the call. A man in green robes recoiled from her gaze and she smiled coldly. "Burning's for heretics, fat man," she said. "Witches are hanged, by the proclamation of the Anointed Lords since time immemorial."

Scarra laughed. "Who cares whether she hangs or burns, as long as the witch is dead?"

Gabriella looked back at him. "Have you seen any heretics lately, Scarra?" Her smile widened slightly, and the murmuring of the crowd took on a more uncertain tone. "Members of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, for example? Conspirators to assassination?" She surveyed the mob. "So, what think you? If you want to burn someone, then there Karel Scarra stands. If you want to kill me, you'll have to hang me." She smiled coldly. "If you can."

To her left, a few figures began to move and Gabriella gripped the hilts of her swords. Then she realised they were backing off and moving away. A couple of others on the right were doing the same and the men surrounding her were looking uncertain. She pointed to them and snapped "You two!" They froze, startled. "Grab him." She told them.

Looking surprised at themselves, they grabbed hold of Scarra's upper arms and frog-marched him towards her. She could have had soldiers-at-arms do it, but Scarra's own people aiding in his atonement was a better symbol, and one the people here would remember longer.

Gabriella drew a blade and put it to Scarra's throat.

"You could make a martyr out of me," he warned, his voice shaking.

"I could," Gabriella agreed quietly. "Or I could make an example of this village." She let that sink in. "You're not going to tell me you're the one and only member of the Brotherhood here?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

"But you'll tell our Confessors a lot."

"What makes you think that, witch?"

"Because you have, shall we say, Brotherly love for your friends here." She gestured towards the townspeople.

His eyes widened in horror as he understood what she was suggesting.

"These people are innocents, employees of my family. They are not…" He swallowed, hard. "They are not complicit in what you and your ilk would call my sins."

"I'm sure most of them aren't. I'm just as sure a few of them are." She paused to let that sink in. "Now, there are two ways we can deal with this situation. You can come with us, have the courage of your convictions and our Confessors will certainly get the relevant names from you for arrest and trial…"

"Or…"

"Or I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the Anointed Lord's decree at the siege of Freiport."

"'Kill them all, the Lord will sort the wheat from the chaff.'" Scarra whispered. He looked at her with revulsion. "You are a monstrous abomination, witch."

Gabriella's leg flashed round and up, a high kick taking him in the face, sending him sprawling. "I'm an angel, sinner. I'm giving you a chance to do your soul some good by saving all these lives."

Scarra spat blood from his split lips and got to his knees. "Very well."

"Good." Gabriella turned and beckoned a couple of soldiers-at-arms to come forward and secure the prisoner. She then rejoined Erak and the other knights. "That's the important bit done. We'll leave some of the soldiers to make sure everyone stays put and have Confessors and reinforcements sent from Andon to take everyone back to the Preceptory for confession. Some of them will be Brotherhood."

"Perhaps one in five, judging by their expressions." Tanner agreed. "I'll see to it. And the estate?"

"These people have been led astray… They need reassurance." One in five of them might belong to the Brotherhood, but Gabriella knew that the rest were victims of the Brotherhood's corruption. They didn't deserve to have their progress towards godliness held back by the minority.

"Guidance?" Oaks chipped in.

Gabriella nodded. "Sequester the estate and all of Scarra's assets for the Faith. These people will earn a more honest living when they're working for a more worthy cause."

CHAPTER 6

Gabriella led Erak into Scarra's house, leaving the other three Knights in charge of the troops and prisoner. A faint scent of Dreamweed hung in the air. The largest room was a lounge filled with plush chairs and lined with bookcases. Small tapestries hung on the panelled walls. A small group of servants stood meekly, watching the pair with noticeable fear. Gabriella dismissed them with a wave.

"Right, what are we looking for?" Erak said as he scanned the room.

"Maps, letters, that kind of thing. Anything that ties Scarra in with the Brotherhood and the assassination attempt."

It didn't take long to check over the house and find Scarra's study. The room was small and strewn with parchments, maps, quills and so on. The maps were simply road maps and most of the parchments were either to do with the vineyard's business, or contained sermons Scarra had written for the Brotherhood.

"He been a busy man, our fat friend," Erak commented.

"Busy, but not very good at keeping useful records." Gabriella sighed. "The Brotherhood sermons are enough to condemn him, but not really what I wanted to find."

"Confessor Kamil will get more information out of him when she meets him at Andon," Erak promised.

"Yes, but how long might it take? Meanwhile, seeing as we have him here. Why don't we…" She arched an eyebrow in what she hoped was a conspiratorial look.

Erak rolled his eyes and turned away. "Oh, no. I know that look, Gabe."

"Just a quick friendly chat with our pal Scarra, that's all it will be, don't worry." She patted him on the shoulder.

They had Scarra brought into the lounge. A man-at-arms shoved him roughly into a seat, and remained standing next to him. Gabriella sat opposite.

"It's going to be a fast trip on to the Cathedral at Andon," Gabriella told Scarra. "Everyone who's heard of the events at Kalten will want to see justice done."

"If there is to be any justice, you would not be doing Makennon's dirty work."

"Ah, dirty work."

She smiled disarmingly and was rewarded to see his expression grow confused. Now that she had him indoors, she noticed that Scarra himself carried the odour of Dreamweed. He must have been smoking it to calm his nerves, knowing that he was hunted. She considered adding it to the list of charges, but thought better of it. If it relaxed him, perhaps she could exploit the effects, before they wore off.

"It's a great pity that the son of an Eminence has ended up doing the dirty work of the Brotherhood."

He shook his head. "The Brotherhood is nothing dirty, my child. I was as educated as… As yourself, probably, and perhaps that is how I came to see the light. You've found my study, so I can hardly deny being a traveller upon the Divine Path, but my work for the Brotherhood is not dirty work."

"And what about your work for Goran Kell, personally?"

"Bishop Kell is an… important man."

"And an absent one, I notice." She saw a faint flash of anger in his eyes, but it wasn't anger at her. "He didn't accompany you in your escape. Or, perhaps I should say, he didn't have you accompany him."

Scarra's voice came through gritted teeth. "Bishop Kell wisely felt that splitting up would increase the likelihood that at least one of us would escape."

"Bishop Kell? Interesting that you call him that."

Scarra looked uncertain. "It is his title — "

"And you don't deny it. You don't try to hide it. That's interesting." She leaned forward. "Let me speak plainly: I'd like to know where Kell is."

"I'm not going to tell you where he is. I know you and your Confessors think I will, but I won't." He looked annoyed with himself. "I can't."

"You'd be surprised what a man can do, that he thinks he can't."

Scarra laughed. "Oh, girlie, I don't mean I can't, like I can't bring myself to betray a fellow Brother, or anything like that. I mean I can't because I don't know where he is. And, believe me, if I did know, I might well tell you."

Gabriella hesitated, unsure that she'd heard correctly. "You would? In the hope of leniency?"

He laughed again. "Hell no! I know better than to think talking would save me!" His smile faded. "But to take him with me… That'd serve the smug bastard right for running out on me. Don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind that he did that deliberately. I suppose it would have depended on whether telling you or not telling you would hurt him or the Faith more. But since I don't know anyway, it's a moot point."

"Why would he do that? If he thinks of you as a loose end, why didn't he just kill you?"

Scarra shrugged. "All I know is he screwed up and ran out on me. Kell is a two-faced… Bishop. Yes, if you catch him, he deserves at least as much as will happen to me."

"Goran Kell left you hanging," Gabriella said. "If it was me, I'd take a measure of revenge. Do whatever I can to get back at him for this betrayal."

"You mean help you?" He laughed again. "Don't think that just because I don't think much of him that that means I don't hate the Faith more. I'm not going to help that narrow-hipped vixen back in Scholten, even to spite Goran Kell."

"You've already confirmed his rank in the Brotherhood."

"You knew that already." Scarra looked away, trying not to let her see the fear and dismay in his eyes. He felt sick. "And what good would it do me?"

"It would help you fly with the Lord in the clouds of Kerberos."

Scarra was silent for a while, then said. "I don't know where Kell went after our last meeting. But I know this much: he has Freedom."

"And I'm sure he enjoys that freedom, but — "

"No, child. Not freedom. Freedom. Not just the concept of being free, but the actual Freedom. It exists. That is its name."

For a moment, Gabriella thought he was playing word games with her, but his tone was straightforward. "Freedom? You mean, a ship? Or a place?" She said.

"Truth to tell, I don't know. It's a word I heard him use once or twice, and which seemed to have some special significance for him, beyond the ordinary meaning of the word."

Gabriella let the matter drop. It was probably the Dreamweed talking, putting an artificial emphasis on an everyday word. "Our Confessors — "

"Will no doubt cause me great pain and suffering in Makennon's name, and they may even get me to name some other place that they suspect as being worth destroying, but none of that will be true. What I've told you is all I know."

Gabriella knew better than to trust him, but she felt that what he said had the ring of truth. "I'll make sure the Confessor knows you were helpful."

"There's one other thing, a person he mentioned sometimes. A lover perhaps. I never took much notice."

"Being a woman, you mean you thought she wasn't worth taking any notice of?" She didn't even bother feeling disgusted with his attitude. She was used to it by now. "Who is she?"

"I don't know her name — "

"How convenient," Gabriella said, through gritted teeth.

"But I know he referred to her by a nickname. The Huntress, he called her."

"Huntress?" It was an odd name for a lover. A mercenary might have such a nickname, and there were female mercenaries, but Gabriella found it hard to believe that a Brotherhood leader would hire one. The Brotherhood tended not to view women as resources, at least not within their priesthood. Perhaps she was a mercenary elsewhere, but simply a mistress for Kell when she was with him.

"Usually he'd just call her that," Scarra said. "Sometimes he'd call her his 'Golden Huntress' — I imagine she turned a tidy profit for him — but normally just 'The Huntress.'"

"And where might I find her?"

"I don't know exactly. I've never met her."

"Then what about generally, if not exactly?"

"Down in Fayence, I think. Kell always travelled up to the Anclas by the western routes."

Gabriella rose and nodded to the man-at-arms. "So be it."

The road ahead breasted a ridge and, as they climbed, the smell of Turnitia — salt water, oil and fish — became stronger. The city was built on the side of a cliff, who's top was festooned with gallows-like cranes and taught ropes and cables. Below, the docks and the bay were held fast by huge black monoliths that kept the worst of the breakers from swamping the whole place. The living area of the city itself rose gradually up from the warehouses near the cliffs, through the markets and towering Citadel to the most desirable homes atop the hill.

Goran Kell could see how organically it was growing around that hill. It was solid at heart, but with new buildings spored outwards, like a moss thriving on the sunward side of a rock. It was spreading just the way that all of God's creations did when they prospered. It was beautiful.

Larger, more impressive, buildings flowered here and there nearer the cliffs. Kell hurried through the streets in search of a particular set of rooms, where pastries and small beer were sold cheaply to tired workers. He ducked under a low archway between two ship owners' offices and along into a dark tavern. The smells of hot food, spiced drinks and small beer drifted out.

Two rough-looking men with swords at their belts rose from a small table next to the door as he entered.

"It's raining blood out there," Kell said. "Sandor Feyn is expecting me."

The men fell in beside him and showed him through to a small dining room. Only one table was in it and a small window overlooked the shipyards. Cold air poured in through the window, meeting the heat from the fire in the grate.

There were two chairs at the table. A large man in a well-cut leather tabard was already sat at one of them, munching on a hunk of meat. He had a dark red beard, neatly trimmed with a longer plait on each side.

"Well, Goran Kell, as I live and breathe." He indicated the chair opposite. "Sit down and help yourself. I hear it's been a… well, not just a long journey but a necessarily careful one." He pushed a goblet across the table. "Drink this, it should clear the cobwebs."

Kell sat down, with thanks. "I had to come. Something very strange has happened." He sniffed at the wine. "Clear the cobwebs? Poison the spiders more like." He drank it anyway.

Feyn's expression darkened. "Strange? I don't like strange, Kell. Strange brings the Swords to my door."

Kell waved the concern away dismissively. "The Swords are busy up in Kalten and doubtless taking names and cracking heads as usual. There was a man I hired: Lukas Bertram. I hired him to make a… political statement up there."

"That name rings a bell," Sandor Feyn said. He shoved his plate aside and massaged his temples for a moment. "It was a couple of weeks ago… Someone reported — Ah! He's dead."

Kell smiled thinly. "I worked that one out already, thank you." He shrugged. "The man knew he was most likely on a one-way — "

Feyn shook his head. "That's not what I meant. A fisherman scooped his body out of the bay a fortnight ago."

Kell blinked, and looked for any sign of joking in Feyn's expression. "A fortnight? That's impossible!"

Feyn shrugged. "People get killed all the time. And, as if the big bad world isn't dangerous enough, the profession of an assassin is an inherently risky one, as I think you'll agree. Now, what was strange?"

"But the attack went ahead, if not exactly as planned!"

"Not exactly?" Feyn echoed. He shook his head. "Come on Goran, 'not exactly' doesn't cut it. What was so exact about it?"

Kell grimaced. "The shot at an Eminence was made early; at the presentation of the happy couple instead of at the afternoon feast."

"And yet the shot was made, the target hit."

Kell paced around the small room. "Yes, yes… But it wasn't exactly the plan. and at the time Lukas was already dead." Something clenched in Kell's guts and he shivered.

"An unpleasant thought," Feyn said.

"Unpleasant? It's… I don't even know what the word is! If our man died a week before the event, then who the hell took the shot?"

"You and Scarra recruited him, Goran. Did he have an associate whom he might have confided in, who might have fulfilled the contract in the event of — "

"Not that I know of, but we never actually met. Everything was arranged through intermediaries." Kell paled. "Which can only mean one of them has made some kind of arrangement of his own, with God knows who."

"It's a strange matter."

"You're telling me," Kell agreed.

"What do you think happened?"

"It seems to me that there are two basic possibilities. One: that fat fool Scarra got it wrong. Two: someone's playing us, and if that's the case it's better to keep our distance from Scarra. He's always been unstable and trying to bounce back and forth in somebody's game will send him off his head."

"And then he'll get caught?"

"Assuming he hasn't been already. And I'd rather he couldn't point the way to me when he does get caught."

"What about Freedom? How much does he know about that?"

Kell gave a short laugh. "Sod all, my friend, sod all. It's not that I don't trust Scarra, but… I know how his mouth hates to sit still. If the Confessors don't give him something to chew on every five minutes, he'd give them something."

"Wouldn't it have been more sensible to silence him? Just in case? Chaga has never been shy about doing what's necessary."

Kell's lips twisted, as if he'd tasted something bitter and unpleasant. "It would have made more sense to never have had anything to do with him in the first place," Kell sighed. "But without his money and business contacts, we might never had the wagons we needed, or made the payoffs to the guilds…"

"All right, let's assume someone knew your plan."

"Someone must have."

"Then who? Faith Confessors have spies everywhere, but…"

"But they would have stopped the attack." Kell paced around the room, shaking his head like a dog with a rat in his jaws. "Who would have hired another assassin? The one who actually carried out the attack."

Feyn closed his eyes for a moment. "There's a man I know, who might be able to find out a few answers for you. He's worked for me before."

"Who?"

"His name doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Feyn gave an amused grunt. "It does to him too. He wouldn't be happy if I spread it around. I'll get in touch with him, and tell him you require his services. I'll let him know how to contact you."

"Tell him the matter is rather urgent."

Feyn nodded. "Of course. Now, I presume you're not staying long in these parts?"

"I'll be returning to Fayence soon and then on to Freedom."

"The Faith will be expecting you to make for Fayence."

"I imagine they'll consider the possibility, but logic suggests they'll expect me to make for Freiport."

Feyn laughed. "Run the gauntlet of the Anclas Territories with a price on your head and every unemployed mercenary band looking for a quick profit?"

"It wasn't what I had mind." Kell rose. "I'll you send a message through the Huntress when I reach Fayence. I shall expect some information by way of reply."

"I'm sure things will be in motion by then," Feyn promised.

CHAPTER 7

Kell walked out of Sandor Feyn's inn, deep in thought, but not too lost in it to stop being alert. Outside, Chaga and two other men were waiting, their eyes alert and searching every face.

"One thing we must make sure of is that there are no tracks back to me. It's time to start tying off loose ends."

"Any particular ends in mind?" Chaga asked as they began walking through the streets of Turnitia.

"Lukas Bertam had several men hired to run interference for him during his escape. He's dead and someone else made the assassination attempt. Whoever did take the shot at Rhodon also had men running interference for his escape, and since he used the same route, perhaps he used the same men."

"Men who might be able to tie Lukas to you."

"Or who might tie our mystery assassin to me. I doubt they'd know the difference and the Faith Confessors wouldn't care."

"Consider them dealt with," Chaga said smoothly. "I'll put the word out immediately."

"One other thing," Kell said. Chaga turned expectantly. "I want to know everything those men know. If Lukas' men aren't the ones who took part, I want to know what happened to them. If the men who did help the assassin are not the same men hired to assist Lukas, then I want to know who they are and who hired them. Understood?"

"Thy will be done, sir. You have my word"

The hooves of Gabriella's horse cracked old bones as they neared Andon. Gabriella had known that the last war between Vos and Pontaine had cost uncountable lives before it ended, but she had been a little girl at the time, living above her father's bakery in Andon. From the window of her room she had been able to see the Cathedral library where her mother took care of the archives. She liked to spend days in there, reading not just tales of old Anointed Lords and their battles against the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, but the latest messages about the progress of the war, which were being archived there. Whoever won, the records would remain for future generations.

When war had come, the DeZantez family had moved to Dathyn, an out-of-the-way town in the Drakengrat. Gabriella had been both terrified that the war would come to Dathyn while also longing for it to do so. There had been only a few skirmishes near Dathyn, though the town was close to military supply lines.

The Faith itself had sided with Vos back then, and Gabriella's parents had both been keen that their daughter stay safe in the small village bakery with her father, just in case the Pontaine forces decided to attack the temporary Archive in Dathyn. They never did, and when the war was over, her parents had returned to Andon.

Then Gabriella had grown up and joined the Order, inspired by the reports she had seen, of the generalship of Katherine Makennon, who was now the Anointed Lord. Since then she had seen combat and fought and almost died. Until the past few days, however, when they had ridden past the edges of the Killing Fields outside Andon, she had largely forgotten what the place was like. And, as a child, she has never really understood the numbers of the dead.

For two days, their horse's hooves had cracked and crushed bones still lying unburied in the fields overgrown with evergreen weeds and flowers. She supposed they were well-fertilised with organic material since the war. There was no equipment left among the bones, not after so many years. No clothing, no armour, no weapons. Just bones. She didn't even want to think about how wide an area they truly covered, or how much denser the remains of the dead must be getting as they neared Andon.

"While we're in Andon will you tell your mother about us?" Erak asked. He felt his guts tighten immediately. If Gabriella's mother disapproved, and tried to come between them, he didn't know what he'd do. Well, it was too late to change things, but how was he supposed to feel?

"Don't worry," Gabriella reassured him. "It'll be fine."

The Cathedral at Andon, presided over by Archimandrite Tomas Marek, was the most visible sign of the Faith in Pontaine. There were smaller cathedrals in Gargas and Volonne as well, but Andon was largest because it was closer to home, and because of its strategic value in times of conflict between the two nations.

Its great arms enclosed a Preceptory of the Order of the Swords of Dawn, a hospital, a seminary, and a large archive building. Gabriella felt strange riding past the archive's doors in armour. The last time she had been here, she had been in her early teens, visiting her mother, who was the archivist here. She was already a squire in the Order, and a friend of Erak's, but she had never worn armour in her mother's presence. She wondered whether she would get the chance to visit the archive during this visit, and whether she should wear armour if she did.

There were four posts from which to hang gibbets at the corners of the churchyard of the Cathedral, though of course none had been occupied recently, as the sight and smell of rotting bodies wasn't welcomed by the people of Pontaine as easily in the Empire of Vos.

A gibbet was being prepared in the yard, under the supervision of Preceptor DeBarres. This would be the site not just of an execution, but of a cleansing of the soul. The gibbet was an iron cage, slightly larger than an average man, and vaguely human-shaped. It was pitted and blackened, and lumps of charred meat stuck to the metal here and there. Freihurr vom Kalten gave it a distasteful glance as he watched with Eminence Kesar, who had come for the ritual cleansing after a brief trip to make his report to the Anointed Lord. Eminences Jan Voivode and Ludwig Rhodon had also come to Andon with them. Confessor Kamil stood nearby.

"Well," Freihurr asked Kamil, "Did this man Scarra say anything useful?"

"Little of practical value," Kamil admitted. "He confessed to apostasy in having joined the Brotherhood, and gave up the names of three people from his estate. He also confirmed what Sister DeZantez reported he told her."

"And what of the plot to shoot me?" Rhodon asked weakly. "You'll understand if I have a somewhat biased interest in the matter."

"He confessed to a part in that also. He named Lukas Bertam as the assassin."

"The assassin was killed," Freihurr said, "so his name makes little difference."

"And what about the whereabouts of the other man, Goran Kell?" Rhodon asked, anxiously.

Confessor Kamil shrugged. "Kell was apparently very firm about them not telling each other where they were going, just in case. All Scarra knows is really supposition"

In the Preceptory's deepest cell, Gabriella and Erak dragged Karel Scarra out of his straw and lice-filled cot, and prompted him towards the dark staircase. He had lost some weight over the past couple of days, and his belly had begun to sag. Without his fine robes, he was a repulsive sight, pale and clammy. The tattoo of two linked circles, symbol of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, mocked her from his shoulder.

"It's time," Gabriella said blandly. "Was it a nice chat with the Confessor?"

"I told her all I knew." Scarra could only wonder whether Gabriella had kept her word about keeping his family's employees in work. He was tempted to ask, to be sure, but then took hold of his senses again. If he asked, she would either tell him they were executed in order to taunt him, or she might be provoked into doing so if the question made her suspicious of them. Always assuming they hadn't been punished anyway, which wouldn't surprise him.

He decided he'd rather not know.

He could hear singing from somewhere outside; the sort of uplifting tune the Faith used to make people think there was a better life after this one.

By this time they had emerged onto the yard and the grey light was blinding after several days in the darkness below. Men and women were singing along with a small choir led by an Enlightened One in pastel blue robes. It was a full service, all for his benefit.

Scarra couldn't take his eyes off the gibbet, an eight-foot high cage of blackened metal and he struggled against his captors as he was led towards it.

Gabriella tightened her grip on the struggling man and, with Erak's help, shoved him into the gibbet. Gabriella had thought she would feel triumphant at bringing this heretic to his cleansing, but she felt nothing. This was just something that had to be done, like oiling her swords. She wasn't sure whether this lack of emotion was a good thing or a bad thing.

She and Erak joined a line of Knights and Faith officials that had formed up a safe distance from the gibbet, while it was lifted onto a tubular gallows, and a valve opened at the top.

As the hymn ended, Eminence Kesar unrolled a scroll and began to read.

"Karel Scarra. You have been found guilty by the Inquisition of the Final Faith of the crimes of apostasy, immorality and conspiracy to promote heretical actions, as well as the attempted murder of an Eminence of the Final Faith. Have you anything to say for yourself before your soul is cleansed of its heresy, by the sacred fire?"

"Only that I will soon be in the clouds of Kerberos with the Lord Of All, while you fawning dogs who take orders from a woman will be in the pits when it's your time."

"I'll take that as a no then." Kesar nodded to a runner, who darted into the cathedral. "Lord Of All, show mercy to the souls of those who would betray You. Accept them back into Your fold as they return to be with You…"

Within the crypts under the cathedral, Gabriella knew, two sweating squires would be operating the see-saw handles of the pump, sending the burning naphtha through the cathedral's reservoir to the gibbet. As she watched, flaming oil began to pour into the cage and Karel Scarra screamed as the burning rain sprayed over him, washing the sins from his flesh. He continued screaming for a long time, but a new hymn had begun, which drowned him out with the power of many voices. Gabriella felt a tear roll down her cheek at the beauty of it. Scarra was so privileged. He had turned away from God, insulted God, but, through the Faith, he would be returned to the fold.

On the night after Scarra's Cleansing, Gabriella tried not to breathe in as the squires carried the cooled gibbet past her. What was left of Scarra steamed slightly in the chill night air as they hoisted the gibbet up onto one of the poles in the Garden of Lessons, which ran along one side of the Preceptory.

Erak came over, removing his helmet. "Gabe, Eminence Kesar wants to see us."

Gabriella followed Erak to the largest refectory, where two Eminences were dining with Archimandrite Marek and members of his family at a long table. Marek, with his waves of silver locks, and chiselled features, was at the head of the table with Kesar opposite. A skull-faced man in black robes with silver trim watched from a seat beside Eminence Voivode. Eminence Rhodon, still weak from his recent wound, had retired to his chambers.

As Gabriella and Erak moved to kiss the signet rings of Kesar and Jan Voivode, Kesar rose with a slight bow. "That won't be necessary. Today it is we who pay you an honour."

Gabriella and Erak exchanged a surprised and curious glance.

"All of us here today," Kesar went on, "both the Archimandrite, and my fellow Eminences and myself, are grateful for your work. And we are most impressed by it. Most of my responsibilities, as you know, are in the realm of the Treasury in Scholten. However, my fellow Eminences and myself are agreed that we are willing to, shall we say, guide the next move in the search for the second mind behind the attempt on Eminence Rhodon's life."

"Did Scarra give further information about Kell?" Erak asked.

"Sadly not," Voivode admitted. "But I've communicated with the Preceptories in Gargas and Volonne, with the intent of shedding more light on the woman whom Scarra thought to be Kell's lover. They're not close to Fayence, of course, but they are our only other Preceptories in Pontaine, so…"

"You're asking them about the Huntress?" Gabriella asked.

"Indeed. It's early days, so we might yet hear of an actual person by that name — most likely a woman of fallen virtue, obviously — but it may be that Scarra himself was mistaken."

"Or lying."

"Perhaps," Voivode acknowledged, with a canny smile. "But hear on, Sister DeZantez. I've heard from our, shall we say, less official people in Fayence that there is also an actual place called the Golden Huntress. Apparently a house of ill-repute."

"A brothel? That would make sense of Scarra's comment about the Huntress bringing Kell profit."

"Indeed," Kesar said, taking up the story. "It seems this Golden Huntress is to be found somewhere north of Fayence. If it were in the Empire of Vos, we could simply send a force of Imperial troops under the command of the Swords to crush the place. Being in Pontaine, however, we shall have to be a little more circumspect. We don't want the Crown Prince in Gargas, or Lord Aristide in Fayence, to think we're starting a new war."

"Perhaps if we had representation in the area of Fayence," Erak ventured.

"We do," Kesar said, "The town of Solnos is about half way between Andon and Fayence. There is a moderately sized Faith church there, overseen by…" He looked at the skull-faced man. "Cabbert?"

"Kurt Stoll," Cabbert supplied

"Enlightened One Stoll has no Preceptory attached to his church," Voivode said, "But there is room for a number of soldiers."

Kesar closed his eyes as if reading something written on the inside of his eyelids, then glanced at Cabbert and DeBarres.

"It would be a shame to lose either of them from regular duties to such a detached assignment," DeBarres said, "but we do need to expand our influence in Pontaine. And as Gabriella is from Pontaine she will be a great asset."

Kesar looked at Gabriella quizzically and she nodded. "I was born in Andon, but my parents are both originally from Scholten."

"Very well. Go to Solnos and find the Golden Huntress and seek out Kell. Alive if possible."

"You can form a small Preceptory of your own," Voivode added. "We could do with one in the area and this is a perfect chance to test the waters in this matter. Take a full complement of squires, sergeants and soldiers-at-arms with you. "

Gabriella was so shocked that she could hardly speak. "Thank you, Eminence." She was going to be able to carry the Faith's laws to so many more people, in areas so far deprived of the light of the Lord Of All. This was the best day of her life.

Outside, Gabriella looked up at the azure glow of Kerberos and listened to the sounds of the city around her. The chatter of voices, laughter, distant screams. Erak followed her out quickly. "Gabe!"

"Well, that was interesting," she said. "I… I'm not sure what to make of our new careers."

Erak took her hands in his. Gabriella felt the tension ease from her. Maybe it was just his touch. She didn't mind either way. "I was thinking…"

"Now that's what I call breaking the habit of a lifetime."

Erak laughed. "It happens sometimes. Proves I'm not a perfect soldier."

"Nobody's perfect."

He opened his mouth to try speaking two or three times, but without success. Gabriella sighed. "What's the problem?"

"There's no problem." He looked at her.

"If there's no problem, then why are you having such trouble saying whatever it is you want to say?"

"I — You know I still haven't begun the quest for a child."

"Neither have I." Gabriella didn't expect to say the words, and was surprised to hear them coming out of her mouth. "We could… You'd be a good…"

"Father?"

"I can't think of anyone better. We've served the Lord of All, and the Anointed Lord, in every way possible way. Except for one thing. Neither of us has had a child to keep the Faith."

"Are you saying — "

"I'm saying maybe we should because I've loved you for years and I don't think I could bear either having someone else's, or someone else having yours. When the time comes, we can take the Pledge, even at Solnos."

His smile softened the hard edges of his features. "I think maybe we just did." He looked up at Kerberos and her eyes followed his. "Under the sight of the Lord Of All."

Goran Kell woke and crossed the room he had taken in Turnitia. It was a private room in an old coaching inn, tucked away behind the great hill. Kell opened the window and looked out over the stables. Two of Chaga's men were there, alert and on guard. Kell was satisfied. He had paid for the best.

As his servant dressed him in hard-wearing travelling robes, there was a knock at the door. The servant opened the door, admitting Chaga. The mercenary Captain's armour rattled as he marched in and gave a bow. "Word from the Empire, sir."

"Go on."

"The mystery assassin who so concerns you was caught and killed by the Faith."

"Typical of them. Another burning, another soul supposedly cleansed — "

"He was killed in combat, with the Swords of Dawn."

"Ah." Kell was vaguely surprised, and felt a momentary respect for whoever the man was. "He had some honour, then."

"There is worse news, and closer to us. Karel Scarra has been taken by the Faith, at his vineyard."

"He went there?" Kell was amazed. "How stupid could the man be?"

"The word is that he may have spoken before he was taken to Andon for execution."

"Spoken to whom?"

"Two Knights of the Swords. An Erak Brand and a Gabriella DeZantez."

"It would be interesting to know how much he told them."

"Do you require any further action, sir?" Chaga asked.

"Prepare our mounts. We still have a long journey ahead of us."

In the half-light that passed for night, Gabriella looked out over the city she had grown up in, for the first time in over a decade. She was standing on a terrace jutting out from the thick wall of the archive building that adjoined the cathedral and its Preceptory. A short wiry, woman with steely hair cut into a bob was there, and Gabriella approached her.

"I always thought you'd end up here. I remember how much you hated the city."

"The city stinks," Marta DeZantez said. "Too many people too close together… How can you rise up to be one with the Lord of All, when all those other lives are stuck to you? Like dough that's too thick."

"That's father speaking."

"Yes… It's funny how much the bakery has coloured my thinking. I'm glad I don't have to work there; the house smells of flour and warm bread enough as it is."

Marta took a half step back, looking Gabriella up and down. "My daughter, a Sister of the Swords… I've never been prouder of you." She smiled. "Well, except every other day."

Gabriella blushed. "I wish I could stay, but the Eminences — "

"It's too short a visit," Marta sighed. "But the Lord's work is more important." She looked at Gabriella askance. "Is there something else? You look as if… I don't know, either there's something you need to say, or you're too far from the privy."

Gabriella couldn't help but fidget somewhat. For all that she had fought and killed men, and been under threat of death twice in the past few weeks, she still couldn't help feeling terrified at the thought of telling her mother about she and Erak. She belatedly wondered if she could have brought Erak to her attention more often, and built up to the news. She knew there was no way, of course, but knowing and feeling weren't the same thing.

"There's something I really should…" She felt herself blush. "I mean, I know I should have said something before — "

"You're thinking of either taking the Pledge or the Binding, or both," Marta said. She hesitated, regarding Gabriella for a moment. "No… Not thinking of. You've taken — "

"The Pledge," Gabriella admitted.

"You're my daughter, Gabriella, don't think I couldn't tell."

"Erak and I have known each other since we first joined the Order. It just seemed such a natural way to go."

"Erak?" Marta thought for a second. "Erak Brand, of the Order?"

Gabriella wished she could tell what her mother was thinking. She probably could, if Marta wasn't deliberately keeping a poker face. She was good at it too, which wasn't surprising as Gabriella had herself learned the talent from her.

"You know Erak."

Marta couldn't hold her bland expression any longer. "Of course I do! I'm not a dullard, Gabriella, I don't have the memory sickness." Marta hugged her. "And, as it happens, I think you've made a good choice."

"You do?"

"He's a good man, and a soldier of the Lord, just as you are. It's always seemed to me that the two of you are well matched for each other."

Flooded with relief, Gabriella embraced her mother. As always, it was something she did to say goodbye.

It had been a tiring journey after the completion of a job in Vosburg, but Dai Batsen had finally returned to the lakeside home he had occupied for the past four years. It was a fisherman's stone cottage, on the grassy shores of a lake as close to the exact centre of Pontaine as a man could get. The interior was as harsh and uninviting as the stones on the outside of the building. Batsen lifted a wooden trapdoor in the floor of the tiny kitchen and descended a set of well-crafted wooden stairs into what had originally been a cellar. Now it was the ante-room to a warm and welcoming home.

The wood furniture in the main room was immaculately polished, the chairs had padded seats. Once Batsen had put his coinage away and dumped his saddlebags in an anteroom, he lit a number of lamps. To his surprise, the lights didn't dispel the darkness in the centre of the room, but outlined it.

Batsen immediately reached for the power he had spent years mastering, and tried to sweep away the shadow but it didn't dispel. Cautiously, he sat on a chair and regarded the darkness.

It was a column of deep shadow, standing floor to ceiling. Batsen realised what it was after only a few moments.

"Well," he said, "you knew where to find me. You must know what I do."

"Yes," the voice came through loud and clear. "Please forgive this unusual intrusion, but I cannot spare the time to make such a long journey as would be needed to see you in person and I felt that, as a Shadowmage, you wouldn't be unduly alarmed by magical communication."

"If you're hunting me, you just made a big mistake."

Batsen could feel tendrils of cold thought probing at the corners of his mind and he quickly dispelled the touch

"There are two warriors of the Swords of Dawn." The darkness said.

"And you want them removed?"

"Yes, because — "

Batsen raised a hand. "I have no interest in why you want someone removed. I'm only interested in how much you're offering for the service, whether there are any special requirements and where to find the persons in question. It's safer for all concerned that way. Most of my contracts are for people who knew too much, so you understand why I don't want to become a man who knows too much."

"I see what you mean. The target's names are Erak Brand and Gabriella DeZantez. We'll try to keep you updated on their location, but that may not always be possible. For now, they are preparing to go to a town called Solnos, in the lands controlled by Lord Aristide of Fayence."

"It's hard to find someone who doesn't want to be found, outside of the cities."

"Too much trouble?"

"Merely more expensive." Batsen said.

"No trouble. In any case, they'll have a base of sorts. There is a small church in the town of Solnos and both targets will be based there. They may be founding a Preceptory of the Order in the town. As to the fee — "

"Negotiations about the fee are fairly unimportant. I get what I want, or you get someone else." Batsen paused. "I don't mean to sound rude, arrogant or greedy, but it's better to be honest about these things."

"You come highly recommended and the price is unlikely to be an object."

"Five hundred gold, plus ten more per week or part of a week as expenses. The five hundred to be payable in advance. Is that wildly fantastical?"

"Highly expensive, but no, not fantastical."

"Then consider your two problematic members of the Faith gone. As I mentioned before, if there are any special requirements, feel free to request them."

"None," the voice said. "Use your judgement to remove them in whatever manner you deem most efficient. The important thing is that they die, not how."

With that the strange black cloud shrank and, in a few moments, it was gone.

"Impressive," Batsen murmured to himself. Then he lit a few more lamps and began to select the clothes and equipment he would need for the new mission.

CHAPTER 8

The village sat alone in the western savannah between the city of Fayence and the cliffs that dropped away to the sea far below. It was a long way from any major roads. There was no church here and no market square. Most of the modest houses surrounded a large corral, with a barn and stables next to it. A well stood on the other side of the corral.

The sound of drums, warlike and filled with brutal passion, was in the air. It insinuated itself through the surrounding fields with liquid ease and sent small creatures scampering back to their hollowed lairs.

A man ran between two of the houses, shooting frightened glances behind him. Suddenly, a figure leapt upon him from the shadows and they both rolled in the dust. Three more figures sprinted out and joined in the feast, ripping chunks of flesh from the man and consuming them hurriedly.

Other figures ran through the streets, illuminated by the torches they carried. The creatures had leathery skin ridged with scales, red eyes, and lanky limbs with stringy muscles that, while thin, were as strong as iron. Their teeth were filed to points and their torsos were draped in belts holding crude knives. The screams that disturbed the night as the creatures smashed in doors and tore people from their beds were quickly silenced.

Kratok-Chal watched his brethren hunt, then took his fill from the man whom he had brought down. It had been a long time since he had fed properly. Even the humans in the last little hamlet his tribe had passed through had been worthless. They had been no more than skin and bone, their animals no better.

Kratok-Chal and his fellow Rabash weren't looking for prisoners or slaves this time. They were hungry and had been for some weeks. This kind of land was strange to them, but there was nowhere else that might offer the food and space they needed. They had tried venturing into the great Sardenne forest several Tendays ago, but that had been a mistake; a fatal mistake for more than half the tribes.

Kratok-Chal shuddered at the thought of the things he had seen there. There were creatures in there that were far worse than men or Ogur, or even Rabash.

The Sardenne would not be their salvation, and they couldn't return to their nesting grounds, so the chiefs had brought them to the savannah. Sources of food were scarcer here, but at least threats could be seen from further away. Nothing would ambush them and they could seek out the villages and towns that dotted the lands between the cities.

The humans who lived in this village were taller than the Rabash blood and stronger over short periods, but the Rabash whom the humans called goblins were tougher, more built for stamina than speed or strength. A well-trained and very fit human could run for perhaps an hour at most but the average Rabash could keep up the same pace for three or four times as long.

Kratok-Chal knew there were other humans in this land. It would be a good hunting ground, even if he felt strange being so far from the rocks he knew. Perhaps his kind had been done a favour, he considered, when they had been exiled and forced on this journey. He hadn't felt that way at the time, but Kratok-Chal knew that there was a balance to life. It was a balance he looked forward to maintaining, because he knew it would fill the emptiness in his belly with the fullness of warm meat.

Few humans used to come the territories of the Rabash and the most recent ones had come with fire and iron. Their homes had been destroyed and so they had been forced out of the mountains and into the human lands. It could be worse, Kratok-Chal considered, at least the humans here had no hostility in them, and they seemed to be in plentiful supply. This was a good hunting ground and the prey was more worthy.

A few days' east of Andon, but still a couple of days' north of Fayence, Gabriella DeZantez was glad to see the end of a long ride and curious to see how her and Erak's destination looked. The pair were accompanied by a couple of dozen men-at-arms and a handful of squires and apprentices, as was common for Knights on the road. Since they had now been assigned to Solnos, and there was no Preceptory of the Swords there. The foot-soldiers would be assigned to duties at the church in town until called upon.

The short column clattered across a sun-bleached but solid wooden bridge. The river it crossed was neither wide nor fast; it curled around the northern outskirts of town, caressing it with gentle waters. Beyond the town, an escarpment rose to the south before sloping away in the direction of Fayence.

The town itself was a little smaller than Kalten and it sprawled across the savannah between river and escarpment. An archway stood over the approach from the bridge, but there was no wall around the town. The one and two-storey buildings seemed to be mostly made of adobe bricks, formed around a wooden framework. Tiny black window-spaces peeped out here and there from the blinding white plaster. Gabriella thought they were strangely like black eyes watching her and she was sure there were real eyes inside, doing exactly that. The thought amused her. A few of those eyes would be alarmed or hateful, but most would be curious and excited. As if proving her thought correct, several children emerged cautiously from the adobe houses and scuttled alongside them, admiring the horses and riders.

A few children were playing stickball in the street and Gabriella couldn't help smiling. They were just who she was here to protect.

The travellers drew a few curious, suspicious or downright hostile looks, but most people ignored them. They were too busy trading at the market that dominated the town square. Gabriella looked around, admiring the banners and paper lanterns that hung above and the bolts of silk in shops that hid under bright awnings.

The smell of food fought with other, less palatable, smells but none of them deflected her from the scent of spices coming from a three-storey brick and wood building on the next corner. The carved shutters over the windows were open and folded back, so she could see almost entirely through the ground floor.

The place was well-populated, with steaming bowls on many tables, and laughing faces enjoying their contents. A couple of girls in tight, if well-worn, silks were ferrying bottles and mugs around.

There was a second, smaller square, with an elaborate fountain, a short way past the market. This plaza was open in front of the church. The church was bleached as bone-white as everything else in the region. Three walls were thick adobe, faced with whitewashed plaster. Facing the fountain was a sandstone facade with a turret at each end and a dome-covered bell tower. Roasting gibbets were elevated in all four corners, but none were occupied. Judging by the rust on them, none had been used in a long time.

As the short column approached the church, a number of people had followed them. They could sense that something interesting was in the offing. Gabriella was glad to see this reaction; it would do them good to see the Faith come here and reassure them that it would look after their souls as diligently as it looked after the souls of Vos families.

A couple of streets away, Dai Batsen watched the knights of the Swords canter along. He was on a balcony and the sun was at his back, but he knew they couldn't see him for he had gathered the shadows around himself.

There was only one woman in the group, a red-headed Knight holding herself proud in the saddle. There were no other groups of the Swords in the area, so this was certainly the DeZantez woman, the first of his targets. He gathered the air in front of him, creating a magnifying effect. Now he could study her features. The arched eyebrows, the nose, and most especially those distinctive mismatched eyes. He'd have no trouble recognising her again. As if drawn by his gaze she turned her head, frowning slightly.

Now he looked at the faces of the men in the group. The only mounted man was in his prime, lean with a face full of sharp lines. It was reasonable to assume that this was Erak Brand, if the two targets were of equal rank. Batsen never assumed anything, however, and wished to be sure that there had been no changes to the knights' manpower before the left Andon. It wouldn't do to kill this man and then find that Brand had been held back for some reason.

It would be a simple enough matter to ride down in wind and shadow and eliminate the entire group, but then he could not be sure that he wouldn't still have to find and deal with Brand. And as he was being paid to eliminate two people, he didn't believe in charity.

No, the best approach would be to watch DeZantez and let her confirm Brand's identity for him. Then he could take them both together and collect his fee with the minimum amount of fuss.

Gabriella and Erak dismounted in the little plaza in front of the church, and a couple of squires immediately took the horses' reins and led them towards the stables near the cloisters. Gabriella arched her back and yawned.

"So, this is home while we pursue our man."

Erak nodded. "I imagine it's too much to hope he's right here in town."

"We'd have heard all about it from Enlightened One Stoll if he was." Gabriella flashed him a smile. "But where would the fun be in that?"

She looked around at the little plaza and the people in it. She knew Erak had been expecting the people of Pontaine to be wearing different clothes, or be somehow foreign in appearance, but she knew better. There were more pastel colours, but in general people wore much the trews and jerkins and robes as did the people in the Empire. The main difference seemed to be that clothes were less padded here as it was noticeably warmer this far south.

The church door opened and a tall, thin man with untidy straw-coloured hair emerged. He hurried down the stone steps to greet the new arrivals, smoothing down the sky-blue robes that he wore. A silver crossed-circle rattled on a fine chain as he approached with an eager smile.

"Enlightened Brother, Enlightened Sister, please allow me to welcome you to Solnos and, indeed, to Pontaine. I'm Kurt Stoll." He thrust out a hand, which Gabriella shook.

"Gabriella DeZantez," she said, "and Erak Brand. And, as it happens, this is something of a homecoming for me. I was born in Andon."

Stoll raised his eyebrows. "Andon, eh? There's a DeZantez at the Cathedral archive there… Marta, isn't it?"

"My mother," Gabriella confirmed. She liked this man immediately and was surprised to realise how quickly she was beginning to feel at home.

"Of course," he said warmly. "The resemblance is obvious." He hesitated and glanced at Erak. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Brother Brand. I didn't mean to exclude you. It's been such a long time since I enjoyed the company of my fellow clergy. Please, come inside. If you wish to pray, confess, eat, or simply freshen yourselves after your journey, it will be so."

"They all sound good to me," Erak said. "Freshening-up first, though."

"Definitely," Gabriella agreed.

She went to find a suitable cell in the cloisters. It was simple but comfortable, with a low bed, a chair, stool, table, water-basin and jug. She hauled off her mail shirt and hung it on a beam and sank gratefully into the chair. She felt that she stank and briefly wondered whether any of the townspeople would mind if she spent some time in their fountain. She smiled to herself, deciding that, having just come to put an end to one source of moral laxness, it wouldn't do to risk being the inspiration for the next one.

She washed in water from the jug and changed into a tunic and jerkin, with a white tabard bearing the symbol of the Faith over it all.

Erak had done likewise, and now they were both ready to join the Enlightened One for refreshments.

No-one in the crowded tavern on the corner of Solnos' market square paid much attention to Dai Batsen. He was just another customer, leaning against a wall.

Even the tapster behind the bar hadn't noticed that this customer had been nursing the one mug all afternoon.

Batsen himself paid the keenest attention to everyone in the tavern. He could tell at a glance which were the local workmen trying to drown the stresses of a long day; which were the travellers looking for refreshment after a journey; which were the smugglers and thieves; which were the eyes, ears and noses of a Vos Duke, a Pontaine Lord, or the Final Faith.

He was also able to tell which worked in the stables used by the Knights who had recently arrived. He watched as a scruffy-haired burly lad came back from the bar with two mugs of beer. The lad was Kurt Stoll's chief altar boy and Batsen had been buying the lad drinks for the past hour.

"You were saying," Batsen began mildly, "about the new arrivals."

"Yeah, They're going to be staying. Using the church as a base, while they wander around."

Batsen merely raised an eyebrow. "Wander?"

"There are a lot of villages with no church. They'll go out and hear confession and lead prayers, I suppose."

"And only these two Knights are staying?"

"That's what the letters said."

"And their names…"

"Gabriella DeZantez and… Erik Blond, or something like that."

"Erak Brand?"

"That's the one." Batsen sat back, satisfied. He had the confirmation he needed.

The altar boy yawned and blinked sluggishly. "Bloody hell. Strong stuff. The drinks are good here."

"I guarantee you'll never drink anywhere else." Batsen said.

The young man slumped face-first onto the table, snoring low and deep. Batsen stood and slipped out of the tavern while the boy was still breathing. The poison was not the quickest-acting, but it was decent, and actually quite kind. There would be no spasms or fire in his veins; just drunken slumber during which he would stop breathing. Batsen felt no urge to hurt the boy, or cause him pain. He just needed to be sure there would never be any mention of their conversation.

Gabriella and Erak ate with Enlightened One Stoll as he gave them a potted history of both his career and of the church. Gabriella and Erak had both wondered why such a decent sized church was here rather than in Fayence, but it had turned out that an exiled cousin of the then Lord Defender of Vos had built it a hundred years earlier. Relations between the two nations had been better at the time.

"You've heard about the assassination attempt on Eminence Rhodon?" Erak asked and Stoll nodded. "We have information that there may be a connection to a place in this region: the Golden Huntress."

Stoll's face crinkled into a knowing smile. "Ah yes. The Huntress… It's the bane of moral development in this quarter of Pontaine."

"Do you know it?" Gabriella was surprised.

"Well, not directly, but I have heard rumours of girls for sale and the use of Dreamweed. It's one of those places… Everyone knows it exists yet no-one claims to know where it is. You know the kind of thing."

"Well, we intend to find this house of ill-repute and do something about it." Gabriella said.

"It's about time." Stoll said, with a mixture of enthusiasm and relief. "How do you plan to go about it?"

"There must be enough people in Solnos who use the Huntress; we just need to persuade them to tell us where it is. However… unwittingly that might be." Gabriella smiled. "I suggest you drum up some business first thing in the morning. Just provoke some reactions and see if any of them are Brotherhood reactions. They're bound to know we're here, so we may as well act openly."

"And you?"

"Scouting, I think. If the Huntress is as profitable as was implied, it must be large and I didn't see anything large enough in town."

"Unless it's in a loft or a cellar."

"Always the optimist."

Erak propped himself up on one elbow. "Why don't I scout and you sing?"

"You're a better singer."

"That's debatable."

"Not to me."

The next morning Gabriella woke in Erak's arms. She felt both comfortable and strange there. Comfortable because they were joined, protecting each other; strange because it was so different from being on duty together or sparring.

The pledge scroll they had written together was wound tightly and sealed into a silver case lying on a chair opposite. Preceptor DeBarres would sign as witness when he received it, and pass it on to Eminence Voivode. Kurt Stoll had already seen it, of course. He had signed it, as the Enlightened One of their current parish. Once signed, a pledge scroll was binding in the eyes of the Lord of All, whether there was a marriage or not. One child, both signatories willing partners in the creation of a new worshipper.

"Aren't you going to take marriage vows as well?" Stoll had asked.

Gabriella and Erak had exchanged a glance.

"Probably," Erak said. "When I can persuade her to settle down in a parish and stop fighting for a living."

Gabriella had feigned offence. "Look who's talking!"

Stoll had merely given an amused grunt and said: "Well, when the time comes, I hope you'll consider me officiating at the ceremony."

Now that Gabriella was awake it almost seemed like a dream. Erak was dozing beside her and wore a smile that matched the one she felt on her own face. He opened his eyes. "Getting up so early?"

"Force of habit. It's dawn. How's your singing voice, by the way?"

Singing the Hymn of Three Eminences, Erak and a troop of foot soldiers began the next morning marching along the dusty streets. Each man-at-arms wore a blue tabard with the Faith's crossed-circle. They were all devout men and loyal servants of the Swords.

Erak led the way towards the inn on the corner of the market square. They sang nervously at first, but soon lost their inhibitions as they realised no-one was pointing or laughing, and began to enjoy it. Celebrating the Lord of All was supposed to be enjoyed and Erak couldn't understand when people found services or hymns a chore.

As they walked towards the inn, people paused to watch them. A few seemed amused but one or two spat on the ground as they passed, others simply looked on and then went back to their business. A couple of people, mostly children, actually even joined in, though they clearly didn't know the words, and were mumbling vague syllables for most of the song.

By the time they entered the huge inn, even the people who were reacting with disdain found that they couldn't help humming the tune. The reactions were much the same in the inn; again, mostly children joined in, but even those who didn't just shook their heads and went back to their breakfasts.

A man in fine velvets came over immediately. "Enlightened Brother… To what do we owe the honour?"

Erak nodded to the others to stop singing. "I just thought I'd drop by on behalf of Enlightened One Stoll and introduce ourselves. I'm Brother Brand and I just wanted to pass along the message that if you or any of your customers are interested in worshipping the Lord of All at the local church — "

"I'm sure many of my clients will be happy to join in," he said doubtfully. As if to prove him correct, almost of the people in the inn were rising and heading for the exit. Some had even left their meals on the tables. If Erak needed a demonstration that the Faith was less welcome in Pontaine than in Vos, he had it now. The recent war had only polarised things further, because the Faith had fought for Vos.

A few people were shaking their heads as they left and muttering about not being able to break their fasts in peace. A couple of them glared with hostility. Erak wasn't looking for their reactions, however; he was looking for the hidden expressions, which were more likely to be revealing of true feelings.

A furtive look away here and Erak memorised a face; a hand covering an upper arm, and he wondered if it was covering a Brotherhood tattoo, A friendly smile that didn't reach the eyes was worth watching. Of course, if even one or two people decided to come along to the next Tenthday service, then the visit would have been worth making.

Moving on the Hymn of the Red Clouds, Erak and his followers left the inn. As he passed through the door, he glanced back at the man in the sleeveless jerkin who had covered his arm and saw that he had uncovered his bicep, thinking he was safe. There was a pair of linked circles tattooed there. His eyes met Erak's, and he paled, knowing he had been seen. Erak froze for a moment and the man made his move first. He leaped for the nearest window, crashing straight through it. Erak bolted through the inn after him, while a couple of the soldiers-at-arms ran round the outside of the inn.

Chairs, tables and other diners scattered, tumbling away as Erak barrelled through the dining area and hurled himself through the same space as the Brotherhood man.

Gabriella had left Solnos before Erak had begun his hymn singing. She rode out past the thin woodland that grew against the foot of the southern escarpment and explored among the flitting insects and rustling of birds and small animals. She hadn't seen many signs of human habitation, and certainly nothing that looked like it might be the Golden Huntress. There were occasional farmhouses and sometimes a byre or a mill house, but no large buildings that would house a brother catering to such a large area. The last building she came across was a farm cottage nestled in a bowl-shaped cut near a spring at the end of a cart track. Taking some vellum from a saddlebag, Gabriella added the final touch to a map she had been making of the locations she had visited and the route she had taken to get to them. Then she wheeled her horse around, and angled back towards Solnos.

There was a glint of metal and the warmth of flames part way up a low rise in the thin woods to her left, and Gabriella debated with herself whether to investigate. If it was the campsite of a caravan travelling between cities she would be able to ask a few questions. If it was a group of bandits, she would have a less pleasant time.

Gabriella guided her mount up a narrow trail and into a stand of scrubby trees well out of earshot of the camp. There, she dismounted and crept closer until the fire resolved itself into a set of three camp fires, surrounded by about twenty men. Horses were hobbled nearby and the men were all recumbent, or at least sitting eating from iron pots. They wore a mixture of armour and so weren't from the army of a city's Lord, who would all be outfitted by the same armourer. Their tabards bore the shark's mouth design of a mercenary company from Malmkrug.

None of them had noticed her yet, as she had managed to become quite adept at moving quietly despite wearing mail. Since she had recognised their company's insignia as that of a reputable company, and one which had fought with the Faith several times, she slipped away to retrieve her horse. Then she cantered back to the camp in a more open fashion.

Two guards hailed her as she approached the camp. "Well met!"

"Well met and God be upon you." Gabriella wasn't exactly worried about being outnumbered twenty to one, but she was wary. Mercenary companies were not uncommon, but they had rules among themselves. "It's a long way from Malmkrug."

"You're telling us." Their Captain laughed as she approached. She was a bulky woman, all muscle, with black hair, brown eyes and a scar on her chin. "There's nobody to fight at home. You're out of, what, Solnos?" Gabriella nodded. "And this certainly isn't the country for a woman alone. Not unless she's well-trained."

"It suits me fine."

The Captain grinned. "I suppose it's too much to hope you're hiring?"

Gabriella smiled apologetically. "Just looking to share a camp for a few hours. My horse needs a rest, for a start."

The mercenary Captain invited her forward. "Of course. The Faith's always been good to us and I dare say there are some of us could do with confession. If you'll hear us out, we'll give you a hot meal and a groundsheet."

"Fair enough." Gabriella dismounted and tended to her horse. "Thank you, Captain…?"

"Kannis. And you are Sister…?"

"Gabriella DeZantez. You know Solnos well?"

"I've been through it a few times. Don't remember seeing anyone from the Swords Of Dawn there, so I'm assuming you're a new arrival. It's not a bad town. The people are hard working. We've just come up from Fayence. Things weren't too bad, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Ah, the locals down there are getting themselves jumpy about things that go bump in the night. Farmers and villagers from the lands west of Fayence have been flooding into the city, claiming there are goblins out there. There's no such thing within five leagues of Fayence and Lord Aristide is going blue in the face denying that they even exist. You and I know different, of course. But the farmers down there are scared and Aristide's words aren't doing any good."

Gabriella didn't like the thought of goblins. It was something the Order would have to keep an eye on. "How far have these goblins been reported?"

"A few days' ride west of Fayence. Nowhere near the city itself and there are some burned villages right enough. I can't imagine them coming much further, though. You know how they like to stay close to their nests and all the nests are in the World's Ridge."

"Indeed. Well it's certainly a situation that we will keep an eye on. Many thanks for the food and your hospitality, but I must be getting back to Solnos now."

"Well met Gabriella. If you ever need a good troupe of well trained men, be sure to look us up."

Erak and his merry band were no longer touring the town with their hymns when Gabriella rode into Solnos. One of the soldiers was waiting at the church's plaza to lead her to where Erak and the others were waiting for her. "Where did they go?" she asked, once she had turned the horse over to a squire.

"A disused shop in the craft quarter," the soldier reported. "It's this way. You could smell the Dreamweed from half way down the street."

"All right, let's visit this shop."

The soldier had been right enough. She could smell the Dreamweed from several doors down. The street contained several open fronted shops belonging to carpenters and potters. The scent was coming from behind a closed door between a cobbler and a carpenters shop.

Erak grinned as she approached. "Just in time for the fun."

"What happened?"

"Brotherhood. He led us a merry chase, but we followed him here. I was just about to give their door a knock."

She kissed him on the cheek and said: "Don't let me stop you."

Erak marched up to the door and knocked. "Open up, in the name of the Lord!"

"Send in that girlie we can see and we'll show you something to have faith in." There was a chorus of loud guffaws.

Erak scowled and lifted a foot, ready to kick the door down.

"Wait!" Gabriella called. "How can I refuse such a charming invitation?"

She had hoped they would see sense but, if not, that was God's will, and she would do what had to be done. She noticed then that an eye was peering out at her from a peephole in the centre of the door.

She smiled and then jammed a finger into it. The man on the other side fell back with a startled scream and Gabriella slammed the sole of her foot into the door. The thin wooden bar snapped and the door crashed open.

The first man that rushed her caught the edge of the door in his face, and tumbled over the one-eyed body sprawled before him. Gabriella smashed the boss of her shield into his face and slashed with her sword at the man next to him. Another man in the room lunged at her with a short spear, but she sliced the iron head off it with her blade, then punched the iron edge of her shield into his throat. He dropped, rasping and gurgling.

There was a crash from upstairs and Erak and Gabriella both charged up the short stairway, expecting an attack at any moment. An open door banged in the breeze and Gabriella darted through it, just in time to see a man pick himself up in the street below and run like a champion athlete. "Follow him!" she roared to the nearest soldier-at-arms in the street. "See where he goes! Take a horse if you have to!" The soldier was already running.

A moment later, a storm of hoof beats erupted as the fugitive took a horse and fled towards the edge of town. The soldier wasn't long behind him, having acquired a mount of his own.

There was nothing more Gabriella or Erak could do about him for the moment, so they moved around the upper floor carefully and quietly, just in case. She already knew there would be no-one but flies and roaches in the rooms. Every room was the same: mouldy cushions and termite-ridden furniture. Things skittered in the corners and she was perfectly happy for those creatures to remain hidden in their webbed nooks and crannies. In the cleanest of the upstairs rooms, there was a small altar facing a bronze icon with two circles linked together. The symbol of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path. The find lifted her spirits.

"This is our lucky day," Erak muttered.

Back downstairs, Gabriella searched the corpses, finding a tattoo of the same linked circle design on one's wrist and one on the other's shoulder. She hauled the surviving man to his feet.

"You look like a fine upstanding man to me, perhaps you can tell me some interesting things in return for your life?"

"Like what?"

"Like where can we find the other members of the Brotherhood?" Erak said.

The man coughed blood and shook his head woozily. "Just us."

"I wish I could believe that."

"'S'true. Just us. Everybody else buggered off weeks ago. Went south."

Gabriella was puzzled. "Went south?" Was Lord Aristide of Fayence gathering support from them, the way the Empire of Vos relied on the Faith in the last war? The Brotherhood weren't numerous enough to provide military support, but they were a ready-made network of spies.

"Because of the gobboes, you know?"

"Pretend I don't," Gabriella said quietly.

The man focussed bleary eyes on her and managed a mirthless laugh. "They're not nesting any more. Un-nested. Nest-less. Down past Fayence, in the World's Ridge, there are now opportunities."

"With gobboes — I mean, goblins?"

"No! Without goblins. Without. Now that they've been driven out."

Gabriella turned to Erak. "Let's take him back to the church. We might get more out of him when he's sober."

"Good idea. I'll see if I can find a Healer. This one could take hours to sober up and days to come down from the Dreamweed."

While Erak and the soldiers-at-arms carried the wounded Brotherhood man back to the church, Gabriella emerged into the sunlight and looked around at the streets and the people in them. How many of the men around her were in the Brotherhood?

She had stood there for several minutes, looking for tattoos and furtive glances, before she realised what she was doing. Cursing herself for being so stupid, she began walking towards the market square. If she could find a Healer, he might be able to make the Brotherhood man worth talking to a lot quicker than would occur naturally.

As she neared the market square, a small boy ran up to her and tugged at her cloak. "Enlightened Sister!"

"What can I do for you lad?"

"Brother Brand says to tell you that he's waiting for you outside the wheelwright's workshop."

"Where is that?"

The lad grinned brightly and held out a hand. Gabriella tossed him a penny, and the lad pointed east. "Past the market square, towards the east bridge."

"Thanks, lad." As the urchin darted away with his prize, Gabriella set off in the direction the boy had indicated.

She moved quickly but unhurriedly along the north edge of the bustling market square, offering benedictions and smiles to those she passed. She wanted the people to know that the Faith was there for them, to help them. Some viewed her with suspicion, she saw, but she offered them kind and encouraging words and promised to pray for the success of their businesses or family lives.

She wanted to make sure that the people knew the Faith took an interest in all their lives. Gabriella was determined that the Brotherhood would not take a hold of this town.

Six steps behind Gabriella, Dai Batsen allowed the dagger to slide down from his sleeve into his hand. The street was busy, filled with the stink of unwashed humanity and the shouts of hawkers, so she hadn't noticed him. With most people, it would be a simple matter for Batsen to walk up, jam a thin blade through the spinal column, and walk on before his victim even fell. Nobody even noticed such things, and thieves and beggars would be the first to surround a body, intent on looting.

This one would have to be different. She was a trained soldier. There was a chance, however faint, that she would be alerted to his approach.

He watched as she turned into a short cut that led through from the market square, just as he'd told the street urchin to direct her. The alley was short, but empty, and Batsen saw his chance. He slipped forward, the dagger already swinging for her neck.

Gabriella heard a faint scrape behind her and began to turn. She got a momentary glimpse of a shaven head, before her assailant lunged forward. A dagger flashed past her face and then the man's full weight slammed into her back. His other arm whipped around her neck, squeezing against the arteries below her ears, while she tried to keep the hand with the dagger pressed between her hip and the wall, so that he couldn't use it. She began to feel light-headed as the crook of his arm crushed the arteries in her neck and she stamped down with her heel as she lashed her head backwards. Bone splintered under the impact of her skull and he let go as he fell. Gabriella turned and kicked him in the face before he hit the ground.

The alley was too narrow for her to use her swords, but he had no such problem with the dagger in his hand. He swung for her throat, but she turned, left hand already blocking and tried to counterpunch him in the gut. He twisted sideways and slashed at her inner forearm. The knife caught on one of her wrist bracers and clattered away.

A kick to her chest knocked her backwards and back out into the market square, giving Batsen distance to draw another weapon, a pair of long pointed bodkins. Gabriella regained her feet and drew her swords. Batsen caught her blades between the bodkins and pushed them away. Momentarily, both of them had their arms spread wide, then each launched a kick to push the other away. They fell back from each other.

Batsen tucked his elbows in and rolled under a cart before Gabriella could get to her feet. She darted round the cart, but he was already gone.

CHAPTER 9

Erak paced around the vestry, looking for something to lash out at. His angular face was flushed with anger. Enlightened One Stoll looked just as angry, but his was more a glowering mood as he studied one of the maps Gabriella had drawn during her scouting trip.

"That wasn't just someone taking exception to a member of the Faith, or even the Swords being here. That was a targeted attack, Gabriella. Somebody wanted to kill you specifically." Erak said.

"And I can make a guess as to who."

"Goran Kell," he said. His lips were still thinned and white, as if he was ready to bite at someone and Gabriella felt momentarily honoured that he felt as she did. "Who else have you annoyed recently?"

"Not as much of Pontaine as I'd intended. Yet" She grabbed a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick and started trying to draw the assailant's face before it faded from her memory. "The man didn't look like someone from this area, though. Too pale."

"Kell hired one assassin," Stoll pointed out, "so he won't have compunctions about hiring another. After all, you've come to find his oh-so profitable Golden Huntress and to hunt him."

Erak nodded. "And you're the one who chased down the assassin he hired."

"Then we must be onto something. We must be closer to finding the Huntress than we know…"

"All right, what did this man look like?" Erak said.

Gabriella returned to the drawing. "He was bald," she said. She finished her drawing and held it up. It was a good likeness, she was sure.

Stoll took it. "You've got a real skill for this, you know. If you'd stayed living in Pontaine you'd probably be a famous artist by now."

"Fame doesn't interest me." She was pleased all the same, She had always loved to draw as a child and it still gave her a thrill when someone got pleasure from a picture of hers. "Does he look familiar?"

Stoll shook his head. "No. But I'll pass this around town later and see whether anyone recognises him."

"I suppose that will have to do," Gabriella muttered. She caught Stoll's expression and reddened. "I mean no disrespect to you efforts, Enlightened One. It's just a little frustrating."

"I can imagine."

"There's something else I'd been meaning to ask you." She handed him a copy of the map she had drawn earlier. "Do you know who lives here?" She pointed to the last location she had visited on her scouting trip. The soldier-at-arms who had pursued the fugitive from the Brotherhood Dreamweed den had returned earlier, and pointed to that place on the map as the place the man had gone to.

Stoll studied the page for a moment. "That's Warrigan's farm."

"Warrigan?"

"He's a gamekeeper with a small farm run from his cottage. He's one of several gamekeepers in the vicinity who owe fealty to Lord Aristide. He comes to church perhaps once or twice a year, at the major holidays."

Erak grunted. "One of those 'just-in-case' types?"

"I'm afraid so."

Gabriella took the map back and studied it. "Then why did someone think that taking word of our visit was so important?"

"Well, he is Aristide's man… And any of the Lords in Pontaine would be keen to keep an eye on visitors from the Empire. Still, it seems that you've both had quite a productive day despite the, er, negative aspects of it."

"You could put it that way," Gabriella agreed, putting the map back on the table. "Which reminds me, we have a guest. Would you like to hear his confession tomorrow, Enlightened One?" Since she had never found a Healer, they would need to wait for the man to sober up the old-fashioned way.

"Why not?" Stoll said magnanimously.

The man from the Brotherhood's little Dreamweed den was in a novice's cell with a soldier-at-arms on guard outside. The Brotherhood man had sobered up by morning, which was unfortunate for him, as the agony from his smashed jaw was no longer dulled.

"Remember me?" Gabriella asked brightly. "And this is Enlightened Brother Brand. And I'm sure you know your local Enlightened One."

"Hello, Collin," Stoll said with a smile. "I must say I'm disappointed to find you being brought to me under such circumstances."

The young man looked at Stoll and winced. "It's all right, Enlightened One. I just…" He trailed off. "I dunno. Look, I'm sorry, all right?"

"Remorse is good," Erak commented. "And it's not too late to see the light."

"How d'you mean?"

"You tell us things, and we help you see the error of your sinning ways."

"What things?"

"Firstly," Gabriella began, "when I found you at your little den, you said the other Brotherhood members from the area were — "

"They're gone."

"That was it."

"I meant what I said. They're not here." The prisoner grimaced with every word. He hadn't been cleaned up at all and the dried blood on his face cracked and flaked off as his expression contorted. "Look, there used to be a Dreamweed place at the north corner, in the old tannery. The guy who ran it disappeared a couple of months ago. We thought maybe he'd been nobbled by the Faith, or by Aristide, so we set up a new place in that shop you found us in."

"I'll be checking that."

"It's true that the tanner has disappeared," Stoll put in. "His whole family were just gone one morning."

Gabriella thought about this. "A strange thing, especially if he was indeed involved in seducing people to either Dreamweed or the Divine Path."

The prisoner was nodding eagerly. "He just went. No word to the Brothers. No word to the…"

"Needy?"

"And, if it means anything to you, there were some real heretics in town: the Church of Syrall."

"Never heard of it."

Stoll spat. "Syrall was some hermit from the Sardenne a hundred years ago. He preached that the Lord of All was really the Lord of Nothing and just a myth to hide people's true natures from themselves."

Gabriella felt sick at the thought. Anyone who looked at Kerberos could see the Lord for themselves.

"Well, they were certainly no friends of the Brotherhood." The prisoner said. "They had a place in a waggoner's shed next to the bakery. They disappeared too, before we could finish them off."

The news didn't surprise Gabriella. The Brotherhood and the Faith did worship the same God, after all. An attack on that God was an attack on both factions.

"All right…" She turned to Stoll. "You can hear his confession in private. We'll check out the tannery and this Church of Syrall thing. Then perhaps one of us should have a chat with Warrigan."

"Perhaps I can help you with that?" Stoll suggested. "He and I do know each other a little. It won't seem odd if I say hello and ask how he's doing."

"Good enough," Erak said happily. "Between the three of us, we should get our answers quickly enough."

Gabriella couldn't help but agree. The Lord was with them and it showed.

"Enlightened One," she said quietly, out of the prisoner's hearing. "Find out if he knows the location of the Golden Huntress. It's supposed to be a source of Dreamweed as well as fallen women, so if he's been in need of a new source since the tanner left…"

"I'll do my best," Stoll promised.

The Brotherhood man's information about the old tanner's Dreamweed den had been correct. Gabriella and Erak had broken into the old tannery and found that it hadn't been used for some time. Thick dust coated the floor and here were footprints, other than their own.

"This place hasn't been used for months," Erak said.

"No… Come on." The pair paused to judge which of the nearest houses to approach and began knocking on doors and asking about the old tannery. It wasn't long before they found an answer. A sad-looking woman with lank hair said she had known about the immorality there, though obviously she had never been inside, being female.

"My brother used to go there," the woman admitted. "But I haven't seen him in a couple of months."

This was unusual. In rural communities, few people tended to move around much unless they joined a mercenary band. People grew from their roots and those roots tended to remain planted in the same fields.

"You have no idea at all, where he went?"

"Only what I heard one of his friends say. Then he disappeared as well."

Gabriella gave her a sympathetic look. "Tell me what you've heard."

"He said he was going to his freedom. Somewhere there was no Final Faith."

"Freiport?" Erak said.

"Not according to Joca. He said he was going to a place far from the Final Faith. I think that he said it was south of here."

"Now I know he was dreaming."

The woman looked offended. "He wasn't dreaming. He had a map to where he was going. He called it his map to freedom, and it was definitely south."

"Do you still have a copy of this map or did you ever see it?" The woman hesitated and Gabriella knew her answer. "What did it show?"

"I don't remember many details."

Something that the woman had said did strike a chord with Gabriella, though. She had heard the word 'freedom' used as though it referred to more than just the usual concept once before.

"Did Joca know a man called Scarra? Karel Scarra?" Gabriella asked.

"Not that I know of. If he did, he never mentioned him to me."

"Goran Kell?" The woman shook her head again and Gabriella thought hard. What was that rank that the Brotherhood had given to Kell? "Did he ever mention a Bishop?"

"Yes," the woman said, sounding surprised. "He did once say something about a Bishop getting him his freedom."

Gabriella knew that the woman deserved some punishment for having known about the Brotherhood and their Dreamweed den and not reporting them, but she had clearly suffered enough. She needed the Faith's help to help herself.

"Will you do something for me?" she asked. The woman nodded. "Recite the Prayer of Atonement each day, from the next Tenthday until the one after." The woman nodded again, more gratefully this time and Gabriella knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would do just as she had been told.

The Church of Syrall in the old waggoner's shed had a strange octagonal altar and a portrait of an old man on the wall.

The Church was deserted and had been for some time. A few fragments of rotted scrolls lay in the corners. Gabriella wasn't sure whether to be happy about that, or troubled.

"All gone."

"Could they have been warned that we were coming?"

Gabriella laughed mirthlessly, and used a fingertip to draw a line in the thick dust. "Dust and decay, Erak. Nobody has been in this place in weeks. Not running from us," she said to herself, "but just disappeared into thin air."

"Could it be true, what that woman said?"

Gabriella looked sceptical. "A land to the south bereft of the Faith? I suppose if it was a Brotherhood stronghold, perhaps… But here's a thing. Joca mentioned a Bishop to his sister. A Bishop holds the same rank in the Brotherhood as an Eminence does for us. He would be the highest ranking man in a particular area."

"This area, in Kell's case."

"Exactly. So the Bishop for here is Kell, and Scarra said Kell had gone to Freedom. If it's an actual place, it must be south of here?"

Erak nodded thoughtfully. "We still need to find the Golden Huntress. Even if Kell's not there and its not this Freedom place, there must a link onwards from there."

They walked back to the church. While Erak went through to see how Stoll was getting on with the prisoner and to keep the Enlightened One informed with what they'd learned, Gabriella went into the vestry and looked for the copy of her map to Warrigan's place. There was no sign of it, though she distinctly remembered putting it down on the table before.

"Gabe!" Erak burst into the vestry with a shout. He had drawn his sword, and Gabriella drew hers instinctively, before even asking what the threat was.

"What is it?"

"Where's Stoll?"

"Isn't he with the prisoner?"

"See for yourself."

They went into the cloister where the door of the cell was hanging open. Gabriella looked inside and was shocked to see that it was completely empty. There was no sign of either the prisoner or Stoll. "He must have sobered up quicker than we expected."

"Or was faking it," Erak suggested grimly. "Not every man responds to alcohol the same way."

"He might have taken Stoll. Perhaps as a bargaining chip," And then she was running through the church.

"Enlightened One!" She called out. A couple of altar boys looked round. "Have any of you seen Enlightened One Stoll?"

"He left about half an hour ago," one of the boys said.

"Who was with him?"

The children looked at each other then back at her. "No-one."

"Did he say where he was going?" Erak asked.

"No."

"Damn!" Gabriella ran the length of the church and took the steps down to the plaza in one jump. Erak followed, as she ran round to the stables and threw a saddle onto a horse. "Taken Stoll, my arse, Erak!" She threw a saddle to him.

Erak rushed to his mount. "What do you mean? You think Stoll — "

"Either he let that lad go, or he left him alone and didn't keep an eye on him. Either way, one of them took the map, and is going to Warrigan's cottage."

"Why?"

"The Brotherhood man must have known something that we're not supposed to know and so must Warrigan."

"The location of the Huntress?"

"Could be. Either Stoll must have thought he could get to Warrigan while we were searching the tannery, or the prisoner thought that. Either way, its where we have to go."

"Why would they need the map? They both must know the way."

"To stop us from following so quickly. They won't be expecting me to remember the way."

"And whichever one went there probably got there already"

Gabriella had finished saddling her horse and mounted. "Then we'll find an empty cottage."

Gabriella remembered the way well enough. Her and Erak's horses' hooves bit at the earth as they pounded along the path between Solnos and the escarpment that separated it from the outlying lands of Fayence.

Gabriella felt a mixture of gut-churning dread and blinding anger. How could an Enlightened One have betrayed them? There was a horse tied up outside the cottage when they reached it. Gabriella and Erak dismounted where the cart-track turned towards the building.

"We're in luck," she said. "It looks like our man is still there."

"Or he's dead."

"I hope not," Gabriella said grimly. "There's a lot of questions I'd like to ask him."

She led the way, keeping low. Gabriella had no intention of inviting arrows towards Erak or herself. They rustled through the long grass in a crouch, expecting at any moment to either hear a cry of alarm, or feel the heavy punch of an arrow smashing through ribs.

Neither thing happened and Gabriella rose to press her back against the wall next to the cottage's door.

Cautiously, she pressed her ear to the door and heard Stoll's muffled voice.

"Do you really need that? Brand and DeZantez will be here shortly!"

"You took the maps," a rough voice said.

"A gamble for a little time. DeZantez has been here before. She scouted the whole area. Just grab what you truly need and get out to the Huntress. I've already dealt with one potential leak, but I must implore you — "

Gabriella kicked the door in, drawing one sword as she pushed through into a cramped room filled with stout furniture and the smell of peat-smoke. Stoll and Warrigan spun round. Warrigan was a solidly-built man, who looked like a brawler.

"Sister DeZantez," Stoll gasped. "I was just… questioning Warrigan. I remembered you mentioned he might be of help to us. He's admitted to running the Golden Huntress."

Warrigan glared and reached towards a sword hanging from a belt on a wooden stand. Erak darted through the back door of the cottage and kicked it away from him.

"Warrigan, you will be returning to Solnos with us, to confess."

"To confess to what? That I run an inn? That's not illegal."

"You don't run an inn any more."

"You want to shut my place down. Why?"

"Because you encourage and profit from sin and immorality."

"Sin and immorality? You mean the enjoyment of simple pleasures of the flesh? Pleasures, I might add, which harm no-one and make life more bearable. God gave us this flesh, you know. And the ability to feel any pleasures it feels. He must have had a reason."

"God gave us the means, the right and the obligation to create and nurture future generations to spread His word and to carry mankind to the point where he can become one with God. Reckless pleasuring for fun is a perversion of that intent and, more practically, a diversion from it."

"Oh," Warrigan drawled sourly, "I see. Yet Makennon gives her blessing to the marriage of Kalten's son when everybody knows the bride has one in the oven already. The happy couple having had their reckless pleasure. And the Faith shows their support for that."

"God created us imperfect, so we would learn and strive to better ourselves. Occasionally individuals make mistakes, but mistakes are a thing to be taught from and to learn from. They're part of the striving to better ourselves. There's a world of difference between erring and simply by being human — which can be forgiven — and systematically urging people to go astray. Exploiting people's weaknesses and mistakes, rather than teaching them how to not make those mistakes."

"You learned that speech in the seminary I suppose?"

"Yes. That doesn't make it untrue."

"And what do you think? If you're allowed to that is."

She smiled. "I think we do people a favour. How embarrassing must it be to be so unattractive that you have to pay for something most people enjoy for free?"

"Enlightened One Stoll gives special dispensation, you know. He takes a cut every time Travis Crowe brings in a wagon of something interesting from Turnitia or Freiport."

"Travis Crowe?"

"He's a smuggler. Allegedly."

"Sounds like an interesting fellow."

"He likes to think so."

"Perhaps I'll ask him about his friends."

"He won't tell you."

Gabriella didn't answer. Instead, she turned to Erak. "Get him out of here."

When Erak pushed Warrigan out of the cottage at sword-point, Gabriella re-sheathed her sword and regarded Stoll for a moment. He edged toward the door and she stopped him, with a hand on his chest.

"Just a moment," she said. "That was brave of you." Gabriella chose her words carefully, not rushing through them. "Good work, Enlightened One. Unfortunately while you were away, the prisoner escaped."

Stoll looked appalled. "Escaped?"

"He must have waited for you to leave, then stopped pretending to be drunk and picked the lock on his cell. He's long gone."

"I see…"

"Now let's get this sinner back to town, and send for a Confessor from the cathedral at Andon."

Outside, Erak had tied Warrigan's hands and put him over his horse's saddle-bow. Stoll mounted his own horse and Gabriella pulled Erak a couple of steps aside.

"Erak," she whispered.

"What about Stoll?"

"Neither of them know we're onto Stoll. Let's keep them separate."

"You're plotting something?"

"The Lord gave us wits to use. It would be wrong to let them lie fallow."

"What now?" Erak asked. He had settled into a pew in Solnos' church. Gabriella was conferring with a Healer, who poured the contents of a paper sachet into a water jug held by an altar girl. The Healer left the church and the girl went through an interior door.

"Now Warrigan sleeps for a couple of hours and wakes very refreshed."

"And talkative?"

"Is Stoll secured?"

"The Healer promises me that the draught we gave him will keep him out for at least a day."

"Good. I wonder whether he released the lad, or…"

"He'll tell a Confessor. We'll send a message to Andon, reporting what we've learned. The goblins said to be on the loose, Stoll's betrayal, all of it. Request a Confessor and a new Enlightened One for the parish."

"I'll take care of that."

Now that they were alone, Erak got to his feet, and hugged her. "My father always said the same thing, you know."

"What thing?"

"That the Lord gave us these wits to use."

"You must remember to pass that one on."

"I have a list." He tapped the side of his head. "In here. Most of it's farming stuff, I'm afraid. Not much use to a young Sword."

"Even a young Sword has to eat."

Warrigan woke feeling more refreshed than he had in years. He had dozed off after the simple meal brought to his cell by a pretty altar girl and was vaguely surprised. He had been convinced his dread would keep him awake all night.

He was even more surprised to find that the sleep had done him good. He felt more awake and alert than he had in days. If he wasn't locked in this poky little room that smelled of stale bread and stale robes, he thought he could probably do more with the day than he ever had. He glared at the cell door and that was when he noticed a piece of parchment lying at the foot of it, sticking out from under the wood. When he reached down with a calloused hand to pick it up, it caught on the door and the door jerked inwards slightly.

He stared at it in disbelief and glanced down at the parchment.

'Get out quickly,' it read, 'the two Swords have been dealt with — Stoll.'

Warrigan tugged experimentally at the door and it juddered open. There was no sign of guards outside. Satisfied, Warrigan wasted no time in following the note's advice. He crept through the empty church as silently as any ghost, and hopped down the steps to the deserted plaza.

Gabriella and Erak watched from a darkened archway as Warrigan hurried along to the inn on the corner of the marketplace and had a hushed conversation with a man on the doorstep. The man disappeared after a moment and soon returned on a pale grey horse. He dismounted and handed the reins to Warrigan.

Warrigan galloped off and Gabriella stepped out to watch him. Already, a dozen soldiers in the tabards of the Swords were materialising silently out of the shadows, leading horses. One handed a set of reins to Gabriella, who mounted immediately. Erak took another. Within a few moments, they were clattering out of Solnos, at just the right distance to keep Warrigan in sight without the sounds of the hooves alerting him to their presence.

Gabriella led the group, while Erak brought up the rear, with the soldiers in between. As they moved out on to the road leading south, Erak was only partly surprised to see another rider off to his right. This one was veering away to the west. Erak galloped up closer to Gabriella and told her what he had seen.

"Might be a rearguard for Warrigan," he suggested. "If he is, they might have a shortcut planned where the rearguard can catch up and tell Warrigan if he's being followed."

"He must have seen us."

"I'll take two men and go after him." Gabriella nodded, and Erak wheeled his mount around. Pointing to two soldiers and beckoning them to come with him, he rode after the other rider. Gabriella and the remaining ten men stayed on Warrigan's trail.

As Erak and his two men gained on the rider heading west, Erak began to think there was something familiar about him. He was dressed in black, with shaved head and a topknot. With a start, Erak realised he matched the picture Gabriella had drawn of the man who had attacked her in the alley.

For a moment he considered sending one of the men back to follow her and tell her that here was a chance for revenge. Better sense quickly prevailed; she had a more important job tonight and he wasn't going to give this bastard a second chance at her life. He spurred his horse onwards, the two soldiers keeping pace with him.

Warrigan led them south to a trail that led up to the top of the escarpment, then headed east until he descended into a natural bowl with a small lake at the centre. A stream led past several buildings and a horse corral.

"The Golden Huntress," Gabriella said to her soldiers.

It was a two-storey affair that seemed to have been converted from a sprawling farmhouse. She kept her distance for the moment, observing the den of ill repute. There were only a handful of horses in the corral and from what she could see through the windows of the Huntress, the place didn't look like very full. Perhaps it was simply too early in the day. Drinking, gambling, smoking Dreamweed and whoring were all things most people seemed to do late in the evening.

"Your orders, Enlightened Sister?"

"Let's knock on their door."

Travis Crowe woke with a scream dying in his throat. It was mercifully dark in the room, but he was still blinking the green and purple spots out of his eyes as the whore next to him sat up.

"What's happening?" she asked.

He caught his breath; it was a difficult chase. "Nothing," he said at last. "Just a bad dream."

She reached under the sheets and gripped what she found there. "Couldn't have been that bad. You paid enough for the whole eclipse and there's still a while till sun-time you know."

He stared into the darkness for a moment, concentrating on getting his bearings. "You know all the right things to say to a man, don't you?"

"We learn pretty fast in this business."

Crowe grinned. "So, how much more have I bought?"

The girl leaned on one elbow for a moment, just looking at him.

"Don't go anywhere," she said, rolling off the bed. She disappeared through a door, and reappeared a moment later, with another girl. This one was a little shorter, but just as pretty and just as naked. Good enough for Crowe. "This much," the first girl said.

Crowe leaned back and grinned, certain that this was shaping up to be one of the best days of his life.

Despite all his best efforts, the assassin's horse was outpacing those of Erak and the soldiers. The man didn't seem to have noticed that he was being followed, but his mount wasn't carrying so much weight. The Knight and soldiers were armoured, while the assassin was not and their horses began to tire sooner than his.

Erak was debating with himself as to whether to give up and rest the horses — at least the assassin couldn't try again if he had fled town — or ride them to death to get at the murderous bastard.

The decision was unexpectedly made for him, when a flurry of arrows thudded into his mount's neck and he was hurled painfully to the ground as it fell.

The inside of the Golden Huntress belied the decrepit exterior. Once through the doors the setting was as plush as any in Miramas or Volonne. There were ten gaming tables on the ground floor, with a highly-polished bar along one wall. Silk was draped from the walls and coloured lamps hung from the ceiling, swathed in the smoke from Dreamweed. Opposite the bar, a wide staircase swept up to the first floor.

Men paled and women screamed as the armoured Swords stalked in and Gabriella kicked over a gaming table. Strong-looking guards in leather jerkins rode from their seats or entered through doors, with hands on swords and maces.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight's entertainment is cancelled, by order of the Anointed Lord. Warrigan!"

Warrigan was carrying a saddle-bag through an interior door and looked around. "What?"

"You were expecting Kurt Stoll?"

Warrigan glanced sideways at the patrons in the main room, who were mostly frozen like mice under the gazes of cats.

"If you've come to renegotiate the arrangement we had with Enlightened One Stoll — "

Gabriella shook her head. "Kurt Stoll was never as Enlightened as he liked to think. But it was nice of him to help us trick you into leading us here." She grinned. "I have Stoll I have you, and I imagine I'll have this Travis Crowe you mentioned next."

"Feel free to take Crowe," Warrigan said. "It'll save me paying him for his latest delivery. But I'm walking out of here."

"Under escort."

"There are less than a dozen of you," Warrigan said in a low voice. "Not too much trouble for the Huntress' men. They might spend their time protecting the girls from thoughtless drunken pigs, but they're well train — "

Everyone hit the floor as the doors burst open, almost coming off their hinges as a dead horse crashed through and into the saloon.

Warrigan drew a sword. "What are you joyless fanatics doing now?"

"That wasn't us," Gabriella managed to say, drawing her two blades. She had barely released the words when a swarm of wiry figures with leathery hides and grotesque scars and tattoos flooded into the Huntress. They were barefoot, bedecked in weapons and their teeth were filed to points. Their reptilian scales and red eyes were far from human.

"Goblins!" someone shouted and then all hell broke loose.

Half of Gabriella's men were felled before she could cut down her first goblin. She slashed one with both swords and back-stabbed another. Gamblers and whores were cut down as they tried to get past the melee and reach the doors. Some of the more eager goblins sliced off fingers or ears and swallowed them even as they moved onto their next target. Gabriella was too busy to feel sick, so she concentrated on trying to regroup with her shrinking number of soldiers.

A goblin jumped at Warrigan's back and he turned to fight it off. Gabriella kicked it in the head and one of her men speared both it and Warrigan.

One of the Huntress' guards leapt to the back of the room and pushed with one palm. A wave of tables and chairs immediately hurled themselves into the morass of people and goblins. Gabriella made a long slide across the floor and came up with each sword in the gut of a goblin.

A goblin shaman gestured at the human who had made the chairs move and the man exploded into shrieking flame. Gabriella wasn't about to give him the chance to do the same to her; she scooped up a fallen knife, the hilt slick with greenish blood, and hurled it into the goblin magician's neck before he could notice her.

He fell but there were still many goblins in the Huntress and as they rushed across the room, Gabriella backhanded one with the pommel of one sword and ran a second goblin through with the other. She ran up the stairs after a female goblin and plunged both swords into her back. The first goblin recovered, spitting out teeth, and came up after her. She kicked him in the face and he fell to his hands and knees, before scrambled up after her. He made a grab for her, but she twisted her hips and threw him off. He slammed into a door and, when Gabriella rammed a knee into his gut, they both fell through it.

The room was designed for dubious pleasures and was flooded with the scent of Dreamweed. A man wearing a pair of leather trews and an open grubby red and black shirt, was helping the first of two women wearing only paint to climb out through an open window. They paused and looked on in surprise as Gabriella fenced briefly with the goblin before pitching it back out of the room, with a gaping wound in its chest.

The two slatterns hesitated and Gabriella gave the nearest one a shove towards the window.

"Don't stop. Climb out and run."

They made a quick getaway as directed. The man didn't climb out, but lifted a broadsword from beneath the bed. He was a little taller than average. His shoulders were broad and his collarbone, visible through the open shirt, was covered with the pink scarring that only flame could give. He had a youthful, angular face, betrayed by silver stubble. His eyes were clear and penetrating, the right one underlined by a scar, and his unnaturally white hair was tied into a ponytail by a leather thong.

"You're not Crowe, by any chance?" she asked, remembering what Warrigan had said downstairs.

"Might be." He looked at her askance. "You don't look like a whore."

"Is that meant to be a compliment, or an insult?"

"Just an observation. This is a brothel. I'd kind of expected to meet whores in it."

"Then you'll just have to be disappointed."

"Not necessarily." He hefted a leather pouch, which jingled. "I don't know how much they pay members of the Order, but I doubt it's so much that a little extra wouldn't come in handy."

"You can put that purse away, before I shove it so far down your throat you'll be dropping silver into the privy for a week." She pushed past him and glanced out through the window. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

"Good plan. Didn't expect gobboes this far out of the World's Ridge. I mean, God's hairy bollocks, but it wasn't the night I had in mind — "

Gabriella slapped him. "That's for the blasphemy. Just be glad I'm taking the mitigating circumstances into account."

He lifted the broadsword and levelled the wide point at her throat.

"And you just be glad that I'm taking the gobboes, and the need for as many blades as possible when running into said gobboes, into account." He lowered the blade, and nodded at the swords in her hands. "I hope you know how to handle that cutlery of yours."

"I'll bet you do."

She glanced towards the wall beside the shattered door as a creak came from the other side. She leaped across, burying one sword into the wall up to the hilt. When she pulled it free, the blade was slick with bile-like greenish blood and there was a loud crash from the landing. The plasterboard wall exploded inwards, a war-axe tearing through it. Gabriella dodged, using her swords to force the axe down into the floor. She kicked out at one of the muscled arms holding it, breaking the elbow loudly, then ran the creature through.

Crowe wasted no time in heading for the window but, before he could dive out, a lanky, snarling goblin swung into the room from the guttering at the edge of the roof outside, and caught the broadsword's edge in the face for its trouble. It disappeared with a burbling scream.

Crowe leapt out of the window and Gabriella followed. They dropped onto the awning that covered the Huntress' main door and from there jumped carefully to the ground.

"Let's get out of here." Crowe said as they reached the ground.

"First things first." She ran back into the barroom, cut down two more goblins and then sheathed her swords. Then, finding a few spirit barrels suitable for her purpose, she grabbed a crowbar and used both hands to provide the maximum possible force, levering off the lids of the barrels. She kicked them over. Neat spirits sloshed out and flowed across the floor of the tap room.

Crowe sneered from the doorway, slicing the arm from one goblin and kicking another in the groin.

"You one of those temperance nutters, girl? Think you need to get rid of that stuff? Nobody's going to be drinking it for a very long time. Unless you're concerned about the souls of the gobboes."

As if summoned by his words, another half dozen goblins swarmed down the stairs and several others emerged out of a back room, leaping over smashed furniture in their haste to get at the two humans.

"Oh, I'm thinking about the goblins all right." Gabriella smashed the lid off another barrel and grabbed a lantern as she ran for the nearest door, shoving Crowe ahead of her. "Not so much their souls."

Crowe understood immediately. "Oh, right. Good one. I like the Faith better already."

Gabriella turned and hurled the lantern back through the Golden Huntress' shattered doorway. It flew in a perfect arc, landing exactly where it would have the most effect. A soft whooshing sound heralded a blue flame that rushed out across the floor. And then there was the first of a series of explosions as the fire reached the barrels of spirit.

As Gabriella and Crowe ran, the Golden Huntress erupted.

Every remaining shutter blew off the windows and the walls visibly bulged outwards. A few goblins were blown into the corral and the lake in screaming pieces as the building's roof collapsed and vented roiling black smoke.

Gabriella kept going, glancing at Crowe as he ran beside her.

"That won't be all of them," he said. "And the rest will soon be coming for us."

"Keep running." She shoved Crowe ahead of her and made for where the Sword's horses were tied. "Can you ride?" she asked.

"I'm a horse thief, among other things; what do you think?"

"Pick a good one. Fast and strong."

Crowe approached a strawberry roan, calming it with hand gestures and soothing sounds, before mounting it. "Well, it's been… interesting knowing you."

"Don't think you're leaving the custody of the Faith yet, sinner. A little confession is good for the soul and I'm not going to let yours stay bad."

"Even if it kills me? You don't need to answer that, all right, love?" Crowe dug his heels into the roan's flanks and set off. Gabriella rode her mare right out after him.

She had to keep ducking as they darted through an avenue of trees, but soon they were galloping across open ground and she quickly caught up with him. "God's — " He broke off as she drew within arm's reach with a warning glare. "Now comes the fun part." He jerked a thumb behind him. Gabriella looked back and saw a dust cloud closing on them.

"Goblins."

"Sorry pet. We should have lamed or killed the other horses."

"They're innocent animals."

"Not any more."

Erak's first thought had been that the assassin had stationed men along his route to throw off pursuers, as the assassin in Kalten had done. This idea was quickly dismissed when, with a screech, a goblin leapt at him.

Still half-stunned, he shoulder-charged it, knocking it to the ground, then stamped on its head as he drew his sword. As he finished it off with a quick cut, one of the soldiers was shot from his horse by another arrow. Both Erak and the other soldier spotted the goblin archer at the same time, and headed right for him. The soldier got there first, his sabre taking the goblin's head from its shoulders.

Three more goblins ran in from their hiding places behind rocks, but Erak had killed one before it even raised its weapon, and turned to parry a cut from another. The creature was strong but not well trained and he got his blade under its arm and cut wide, disembowelling it.

The soldier killed the last goblin with a vicious backhanded swipe from his sword.

Erak paused to catch his breath and looked around for the man they had been following. There was no sign of him anywhere; just the rolling hills, rocks and the occasional tree.

"Damn."

The man had got away, but by now Warrigan would have led Gabriella and her troops too far from where they had split up for him to catch her trail again.

Erak's own horse was dead, so he recovered the fallen soldier's animal and mounted that. There was nothing for it but to return to Solnos. If there were goblins in the area, they would need to be fought.

There was a bright side, at least, he thought. He was relieved that Gabriella hadn't ridden westwards. She might have been the one shot from her horse.

Something slapped at Gabriella's calf and her horse reared, shrieking with a surprisingly human-sounding voice. When she looked down, there was a clothyard shaft stuck into her horse's side, slapping against her calf as the animal ran. Another two arrows thudded wetly into its flank and the animal was already slowing. Gabriella focussed on the horse's face and noticed that the eye she could see was rolling in pain. But the creature was brave and kept going.

She patted its neck, suddenly feeling guilty for being a burden to it, and wishing it wasn't so hurt. As if it could understand her thoughts, its eye regained focus, but it was already lurching to one side and ready to topple at any moment. Gabriella knew its effort wouldn't last, as it was losing blood quite quickly now. She looked at the gear that was hanging from the flanks of Crowe's horse. "You any good with a bow?"

"For hunting game, maybe. Not for warfare."

"Thought not. You're good with that horse though."

"I bet there's a Final Faith Proscription against that too."

"Give me your hand!"

"What?"

The horses were thundering along next to each other, spittle from one flying in the face of the other's rider. Gabriella risked another look back and saw that the pursuing goblins were gaining rapidly. They were almost within the range of a throwing dagger now, let alone bowshot.

"Stretch out your hand!" she ordered. Crowe did so and she grabbed hold. "Keep your knees tight!"

Before he could ask what she meant, she had planted her feet on her horse's shoulders and leapt across to his horse. His eyes wide with fright, Crowe almost tumbled from his mount under her weight on his arm. The leverage was only there for a second and then Gabriella was crouching in front of him, on his horse's shoulders, and swinging her leg across the beast's neck so she could sit properly.

She let go of his hand so that he could grab the reins with it again, which left her facing him in an almost-embrace. Her horse tumbled immediately, landing hard on its neck. Gabriella ducked left, stretching out a hand around Crowe's hip. "Girl, I thought I was a little wild, but…"

"Don't get any funny ideas." She pulled the bow and quiver from where they hung from the horse's flanks

"Believe me, I'm out of ideas. Funny or otherwise."

"Lean right."

Crowe did so, though his eyes kept darting towards her face, which was uncomfortably close. Gabriella ignored him for the moment and leaned as far to the right as she could, until she was almost cradled in the crook of his left arm. She shoved her arm, with the bow, past his head, prompting an annoyed grunt and a sickening weave to the horse's course, then nocked and drew with her right.

The bowstring missed Crowe's ear by a finger's-breadth, but the arrow it loosed hit the leading goblin in the face. It screeched and fell from its mount.

Gabriella strung another arrow and loosed it. Then another and another. Three more goblins fell and the pursuing group slowed. In a few moments, they were out of sight and only a steadily rising dust could remained, where the remaining goblins were no doubt falling upon their less fortunate comrades.

"I think we're clear," Gabriella said at last. "Give it ten more minutes, then we'll slow and walk the horse down. Carrying both of us can't be easy."

"There is that." Crowe tensed and she quickly drew a dagger from her boot and wrapped her wrist around his neck, the blade against the artery of his throat.

"If you're thinking the horse would be happier carrying only you, I'd think again. You don't want to try that kind of leverage."

Crowe's eyes burned into hers. "I'm in no hurry. So… What do I call you?"

"Enlightened Sister."

"I meant your name, not your title."

She smiled faintly. "My name is Sister DeZantez in the Order of the Swords Of Dawn."

He blinked and rubbed a hand through his hair. "That's very long winded. Don't you Faith types have a shorter name? A given name?"

"Given names are for family and friends and we're neither, so I don't owe you one."

He shrugged. "I'm happy to be friends with any woman. My name's Travis."

"So I've heard."

He merely nodded. "It's as good as any, Dez. Did you have anywhere special in mind to go?"

"We need to get back Solnos. Our soldiers-at-arms, and Kannis' mercenaries, along with any others in the area, can hunt down any goblin stragglers." She didn't mention that she thought Erak would be disappointed if he didn't get a taste of some actual action. She looked on the bright side, though; if he had come south with her, he might have been the one shot from his horse and she couldn't bear that.

It wasn't going to be as easy as either of them had thought. They had dismounted as the sun emerged, to allow the horse to rest from the exertion of carrying two people. They had come to a shallow part of the escarpment overlooking the approach to Solnos, just to be sure of throwing off any possible goblin pursuit.

"Well, God-girl," Crowe said. "Thanks for the help with the gobboes, but I'll be going now. See you around, maybe."

"How long has it been since you went to confession?" Gabriella demanded threateningly, stepping in front of him.

Crowe feigned a look of surprise. "Does the Faith still do that? I must say, I'm shocked."

"Very funny," Gabriella said. "Been a good little monk who never puts a foot wrong, have we?"

"Can't say I've tried being a monk. I've tried putting my feet in some interesting places though. Are my eyes tricking me, or is that smoke on the horizon?"

"That's Solnos!" Gabriella immediately thought of Erak and wondered whether he was all right. It was one thing to think of him enjoying campaigning against a few goblins, but not so pleasant to imagine him on the defensive against an entire warband. Her mind kept throwing up images of a besieged church and, worse still, goblins rampaging through it in search of food and trophies. "We have to get back to town."

"No." Crowe held up a hand, then pointed at her. "You have to get back to town, Dez. You, not we. I don't give a monkey's toss for your roach-infested town and I care even less for spending time in the company of a Faith Confessor."

Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't giving you a choice."

"And I'm not accepting any decision of yours, love. You got me out of the Huntress before the goblins got to me and I got you out of town before they caught up with us." He stood. "I'm sorry, Dez, but that's all there is to it. We're even."

She rose. "We're not even. You are my prisoner, Crowe."

"In your dreams, pet."

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. As soon as he realised he was turning, he threw his weight into it, whipping his fist up and out. Knuckles cracked against bone and Gabriella fell.

Crowe mounted his horse. "Give my regards to the Faith and don't be stupid enough to run into me again. I don't like to kill pretty girls, but I'd be a liar if I said you'd be the first."

She caught up to him ten minutes later, carefully walking the horse through the brightening day, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She had known the horse wasn't rested enough to ride yet and, for that matter, she expected that so did Crowe. He was just trying to get a good lead on her. It didn't work. The look on his face when he saw her was almost worth the pain in her jaw.

Gabriella marched up with surprising speed. Crowe didn't have time to react before she slammed the palm of her hand into his jaw, then spun and side-kicked him in the solar plexus so hard that he crashed to the ground several feet back. He roared in pain.

He started to swear, but she kicked again before he could get another word out.

"Don't say a thing, sinner," she snarled. "Not a bloody word!"

He glared instead. She flexed her fingers, vaguely hoping he'd provoke her again. Her jaw and cheek still throbbed and she could taste blood. "You know, my father says that any man who hits a woman is no man at all."

"I hit a Knight of the Swords," Crowe snapped back. "If you think being a woman exempts you, then you're touched in the head. You can't have it both ways."

"One way is all I'm interested in." That was when she hit him again. When he woke up, he would be in Solnos.

CHAPTER 10

Crowe could hear real things over the din in his head: hooves splashing in mud. Wood snapping and the crackle of burning. The smell of wood smoke and burning clay was already in the air. On the road leading to the town, the earth was churned and damp, a few injured or dead horses slumped where they had fallen. A number of boxes, baskets and weapons were scattered around, though there were no signs of bodies.

It was hard for Crowe to tell, however, because he was hog-tied and hung across the haunches of the strawberry roan. He tried to move and was rewarded with a slap across the rump from the flat of a blade.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, sinner. If a rock doesn't crack your skull, I'll make sure this fine beast does."

"You're going to regret this, Dez."

"I lost ten good men at the Huntress," Gabriella snapped. "I already regret it."

Even before she had entered the town, the wails of women and children, pawing frantically at the ruins of a few homes at the edge of the edge of the settlement, could be heard. Evidently the Golden Huntress wasn't the only place that had been visited by the goblins while she was out there. Solnos itself had suffered too, or at least the outskirts had. It didn't look as if whatever had happened had got into the centre of town and she knew Erak would have led the defence.

Things seemed more normal in the centre and only the relative lack of people shopping in the market square indicated that something was amiss. Leaving Crowe where he was slung, Gabriella dismounted and ran into the church, expecting to congratulate Erak.

He wasn't there and a cold ball gathered in the pit of her stomach "Erak?!"

There was no response.

She ran through the vestry and the cloisters and saw no sign of Erak. The ball of ice in her stomach spread its way up her spine and threatened to shake tears loose from her eyes.

She burst back out into the plaza in front of the church and looked wildly around before re-mounting her horse and riding back to the edge of town, where people were still fighting some small fires. That was where a job needed doing, so that was where Erak would probably be. She was right; in the front of the bucket-chain tossing water onto a smouldering fence, was Erak. There were some other vaguely familiar faces in the bucket-chain and then she saw Kannis, directing those of her men who were helping out.

Erak was all that mattered to Gabriella, though. Relief flooded through her and she ran to him. The pair hugged tightly in the middle of the street.

"Good show you're putting on, Dez." Crowe's said. "The timing's in rather bad taste, but I can't say I don't approve."

Gabriella didn't want to let go of Erak long enough to go and hit Crowe. "The goblins attacked the Golden Huntress as well," she told him.

"I ran into them while I was following that rider. They shot my horse out from under me. At first I thought they were men trying to stop me catching up with him."

"Like at Kalten?"

"Very like and for similar reasons — it was the man who attacked you. I recognised him from your drawing." Erak sighed apologetically. "I'm afraid he disappeared when a goblin scouting party interrupted us. I came back here just in time; there were goblins arriving in town. Luckily this lady and her company were here as well." He indicated Kannis.

"Nice to see you again," the mercenary woman said with a crooked smile. "Though I'd have preferred it to be under less stressful circumstances."

Gabriella wanted to smile, but found that she couldn't. She was too tired and too certain that things were not going well. "I got caught up at the Huntress. My prisoner there and I were the only survivors."

"All ten soldiers?" Erak paled.

"All ten and everyone else at the Huntress. Everyone human anyway. A couple of whores might have got away, but I don't think anyone else did. I didn't expect to come back to this but then we saw the smoke from a couple of miles away."

"There were only about a score of them."

"There were at least twice that number at the Huntress.

"We saw them off quite easily. They didn't get beyond the first street. Like I said, they were scouts."

"Like yourself and Brother Brand here, we ran into some goblins." Kannis said. "We came down here for the market, to buy feed for the horses, and food for ourselves, and when we tried to leave… We found it more difficult than we thought. There are goblins setting up camp on the north side of the river, and they've circled round to the east as well. There are only about thirty of us and there were a lot more of them. We barely made it back into town. A scouting party is one tenth the size of the warband," she added. "That's the minimum."

"Two hundred?" Gabriella asked Erak. "Does that sound about right to you?"

He nodded. "And at least twice as many following, if that's the size of scouting party that attacked the Huntress."

"And they've got Solnos fairly well surrounded by now," Kannis said.

Gabriella went back to her horse at last and cut Crowe loose. A couple of soldiers emerged from the bucket chain to take charge of him. "Lock him up."

"Are you out of your tiny mind, Dez?" Crowe protested, holding up a hand for their attention. "You know they're coming here and you know you need to get the hell out!"

"You mean I need to get your cleansing arranged before it's too late," Gabriella retorted.

"What if I helped you?"

"What help could you give?" Erak scoffed.

Crowe nodded towards Gabriella. "Ask her. She'll tell you how good I am. Not that I'm one to brag, you understand."

"He is a decent fighter," Gabriella admitted. "I'll give him that."

"Look, mate," Crowe said to Erak, "where could I go, exactly?"

"Nowhere, unless you're a good magician," Kannis said bluntly.

Gabriella didn't react outwardly, but Crowe saw something in her mismatched eyes and nodded encouragingly.

"Yeah, Dez, you listen to her. Whatever happens, I'm stuck with you lot right now. If I'm going to have a chance of making it out of this town it'd be a better chance with your soldiers and the rest of the rabble. If you're stupid enough to try to fight — "

"We're not running away," Erak said firmly.

"There are too many to fight," one of the mercenaries said suddenly. "This guy's right, Captain. Let's break out. With the Knights and their soldiers-at-arms we'd be half again as many fighters. We might have a chance to break out."

"We might," Kannis admitted slowly.

Gabriella stepped in between them. "Can you do me a favour, either way? Pick three or four of your best riders. Send one each to Andon and Fayence, maybe as far as Gargas. Requesting reinforcements from the Order and subcontracting with some other mercenary bands. I presume there are others in the area?"

"Some," Kannis agreed. "I wouldn't recommend all of them."

"Are there any you would recommend?"

"I can think of a couple." Kannis said at last. "Whether they're close enough, or still all vying for business in the Anclas, I couldn't say."

"I've already had a message sent to the scrying chamber at Andon," Erak added. "At least the Preceptory there already knows what's happening here."

"Then I'll see to riders. One man might get through where a group can't." Kannis said and returned to her men.

"You should tell these apes to let me go." Crowe said, jerking his head towards the soldiers who still held him by the shoulders. "I can't go anywhere and you're going to need every blade you can find. Those gobboes aren't going to tell the difference between you and me. We're in the same boat. And if push comes to shove with that lot, I'd rather have you lot watching my back."

Gabriella nodded to the soldiers, who released Crowe. "I'll be watching every move you make. And every soldier in town will have orders to kill you on sight if you try to leave."

"As chat-up lines go, I've heard better."

A little later, washed and refreshed, Gabriella and Erak met in the church to discuss their forces. There were a lot more people in the pews than there had been since the two Knights first arrived. Gabriella reflected that trouble seemed to improve people's religious fervour.

"How many warriors do we have?" she asked Erak.

"You, me, Crowe. Kannis' mercenaries if they'll stay, a sergeant, squires, and a platoon of men-at-arms from the Order."

"Archers?"

"Maybe half a dozen."

"Not enough." Gabriella chewed her lip. "We need Kannis and her men."

"You're right. I think she wants to stay, but her men are split. This would be a bad time for a Captaincy challenge among them, but I don't know a way to convince them."

"I do."

"Then you'd better make it quick. We need them to decide to stay."

"Gobboes don't tend to pay particularly well," Crowe offered from the doorway. "And your mate here — " he jerked a thumb at Erak " — doesn't look like he's willing to fork out for some hired help, so why stick around and get diced in between both sides?"

Erak clenched a fist, but then spun to face Gabriella. "What did you have in mind, Gabe? Press-ganging whoever's left?"

She shook her head and pointed to Crowe. "Like he said: Hiring them."

"The Swords don't need to hire help. And they can't get out anyway; they'll be slaughtered."

"That they would and that would cut down the blades we've got available. So we need them to choose to stay and this parish might afford to do that."

Erak grimaced. "Can you imagine what Eminence Kesar would say about us spending his treasury funds on drunken, whoring mercenaries — "

Gabriella smiled. "We don't spend his treasury."

"They won't work for a few free confessions, folks," Crowe reminded them.

Gabriella strode to a small chest and nudged it with her foot. "Stoll has coin of his own. We can use that. I'm sure he won't mind."

Gabriella grabbed the small chest and hoisted it on to one shoulder.

"Hey," Erak exclaimed, "where are you going with that? It was meant to help this community."

"Now it's going to save them," Gabriella said without looking round. "How much more helpful could it be?"

Outside, she dropped the chest on the middle step up to the fountain, and saw that the mercenaries with the sharks-mouth tabards were already securing saddlebags onto their horses and some were in the saddle already. "Kannis!"

The mercenaries stopped loading their mounts and Kannis walked her horse over, followed by a few of her men.

"There will be no booty from this town or its people," Gabriella declared.

"Then, unless somebody makes a better offer, there will be no fighting for this town or its people." The mercenary who had earlier recommended trying to break out spat in the dust. "The Faith isn't short of a gold piece or three; it's hired whole armies before. So why not now?"

"The Faith isn't hiring," Gabriella said. "I am."

"What are you offering?" Kannis asked. She wore a relaxed expression, as if she was enjoying seeing where Gabriella's mind was going to take her. "Booty is scarce here." Gabriella kicked the lid off the chest. There was a collective gasp as the mercenaries saw the contents glitter in the sun. "A tidy sum," Kannis said admiringly.

"An equal share for every man who fights."

The mercenary who had wanted to leave leaned forward, resting his elbows on the saddle horn. "I've seen more."

"And since the war, I bet you've seen less."

"It wouldn't come to as much as a good haul of booty could."

"It's more than you've got now. More importantly, it's guaranteed. Booty's a chance you take — have people left their valuables around? Are they worth what you hope?" She shrugged. "This is a guaranteed fee, win or lose. And if we win, I'm sure the people of Solnos will be, shall we say, generous in their praise."

The mercenary sat back, eyes hooded. "Now, that might have been a worthwhile proposition before the Golden Huntress got burned."

"At least two of her girls didn't," Crowe chipped in. "And they're good value, believe me!" A raucous laugh went up, but Gabriella had the sense to ignore it, and keep her calm smile on.

"In Andon, where I was born, they say a warrior relishes a challenge. They say a warrior loves a chance to grab some glory and some booty." Gabriella declared.

"So we do," Kannis agreed, "but we can't do that with wounded men, half-dead horses and ruined equipment. We need more men."

"They're on their way by now."

"Is that a prophecy from the Lord?" Kannis asked mildly.

"A promise from a friend."

Kannis grimaced. "Oh, one of those." She sighed. "And what makes you think we can win?"

"The Lord of All is on our side."

"What if I said I'd heard that the Lord helps those who help themselves, and that I therefore trust my right arm more?"

"I'd say that with both your right arm and the Lord Of All on our side, how could we lose?"

Kannis laughed. "Aye, that'd make a damn scary combination for any gobboes to face! All right Sister DeZantez, a last stand it is." She spat in the palm of her hand, and offered it to her.

Gabriella spat in her own palm and gripped Kannis' hand.

"Your right arm had better have a stronger swing that it has a grip." They both laughed.

Along with Erak, Crowe and Kannis, Gabriella looked the town over. She had now donned a pot-shaped helmet, as had Erak and her surcoat was filthy with dirt and Goblin blood from the fight at the Huntress.

"Not very defensible," she murmured. "No curtain wall, four roads into town, and flat ground all the way to the escarpment."

"If I was you," Kannis said. "I'd try having as many people as possible fall back to the church. It's the strongest building, which isn't saying much, but at least the defenders inside can't be outflanked."

"They'd just be swarmed over. Or surrounded and besieged." Gabriella's mind raced. She wasn't a general, she was just a servant of God in a military order. She was a good fighter and a good priest, she hoped, but there was a difference between interpreting a man's Confession, or fighting off a Brotherhood fanatic, and handling a large field of battle with many participants. "What about the river?"

"Gobboes may not like to bathe much but they can swim and there are several bridges." Kannis frowned. "Perhaps if we could dismantle the them… "

Gabriella eyed the adobe buildings all around the church square. They were shops and houses and craftsmen's workplaces. None of them were much different than any of the damaged buildings on the outskirts of town. Half of those would be as likely to fall down as be repaired she thought.

"We build a perimeter."

Crowe looked at her disbelievingly. "What with? By the time you've cut and shaped enough trees, you'll be in a gobbo's pot. In fact you'll have been in his pot, and be in his privy by then."

A glint showed in her eye. "With those buildings that got damaged last night."

A group of oxen heaved and a burned-out potter's shop jerked sideways and tumbled into a shower of dust and bricks. Townspeople rushed though the dust, carrying chunks of broken wall between them, back to the church plaza, where they tossed them onto sections of the rough embankment that was beginning to form.

A loud, dry, clattering was rising from all around as bricks, stones, and pieces of timber were tossed onto the line of debris.

Erak Brand shook his head. "You're out of your mind, Gabe. That's not going to be much of a wall. I hate to agree with that scum Crowe, but he has a point about that."

"It's not supposed to be a wall. It's supposed to be a line."

"They won't pay much attention to that."

Gabriella's mind was racing. "No… And I don't want them to. I want them to just think it's a little raised embankment."

"They'll just hop straight over it. You know that. It won't stop anyone for more than a second."

Gabriella nodded. "And they'll be much easier targets for archery practice when they do cross that line. Then there's a clear killing ground on all sides of the church. Anything that makes it past the wall is an arrow-magnet."

Erak looked back at the rubble dubiously, clearly trying to see some value in it and failing. "There's so much cloth and dry timber that your wall will go up like a tinderbox from the slightest — "

"That's the idea," she interrupted.

"What?"

"How many goblins are there who aren't afraid of fire? When that wall's piled nice and high with their dead, we fire it."

"A burning barrier? The timberwood and cloth will take fire, but how do we ignite it?"

"You could always dismantle the pipes for the gibbets," Crowe suggested with a smirk. "Lay them around the perimeter and pump the naphtha through them. Of course you'd have difficulty putting it all back together again afterwards."

"What sort of idiot would think that was a good idea?" Erak snapped. "Aside from how long it would take, there isn't that much piping in the system."

Crowe grinned. "Well, then you could always stuff the barrier with rags and blankets soaked in the naphtha. Maybe spirits from the inn and taverns. That should do the job." He winked at Gabriella. "Just like at the Huntress. Booze, lantern, roast gobboes all round."

Gabriella nodded. "That'll do to start and then corpse-fat will keep the flames going, and they'll be twice as reluctant to try coming through it."

Kurt Stoll was completely at a loss as to what was happening. He had slept for over an entire day, and when he finally did awaken, he found that his church was full of mercenaries and townspeople. It almost felt like being a proper Enlightened One again, the way his life had been before Warrigan came and introduced him to a type of fiery alcohol they served in Allantia.

He had drunk himself insensible that night and woken the next morning to find a grinning Warrigan and a smug tattooist.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood," Warrigan had said.

Stoll had been equal parts furious and terrified. He knew that, even under the influence of drink or drug, he would never have lost his faith. Warrigan had proved to him that he didn't have to lose his faith; he just had to do occasional favours, or his superiors would be given just enough suspicious information about him to make them look at him more closely. When they did, of course, they would find the linked circles of the Brotherhood, which Warrigan had had tattooed onto Stoll's shoulder blade.

That would be enough to send him to a gibbet.

So, Stoll had done the favours he was asked and he was half-sure that the last one had given himself away to Brand and DeZantez. Only half-sure, though, and they seemed to think he had been telling the truth about why he went to Warrigan's place.

Young Collin, who had disappeared from his cell, could have spilled the proverbial beans, of course, but Stoll doubted the knights would ever find his body; Stoll had buried it deep.

He had no idea what had happened afterwards, but he knew Warrigan was gone, and suddenly the town was under threat from goblins. That was something about which he could feel solidarity with the townspeople and the Swords. Goblins didn't discriminate on the basis of politics or faith.

Gabriella, Erak, and another man with a white ponytail and burned skin appeared in front of him, as he walked around his church, offering words of comfort.

"Enlightened One." As always, he expected one of the Knights to arrest or attack him, but Gabriella merely smiled. "We're planning the defence of town and I'd like to ask your help."

"I'll wield a sword or spear against those creatures, if that's what — "

"I'd like you to act as lookout, from the bell tower. From there you can direct what archery we'll have."

"Of course," Stoll agreed. Here was a chance to show his true loyalty.

"What about me?" Crowe asked, as the trio, now joined by Stoll, continued back out to the plaza. "I can head things up at the church, keep the naphtha brewing."

"Not under my roof." Stoll snapped tightly.

"Besides," Gabriella added, "I want you out there with me."

"What? Shoulder to shoulder, against the hordes of darkness? You've mistaken me for some other bloke."

"In front of me, where I can keep an eye on you. Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't want you at my back."

Crowe waved the insult away. "No offence taken. I wouldn't want me at my back either."

Erak nudged her and whispered. "We should lock him up."

"I know. But smuggling isn't as offensive as apostasy and treason. And he's a good enough fighter that we can use him."

As Gabriella outlined her strategy she found her confidence growing. Win or lose, they'd put up a good fight and she knew that Erak and Kannis and her men, would do likewise. She was proud of them all, and she hoped the Lord would be as proud.

Although everyone hoped the goblins would settle into a siege and allow time for reinforcements to arrive to defend Solnos, the creatures were impatient with hunger and bloodlust.

They came screaming and ululating like all the most depraved and demented souls from the deepest pits. Scrawny, yet strong and vicious, the horde swarmed through the streets driving fleeing humans back towards the marketplace and the church. Those people in town who didn't have defensible positions had been offered sanctuary earlier, which most had accepted. Some hadn't made it in time and now Kannis' mercenaries and the foot-soldiers of the Swords heard them screaming as they waited for the goblins to appear.

The goblins were audible streets away as they rushed towards the church and it wasn't long before the first of them rushed at the defenders and over the low walls of rubble. Their long and angular limbs moved twitchily as they ran, reminding Gabriella of the way spiders ran when they were shocked out of their hiding places. She couldn't help but shiver, even as, somewhere in the bell tower above, Stoll shouted: "To the East! Loose!"

The thrum and twang of bowstrings launched a rain of death that fell upon the rushing creatures. Spindly bodies fell but more goblins kept coming, rough hatchets and cleavers raised and ready.

Gabriella punched a goblin in the face, smashing half its fangs, and cut the throat of another. She caught the axe-haft of a third between her swords and twisted it out of the creature's grasp before kicking it between the legs in the hope that it was as vulnerable there as a human would be. It was and when it dropped, she rammed one sword through the back of its head.

More goblins hurled themselves forward and Gabriella stepped forward to meet them. She was, she thought, just getting into her stride.

Erak swung his longsword in a wide moulinet that bowled goblins over, left, right and centre. The longsword was still a natural extension of himself, and the mail and armour a uniform to be proud of. When he cut down his first goblin, he was relieved. Disembowelling a second was easier and by the third goblin to fall under his blade, he was enjoying himself. Defending the innocent against the evil was God's will, and was meant to be enjoyed.

Distantly, he heard Stoll's voice calling: "South! Loose!" and turned to his right. Sure enough, another wave of goblins was sweeping over the barrier, screaming with rage and lust for blood. Erak ran to the centre of the line facing the onrush, and braced himself.

He cut the head from a polearm that was swinging towards a conscripted defender, then spun and took the head of its owner. The weight and balance of his sword led it naturally into an overhead swing that came down onto a goblin's collarbone and cut down almost to its groin. As someone to his left speared a goblin that was swinging for him, Erak kicked the bifurcated body free and cut down two more.

He looked for anything resembling a leader among the goblins and cut his way towards a burly goblin covered in tattoos. With a roar of defiance delivered right into its spittle-flaked face, he cut the creature's legs out from under it. Another goblin leapt forward, only to receive a shield-boss in the face, hard enough to snap the vicious creature's neck.

Yes, he decided, he was definitely enjoying himself.

Travis Crowe was angry. The goblins had forced him into the hands of the Final Faith and were generally screwing up his day. He also hated them on general principles and imagined that everyone else did too. They were inhuman, flesh-eating parasites that needed to be put down hard.

Darting to fill a gap between two Faith pikemen who were kneeling and letting the goblins run onto the blades of their polearms, Crowe blocked the swing of an axe with his broadsword. He then swept the sword round to hook the axe-head with the quillon and pulled it out of the axe-wielder's hands. Then he jabbed the pommel into the goblin's face and thrust the blade-tip through the monster's throat.

Another goblin was right behind its felled comrade but Crowe grabbed the end of the broadsword with both hands and swung the hilt towards the Goblin with all his might. It was an old mercenary trick the goblins hadn't seen before. The quillon punched clean through the thin metal helmet and into the brain behind it, dropping the goblin instantly.

That wasn't nearly enough for Crowe and he screamed back at the goblins, daring the ugly bastards: "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!"

They may not have understood the words, but they understood the stance and the tone of his cry. Several converged upon him and he laughed in their faces as he parried clumsy and untrained blows and counter-thrust to scrawny green throats all around.

Kannis used hand signals to direct her men to the areas of the barrier that were under the heaviest attack. The fight kept her busy, but nothing was going to stop her wondering where in the Pits these creatures had come from. Her unit had seen some villages razed by goblins, but nothing that implied as many of the creatures as had descended upon the troop the previous day, or as many as were here now.

All around the market square, men and women struggled bravely, bringing down goblin after goblin, but there was no sign of an end to the horde.

Kannis' right-hand man fell first, bravely fencing with three goblins at once, before a goblin got behind him and took his head. She spun and took the goblin's in return, but it was too late for her comrade.

"Sharks!" she called, "Let's show these green bastards who's got the sharpest fangs!"

Her men cheered and pushed forwards. They were almost on the barrier itself, slashing and cutting, kicking bony goblin heads back towards whatever rock they had crawled out from under.

Kannis was satisfied with the way things were going; they were outnumbered, but superior training and weaponry was more than enough to make up the difference. The irony occurred to her that her company probably could have fought their way out of town quite easily. It didn't matter; this was the first decent fight they'd had in years, and the Faith girl was pretty generous with pay.

"Let's earn that pay," she called, blocking a goblin axe and kicking its owner to the ground. She stabbed down with her sword to finish the goblin, then slashed upwards at another's groin. It doubled over and fell.

A gauntleted goblin fist slammed into the side of Gabriella's helmet, sending it clattering across the ground. Too stunned to think, but reacting on instinct, Gabriella slashed out at the fist as it came in again. Her blade bit into goblin sinew and bone and, as the creature screamed, she ran it through before risking a glance around and seeing that almost all her fighters were falling back towards the church.

"Fire the barrier!" Gabriella shouted. The cry was taken up and passed along, all the way along the lines of defenders.

Flaming pots of pitch and some lanterns, arced across and into the midst of the wall of goblins as they surmounted the barricades. A few screamed as the pitch stuck to them and burned, but most ignored the fragile missiles and let them shatter on the rubble. Jeers and hoarse screeches flew back at the defenders of Solnos from the unimpressed raiding party. Then the fragments of burning pitch grenades made it down to the naphtha and spirits-soaked rags that had been packed in between the dry timbers and rubble. Where burning pitch or oil met naphtha or spirits, fire bloomed, reaching out from under the chunks of cracked brickwork and snatching at the legs of the attackers. Gouts of flame burst upwards all along the barrier, forming a curtain of fire that separated the square from the rest of Solnos.

It sounded as if the town itself was screaming, as a few wounded defenders who couldn't get off the barricade and the less-than-human goblins were ignited. Their clothes burned on their backs and limbs, while their skin bubbled and softened, sticking the burning clothing to them.

Blazing goblins ran in blind terror. Some went back into the press of goblins that were stunned by the sudden inferno and ignited many of their own fellows in their thrashing. Others stumbled on through the flames and were dropped in the square by arrows from the church roof.

"At them!" Gabriella heard herself scream. Then she was running forward, her swords slashing left and right, slicing through limbs and throats. Beside her, Erak's longsword cut down everything in front of him and Kannis' troops rallied as they charged over the barricades, as soon as the fire had settled back down, in search of vengeance for their fallen man.

The other soldiers and townspeople fought just as hard, swords and axes biting into goblin flesh with gusto. Kerberos gazed down inscrutably as the fight spread out into the streets and beyond. The goblins were weakening, both physically and psychologically, and within the hour most of those who were being killed by the defenders were being struck in the back as they ran away.

By morning, no goblin still lived within the environs of Solnos.

CHAPTER 11

The sun cast its light over a square filled with blackened corpses and shattered arrows. The stink of blood and seared flesh hung in the morning air, with little enough breeze to dissipate it. The defenders of Solnos were bone-tired, none of them having slept more than an hour, just in case the goblins had planned a second assault.

Gabriella walked over to where Erak rested against the side of the church.

"Let's see if there are any goblin survivors," she said. "One of them may be able to tell us why they have come this far out from the World's Ridge."

They made their way across the square, towards a sprawl of broken and battered goblin corpses. There were defenders mixed in there too, their blood mingling with the greenish ooze that flowed from goblin veins.

Travis Crowe was prodding some of the goblin bodies with his broadsword, just to make sure and he looked up as the two Knights approached.

"You enjoyed that, yeah?" He said. "I know I did. There's nothing quite to so enjoyable as giving vent to your anger, is there love? Taking it out on someone who really deserves it."

Gabriella shook her head. "I don't enjoy killing."

He shrugged. "You should do. You're good at it."

Gabriella ignored him and squatted between a decapitated goblin and a disembowelled one. She prodded at the headless corpse's ribcage, disturbing the flies that had begun to settle on the skin.

"Look how starved they were," she said.

"You thinking of setting up a Mission to look after them?" Crowe mocked. "A gobbo soup kitchen? I can see that going down well in Scholten. Look, God-girl; all that them being starved means is they'll fight twice as hard to get a bite of somebody, you see? It doesn't mean we should be understanding them."

"What it means, sinner, is that they came along a route that didn't offer much food." Her brow furrowed. "If they had tried to go to Fayence they'd have been slaughtered." She heard a racking cough from nearby. "This one's still alive!"

Crowe made to draw his sword but Gabriella stopped him.

"Get a Healer and some rope," she said and began hauling the goblin into the church. "Erak," she called, and he ran to join her. "Come on." Together they carried the goblin into the church.

Crowe shook his head in wonder. "These religious types are touched in the head," he muttered to himself.

Kratok-Chal exploded into wakefulness as cold water was splashed over his face. He coughed and realised he could still breathe. His belly no longer ached with hunger, but there was cold fire burning in his lungs and his side. He could smell his own blood.

He tried to rise, but found himself tied down. Several humans were looking down at him and he wanted to claw their faces off.

"What are your people doing up here?" one asked. It had short hair the colour of a blooded copper blade, and Kratok-Chal thought it was a female, though it wore mail and armour.

He spat black sludge. "We're only the first, human girl. More follow. Revenge follows."

The female frowned. "Revenge? Revenge for what?"

"Don't lie, human girl. You know what for."

"Imagine I don't."

Kratok-Chal coughed and spat again. "We had a good home. Good land. Good hunting. Until the humans came."

"What humans?"

"The invaders. Men with swords of many tribes. They burned out our nests and killed our young as they slept."

"Where did all this happen?" she asked.

Kratok-Chal spat in her face. "You know where. Your people know where. That is how they can come."

"Pretend I don't know."

"Even if you don't know, human girl, I will not tell. Not tell and let more humans come to the Glass — " He fell silent with a hiss, knowing he had said too much.

"The Glass what?"

"The Glass Mountain."

"Glass Mountain? I've never heard of that town."

"Not a town. Mountain. Mountain made of glass. Humans call it Freedom.'"

The human female rocked back on her heels and Kratok-Chal was amused. Perhaps she was impressed by his stamina, or shocked that he had known the humans' secrets. It made him laugh, in the goblin fashion.

Unlike most victims of the battle, Kratok-Chal died happy.

Travis Crowe poked forlornly at the remnants of a wine jug with the toe of his boot. Unless he was willing to get down on his knees and lap up the damp sawdust from the church floor, he wasn't going to taste any of it. He looked out at the sky. Andon wasn't more than a couple of days' ride north of here. It'd be easy enough to disappear.

He went out into the square, wondering how much of a lead he would get before anyone noticed his absence. He also wondered how far he would get before running into more goblin warbands, because he couldn't believe this would be the only one. They would be avoiding the bigger cities, but the savannah was ideal territory for them.

All around, men and women, even children, were helping to repair the nearest buildings Crowe couldn't tell whether they were rebuilding in the belief that the danger was past or reinforcing the defences. A little of both, probably, he decided. In the plaza, the bodies of goblins were smouldering in a pyramid of leathery flesh. Crows circled around the smoke column. The dead among the defenders had been laid out along one wall of the church, covered by sheets that were weighted down with stones to keep the carrion creatures off them until they could be decently buried in a proper Faith ceremony.

Crowe saw Gabriella and Erak emerge from the church.

"So, did you get much intelligent conversation out of your pet gobbo?" he asked.

"Not much," Gabriella said dryly.

"Now there's a shocker." Crowe snorted. "Let me guess: he snarled a lot, talked about killing everybody in town and eating your mum and dad, that kind of thing?"

"That's about the size of it. He said… He said humans had stolen their home, at a… a Glass Mountain."

To Gabriella's surprise, Crowe blanched. She had never seen him display anything so resembling a weakness. His mouth moved silently for a moment, then he managed to say: "A glass mountain?"

"Yes. It sounds ridiculous, but he seemed to believe it."

"Gobboes will believe anything…" He sounded distant. He added an "a bit like you God-botherers," but it was obvious that his heart wasn't in it. "Protect," he murmured to himself.

"Crowe?"

It felt as if something very small and very heavy had sunk from his stomach into some bottomless pit and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of it. The scarring on his shoulders, left arm and neck tingled and ached more than they had since… Well, since he rowed into Vosburg's coastal suburb of Dellendorf two years ago.

A mountain of glass…

Crowe heard a voice, distant but clear. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time, but he recognised its sibilant clarity. "Protect," it said. "Protect."

A flash of pain exploded in Crowe's cheek and he looked up at Gabriella. She had her hand raised to slap him again. "You all right?"

"Yes. Why did you hit me?"

"You didn't respond the first five times I asked if you were all right. You just stared."

He forced a grin. "Well, you are a pretty girl."

"No…" She looked at him curiously "You weren't staring at me. I can tell the difference."

"Then what was I staring at?"

"Nothing. Nothing I could see, anyway." She gave him that curious look again. "Does 'Freedom' mean anything to you?"

He shrugged. "My freedom means everything to me, why?"

"Never mind, it's nothing."

Another day passed and there was, thankfully, no second goblin attack. The arrival of twenty Knights of the Swords, and a hundred mercenaries of various companies, summoned by Kannis' messengers, had eased the burden of rebuilding the town and the last few goblins nested at the foot of the escarpment were being hunted down.

For all that, Erak Brand couldn't shake the goblin's words from his head. He and Gabriella still had their bed in the cloister cell and when the pair had finally been relieved by the arriving Knights, they had made love. The past few days' events were hardly arousing, but it was somehow natural to counter the nearness of death with the ultimate expression of life.

Afterwards, they had slept as if dead to the world. Erak's dreams had been filled with goblins and fire and he had woken rested, but sweating. Gabriella rested beside him, totally at peace. If she was dreaming of death and destruction, it didn't show.

When she woke, she let out a long breath, as if having to get used to the idea of being in the world again. As they rose and dressed, Erak couldn't help but speak his mind. "If things are coming out of World's Ridge then what else could be behind them? What else might have been driven out?"

"Things like goblins are just animals, Erak. They die under the sword, just like anything else."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. What I want to do is go to the archive at Andon to research this further. I'm sure I've heard the phrase 'glass mountain' before, in an old story that my mother used to tell me."

"So you want to go and ask her at the archive?"

"If the story is a historical one and the goblin was right, then that Glass Mountain of storytime is a real place, and is the same place Kell refers to as Freedom. And if we can find it, we can find him."

"And the archive?"

"May have maps, or at least a description of a route to the place."

Erak looked at her, admiring her beauty, but also troubled by a further thought. "If the story's historical and the goblin was right, then we're going to be seeing a lot more of them soon as well."

Preceptor DeBarres arrived a few hours later, by which time the Knights who had already arrived had taken over a floor of the market square inn as headquarters. A large marquee had been erected across half the square as well, as quarters and mess hall for the mercenaries.

Gabriella saw DeBarres greet Kannis warmly and was faintly surprised; it was obvious that the pair knew each other already. After talking for a few minutes, the Preceptor of the Order came into the church in search of Gabriella and Erak.

The vestry served as a private meeting room, where they could sit and discuss matters.

"I'm glad to see you're both well," DeBarres began. "When I heard about the goblins…"

"They're dealt with. At least I hope they are. There's been some suggestion from one — a deathbed confession — that others are coming."

"Others?"

"It implied that this is some kind of mass migration," Erak said.

"They're going around Fayence. It has a large army…"

"The largest in Pontaine at the moment," DeBarres agreed. "Lord Aristide won't be sparing any effort to keep his city out of the line of fire. You can bet he'll have the strongest magical defences as well. Now, about Enlightened One Stoll…"

"He disappeared a prisoner from under our noses and betrayed our plans to the man who ran the Golden Huntress." Gabriella took a deep breath, unsure how she would feel about this. Scarra had been one thing — an apostate, a heretic, a conspirator to assassination. Kurt Stoll was none of those things. He was just a parish priest. Apostasy, or weakness and mistake? She wasn't sure and sadly conceded that it didn't matter. The laws were clear and the people of this town deserved a real Enlightened One who would really lift them. "He has fallen, Preceptor. Fallen from the Faith. That's why we asked for a Confessor."

"Hasn't one arrived?"

Erak nodded. "I saw him an hour ago. He will begin Stoll's cleansing in the morning

"Which leaves this parish without an Enlightened One in the meantime." DeBarres drew a vellum envelope from inside his robes. "This is an authorisation from Urbicarian Cabbert to invest one of you as Enlightened One for Solnos."

"One of us?" Gabriella exclaimed.

"I'll take it," Erak said quietly.

She looked at him, astonished. "You? You never wanted to be a parish priest before!"

"Neither do you," he said. The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. "And if I take it, you won't have to." Gabriella couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her heart, tired as it was, swelled with love and pride in him. "Besides, we've taken the Pledge. Perhaps at least one of us should have a permanent home to which we can both return."

She couldn't disagree with that part of it. "Thank you."

"Truth to tell, I've served the Lord in every other way; perhaps it's time I brought good news to people. Punishing sins is fine, but rewarding faith must have its moments."

"It does," DeBarres said, handing Erak the envelope. Gabriella rose and hurried out into the plaza. She looked up and saw Kerberos looming above her. She drew strength from the symbol of it, appealing to the Lord of All for the strength to at least decide whether she should cry, celebrate, or be furious with someone.

Erak followed her out quickly. "Gabe!" He took her hands in his. "I always wanted to serve the Lord of All, just like you. But bringing the word of truth to new people, not just dealing with those who didn't listen to it, that has its attractions." Gabriella felt the tension ease from her. Maybe it was his explanation, or maybe it was just his touch. She didn't mind either way. "I was thinking…"

"Now that's what I call breaking the habit of a lifetime."

Erak laughed, and then lowered his head, a little embarrassed. "It happens sometimes. Proves I'm not a perfect soldier."

"Nobody's perfect." He opened his mouth to try speaking two or three times, but without success. Gabriella sighed. "There are few Enlightened Ones as enlightened as you, and I don't mean that to denigrate any of the Enlightened Ones. You'll do a lot of good in Solnos, and undo a lot of whatever harm that this Kurt Stoll has allowed to come to pass."

"I'm sure I will."

"Thank you, again."

He grinned. "My life is yours, you know that."

She let out a long breath, shaking her head. "Stoll… I wish we didn't have to do this."

"Me too. It feels strange punishing one of our own like this. Especially after what he did the other night. Without his directions the archers would never have taken down so many goblins and we'd have had a far worse time of it."

"At least the Brotherhood have the guts to separate themselves from the Faith," she said. "He made his own choice when he started going against our basic vows and principles."

"Well, if he wanted to meet the Lord of All, he went the right way about it."

Gabriella thought for a moment and shivered. "No. No, he didn't, really." She gestured towards the door back into the church. "We'd better make sure the equipment still works."

"We can check the naphtha system too," Erak muttered as he followed her.

They descended into the bowels of the church, casting an eye over the naphtha reservoir and the pipes and pump that would move it. There were no torches down here, lest they ignite the naphtha, so all light down here had to be either cast by magic, or, as now, by a system of mirrors and lenses that reflected light down from outside.

Erak ran a hand across a turnwheel and his palm came up covered in dirt. "I doubt there have been many cleansings or offerings made here in a long time. How does it look?"

Gabriella laid her hand on a small table and knelt to check the undersides of the wooden frame of the see-saw pump and the monstrous amphorae that held the naphtha. The wood was solid and well-carpentered, with no sign of rot, while the amphorae were sound with no cracks. "Looks fine."

"I bet Stoll wishes he'd let it rot."

"Probably," Gabriella agreed

It was a very nice dream. He was in the Golden Huntress, preaching to the townspeople from a lectern made of a girl doing a handstand on another girl's back. For some reason there were horses in the congregation too. He was enjoying himself, giving his favourite sermon, about why the spirit of a law was more important than the letter of it, when suddenly the roof caved in.

Stoll rolled to his feet, dizzy and staggering, wondering if he was concussed. Then he remembered he was locked in his cell. The smile froze on Stoll's florid face. The redness in his cheeks changed hue and he licked his suddenly dry lips. A bearded man in the white robes of a Confessor was looking at him through a barred opening in the door.

"Let's have a little chat," the Confessor said and bared rotten teeth.

Gabriella was engaged in a contest with some of the local children, skipping flat stones across the surface of the fountain pool. The object seemed to be to get the stone all the way across and onto the ground opposite. Gabriella had just succeeded, and was now congratulating a girl who had matched her feat, when Erak emerged from the church.

He was wearing the blue robes of an Enlightened One, though she could hear mail rattling under the robes.

"It's time," he said. "Apparently the confession didn't take long. He was happy to talk. It seems Warrigan was blackmailing him over his Brotherhood tattoo."

"Stoll is Brotherhood?"

"He says not; that they gave him the tattoo while he was unconscious so they could blackmail him. I believe him. Doesn't matter, though; he still had a choice. He could have reported them, confessed and had a good enough Healer remove the tattoo by magic."

She rose and accompanied him round to the front of the church. A gibbet was being hoisted onto its pole and ten Knights of the Swords were singing the Hymn of Contrition, as two knights dragged Stoll out.

The cleansing wasn't pretty, or pleasant; not for anyone. As with so many things, an act intended to help and to make things right in the long run was uncomfortable in the short term. Gabriella briefly thought of the foul-tasting medicines her parents had made her take when she was a child and had the ague. They healed her body, but they made her cry with the vileness of the taste.

The cleansing would heal Kurt Stoll's soul, but it would make him cry too. He sobbed as the Knights who surrounded the square stripped him naked; the vestments of the Faith were too sacred to be burned.

As they did this, Preceptor DeBarres read out the proclamation from Scholten condemning Stoll to be cleansed by fire. Then they put him in the gibbet, which had already been attached to the lead piping from below the church.

In the end, Kurt Stoll was screaming his life away even before the liquid fire poured down on him and he fell silent bare moments after it started.

Justice had been done, Gabriella considered. People needed to know that the Final Faith was even-handed, and dealt with its own transgressors as fairly as it did anyone else.

For all that this was a good thing, one matter chewed away at Gabriella's heart. Stoll had signed as witness to her and Erak's pledge. She felt tainted by that.

CHAPTER 12

With the Cleansing over, DeBarres had led his Knights out to search the surrounding area for signs of further goblin incursions. Kannis had formed the hundred or so mercenaries into squads to be dispersed around the entrances to Solnos. They were determined that no goblins would invade this town again

People were steering clear of the church. Whether it was the battle that had put them off or the stink of the burnt Enlightened One that still pervaded the plaza, or just general Pontaine disinterest in the Final Faith, Dai Batsen couldn't tell.

He walked into Solnos for the first time in a few days, his topknot and shaven scalp replaced by a very short but even covering of hair. He had left for his secure hiding place when the goblins attacked, having no interest in a pitched battle.

Now he needed to know whether either DeZantez or Brand had survived their little overnight siege. If they had not, he would collect the fee for the hard work the goblins had done. If they had survived, he now knew what they both looked like, and would carry out the task for which he had been employed.

He walked up the plaza steps, and into the church.

Gabriella had gone across to the Swords' new headquarters at the inn, to make a few requests for supplies and equipment. Kannis was passing through, and Gabriella halted her for a moment.

"I didn't get the chance to thank you for your help with the goblins."

"You paid up," the scar-faced woman said blandly. "That's all the thanks I need." Her eyes twinkled.

"The Lord helps those — "

"So I heard. Raul used to say that a lot. I see he still does."

"Raul? Preceptor DeBarres?"

"He wasn't a Preceptor in those days," she said wistfully.

"I thought when you greeted him that you must know him…"

"Haven't seen him for years, but it's nice to see him again."

"So, how do you know him? Did you meet in the war, or…?"

"It's a long story," Kannis said. "And Raul probably tells it more entertainingly than I would." She glanced at the sky for a moment. "I'd better get going. I've got to help with the pits being dug near the east bridge."

"Be seeing you, then," Gabriella said, stepping aside.

Kannis hurried on and Gabriella finished writing out her supply requests. Then she headed up to the market to buy a loaf and some cheese, before finally returning to the church.

The main doors were ajar and Gabriella knew she had closed them when she left. She didn't touch them as she squeezed between them, in case they squeaked and alerted anyone within. Gabriella set her purchases on a pew and padded as quietly as she could towards the transept, keeping close to the wall. Stepping into the nave would invite an arrow if someone was lurking above.

She risked a look back to the doors and saw that Erak had followed her in and was edging along the aisle on the other side. He flashed her a quick grin.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"I think we have a visitor."

Above, Dai Batsen crept along the narrow ledge separating the ceiling of the nave from the inside of the bell tower. Below, two people walked right into his field of vision, though he had cloaked himself in shadows. They were his targets.

Pulling two short daggers from his belt, Batsen leapt.

Gabriella shoved Erak aside as a black clad man landed between them. She recognised him instantly as the man who had attacked her before. On any other day, Gabriella might have been afraid as well as wary, but not today. Today she was simply relieved, because the assassin was indeed a man and not an inhuman monster.

Gabriella lunged forward, while Erak circled round to stop Batsen from getting away. Batsen simply took it in his stride. The Order of the Swords of Dawn might fight on the Lord's behalf, but they didn't share His omniscience or omnipotence. Or His infallibility.

Batsen dodged back from Gabriella's whirling blades, pretending not to notice Erak outflanking him. When the wiry knight was close enough and about to attack, Batsen hit him in the gut with a back kick, without looking round.

Erak staggered back and Gabriella redoubled her attack. Batsen ducked under the blades. If he could stay in close enough, Gabriella wouldn't be able to swing well enough, and he could use his finger-length blades to better effect.

Then Gabriella unexpectedly slashed low, the flat of one blade sweeping Batsen off his feet. Batsen rolled, narrowly getting out from under the edge of Gabriella's foot as it slashed towards his neck.

Erak caught his balance and sprang back to engage Batsen again. Batsen sidestepped to keep the armoured Knight between himself and Gabriella. Batsen was faster with his kicks and punches and had his knives, but Erak was clothed in iron mail under his robes. All of Batsen's blows rebounded from Erak's armour as the knight blocked him. The dagger's blade scraped uselessly across the iron links of Erak's mail.

Batsen stunned Erak with a high-rising kick that made the Knight pull his head back and sent him stumbling back into Gabriella. Both Knights tumbled in a heap.

Batsen's breath burned his lungs and now he felt he had the measure of the two Knights and, while he refused to feel comfortable enough to underestimate them, he was satisfied that they did not outclass him. All that mattered was that he fulfilled his contract. Live or die, he would be doing his best to earn that purse.

Gabriella and Erak were back on their feet and advancing on him from either side. Gabriella let her expression clear. Let the enemy wonder whether she was angry or afraid, excited or overconfident. Let him not know who his enemy was. She was Gabriella DeZantez: Enlightened One of the Final Faith and defender of the people in the name of the Lord of All.

Batsen drew a straight-bladed smallsword from a sheath at his back and rolled the weapon around his wrist, testing the weight and balance. With his right hand, he smoothed down the front of his rumpled tunic and beckoned his opponents towards him.

They rushed him together, Erak's blade held low. Batsen bounded forward a couple of steps and leapt into the air between them. One foot hit the flat of Erak's blade as if it was a ladder rung and prevented him from swinging the weapon. The other foot caught Gabriella's shoulder, making her stagger aside.

Then Batsen was on the balls of his feet, blocking and parrying Gabriella's attacks. The sword-hilt jarred painfully against the heel of his hand with each block. Erak was on the other side of him, lunging forward with his weapon, but the assassin merely danced aside, forcing Erak to pull back for fear of hitting Gabriella.

Suddenly, Erak was upon him once again and Batsen found himself making side kicks to the Knight's hands, while fencing against the two blades that Gabriella was trying to drum on his head with. The trio danced around the nave like this for a moment, each seeking an advantage. Then something struck Batsen's ankle, and a sweep from Erak Brand's blade knocked the smallsword from his hand.

Before either Knight could move on him, Batsen stabbed backwards for Gabriella with an elbow and snapped a kick at Erak's head. Both Knights staggered back, allowing Batsen to slip a toe under his fallen smallsword and flick it up into his hand.

He fenced with Gabriella for a moment, then lunged for her throat. She batted the attack aside and pushed forward, driving the assassin back towards the altar. Now she had him.

The assassin didn't return to the attack. Instead, a startling, almost blinding, light blazed from his eyes, and he thrust out his left hand. Gabriella didn't know what that meant, but she knew it was meant to be bad for her, so she dove and rolled, just in time to avoid a bolt of lightning that shattered the air and ignited a pew.

Gabriella didn't quite understand what had just happened, but she rose and rushed at the assassin. He was blocking the door now, light beaming out from his eyes. He grinned, his left hand rising, and Gabriella understood that she had badly misjudged things. One man was not just one man. Not when he was a Shadowmage.

Batsen made a quick gesture and muttered a word that kept his mind in focus. Immediately, the torches flickered and the light in the church dimmed. Erak froze, and waved his hand around in front of his face as if he suddenly couldn't see, but Gabriella was more surprised to see Batsen walk right towards her, angling from the left, as if he thought she couldn't see him.

A swift kick to the chest, and a lunge that nearly skewered him, changed his mind. He looked utterly shocked and suddenly the light in the church was restored. Erak snarled and ran at Batsen. Batsen leapt onto a pew and thrust his hands upwards.

Without warning, the floor exploded upwards around Erak's feet, grabbing at his legs and holding him fast.

Seeing his target immobilised didn't make enough impression on Batsen to raise a smile, but it was an opportunity he was too professional to let go. He raised both hands slightly, pulling tendrils of fire out of the air and gathering them into a ball. Then, with a flick of the wrist, the ball of blinding flame shot across the chamber and exploded against Erak's head.

The fire engulfed him instantly and his screams almost drowned out the crackling of burning flesh. Sparks of infernal red and gold burned across his armour and out to his wide-flung hands.

What had once been Erak Brand dropped to his knees and stopped screaming as there was no more air in his lungs. He thrashed and twitched, melted skin and fats dripping from his hands, before finally lying still.

Gabriella couldn't believe her eyes. She felt as though all she could hear were Erak's dying screams.

She rushed out into the plaza, knowing that her assailant would follow.

Close on her heels Batsen sent another flaming bolt after her. The blast knocked Gabriella off her feet and she rolled, managing to keep a hold of her sword.

Batsen called upon the air to form another fireball and hurled it with perfect accuracy.

A fist-sized globe of red flame hit Gabriella between the shoulder-blades. She arched her back under the impact and Batsen, for the first time in years, felt something. He felt utter, uncomprehending, astonishment as she turned round.

Her hair floated around her head as if lifted by a breeze and worms of light wriggled in the folds of her armour.

She didn't die screaming, with smoke curling from her lungs as they burned.

She didn't even fall.

She yelled, not in pain, but in pure primal anger and ran at Batsen, swords raised high. Batsen, astounded, called upon the shadows to hide him and darted aside. Unbelievably, she followed right after him.

Now Batsen could feel something. It was fear, thick and cloying, and filling his head to the point where he couldn't think.

Terrified, he gathered the air around him, thickening it so that it would cup him and carry him up on to the roof of the nearest building. From there, he fled. Gabriella pounded after him along the street below, screaming with rage and loss. She shouldered citizens aside as she leapt for an awning against a shop front and clambered up onto a low roof. There she stopped. The man had disappeared. She could see several streets in either direction and he was nowhere to be seen.

Gabriella jumped back down to street level, caught her breath and all the desire to keep standing fled from her body. She slumped to her knees, too exhausted to keep in the sobs that her pounding heart and head were letting out.

As people came to see what was happening, she curled into a ball and cried.

Travis Crowe had woken to the sound of iron on iron and screams. He hadn't even realised that he had fallen asleep, though he had been bone tired when he sat down to take a few minutes rest in the stable.

He jumped to his feet and looked for his sword but it wasn't in the stable, so he grabbed a long, loose coat from a hook and went to search for it. He found it in the vestry, where had left it, and ran out into the church. There he saw smashed pews and shattered flagstones. On the floor was a charred corpse and he recognised by the mail and fragments of blue cloth — but mostly by the sword lying near it — that it was Erak Brand.

"Sorry mate," he muttered, "but rather you than me."

He heard shouts from outside and ran to the door. He was just in time to see Gabriella fall, struck by a bolt of magical fire. There was a man there too, dressed in black. Gabriella, to his amazement, climbed to her feet and went at the man in black, who flew to the rooftops, where he fled.

"Batsen," he snarled.

He followed Gabriella as she ran, only to turn a corner and find her sobbing on the ground. People stood around, looking concerned but at a loss as to what to do.

Cursing the Faith for not teaching their flock any practical skills, Crowe rounded on the nearest man.

"You! Help me get her inside the church."

The man grabbed Gabriella's legs and Crowe lifted her by the shoulders. The two men carried Gabriella through to the Enlightened One's apartment beyond the vestry and lay her on the bed. Crowe and the shopkeeper then returned to the ruined interior of the church.

"What happened here?" the man whispered. "More goblins?"

"No, this guy was human. More or less." Crowe looked at the charred corpse lying in the remnants of a blue robe. "Looks like you people need another Enlightened One."

When Gabriella awoke she wailed with dismay. If she had died, at least she would still be with Erak, in the clouds of Kerberos. Instead she was in bed, alone. Summoned by the sound she had made, the door opened, and for a heartbeat she thought it was Erak and that she had simply had a nightmare.

It was Travis Crowe, more sombre than usual. He had let his white hair out of its ponytail and was re-tying it as he entered.

"Who dressed my wounds?" Gabriella looked around. "And where is she."

"You're looking at 'her,' pet." Crowe said, with uncharacteristic solemnity. He'd never seen a Knight of the Swords blush before.

She scrambled to her feet with a snarl. "How dare you!"

She reached for a blade that wasn't there.

Crowe spread his hands. "Don't worry, Dez. You haven't got anything I haven't seen in a dozen whorehouses, all right? Besides, open wounds and flowing blood aren't my idea of a turn-on. Maybe there are blokes around who get off on that, but that ain't me." Gabriella stopped looking around, and composed her expression, but her cheeks remained flushed. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about. Mind you, considering how much blood you lost, it's a good sign that there's enough left to reach your cheeks."

Gabriella patted at the dressings with her fingertips, wanting to scratch at the strange sensations under them, but not daring.

"Painful?" Crowe asked.

"Not exactly, just strange."

He nodded blandly. "That'll be the maggots getting busy."

Her gorge rose and her stomach clenched. "The what?"

"Do I look like a Healer? I used some maggots to eat away at anything that might otherwise go sour. It's an old mercenary trick, but it works." He waved a hand. "Got a Healer in as well. He liked the maggots; says he'll take them up himself."

Gabriella gritted her teeth until she thought they might crack. It didn't stop the pain that forced tears from her. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and saw only Erak.

She wanted to hit someone, or break something. "Let me out of here," she rasped, pulling on a surplice, but not so quickly that Crowe didn't notice the red stains beginning to show through her bandages.

"You shouldn't move, God-girl. You were cut up pretty good and that won't heal overnight. You need to rest."

"No. Especially not here."

"It's a church. You're a Sister in a religious order. Can you think of a better place?"

"This was Erak's place," she said. "Maybe it's one I could have shared with him in time, but without him…"

Crowe understood. "Without him, it feels strange, not like any other church? It feels weird and somehow less than a normal church, yeah?"

"That assassin…"

"Batsen."

"You know him?"

Crowe shrugged. "By reputation, more than anything else. Have you heard of the Guild of Shadowmages? The old guild in Turnitia, I mean?"

"Of course. The Swords helped the Empire of Vos to smash it."

"Yeah. You know why?"

Gabriella thought for a moment. "It was before my time, but we were taught that they, or at least the Lord Defender, thought the Shadowmages were assassins and terrorists."

Crowe nodded. "That's what most people think of the Shadowmages. But it ain't true. I've known a couple of them and most of them aren't like that at all."

"And even if that was the case, which I doubt, your point is…?"

He dug a small clay pipe from the folds of his tattered coat and lit it. "Dai Batsen is the reason that most people think the way they do about Shadowmages." He grimaced. "Every nightmare story anyone ever heard about a rogue Shadowmages — and, believe me, I've heard a few — he's the one who the story is really about. He's a bloody one-man terror campaign. Pay him and he'll do anything to anybody, no questions asked, no morals or scruples involved. And yeah, I know that sounds pretty ironic coming from me, but you just think about it. Compared to him, I'm on the straight and narrow."

"Compared to you?"

Crowe shrugged and sat back against the wall. He closed his eyes and folded his arms, gripping the pipe between his teeth. "Look, love, I'll kill for money, rob, steal, take down anyone I think is in my way. Whatever I have to do to make my way, I'll do it if I have to. Because I have to. Batsen isn't like that. He'd do those things for practice, if he wasn't so bloody expensive. Thinks of himself as a bloody artist or something. Proud of being unique, he is."

"This Batsen sounds pretty serious."

"The most serious," Crowe confirmed. "So serious, in fact, that I don't want to be anywhere near you when he comes for you next. And he will."

"Unless I get him first."

"Funny you should say that; it's exactly what I was thinking. He and I have some unfinished business, you know."

"I wish I could say I was surprised." She got up, wincing. "If you know where he'll be, you can take me to him. I want to know who hired him and I want to kill the bastard. For Erak."

"Me too," Crowe muttered. "Just not for Erak." He cleared his throat. "I doubt Batsen will be talkative."

"He'd better be. If he was hired by who I think hired him, we're going to have a chat before I cut his bollocks off and feed them to him."

A rogue Shadowmage was all Gabriella needed. Somehow she knew she ought to be more afraid of such a person and she found herself wondering why she wasn't. She had never been sure what to think of magic. Oh, there were Healers among the Enlightened Ones and a few with other talents had found a home in the hierarchy of the Final Faith, so magic itself couldn't be totally unholy. Having said that, if the talent was a gift from the Lord of All, to be used as a tool in His name, then using it for any other purpose was a sin.

She supposed it was much the same as the moral turpitude that led to whoring; wasting something that was meant for a higher purpose in bringing Man closer to being one with God. Grimacing, she reached for her armour.

"Leave him to me, Dez. You're wounded." Crowe said.

"I have a duty, sinner," she reminded him. "And you need to redeem yourself."

"You'd be surprised," Crowe said with a glower.

"Let's go, or by all that's holy, I'll burn you for supplying… whatever you supplied to the Huntress."

"All right," he relented at last. "But let's not get you any more mangled than you are, at least while so many of your friends are around. We'll do this my way: I'll draw him out and make him safe, then you get your turn."

"Oh, I'll be having my turn all right," she vowed and Crowe shivered. "And Erak's turn too."

CHAPTER 13

It was just a tumbledown old church with grass for a floor and plants and flowers sprouting from the walls.

It was shaded with every colour daylight could bring and full of the richest textures an artist could dream of. Then Crowe looked up, where the roof-beams hung down like broken teeth, and felt the church's beauty fade into intimidation. He nodded to himself. This was just like Batsen. Hired to kill a member of the Faith, he would hide out in one of their old buildings.

There was not much left of the town that this church, a league east of Solnos, had served. There was a dried-up watercourse at the west end and Crowe suspected that the township had dried up with it. Most of the surrounding buildings had collapsed and rotted, but the church, built of stone, had survived the decades. He idly wondered whether Batsen had come across the place by chance, or somehow already knew it was here.

Either way, he had made it an ideal camp. The crypt even still had an intact roof, so Batsen needed no tent.

Crowe had been watching for a couple of hours before Batsen finally deigned to show himself, appearing up out of the crypt like a bloodsucker in some old Gargas tale. He had lit the braziers and begun to assemble breakfast.

Crowe slipped out from behind a pillar and whipped his arm around Batsen's neck. Batsen immediately tried to throw him over his shoulder, but Crowe had expected that and kicked Batsen's knees out from under him. Erak dropped to maintain the choke-hold and soon the assassin was unconscious.

Crowe swiftly searched him for concealed weapons and found a pair of long bodkins and a couple of knives, before tying Batsen's hands.

"Hello Dai. Thought I'd find you here." Batsen started, his eyes darting to either side in anticipation. He outstretched his hands, his brow knitting in concentration. "Your taste in accommodations hasn't changed much, has it?"

"I know where I'm safe. You don't, Travis. You never did, or you never would have come looking for me."

"I have my reasons."

"What do you want with me?"

"There's a man in Turnitia who takes a vested interest in certain things associated with members of your jolly little profession."

"Pro or con?"

"Both, depending on the circumstances."

"And he's interested in me?"

"Not unless you were in Kalten for the Ducal wedding."

"Ah," Batsen said with a smile. "Ludwig Rhodon."

"Was that you?"

"If it was, it would be between me and my paymaster. But, as it happens, no. Not my doing."

Crowe heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Gabriella.

"What did you say about Eminence Rhodon, scum?" She said, rushing over to Batsen. "Were you behind it? Is that why came after me and Erak?"

"I've no idea why I was hired to kill you. It doesn't matter in any case; all that matters is that I complete my contract and collect my fee." Batsen said blandly, then he exploded into action, a spinning kick sending Crowe's blade flying. The rope binding his wrists burned to ashes in a second. Eyes closed, Batsen leapt high into the air, hurling a sizzling blizzard of sharp hail from his body. The ice storm coiled its way to Crowe, who lashed out at a brazier with one foot. The ice flashed into steam as the hot coals met it head-on.

Batsen cupped a small flame between his hands before hurling it at Gabriella.

She turned her head away instinctively, but too late to stop the fire from hitting her. She didn't feel a thing, though green and purple spots danced in front of her eyes when the brightness of the flame disappeared. Cursing herself for being taken in by some mere distraction, she lunged for him.

Batsen skipped backwards as she attacked.

"What are you?" he hissed. "The darkness, the fire — "

A punch in the face ended his question, but he rolled with it, spinning away and coming into a guarded stance.

He gathered his powers around himself, rising into the air as it crackled with energy. Gabriella ran, stretching up one hand to grab at his ankle. The instant her fingertips brushed the cloth of his trews, he plummeted down onto the ground.

Gabriella wasn't going to give him a chance to use any more magic, but immediately rammed her blade through him.

Batsen, looking utterly surprised, spat out blood. Breathing seemed to make him wince and Gabriella could tell he was barely managing to cling to each second of life. He would be lucky to draw more than half a dozen more breaths.

"I know you're working for Goran Kell" Gabriella snarled. Batsen only laughed, an agonised, bubbling sound. "But you're not going to stop me finding him."

Batsen struggled for another breath. "Who would have… thought? Brotherhood and Faith, working together. You and Travis."

"What?"

"Sister DeZantez… and Brother Crowe. It won't last." Batsen's laughter dissolved into bubbling coughs. "Give my… regards… to Kell…" With a final cough of thick, almost black blood, he fell silent.

Gabriella stood and wiped the blood from her blade before turning to Crowe.

"So, 'Brother' Crowe?"

"You're making a big mistake."

"No." She stalked towards him. "You did that."

He backed off. "Don't do this, pet. I've almost gotten to like you. There aren't many people who get to there and it'd be a shame to have to keep their numbers down, even by one."

"I wish I didn't have to do this."

"You don't."

"I have a duty to God."

"God never asked you to kill me."

"He just did." She stepped into his path, one blade going for his sword hand, the other, drawn quickly, for his throat. He deflected the shot at his throat and suddenly the blade heading for his hand was slashing across his shirt at gut-level.

They danced back and forth, he trying to use his longer sword to block both of hers, she trying to get around his from two directions at once. They were quite evenly matched, but Crowe could already see blood seeping though her surplice from her earlier wounds. Quick as a flash, he shouldered forward. He struck home accurately, causing pain to explode across her body.

Gabriella fell and he batted her swords away. He stood over her, one boot crushing the hand that was reaching for one of the felled blades. He rested the point of his broadsword against her throat. "All I have to do is push."

"Then do it," she snarled. "I'm your enemy and you're the self-proclaimed murderer. Get on with it."

"I'm no more a Brother of the Divine Path than I'm an Enlightened One of the Final Faith."

"That's not what your Shadowmage friend said."

"You're going to take the word of a man who's tried to kill both of us over mine?" Crowe shrugged. "All right, love. I never claimed to be the world's most trustworthy man. But neither is your average hired assassin. Think about this one, right? This bloke was hired to kill you, and failed. With his dying breath, he got you into another fight, against a man who was a better fighter than he was." He paused to let that sink in. "Against a man who, being a better fighter than him, might have more chance of killing you than he did." He could see in her eyes that this was making sense to her. "Not many people get recruited as a willing participant in their enemy's revenge, Dez. But it is a pretty bloody good trick if you can manage it."

"And what's this speech meant to do?"

"Save your life. I will kill you if I have to, but I'd rather not have to."

"Why? Don't you want me off your back?"

"Sure I do. But that bastard just did his damnedest to kill me as well as you and I'm in no mood do him any bloody favours." He spat on Batsen's corpse.

Gabriella relaxed slightly. "All right, so you're not a Brother, but you've worked with them."

"Their money's as good as anyone's. I've worked with the Faith too. That's why they call it being a mercenary, love. The clue's in the name."

"And are you working for the Brotherhood now?"

"If I'm not working for them I'll say no and if I am working for them I wouldn't want you to know, so I'd still have to say no."

"So, someone, who may or may not belong to some religious organisation of which I can't approve, paid you to do a job…"

"I ain't in the habit of risking my life for free, Dez. Or fraternising with members of the Faith's military order for free. Actually I should have charged double for that."

"What sort of job?"

"I was hired to find out who hired the man that shot Ludwig Rhodon. I'm told Goran Kell's the one who wants to know, for some reason."

"You're working for Kell?" She was astonished and reached for her sword.

"I'm not working for Goran Kell, Dez. Not directly, anyway. I'm working for a man who Kell went to, to try to find out who's making him look like an arse. Sandor Feyn," Crowe went on. "You won't know him. He usually goes by aliases.

Gabriella grimaced. "I've heard enough bedtime stories, sinner. Karel Scarra already told us that he and Kell — "

"Hired a bloke called Lukas Bertam to off an Eminence? I heard that too. What you don't seem to have heard is that Lukas Bertam isn't the assassin who took the shot and isn't the bloke you and Brand killed."

"Of course he is!"

Crowe radiated smugness. "Did you get a relative to identify the body? Didn't think so. Bertam got himself fished out of Turnitia's harbour two weeks before the big day and someone took his place. Anyway, so Kell's worried that someone is setting him up and he goes to his opposite number in Turnitia. Kell asked him to find out who hired the assassin that took the shot and Feyn asked me, as I do a run between Turnitia and the Huntress. Apparently Kell wanted to ask me himself, but Feyn isn't stupid enough to put us together. Kell doesn't know who I am and I don't know any more about him."

"Can you arrange a meeting with Sandor Feyn?"

"Why?"

"Maybe I can help him out."

Crowe laughed. "You? Help the naughty Brotherhood types? Bollocks, love."

"It's not unknown. We both worship the same God and sometimes we share a common enemy."

He scanned her face, trying to analyse her expression. "No… There's something else, God-girl."

She nodded slowly, as if admitting defeat. "I still want to find Kell. Perhaps Feyn can point me on the way."

Crowe didn't know that she had good cause to place Kell at the Glass Mountain so recently cleared of goblin-kind. He knew she had an ulterior motive for wanting to see Feyn, so she gave him an ulterior motive; one which anyone among the Swords at Solnos could confirm.

Crowe thought about it. "And what are you offering?"

"The face of the assassin from Kalten."

They buried Erak the next day, under a flagstone in the plaza. Crowe hung back, because it just wasn't his place to be in a Final Faith ceremony. It wasn't that he didn't believe in God — like most soldiers, so likely to meet the Lord of All at any moment, he had his beliefs — but Makennon's rules were another matter.

When the funeral party broke up and the Knights relieved their fellows on guard duty, Gabriella stayed where she was, by the fountain. She dropped to her knees, but when she tried to summon the words of a prayer, she couldn't think of a single one. Oh, she could have recited any of the Faith's standard prayers easily, but she realised that she simply didn't know what she wanted to pray for. For Erak to survive? Too late. For his resurrection? The Lord of All didn't work that way. For him to be with the Lord of All, flying through the clouds of Kerberos? That went without saying and to pray for it would be to insult Erak by suggesting that he had not been a worthy enough man, to have achieved that. Pray for the strength to carry on without him, or to bear the loss? She was strong enough, or she would never have been confirmed as a Knight of the Swords.

So, what to pray for? Nothing, she realised. She didn't need to pray for anything, she just needed to pray and to know that she could always feel that connection to the Lord of All. Perhaps, she thought, her prayer had been answered before she even recognised its nature herself.

"I miss him," she said softly. And she felt that the Lord of All had somehow responded that He knew and that He understood and that Gabriella shouldn't be ashamed.

Crowe appeared beside her.

"I'm sorry, you know." He said.

Gabriella nodded. "I know. We'd made the Pact, Erak and me."

Crowe looked blank. "Pact? You mean like a marriage Binding?"

"More or less. Whatever branch of Faith the faithful work in it is the duty of each couple to produce one child between them."

"One?"

Gabriella nodded. "One only. One to carry on God's work and spread His word."

"Wouldn't a whole brood do that more?"

"More would distract from God's work."

"Too much pleasure, eh?"

"You mock my grief! What do you know about grief, anyway?"

"If you think I haven't lost a loved one before, you're wrong. You don't grow up in my business without that happening a few times."

"Why are you still here?" she asked at last.

"There are two things nobody should do alone. Nobody should die alone and nobody should grieve alone."

DeBarres came over and Crowe nodded to him before leaving the Knight and Preceptor in private.

"I don't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' is just nowhere near enough. Nowhere near." DeBarres said, putting a hand on Gabriella's shoulder.

"Seeing you helps."

DeBarres hesitated. "This Travis Crowe… Who is he?"

Gabriella held her tongue. Crowe. Crowe the heretic. Crowe the immoral. Crowe the murder and corruptor. Crowe the man who knew such a high figure in the Brotherhood.

"He's a mercenary who helped with the defence of Solnos."

"Good man?"

"Professional. Good fighter."

"Then he has the thanks of the Order. Now…"

She looked at DeBarres sadly. "No rest for the… Well, anyway. I have a lead on Goran Kell. Sandor Feyn."

"Feyn? DeBarres was either shocked or impressed, but Gabriella wasn't sure which it was. A mixture, perhaps. "One of the legends, Gabriella, equal in notoriety to Kell. We've wanted to bring him down for years."

"I remembered his name. Apparently he's in Turnitia. Crowe and I will be following that up in the morning."

"Do you need any reinforcements?"

"I don't think so."

"If you insist. Excellent work, as always." He straightened out a crick in his back. "What about Kell?"

"We'll have to deal with the goblins first to get near him. I know where I can probably find a map to his more precise location. I'll be fetching that after I've visited Feyn. Also, Feyn apparently has been in contact with Kell. If he still has a contact, I'd prefer that contact to stop before we get near Kell."

"Good thinking. The Lord go with you."

A few days later, after a long and painful ride northwards, Gabriella was wearing nondescript black and grey armour. Some of it, including the cloak, had belonged to Kannis' fallen man. Beside her, Crowe wore the same colours as they rode westward through the southern end of the Anclas territories. Gabriella scowled, her nose wrinkling as the stench of rotten fish rolled from the Turnitia docks as they entered the city.

They dismounted outside a tavern squeezed between two ship owner's offices. The ruffians lounging outside let them through without a word, as soon as Crowe said: "It's raining blood out here."

Gabriella tried to keep her emotions in check. As the equivalent of an Eminence in the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, Sandor Feyn had been responsible for more heresy than she could possibly imagine. A great urge to step forward and cut him down where he stood was barely tempered by a sense of satisfaction at having tracked him down and tricked her way into his confidence. The Faith had been looking for him for years. Now she was standing right in front of him. At heart, only the thought of the information he could supply was saving him right now.

"So," Sandor Feyn said, eyeing Gabriella appreciatively as she sat before him, "who's she?"

Crowe looked casually at Gabriella. "Who, the skirt? She's just a Knight of the Swords Of Dawn who's walked right through all your security by the clever scheme of not wearing a big sign over her chest."

Gabriella couldn't believe her ears, and stiffened, ready to spring for the window.

Feyn laughed at the obvious absurdity of the answer and Crowe joined in.

"You want anything, just ask Erno at the bar." Feyn said, before leading Crowe to a back room.

"So, who is the girlie then?" Feyn said once they were in private. "Really, I mean. And is she for sale?"

Crowe grinned. "She's a Knight of the Swords who just walked in — "

"You did that joke already."

"Not everything I say is carefully calculated to make you laugh."

"Eh?"

"She really is a Knight of the Swords," Crowe said. "I wasn't joking." "What…" Feyn managed hoarsely. "What in the name of a demon's balls did you bring her here for?"

"Oh, well, I know how much you enjoy having a pretty face around."

"And you also know how much I hate having to bury a pretty face. Which I'll now have to do!" Feyn glanced towards the door, looking as if he expected a troop of soldiers to kick it down at any second. "How much does she know about me?"

"Pretty much everything. If I was you I'd be pretty bloody worried right now, mate."

"If you — " Feyn rose, kicking away the table and drawing a dagger.

Crowe punched him in the face and easily wrested the dagger away.

"Yeah, I'm quaking. Is this really how you do business here? Maybe there's something in this religion stuff after all, because, frankly, it's a miracle you're not dead." He slipped the dagger into his sleeve and shoved Feyn back into his chair, then set the table upright again. "I brought her here because you and her both have a common purpose."

"We worship the same God, if that's what you mean, but, believe me — "

Crowe shook his head. "I meant an immediate practical purpose, Sandor. You and she both know that Goran Kell's man didn't pull off that shot at Ludwig Rhodon. She and Kell both want to know who did and who actually hired him."

Sandor Feyn was silent for a moment, glaring at Crowe. "Go on."

"She's the one who caught the bloke who took the shot. You can put names to most of the faces in this part of the world."

"But I didn't see — "

"I told you, she caught him."

Feyn suddenly took on a queasy green pallor. "Oh no, tell me she hasn't brought the head?"

"I wish. That'd be easy. The face is in her head, though. All you need to do is get her to remember it right and draw it."

"Draw it?"

"She's good." Crowe promised.

"All right. We'll try it, but you know I can't let her walk out of here and go looking for Kell. She's not leaving this tavern alive."

"That's between you and her. None of my business."

Gabriella was leaning casually against the bar top, dipping black bread into gravy, when Crowe and Feyn returned. Feyn looked at her with a mix of curiosity and fear, and Gabriella knew instinctively that Crowe had made clear to him that the apparent joke he had told about her was indeed the truth.

"It's all right, God-girl," Crowe said, as if reading her mind. "We're all looking for the same truth today."

"It must rankle you, being in here." Feyn said.

"I didn't come here to cause trouble." Gabriella said.

"No, so your friend — my friend here, actually — has told me." Feyn sat on a stool next to her and nodded to the man behind the bar. "Bring us some paper and charcoal sticks."

"Is one of us writing a confession?"

"The deal is this," Crowe said. "Feyn is going to talk to you, set your mind at ease. He'll help you remember."

"I remember perfectly well." She saw his face in her dreams now and again, whether she wanted to or not.

"Forgive me for wanting to be sure you're not wilfully misleading me," Feyn replied.

Crowe cleared his throat. "You, Dez, will scribble down the face of the assassin you caught. Hopefully, Feyn here will recognise him."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then we go our separate ways. If he does, though — and I bet he will — then you get his name and a lead on Goran Kell and the Brotherhood knows who to call on and put down."

Gabriella knew that Feyn wouldn't honour his end of the bargain and was sure he must know that she couldn't honour hers either. He would never give up the location of someone as senior as Goran Kell to the Faith. Evidently neither of them intended to let the other leave this tavern alive. She searched Crowe's face, looking for any sign as to which side he was on. She didn't see anything.

Gabriella smiled. "All right."

Feyn led her to a low couch by the window. "I'm just going to talk, all right. Listen to my voice and only my voice."

Gabriella soon found herself falling into the snow-laden morning of the wedding and suddenly she was running again. Faces rushed past her and disappeared into the darkness as she pursued the fleeing assassin.

Somewhere in the distance a voice was whispering.

Suddenly she awoke and found her finger stained with charcoal and a detailed sketch beneath her right hand.

"Well, well," Feyn was saying. "Joachim Foll."

"Who is this Joachim Foll?"

"A mercenary. He used to be one of Mandrian's lieutenants in the Hands."

"Mandrian's Hands…" Gabriella said to herself. "I've heard of them. They fought at Freiport in the war, for the Faith and Vos."

"This has all been a scam, hasn't it?" Feyn's voice rose to a shout as he sensed a conspiracy closing on him. "A con to get this Faith bitch in here where she can kill me!"

The man behind the bar, Erno, suddenly lifted a heavy crossbow and trained it on Gabriella. She wasn't stupid enough to try to run away, but instead grabbed Feyn and pulled him in front of her just as the barman loosed the bolt. It took Feyn in the gut. Crowe grabbed the weapon from the barman's hands and shoved the stock into his face. Feyn lay on the floor, screaming like a stuck pig.

Gabriella knelt beside Feyn. "Tell me where I can find Goran Kell and I'll stop the pain."

"Freedom," he gasped. "He's gone to Freedom."

"At the Glass Mountain?" Gabriella taunted him and was rewarded with a look of utter horror. "We already know about it. And now I know you're not going to be able to warn him, even if any of your spies find out before we get there." She derived satisfaction from his appalled expression. In fact, she got more satisfaction from that than from the way the light went out of his eyes when she broke his neck a second later.

"Come on," Crowe grabbed Gabriella's hand and shoved her out of the tavern. They bolted onto the streets of Turnitia and made a series of quick turns at the first couple of junctions they came to. Racing onto a wide thoroughfare, they bowled over a young man in a grey woollen cloak and then came to a dead stop in front of a platoon of Imperial Vos guards.

Their Captain stepped forward. "You seem to be in a hurry. Perhaps you'd care to explain the great rush at the Citadel?"

Rolling her eyes slightly, Gabriella thrust a scroll into his hand, along with an amulet. "Five ducks migrate in winter," she said.

The guard Captain blanched at the words and quickly looked over the scroll and amulet, before handing them back.

"A thousand apologies, Enlightened Sister… I had no idea."

"Obviously. I don't suppose you could give us an escort out of the city?"

The Captain smiled ingratiatingly. "Of course, Enlightened Sister." He snapped his fingers and his men put away their weapons.

As they began to move at a more relaxed pace, Gabriella took the opportunity to catch up with developments regarding the Brotherhood in Turnitia.

"How are arrests going? Brotherhood and morality crimes in particular?"

"I'm proud to say that the rate of morality crime has been dropping by the week," the Captain said primly. "Every other vice den and Brotherhood safe house has been empty for weeks, some even for months. Of course the thieves guilds still provide problems."

"Thank you, Captain," Gabriella said thoughtfully. She could feel an idea forming at the back of her mind, or at least a fragment of an idea. She didn't like it much at all.

"I don't see why you had to kill him." Crowe said, as they rode together on the road south. "With Feyn dead, you've lost me a valuable employer."

"Sandor Feyn was on a list of proscribed men. It's the duty of all members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn to eliminate such dangerous men, regardless of any other considerations, if they are found."

"I hope it's a short list."

"There are thirteen names currently on it."

"And you just happen to have memorized them? Or just Feyn's?" He rolled his eyes. "Or are you just making this up?"

"It's part of the vows a Knight of the Swords takes when he or she is formally invested."

Crowe gritted his teeth and refused to speak for quite a while. "Well, it's done now. Feyn did his thing and you did yours." He continued reluctantly. "What was it like? Being helped to remember?"

"It was strange," Gabriella said. "When Feyn was talking I saw things. Memories, but… clearer. And some of them were places I'd never been, things I've never seen or done. Does it mean that Feyn was in my head?" Gabriella shuddered.

Crowe almost laughed at the thought. Feyn didn't have a magical bone in his body; just a talent for mild hypnosis.

He thought of telling Gabriella this, but knew in his heart that she wouldn't believe him. Truth to tell, he was as preoccupied about the goblin's mention of a Glass Mountain as she was. More so, really. He tried to tell himself that the gobbo was lying or delirious and that no such thing existed, but he couldn't stop himself feeling afraid.

"Something bothering you?" Gabriella asked.

"Old debts." He said quietly. "Just old debts."

"Debts from the 'Glass Mountain'?"

It was the last question Crowe expected her to ask. "No!"

"Lie to me again and I'll cut your tongue out!"

"I'm a thief, a liar, a murderer, and a lot of other nasty things, Dez. Get used to it."

"Then tell me what you know about the Glass Mountain."

"Really. I've never heard of it. But the name… reminded me of something else."

"Something similar?"

"It just reminded me of an old sailors' legend, but it strikes me that you probably haven't spent much time among sailors."

"However did you guess?"

"I more sort of hoped."

"The legend?" she pressed.

"The story goes that somewhere in the far oceans, beyond the Stormwall, a month west of Sarcre and then God know how far south, there's an island made of diamond. They call it the Isle of the Star, because supposedly it was a star that fell to Twilight. They say a man could make himself rich beyond the proverbial dreams of avarice just by picking up a handful of pebbles from the Isle's beach.

"Of course, with such treasures to be had, there had to be an equally great risk."

He nodded. "There's the Stormwall, which is utterly impassable, at least to normal ships. Imagine hurricanes that could smash the Great Cathedral of Scholten to rubble if they ever came inland, then imagine ten times worse. They say, the island is home to the sea devils." His eyes were looking somewhere more distant by now. Gabriella couldn't help but wonder what they were seeing. Treasures or terrors?

"You were on one of those ships bound for the island, weren't you Crowe?"

"Yes, the Brotherhood — well, I didn't know it was them at the time, who had chartered the ship — employed me for the voyage."

"I was a sword-for-hire looking for work. The ship's Captain, Margrave, was looking for mercenary guards and he hired me for the expedition. Someone was going to pay him handsomely to look for the Isle of the Star. Turns out that 'someone' was a high ranking member of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, with a couple of really strong Brotherhood magicians on his payroll. None of the rest of us knew that at first. We were just a couple of hired blades and a lot of sailors."

"What happened on the voyage? I'm assuming you didn't find the Isle?"

"Do I look like I came home with a purse full of diamonds?"

"Yet, you did come home."

"Alone, yes."

"What happened?"

"The Stormwall. You might think you've experienced a storm — even a hurricane — but it's nothing, compared to a storm at sea."

"How many people were on your ship?"

"Seventy four." He remembered all their faces; he could see them now, and hear their voices. "Seventy three of them are dead."

"I'm sorry."

Gabriella felt drained just hearing the story. So many people in such a confined space. He must have known all of them and been friends with many. One loss was a killing pain to her — how must it feel, magnified seventy-fold? That was typical of the Brotherhood, not caring how many families they destroyed in their quest to promote and justify their apostasy

He smiled faintly. "Don't look so down, Dez. At least some of them were Brotherhood types. An investor and the two magicians."

"It's still seventy innocents, as well as those three."

"Weather is God's doing, isn't it? Drunkards, brawlers and whoremongers every one. I wouldn't mourn their loss."

"Come on, sinner. We're going."

"And where are we going?"

"We're going to see my mother."

"I have to admit, lass, it's a long time since any skirt took me home to meet her mother. But this isn't exactly how I imagined our relationship going." "She's an archivist for the Faith, at the Cathedral in Andon. I want to consult some of the records she's got in her library there. She used to tell me a story when I was a child and I need to know the original historical version."

"What story? What records?"

"The records about Mandrian's Hands and the story about the Glass Mountain. If it exists, and has been recorded by the Faith, there'll be a location, or even a map, in the Archive. There's a much bigger archive at Scholten, but my mother will have a better chance of having the Glass Mountain story. Mandrian's records might not be there, but he fought in Pontaine so a copy should have been kept when the originals went to Scholten."

Crowe was silent for a long time. "Why would the Faith have records about Joachim of Mandrian?"

"Because if he fought with the Hands at Freiport, then he fought for us. And the Faith records everything."

"That I believe. But, why am I coming with you? It seems to me that the opposite direction is looking pretty bloody good right now."

"If you want to go somewhere, I won't stop you. The Faith is fair, sinner."

Crowe scowled as if he'd tasted something particularly unpleasant. "Can't say as I feel particularly redeemed, love."

She could have said that he had helped her and so she felt she owed the same, but she suspected that he wouldn't appreciate that sentiment. She saw that there was something in his soul that needed healing and it would be fair turnabout for what he had done in Solnos.

"You've been a hired blade, Crowe, right?" He nodded. "You've been working on the same task as I have, but now it's finished." He repeated the nod. "So, it strikes me that you're now a blade for hire."

"Now, you're not going to suggest you want to hire me? Haven't I mentioned my dislike of the Faith?"

"You've mentioned feeling similarly about both the Faith and the Brotherhood. You did a job for them, you can do a job for us."

"Since when did the Swords need the likes of me?"

"You're a smuggler and I may need to be smuggled into Freedom. I'll pay you a stipend out of the late Kurt Stoll's funds."

"Where you're going, it'll cost the lot."

"What's the price of a soul?" she murmured under her breath.

CHAPTER 14

The journey to Andon had been quite relaxing this time. Various of Pontaine's military factions were patrolling in case of more goblin incursions, but most of the travellers they passed were merchant caravans with mercenary escorts

She and Crowe made their way into the city and up to the walled Faith complex that was dominated by the cathedral. They were greeted at the door by Marta DeZantez.

Marta took a half step back, looking Gabriella up and down. "My daughter, I didn't expect you back so soon."

"I'm afraid that this isn't just a social visit mother. I'm here to make use of the archive."

"Well, you're more than welcome." Marta let go of her daughter, and looked at Crowe. "Who…?"

"This is Travis Crowe," Gabriella said. "He's working with me."

"The hired help," Crowe supplied helpfully. He stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, missus." Marta shook his hand with a bemused look, then led the way through a dim archway into a high-ceilinged room filled with the musk of paper.

Two men were examining a thick leather-bound volume in an ante-room when Gabriella and Crowe passed through. Both wore the simple, comfortable robes of scholars, but the muscles on their forearms were thickly corded.

One of the men was swarthy, with a neat beard and oiled hair tied into a ponytail. The other, slightly taller, man was clean-shaven and had lank hair. Both carried themselves like warriors and Gabriella wondered if they were members of Pontaine's nobility.

"Excellent," Chaga said, pretending to study the book they had laid on the lectern between them. "So, this is Sister DeZantez. She's not how I imagined her. Somehow I expected a mannish, raven-haired banshee."

"If she recognises either of us, you may see her as a banshee yet, boss."

"Don't worry," Chaga reassured his subordinate. "The last thing we want on our hands is a fight here in the Faith's largest embassy to Pontaine."

Crowe seemed professional enough as mercenaries went and Marta sensed she could trust him to do Gabriella no harm. She looked over at the two scholars in the anteroom. Something about them set her teeth on edge, but she couldn't say why.

"Was there anything specific you were looking for?" She asked Gabriella.

"I wondered if there are any records here detailing the actions of Mandrian's Hands in the last war."

Marta shook her head. "All the military records were taken back to the Order's central archive at Scholten."

"But weren't there copies?"

"Those were taken away a year or more back. On the orders of one of the Eminences. Kesar or Rhodon." She frowned. "Kesar, definitely."

Gabriella was visibly disappointed, but took it well. "Okay. No matter. The second thing I'm looking for may be related to a story you used to tell me. Have you heard of the Glass Mountain?"

"The Glass Mountain? Now that's a tale I've not heard in many years."

"But you do remember it?"

Marta chuckled. "Gabriella, you know that if there's a tale, I've heard of it." Different stories give different locations for it, and each story and setting has a different origin. The Tale of Wyngarde claims that the Dwarven people once had a great capital which glowed in the sunlight because it was made of cut-crystal glass, for example. That story is the most common one."

"Was Wyngarde a creation of fiction or did he actually exist?"

"Wyngarde certainly was a real person. He was a Preceptor in the Swords a couple of centuries ago. There will be records of his duties and campaigns kept at the Great Cathedral in Scholten, of course, but all I have here are the public tales as written down, because his Preceptory was in Gargas."

"Are there any maps of his travels?" Gabriella asked.

Marta blinked. "You know, there just might be. I haven't thought about it since you grew up…" She trailed off as she rooted through several large scrolls, before brandishing one with an exclamation. "This is the one." She unrolled it on a table, weighting the corners down with candlesticks. The map showed the Western regions of Pontaine, down to the World's Ridge and the edges of the great Sardenne forest.

It was there, just as Gabriella had hoped. A jagged fang drawn on vellum, and labelled 'Glass Mountain'. It was tucked away at the south-western end of the World's Ridge, just inland.

"Can we make a copy of this?" Gabriella asked.

"Of course. While I get one of the scribes to work on it, why don't you join us for dinner?"

The thought of the warmth and welcome of her parent's home was so overwhelming to Gabriella, after all that she had been through, that she began to cry.

"Gabriella, my sweet, what's the matter?"

"It's Erak… Erak's dead."

And with that Gabriella wept in her mother's arms.

Later that evening, Travis Crowe asked Marta for a word in private.

"Well?" She said, after leading him to her study. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"I- How do I start?" He wasn't used to visiting women's mothers, if truth be told. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering, except that having fought together with Gabriella gave them a bond. That, and the voice that still whispered "protect" in his head. He knew it wasn't referring to her, but he also knew there was a connection between Gabriella and what the voice referred to.

Marta folded her arms and looked at him expectantly.

"At the beginning. Stories usually start there."

"Something happened recently, when Erak Brand was killed."

"If you need to ask about why someone is upset when a special person in her life is murdered, then you're far beyond any help I could give you."

Crowe grimaced. "The bloke who did it, Dai Batsen, was a Shadowmage."

Marta spat. "I heard. Another one of those debased heretics who think they can bargain with the spawn of the pits to get their way. Why should it be a surprise that he was a murderer?"

"That's not the surprise. He tried to use magic on Gabriella. But it didn't work."

"Of course not."

"Look, maybe you're not hearing me right. A Shadowmage was tossing fireballs at your daughter — "

"And she obviously survived. She's well trained, you know."

Crowe stopped and blinked. This wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. "Now, I may not be a bloody archivist, or a bloody expert on shadow magic or elemental magic or whatever-the-hell kind of magic, but I've never heard of that happening before. So I wondered if you'd heard of such a thing yourself."

Marta shook her head. "The Lord Of All was with her. Protecting her. Simple. Was there anything else you wanted to know?" He was tempted to ask if she had ever seen her daughter take a fireball in the face before, but it would have been facetious at best to do so. There were some other more rational questioned he wished he could ask, but it was clear to Crowe that Marta was hiding something from him and it was clear from her expression that their meeting was over.

Gabriella awoke to the sound of footsteps. She looked up from the books that she had been studying before she had fallen asleep. "Mother? Crowe?"

She was surprised to see the two scholarly, well muscled, visitors snatching documents off shelves. The one with the braided hair looked up, startled. "Chaga! Stop her!"

The man with the oiled hair hurled a lamp at Gabriella and she ducked. It smashed into a shelf full of scrolls behind her, and they immediately burst into flame. Head down, Gabriella ran at Chaga, the crown of her head punching into his chest, hurling him back against the wall.

He sagged with a grunt, but then tried for an uppercut, forcing Gabriella to jump back. Someone started ringing a bell and people began to appear in bedclothes and blue monastic robes. Marta ran in, saw the fire, and called for buckets of water.

Meanwhile, Chaga hurled a handful of books at Gabriella's head, making her shield herself with both hands. He slid forward immediately, kicking at her ribs. She blocked and grabbed his leg, throwing him across a low table.

He rolled to his feet, drawing a long dagger, and lunged at her. Gabriella flicked out a hand to grab his wrist and turned and pulled, smashing her fist into his elbow as he stumbled past. His blade fell from a numbed hand. She stepped in, cracking him on the side of the head with the point of her elbow, then jerking the elbow back into his nose. He finally went down when the back of her fist crashed across his jaw.

By the time she looked back for the man with the braided hair, he had gone. She would have to find him later. For now, she had more urgent matters to attend to. "What's missing?" She asked her mother as she frantically sorted through scrolls.

"Everything relating to the maps you viewed earlier it seems. Various other random materials as well, burned in the fire, but all subsidiary references to maps with the Glass Mountain are just gone. Stolen."

"Which means somebody either believes the story and wanted a map, or wants to deny it to us. Luckily they're too late." Gabriella tapped the side of her head. "You've already got a scribe with a copy and I've got it in here."

"Which means you're going, of course," Marta said.

"Of course. And I doubt it'll be particularly safe."

"I think I can guarantee that," Crowe agreed.

There were familiar faces waiting for Gabriella when she and Crowe got back to Solnos. Four Knights in full ceremonial colours were on guard, themselves watched with some suspicion by an equal number of troops from two or three mercenary companies, including Kannis' company. Preceptor DeBarres greeted Gabriella with a smile as soon as she walked into the church.

"Gabriella! Thank the Lord you're safe. Eminence Kesar will want to hear your tale."

"He's here?" Gabriella hadn't expected that.

"He's come to pay a visit to the site of an attack on a Faith church. He also brought some funds, for use in paying the mercenary groups which Captain Kannis and I are hiring to defend the area. The scouts report that there are more goblins coming and we will be marshalling a force to meet them."

"Of mercenaries?"

"It's politically safer than risking Lord Aristide — or any other Pontaine Lord — jumping to the wrong conclusion and defending themselves too vigorously against an imaginary Vos invasion." Gabriella couldn't fault that logic. "I'll arrange your meeting with the Eminence."

Within the hour, in the top floor of the largest inn in Solnos, Eminence Rodrigo Kesar poured clear water, scented with droplets squeezed from fruit, into two goblets, and passed one to Gabriella. The water was cold and refreshing.

"It does my heart a great deal of good," Kesar said, "to see you unharmed."

"The Lord of All is with me, Eminence."

"As with all of us, Sister DeZantez." He walked to the window and looked out towards where Crowe was checking over a horse. Beyond him, soldiers-at-arms were clearing debris from the makeshift barricades. "You fought a great battle. A triumph of the Lord's will over those creatures."

"Thank you, Eminence."

"And I was very sorry to hear about Enlightened One Brand. He was an excellent Knight of the Swords, and I fully believe he would have proved an equally valuable and excellent Enlightened One. I'm also aware that you and he had taken the Pledge and would have most likely have been Bound, in time. I can't claim to know how you must be feeling,"

"It's not getting in the way." She said, making sure to keep her features as neutral as possible.

"Of course it is." He shushed her next protest before she could make it. "But it is not something that can or will be held against you. You wouldn't be human if it did not affect you." He fell silent, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. "Now, this man Travis Crowe. Who is he?"

"He's a mercenary," she said.

"There are enough of them around, that's for sure."

"He's also an informant."

Kesar's expression showed piqued interest. "On what matters?"

"On the Brotherhood and their operations."

"Really?" Kesar pursed his lips as he regarded Crowe. "He is devout?"

"I wish," Gabriella said under her breath.

Kesar lifted a scroll. "I know you feel your true destiny is in the Swords and I'm certain that you will continue to be excellent in that duty, but… But we can't leave this parish without an Enlightened One and I know that you will serve well in that position."

Gabriella stiffened. "Eminence… I would prefer to serve in another position."

"Would you? Yet the Lord has means and manners for all of us."

"It's not unusual for a parish to be missing an Enlightened One for a short period and I believe that you will approve of the duty I seek."

"Really?"

"It's related to a duty you already gave me, Eminence. I have found Goran Kell's hiding place."

Kesar sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his nose. "All right," he said at last. "Tell me more."

And she did.

CHAPTER 15

The smell was the strangest thing about this section of the Great Cathedral. Many areas, especially the underground levels, stank in one way or another. Cells used by the Confessors reeked of blood and excrement, while the archives smelled of the must of ancient scrolls and most of the stonework bore a faint air of smoke. The incense that burned throughout the Great Cathedral masked a lot of it, but not always and not everywhere.

Katherine Makennon could have said she hated the stink, but she'd be lying. The sacred oils that were rubbed into her skin every day since her investiture masked most of the atmosphere in which she walked, but she had always found the scent of the corridors comforting. The smell reminded her of home not least because this was her home. This was where she was meant to be.

"A glass mountain," Makennon said curtly. "You can guess what I thought of immediately I heard the phrase."

"Ckeol se-Llrim. The Isle of the Star." The voice had an eerie quality. Its owner stayed in the shadows, walking around the edges of the chamber. "It is not a unique phenomenon."

"It is to humankind."

"Man does not know everything. If they did, no-one would ever send ships in search of the Isle. Any of the isles."

"There are others?"

"Several, daughter of Twilight, but none other within the reach of Man. They are sacred only to the Lord of All."

"As He wishes," Makennon murmured, "so mote it be. And the bridge of light… It's happening now?"

"Yes." The sound was more an exhalation than a word. "As it has so many times before, and as it will so many times again."

"This occasion is the only time that concerns me," Makennon said, satisfied. "All that matters now is that we are ready to respond to the opportunities offered when the Lord does His part."

Down in the heart of south-western Pontaine, scouts were rushing inland towards the armed camp that had grown up around the town of Solnos. A full fifty Knights of the Order of the Swords Of Dawn had moved in, joining Gabriella, DeBarres and Eminence Kesar. They had arrived in groups of twos and threes, so as not to arouse the ire of the local military. Kannis was sending hourly reports to Lord Aristide of Fayence, whose scouts were themselves prowling nervously outside town. No-one wanted those scouts to decide that the Swords and mercenaries were an invasion force threatening Fayence. Kannis had been employed by Lord Aristide before, and volunteered to keep him informed and to persuade him that he needn't fear these troops.

Gabriella had rolled out a copy of Wyngarde's map across a table in the church vestry. It had been drawn from memory in spite of Chaga's attempt to wipe it from the eyes of the Faith. She drew a finger along the route the goblins had taken.

"This is where they diverted around Fayence. They know they can't take such a major city."

"With the right strategy, they could hop from city to city, looting and burning everything in their path." Kesar said.

"No, even a rabid animal would know better than to leave two full cities on its flanks. If this had been a true invasion, they would have taken Fayence and used it as a bridgehead. There, they could withstand a counterattack from Andon and have a good base from which to launch further attacks." Gabriella said.

"You have a point." DeBarres agreed. "That way they could then move west against Turnitia and set up control of the whole of the southwest. But they're not doing that."

"Just a minute." Kannis began scrambling through scrolls, journals and papers. "The raids started from one area and have been spreading out. My unit had been called to several villages over the past months."

"The enemy have to come from somewhere."

"Everything began in a relatively small area and is spreading out." DeBarres put his finger on the map, where a jagged crown had been drawn, with the notation 'Glass Mountain — Freedom.' The name was Gabriella's editorial addition "Here. Whatever is happening, it started here."

Eminence Kesar sat back in his chair. "All these goblins are coming from that place, Sister DeZantez?"

"Yes. This is the location of a settlement that Bishop Goran Kell of the Brotherhood has set up."

"Then the goblin attacks are part of Kell's scheme?"

"I don't think that was the specific intent, Eminence. As far as we know they've simply been displaced. Even the goblins won't go too deep into the Sardenne."

"Didn't they come through it?"

"They're from the very end of the World's Ridge, so they've come up in the gap between the coast and the end of the Sardenne. The route they've taken up into the savannah is really the only place they could have gone. Hence, here they are."

DeBarres turned to Kesar. "With your permission, Eminence, it's time we dealt with these creatures and then proceeded to this Freedom place with all haste."

"My permission and my blessing," Kesar told him.

As the meeting broke up, Gabriella went to find Crowe. Someone — probably DeBarres, who Gabriella knew to be sensible about these things — had sent him to a quartermaster for a gambeson, helmet and mail. She found him and took him to one side.

"I told DeBarres and Eminence Kesar that you were a mercenary who is helping me." She said.

"Lying to protect a heretic, Dez?" Crowe tutted. "Let's hope that one doesn't come back to bite you on the arse. On the other hand, it sounds like a fine start to me. So does the arse-biting, come to think of it."

"I don't lie, sinner. Unless you're saying you're going to come with me voluntarily and not take the stipend I offered."

"I'll take it. I may be a liar but it's nice to be around someone who isn't, just for a change. Which reminds me, this Kesar…" Crowe had been around thieves, murders and criminals all his life. Sometimes he had been one and sometimes he had been against them, but he had quickly learned to recognise the dishonest and the untrustworthy. He leaned in close to Gabriella. "This Kesar…" She nodded. "Don't trust this man."

Gabriella looked at him in shock. "What? Are you mad? That's an Eminence of the Final Faith — "

Crowe held up a hand to silence her. "Look, love, I don't care if he's God's own sodding butler. He's the type of man who hides things, because he's always working an angle."

"He's a politician in a way, if that's what you mean," she grudgingly admitted. "But everything an Eminence does is geared towards fulfilling man's destiny of becoming one with the Lord of All."

"It's easy enough to introduce a man to the Lord of All, Dez. One quick cut is all it takes and anyone can do that."

Eminence Kesar returned to his room above the inn and resumed calculating and re-calculating the odds that Lord Aristide would jump to the conclusion that the force in Solnos was large enough to be a Vos invasion of some kind, and start a new war between the nations. He trusted the Swords and the Imperial army enough to believe that such a war would go badly for Pontaine, but he had no desire to even indirectly cause a war that wasn't specifically calculated to advance the position of the Lord and the Faith.

As a result, he had begun to compose letters to both the Lords at Andon and Fayence, requesting the co-operation of a few extra soldiers. It was for the sake of appearances more than anything else. Pontaine was never going to ignore an armed build-up of the Order within its borders, but hopefully the letters would garner merely a frosty refusal and not a stronger reaction.

When he had written the letters, he summoned DeBarres to look them over. Kesar needed no diplomatic advice from a man he outranked in the Faith, but he wasn't stupid. It was wiser to let his military commander voice an opinion on a military matter. DeBarres was wearing full armour already, like the rest of his Knights. The Swords wanted to be ready to fight at a moment's notice.

"Your thoughts, Preceptor?"

"They'll send a couple of liaisons along as spies, but I don't expect they'll send any soldiers. Dead goblins or dead Vos-men, either way will suit them."

"That will be quite sufficient, then."

As DeBarres called for a messenger to dispatch the missives, two scouts rushed upstairs and rapped on the door. A waft of horse-sweat and old clothes preceded them as they knelt to kiss Kesar's signet ring.

"The goblins are sighted, Eminence," the first scout said. "They've come along the coast and have turned inland. Their main force is about four leagues south."

"How many?"

"Battalion strength," the second scout said.

"Do they have cavalry?" DeBarres asked.

"None that we could see. They have dogs, wolves, some other animals… But few horses and it looks like those are being kept for the leaders as rallying points."

"Good." DeBarres smiled grimly. "Pass on that word to our archers. They should have easy targets."

Crowe and Gabriella were consulting the map again in the vestry of the church. A squire popped his head into the room.

"Sister DeZantez," he began, then looked at Crowe, clearly uncertain how to address him.

"Captain Crowe, all right, lad?"

"Captain Crow, the enemy force has been sighted. Preceptor DeBarres and Captain Kannis have ordered all Knights to begin transiting to a forward position. We will battle on the morrow."

"We're on our way," Gabriella reassured him. When the boy left, she cocked an eyebrow at Crowe. "Captain Crowe?"

"Every mercenary band has to have a mercenary captain. I'm a band of one, which I reckon makes me Captain of it."

"False pride is a sin," she reminded him.

"How many dead gobboes will atone for it?" They left the church, and mustered in the plaza with the rest of the Knights. DeBarres and Kannis led the column, followed by Gabriella, Crowe and the rest of the mounted force.

The sound of the Knights on the march echoed from Solnos' adobe and stone buildings; a driving repetitive crunching and jingling that almost became some kind of martial music.

By the time the column surged out of Solnos, Crowe reflected that he could, just about, see what Gabriella got out of this kind of set-up. His blood was up and he'd be happy to see a line of goblins right ahead.

A couple of hours later the column returned to walking pace once out of sight of Solnos; apparently the rush had been purely for show, to raise the townspeople's spirits. By the time they had passed above the Escarpment and turned towards the coast, Crowe wondered why he had bothered coming. He was still wondering that when DeBarres ordered camp to be made for the evening.

In the morning, Gabriella DeZantez appreciated the difference between the goblins she had faced in the streets and plazas of Solnos recently and the pitched battle she could expect now. Spread out across the field before and below her, dozens of yellow and orange blotches flickered in the darkness, casting an amber light across the undulating savannah.

Gabriella let out a long, slow, breath. "That's a lot of goblins.

The Knights had spent the twilight under canvas, but were mounted again by the time the sun moved out of eclipse. The countryside was open savannah, with long, hardy grass rippling in the dawn breeze. They were looking down a gentle slope towards the burnt-out remains of a village. The village was at the heart of a seething mass of scaly bodies. They weren't a cohesive army. The lanky goblins looked half-starved and wore mismatched armour looted from the dead of decades' worth of violence. Chieftains on horseback threaded their way through the crowd, waving and screaming encouragement. As the only goblins with horses, they stood out above their troops, where the masses could see them and the signals they gave.

Gabriella looked for familiar faces among her force. Crowe was looking at the enemy with a calculating expression, his colourless ponytail hanging out from the back of his helmet. He wore his battered coat over his mail. DeBarres was watching the enemy through a telescope, which he passed to Kannis. While Kannis took her turn with the telescope, DeBarres shuffled his horse sideways towards Gabriella.

"Well, it looks like you were right."

"Did you ever doubt it?"

"Never." He looked back at the enemy. "You know what worries me?"

Gabriella couldn't imagine anything really worrying DeBarres. "What?"

His pitted cheeks widened in a wry smile. "What sort of force kicked that lot out of Freedom in the first place?"

"Raul?" Kannis called. "They're moving."

Gabriella looked at the goblins charging towards them, with the wolves and big cats ranging out in front. The bone-chilling howls of the maddened horde carried across the fields between them. The goblin tribes, their teeth and claws filed to needle points and razor edges, competed with each other to lead the charge, not caring which of their own side they trampled in their crazed rush.

Preceptor Raul DeBarres felt his spine tingle at the sight of so many hostiles, but he reminded himself that they were a mob, not an army. They weren't trained, they had no strategy, they were just driven by hunger and their own momentum. There might be hundreds of them, but every member of the Knights was worth a dozen of them. DeBarres knew that victory wasn't in question, but he feared that it would hurt.

DeBarres drew his sword and all along the lines weapons were likewise drawn. "For the Lord of All! For Solnos! For your people!"

Gabriella DeZantez saw DeBarres rise slightly in the saddle, waving a hand forward, slashing it towards the goblins. Gabriella was already nudging her horse to one side, guiding it towards the dust cloud that signalled the goblin rush. She listened to the drumming of so many feet and paws rushing towards her across the earth.

Then battle was joined and the world disappeared in a red haze, and a cacophony of clashing metal and screaming voices. A wolf leapt at her and she cut it aside, before slicing the head from a goblin. She made her horse rear, its fore-hooves chopping down into goblin arms, shattering bone.

Blood filled Gabriella's senses. Red and green, sometimes even black. It sprayed across her vision, clouded her nostrils, flavoured her lips. She could even have sworn she heard it spatter on her helm. Then she really began to fight.

Travis Crowe slashed left and right with his broadsword, cleaving goblin skulls and spreading what passed for their brains across the trampled grass. He did his best to stay close to Gabriella and watch her back, but the Knights of the Swords all wore the same helms and surcoats, with the crossed-circle of the Final Faith. It was damn near impossible to tell them apart.

He pushed his horse forward towards a knot of goblins protecting one with tattoos marking him out as a chief or shaman. Crowe hoped he was the former and not a magic-user. Either way he was a more important target.

He spurred his horse straight at the tattooed leader, swinging the broadsword right for his tattooed face. His coat flapped like the feathers of a carrion bird, bringing death and decay. The goblin's eyes widened just before they were bisected by sharp iron. The cluster of goblins scattered and fell prey to Kannis' men.

A moment later, Crowe cursed violently as searing pain ripped across his thigh, and he wheeled his horse to trample a goblin as it withdrew a blade from him.

Roaring at the top of his voice, Crowe set about killing more of the creatures for the pain they'd caused. Now they had made him really angry.

Kannis led her unit in a wide wheel around the goblins' left flank. Crowe's killing of one of their leaders had caused a weakness in that area. Swarming lines of the creatures met steel and iron and were found wanting. The mix of Knights and mercenaries charged down the goblins and the creatures ranks were beginning to fragment.

Filled with the red joy of battle, Kannis and her men swept through the weak and starved hordes and scythed them down.

Then something slammed into her chest and she was momentarily floating. For a heartbeat, she enjoyed the surprising sensation of weightlessness, but then the world smashed into her back and it felt like every rib exploded like a thousand suns.

The mounted Knights crashed into the charging goblins like a mailed fist hitting a grinning mouth. Sabres cut down into the goblin onrush and dozens of the creatures fell screeching to the earth and rolled wildly though their ranks. Other goblins scrambled for better positions, or hurled themselves flat, risking being trampled under hoof rather than fall to the sabres.

DeBarres and his Knights wheeled their mounts around, drawing sabres and longswords, before charging again. This time they dropped into the enemy lines on their left flank and charged lengthwise, splitting skulls and cleaving heads from inhuman bodies.

The goblins were running purely on instinct, as DeBarres had suspected; instead of closing in under the Knights' reach and trying to bring down the horses, they began to scatter. The goblins' lines ripped themselves apart and DeBarres could see clear through the swirling lines to where Kannis' mount was rearing and riderless.

"Kannis!" he screamed, and spurred his horse towards hers. He narrowly avoided running over Kannis herself, who was twitching on the flattened grass. He reached down, as a couple of Knights knelt to check on Kannis.

"Get her on my horse!"

Together, the two soldiers hoisted Kannis onto the flanks of his horse, and beat their way towards the edge of the battle.

The stink of sweat-lathered horses and warm blood assaulted Gabriella. The earth itself rose upwards in front of her. Gabriella clung on grimly as her mount reared back and she managed to guide it alongside the suddenly-rising embankment.

"Sorcery!" someone shouted. "They've got shamans!"

Gabriella looked around frantically for any sign of the spell caster.

As she scanned the battle, she saw DeBarres carrying Kannis to safety, cutting down anything that got in his way. She looked for Crowe and waved to him.

"Look after DeBarres and Kannis!"

He waved in return and plunged into the fray around the pair.

She saw the shaman then, dancing as if possessed and hurling power from his fingertips. With a roar of fury, Gabriella pulled a javelin from a fallen horse and hurled it with all her might.

It impaled the shaman cleanly and he fell twitching. Screams arose from the survivors of the goblin horde as they scattered. To all intents and purposes, the battle was over.

"Swords!" Gabriella shouted, "To me!"

Gathering her forces, she led them in a wide sweep, cutting down the scrambling, flopping monstrosities as they panicked and fled.

"To victory!"

The twilight was rent by occasional screams. Some of them were the sounds of the wounded and dying men and women being attended to by Healers. A few were the last goblin stragglers being cut down.

Gabriella and Crowe had caught up with each other after sundown, when she found him sitting outside, bags under his eyes. He looked more tired than she felt.

"Gabriella," he said. "You'd better go inside."

She entered the tent and found DeBarres sitting sadly, holding the hand of Kannis. She lay on a cot and Gabriella could tell from her pallor that she was dead.

"A lance pushed her off her horse," DeBarres said quietly. "The fall broke her neck."

He looked tired and worn. Not tearful, because that wasn't his way, but he had no liveliness left in him to make him seem as powerful as he usually did. Gabriella wondered if this was also how she looked.

"You two were close?"

"She was my daughter in law. My son was Bound to her."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know how I'm going to tell him."

"Directly is probably best."

DeBarres stroked his moustache. "Yes. He'll understand. He's from a military family. And she died achieving a great victory."

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

DeBarres looked up. "We'll be moving south, towards this Freedom city. Take what men you need and scout the route. If there are any goblin stragglers, I want to know about them before we reach them."

"I'll take Crowe," she said. "Though really…"

DeBarres nodded his understanding. "I wish Erak had got to track Kell to Freedom as well. But when we get there…"

"Erak won't have died for nothing."

DeBarres managed a smile and reached across to pat her hand. "He never did. No-one who serves the Faith really dies for nothing."

CHAPTER 16

Gabriella felt a little better. "Nor do those who serve with us." She nodded at Kannis.

"Thank you, Gabriella."

The trail of goblin detritus was easy to follow south, even without the map Gabriella carried. It had been re-copied many times since she had brought it to Solnos and the force that followed Travis Crowe and Gabriella DeZantez had many of them.

Finally, they came within sight of the smallest outskirts of the great World's Ridge mountains. The sight was one that Gabriella knew would have been worth drawing, or painting, if she had the inclination.

On the horizon and blending in with the sky, the white peaks were capped with snow. Thin columns of smoke and steam rose from a couple of the peaks, while far to the south a pall of smoke sat like a blanket over the heart of the World's Ridge.

"Over there, they say even the life blood of the earth tries to cross over to Kerberos." Crowe sounded unusually sombre.

To their left, the horizon shaded with green as the south-western end of the great Sardenne forest encroached on the World's Ridge. Directly ahead, the smaller peaks at the end of the World's Ridge were arid stony teeth, snarling at the heavens. Most weren't high enough to have a snow-line, but a few of the larger ones, set back into the range and blurring in with the clouds, were topped with a permanent frost.

"I thought the World's Ridge was supposed to be impassable," Gabriella said looking through the telescope.

"It is, love. Don't you worry about that."

"But that valley… It seems to cut straight through and that peak, it seems to shimmer like glass."

"Seems is one thing, Dez, but, trust me on this, what seems and what is are two different things here."

"It's still our best opportunity," she insisted. "It's our duty to check it."

She nudged her mount in the direction of the wide open valley. Crowe shook his head, and then followed reluctantly.

Two days later. Gabriella was both stunned and dismayed to find herself emerging from the open valley, right on to the same spot from which she had first set off into it. She recognised all the landmarks around and was both angry and frustrated. "What are we doing here?"

"Told you." Crowe said with a yawn.

"We didn't circle round…" That would have been impossible, as the valley was a straight line. "We can't be back here."

"I agree with you, pet. But we are back here all the same. I told you the World's Ridge is impassable."

"Is the Stormwall like that?"

Crowe gave her a dark look. "Worse. A lot worse."

After a few more hours, they entered another valley of rock and scrub grass that looked to Gabriella as if it was a crack in the rocky face of the World's Ridge. There were old, stained goblin nests all over the near-vertical slopes on either side. Strange cries of unseen birds and animals echoed confusingly from the flat surfaces and both Gabriella and Crowe looked around anxiously at each sound.

They picked their way slowly through a narrow defile. The sheer rock walls were becoming more and more discoloured by streaks of yellow that stank of bad eggs. Both of them had tied scarves around their faces to help keep out some of the smell, and to try to avoid searing their throats and lungs with the hot dust in the air.

And these were just the foothills of the World's Ridge.

Crowe nudged his horse over a small rise and Gabriella followed him right into an old goblin settlement. Thankfully it had been long-since destroyed. Tent poles had collapsed, the skins and cloth rotted away. The only occupants of the settlement were skeletons, some of them were distressingly small.

Crowe kicked a skull aside. "This happened months ago. I hate to say anything positive about a gobbo, but this fits right in with what that goblin prisoner said."

"About them being driven out of the mountains? All right, someone eradicated this village, but isn't it as likely to have been a rival tribe as humans? Even other goblins don't much like the goblin tribes."

"Some bugger came this way," he said. "Humans; the length and width of stride is wrong for an animal. Single file to hide their numbers."

Gabriella nodded. "Not many of them, though. Three or four people at the most."

Later, they camped under an overhanging cliff. They took turns to sleep, which was wise, as at one point a lizard as tall at the shoulder as a wolf tried to attack their horses. Thankfully Gabriella was able to impale it through the head before it even knew she was there.

When they rose, they cut steaks from it for their next meal and left a marker showing the location of the carcass. They had been leaving markers all along their journey, for the mercenaries and Knights who would be following.

The narrow valley zigzagged back and forth several times, before dropping away into a vertical well. "That's another dead end," Crowe said. "We'll have to go back — "

"No," Gabriella said, squinting down into the depths. "There's light down there.

"What?" Crowe looked to where she pointed. The well was a hundred yards wide, and, on the far side, light was cast across the bottom, a couple of hundred feet down. It was definitely sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he could spot the edges of wide steps cut into the edge of the well. It spiralled down, a staircase with steps just the right size for horses to walk.

Preceptor DeBarres had seen his fiftieth summer a few years ago, but none of his muscle had turned to fat as far as anyone in the Order could tell. He may not have been as fast a runner as the younger Knights, but when he stood his ground he stayed fixed and couldn't be moved. His weapon of choice when fighting on foot had always been the axe, and he made it flow as effortlessly as a dancer from Fayence made her silken scarves flow.

His preferred method of travel was not the forced route march, but he settled for the knowledge that Eminence Kesar, being a bean-counter and not a soldier, had enjoyed it even less.

They had followed the goblins' path out to the west coast, led by Crowe and Gabriella, and down the edge of Pontaine towards the foothills of the World's Ridge. They made sure to keep well away from Fayence and Eminence Kesar made sure that Kannis' liaisons kept Aristide just well-enough informed to keep him quiet.

The mountains, when they reached them, were as large as anything in the Drakengrat range, and yet both Kesar and DeBarres knew that there were far greater peaks beyond. They had picked their way through twisting canyons and riverbeds, until they emerged at one end of a deep and jagged valley.

It narrowed as they travelled along it and, at one point, they found the carcass of a huge lizard. Eventually they came to a point where they had to travel almost single file. This area led them to a deep, wide well, with steps clearly marked out. Gabriella and Crowe had marked the beginning of the great spiral staircase that had been cut out of the living rock.

The Knights and mercenaries had to restructure their whole column, in order to descend.

At the bottom of the enormous well or sinkhole was a wide natural archway, festooned with moss-covered stalactites hanging down. A valley was visible through this wide grey maw and, at the far end of the valley, a gleaming mountain rose up magnificently.

It took a whole day to get the entire force down the staircase and into this other new valley, and DeBarres had almost begun to fear that the job would never be finished.

Eventually, though, he rode under the stalactites himself and looked along the valley at the distant peak. Between there and the column, he could see Gabriella and Crowe riding back towards them.

The mercenary force had made camp on a rise to one side of the approach to the natural archway. Tents were put up and stakes set around the lower slopes of the rise. The valley curved around this rise before opening up into a field. On the far side of that expanse of arid dust and scrub grass, jagged peaks formed a curtain between the valley and the glinting peak behind.

There were other, larger, peaks around and beyond the one that all eyes fell upon, but they were merely mountain peaks. The other, the special one, gleamed and shone with myriad colours, like a diamond or carved crystal.

Preceptor DeBarres, Gabriella and Crowe all brushed into Eminence Kesar's tent without preamble. Kesar merely raised an eyebrow as DeBarres' lips barely passed over his signet ring.

"Am I to take it that your urgency signifies important news, Preceptor?"

DeBarres nodded. "That's one way of putting it. Gabriella?"

"The valley ahead leads to the location we have for Kell's Freedom city. We scouted it out with a telescope and there is a manned gatehouse set into the defile that cuts through that ridge of peaks at the end of the valley."

"A gatehouse?" Kesar looked at the maps that were unfurled across the table in front of him. "So, there is a Freedom, after all."

"If there's a town that the Faith doesn't know about," DeBarres commented, "it's a town with no Faith."

"So what does it have instead, I wonder?" Kesar said.

"People who need faith, mate," Crowe suggested with a cheeky grin. "Unless, of course, you know something more than the rest of us?"

"If you want me to go into that wretched excuse for a city and clean it out," DeBarres said, "I can. But you'll have to be prepared for how long it'll take."

"A siege? You don't think that a good idea?"

DeBarres shook his head. "Not really. There are going to be enough paths in and out of there that stopping them up will be damned hard for us or for them, but…"

"But? If there's no problem with getting in — "

"There's also no problem for them to get out, individually if not in bulk. And that isn't good horse country, which means no cavalry charges. It's going to be our foot patrols versus theirs. Guerrilla warfare."

"Somewhere in there is a force that kicked the goblins out of their homes. That's the threat that immediately concerns me." Kesar said.

"Eminence," Gabriella interrupted. "Might I suggest that Crowe and I continue our scouting mission by going into Freedom."

"Into the city?"

"There are two reasons, Eminence. Firstly, we need to know how many heretics, mercenaries and sinners are populating the area, and especially how serious a military force they are."

"And secondly?"

"Goran Kell. I've been through a lot to get him. He has, by proxy assassins, attempted to kill an Eminence, attempted to kill me and succeeded in killing Erak Brand. You yourself tasked me with finding him."

"So I did. So be it, but, Sister DeZantez?"

"Yes, Eminence?"

"Make sure you are back here, at this camp, by midmorning of the day after tomorrow. This is my will, and the Anointed Lord's will and God's will."

"As the Lord wills, so shall it be, Eminence."

At Crowe's suggestion, Gabriella left her Faith surplice behind and took a plain, nondescript cloak. "You ready for a bit of Freedom, pet?"

"Are you?"

"I'm used to it. You never know, you might get to like it."

She didn't answer, but simply rode towards the ridge of peaks that cut off the valley from Freedom. She and Crowe found themselves in a deep gash in the rock, which then widened again after a couple of miles' journey.

At the end, a gatehouse was set up on the side nearest to Crowe and Gabriella.

"Hello, they have some soldiers here." Crowe said.

"Not as many as you'd expect. They're mercenaries, so perhaps whoever hired them couldn't afford more." Gabriella squinted at the tabards worn by the nearest soldiers. "Three different companies. Do you recognise any of their colours?"

"One of them is from Mandrian's Hands…" He broke off. "Yeah, well. Mandrian was always a third-rate ponce."

"So his company wasn't an elite unit?"

Crowe barked a laugh. "Mandrian's bunch of losers, a couple of wannabe companies I've never heard of, and what's left of the Free Company. You can probably imagine how much of a force they make up."

"The Free Company, as in the ninety per cent slaughtered by the Anointed Lord in the last war Free Company?" Gabriella couldn't believe her ears. A few defeated old men were hardly the sort of force she would have expected to be commissioned to protect such a large city as this.

"That's the one."

"And the Hands fought on the Faith's side… along with Joachim Foll."

"The assassin who replaced Kell's assassin?"

"Interesting, isn't it?

"Welcome, friends," one of the guards called out. "Pass through, and welcome to Freedom!"

Gabriella and Crowe exchanged a disbelieving glance and did as they were bid.

"Why the midmorning after tomorrow?" DeBarres asked suddenly. He was still in Kesar's tent, listening to the bustle of activity outside. The troops were fortifying their camp.

"I'm sorry?"

"You gave a very specific time limit for Gabriella to return. I wondered why?"

Kesar took a deep breath. "What I am about to tell you is known only to Eminences and above, but you will have to know because you will witness it. Beyond the valley and the gatehouse, there is a citadel constructed — " He stopped himself and pursed his lips, considering. "No, constructed is not entirely the right word. Carved into the mountainside might be more accurate. It may be Dwarven or Elven, but no-one is really certain. Our Inquisitors have followed several small groups of Brotherhood factions to that valley."

"You knew about this before?"

Kesar didn't react to the question. "It's quite clear that this is where the sinners who have vanished from the western cities of Pontaine have gone. They can only be building a power base."

"The Brotherhood never had enough manpower for an army," DeBarres said dismissively.

"But with other whoremongers, gamblers, out-of-work mercenaries… Imagine if they could indoctrinate so many people. Convert them. How effectively can we block the valley?" Kesar asked.

"Block it?" DeBarres was baffled. If there was to be a fight, he needed to be able to put forces into it. "It's our only access to — "

"It is also their only exit."

DeBarres thought he saw where Kesar was going. "It's their only mass exit, but you can bet your Eminent ring that there are animal and goblin trails all around and through smaller cuttings. If you're thinking of laying siege, I already told you it'd be a dubious idea, for that very reason."

"You're questioning my authority, Raul?" Kesar's voice was mild, but DeBarres wasn't fooled.

"I'm questioning your tactical and strategic experience," DeBarres corrected him. "A siege would necessitate making sure they can't get food in, or send messages for reinforcements. Magical communications aside, they wouldn't have much problem getting runners or small groups out, carrying supplies in small quantities." DeBarres sighed. "If that's what you want I'll do it, but you'll be committing the whole of the Swords to a siege that might last longer than the last war between Pontaine and Vos."

Kesar smiled. "What if I were to tell you that the siege will last no more than two days?"

"I'd wonder what the point of it would be. We wouldn't even be fully emplaced that quickly."

"We do not need to be," Kesar reassured him. "It is not my intention to begin a long siege in the area. The Swords need only block any attempt the Brotherhood forces make to escape the area."

"If we can have an elemental mage pull an embankment up at the narrowest point of the valley, it'll slow any crowds right down and hem them in. Then we can use the plain at this end as a killing ground, using our people as cavalry to ride down anyone who comes over."

"Good enough."

CHAPTER 17

Guards were patrolling everywhere beyond the gateway, while civilians were hard at work, fetching and carrying.

The Glass Mountain rose from what Gabriella could imagine as the palm of a hand made of mountains; five towering peaks surrounded the Glass Mountain in a semicircle to the south and east. Wide terraces were cut into the lower slopes of these mountains. The terraces were clearly ancient and edged with walls formed from the living rock. The vertical faces were all intricately carved with monstrous bas-reliefs, while huge triangular doorways gazed blackly at each other across the valley.

Markets had been set up on the lowermost terraces along with gardens. A little higher, tents and yurts housed people. Dancers were performing on several terraces, while food and drink were consumed on others.

Surrounded by the five other peaks, the Glass Mountain itself was even more impressive. She looked up, beyond the terraces and towards the clouds.

"Lord preserve us."

The mountain paled as it stretched above, white and semi-translucent in places and Gabriella pulled her cloak around herself almost instinctively. She shivered, an unconscious act that had nothing to do with the temperature. The mountain simply shone.

Terraces were cut into every side of its lower slopes and crystalline staircases swept up and down its frosted surfaces, connecting different levels. Gabriella was astounded, but Crowe seemed to be utterly dumbstruck.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Gabriella asked him.

"Dez, we have to get out of here now. And we have to get everyone else here as far away as we possibly can."

"Is this to do with the Isle of the Star?"

"Yes." There was a tremble to his voice. "We should never have come here."

She thought long and hard. Perhaps this was the time she had been waiting for. Perhaps it was time to push him where he needed to go. She dismounted, and held out a hand to help him to do the same. They walked their horses to a hitching post and Gabriella looked around for some place private. There was a makeshift soup kitchen on a nearby terrace and she led him to it. They bought stew and bread and sat on upturned barrels as far as possible from any eavesdroppers.

"You didn't have to come here. You could have left a hundred times since the meeting with Sandor Feyn."

"Maybe I've got a crush on you."

She shook her head. "I'd see that in your eyes and I don't."

Crowe hesitated. "Dez… You may have noticed that I've got no love for the Faith."

"I noticed, yes. I'm sure there must be a cure."

"Heh. One thing to remember is that I've no love for the Brotherhood either. They got a lot of good men killed on the Belle and they've made a lot of people's lives a misery."

"The Brotherhood is very good at that."

"So is the Faith, lass. So is the Faith."

"The Faith doesn't cause misery. It fights it."

Crowe fidgeted. "Some of you do, all right?" He paused. "Somehow, what happened on the Isle and what's happening here — hell, what's happened in my whole life the past few bloody years — is tied up with the Brotherhood and with the Faith. I owe the Brotherhood, probably more than I owe the Faith."

"Owe them what?"

"I owe them for Margrave and the Belle. Hell, I even owe them that for the men I killed on the Vigilant."

"It's rare for someone to hate the Faith and the Brotherhood so… equally."

"Really? Then I guess I'm not as common a man as my manner probably suggests."

"Oh, no, don't worry about that." Gabriella reassured him. "You are."

"Nice one, God-girl."

"I dread to think who's footsteps you follow in. Maybe your father's"

"He was a priest in the Brotherhood." Crowe scowled, clearly unhappy with the direction the conversation was taking. "If he was still alive, I'm sure he'd disown me. You're probably taught all sorts of propaganda about what the Brotherhood is like, Dez. I bet it's all vile and full of tales about misogynistic brutes who like to see themselves as the Lord's favourites."

"Some of it."

"Most of the Brotherhood brothers I've met are no different than most of your comrades I've met and, going by some of Makennon's exploits, they might have a point in their opposition to the Faith."

Gabriella felt the anger rise within her. "The Anointed Lord is a great woman!"

"You may say that, and it might even be true, but I can't really be the judge of it. Sometimes the misogynistic brute image of the Brotherhood is true, though. Enough times to — Well, when it's your father, the once is enough."

Whatever was crouching in his memories, slowly poisoning him, was surely about to show itself here.

"My father saw my mother as nothing more than breeding stock. He wanted to have sons for the Brotherhood." He paused. "Do they tell you that at your Faith seminary? The Brotherhood have a Pledge too, but theirs is to have at least one son, not exactly one child. I was the first, of course, and Dad was delighted. Then they had a daughter and Dad wasn't the least bit interested. He wanted more sons, who'd grow up to be Brothers. My mother wasn't having any of it and she liked to go to the Faith church, because there were women there and there had been female Anointed Lords."

"Your father didn't like that?"

"He didn't know about her going to the Faith church. He'd probably have killed her for it. But he didn't like having a daughter instead of another son. He used to beat my mother and finally managed to do it to the degree that she couldn't have any more children."

Gabriella shivered, not sure she wanted to hear the rest of the tale. She knew it wasn't going to have a happy ending. Then again, if listening helped get Crowe on good terms with the Lord of All and the Final Faith, then it was a worthy act.

"So, he knew he wasn't going to be bringing up any more little Brothers. As far as he was concerned that meant mum was no more use to him. Neither was his daughter, so he sacrificed her for the cause." He paused, catching Gabriella's expression. "Not literally, love. He gave her up to some bloke who's wife was barren. And that bloke beat her to death in a drunken stupor because she wouldn't stay quiet enough for his liking. She was about fourteen — " His voice gave out and he took a deep swallow, blinking away the tears.

"Only fourteen years old," Gabriella echoed, aghast. "I… Don't know what to say, Crowe."

He shook the tears from his eyes. "No. Not years. Fourteen months. Fourteen months old. She'd barely even had time to learn to recognise her own name."

"Anyway, that was the last straw for my mother. She spoke to someone at the church. A Confessor, I suppose. She shopped my father for being a priest in the Brotherhood, and you can guess what happened next." Gabriella nodded. "The Swords paid a visit and took him away for morality crimes."

"They cleansed him." She wasn't asking a question; it was the standard fate for priests of the Brotherhood. The price they paid for twisting the religion of the Lord Of All.

"Yeah, Dez, and they burned him and all. And I can't say he didn't have it coming." He shrugged. "That's not what I've got against the Faith. Dad made out that my mother had done more to hide his affiliations than she had. And the Confessors believed it and they burned her in another gibbet right next to him. That was her reward from the Final Faith."

Gabriella looked at the ground between her feet. She didn't want to meet his eyes until she knew what she could say to him. She certainly didn't want him to see the emotions that were going across her face right now.

"Like I said, the Lord might be all powerful, but the people in the Faith? They screw things up just as much as the rest of us. Only they're in a position to do more damage to the rest of us with those mistakes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It made me the man I am today. Besides, it wasn't you who did it. The Confessor who burned her died in the war."

"Did you… Were you — "

"Involved in that?" he finished for her. "Revenge would have been… interesting. But no, a mercenary company from somewhere in Pontaine managed that one all by themselves. I didn't even get that satisfaction." He looked down for a moment, then visibly forced himself to cheer up. "All right, my little God-girl. What say we pitch a tent and settle in to Freedom?

CHAPTER 18

Crowe stretched and looked up as the last tent peg was finally secured. They had set up their canvas against a rock wall, so there was only one approach to their position. The Glass Mountain loomed above them, proud and impossible to ignore or dismiss as a fevered memory. Absently, Crowe rubbed at the scarring on his face.

"Newcomers!" a woman called. Crowe started and looked round. The woman was wearing casual trews and robes in rich greens and blues.

"Welcome to Freedom."

"I… Thank you."

The woman laughed. "Listen to you! So stiff! I'm sorry, I don't mean to mock. We've all gone through it."

"Through what?"

"The doubting stage. You come here, you think 'hey, I can do what I like, without worrying about the Confessors or anyone.' Then you think 'No, it can't be true,' and you daren't do anything in case a troop of the Swords leap out of hiding and drag you away."

"Yes… Something like that."

"It's natural. It'll pass, believe me.

"So, this is Freedom?"

"Indeed, there's no Empire here, no Kingdom, no Duchies."

"No Faith?" Crowe looked sideways at Gabriella.

The woman shrugged. "Everyone here believes in the same God. We celebrate the Tenthday. But there are no impositions here; no false superiority."

"No Enlightened Ones then," Crowe said cheerfully. "My kind of place. What about Brotherhood priests?"

"One or two, but they know better than to insist that their way is best. There's no place for that in Freedom. Kell has shown us a better life."

"It sounds as nice as we were led to believe. A damn shame, though. That it needs hired mercenaries to guard it."

"Hired? We have hired no mercenaries."

"The soldiers on the gates — "

She laughed and it was quite a musical sound. Crowe wondered what other sounds she might make under interesting circumstances, and decided he would like to find out. "Are volunteers. All have come to Freedom to live out their lives in peace, without interference. Some who had been warriors outside have volunteered to donate their time and experience to protect the city in case of need." The woman looked across at someone who had beckoned to her. "I have to go, but welcome again."

"Thanks." Crowe could feel his smile freeze as she left. He turned to Gabriella after the woman was out of sight. "Let me get this straight; the city's whole force is made up of a few retired ex-mercenaries who couldn't get employed anywhere else, or who've had their arses handed to them on a plate often enough that they've taken the hint and quit?"

"Pretty much. It's madness."

"It's not much bloody use, is it? A class from your seminary could probably take this place without too much trouble. This place is a rat-trap and I can't believe they drove the goblins out."

"Neither can I, to be honest," she admitted.

"What did you expect to find here?"

"For one thing, a lot of whores and whoremongers, gamblers and drunkards."

"We don't seem to be short of those," Crowe said admiringly, watching a man stagger past on a lower terrace with a painted tart on each arm. This sort of thing seemed normal here. The girls wore little, the air smelled of Dreamweed and booze, and there seemed to be very little authority.

"And Goran Kell."

She pointed up to the staircases that were cut into the crystalline face of the peak itself. "If these terraces and tunnels really are Dwarven there may be a wider complex inside the mountain."

"Even if they're not, it's still a reasonable assumption. There wouldn't be openings otherwise." His brows knotted. "But what about the other terraces on the mountains facing this one? Isn't it as likely he'd hole up there?"

"Somehow I doubt it. But tomorrow we'll investigate them all just the same."

"Yeah, let's do that," he urged. "That's a much better idea."

Gabriella could see that something was troubling Crowe; there was a frantic look in his eyes that was unmistakable. It was obviously something to do with what had happened on the Isle of the Star.

"Travis," she said, "I know we're in danger here, not just from the Brotherhood or Kell, but from… from something beyond them, something that you saw at the Isle of the Star. Tell me what you saw there. Please."

"It was two, nearly three years ago," Crowe said at last. "I needed to get out of Freiport, as quickly as possible."

"Trouble?"

He shook his head. "Just sick of the place. I get itchy feet after more than a couple of months in one place.

"Tell me."

And he did.

Travis Crowe had needed to get out of Freiport and neither the peasant fields of Pontaine nor the Faith-ridden Vos Empire had sounded appealing. It wasn't that he was being hunted — not then, anyway — but he was sick of hearing the screams from the basements of every other tavern. You had to be careful not to get so paralytic that you couldn't stop yourself being dragged into some back-street temple and sent as a messenger to some minor god nobody ever heard of.

He needed a breath of fresh air.

He had first thought of looking in the Anclas for a mercenary company that was hiring, but quickly discarded the idea. These past couple of years, peace had been breaking out everywhere and the number of unemployed mercenaries turning up to look for work in the cities had been steadily increasing. Besides, he didn't feel like being a bodyguard to some merchant who thought selling a few baubles made him some kind of chosen one. The chances were too high that he would end up throttling his own employer within a week.

Fortune was with him, as he received a visitor just as he was packing up a bedroll and preparing to leave the inn where he had been staying for a short while. The visitor was a balding man with close-cropped greying hair and a drooping moustache. He was wearing trews and leather jerkin, but Crowe took him for a nautical man as soon as he took a step. He had that rolling movement peculiar to someone so used to keeping himself upright on a floor that was always tilting this way and that.

"Travis Crowe?" the man asked from the doorway of the common sleeping room.

"Never heard of him," Crowe said cautiously. "What's he look like?"

"Truth to tell I don't know; I've never met him, but I was told I could find him here. He came highly recommended."

Crowe didn't stop packing, but was intrigued all the same. Still, anyone could use a line like that if they were coming to pick a fight. "I can't imagine anyone living in a place like this being highly recommended for anything."

The man looked around at the smeared and stained wood, and the drunken man still snoring in the far corner. "There's something in that, right enough. But when Sandor Feyn tells me a man's a good soldier, that counts for a lot."

Crowe straightened. "Sandor Feyn?"

The man nodded. "I need a good soldier and he said to come here and ask for a Travis Crowe."

"All right… You found him. Who are you?"

"My name is Margrave," he said "Captain of the Belle."

"What do you need a soldier for?"

"The usual."

"Keep the crew in line, guard the cargo, that kind of thing?"

"Most probably." Margrave hesitated, but Crowe didn't press him. He knew the man would feel obliged to tell him what he wanted to know. At least, he would if he was genuinely keen to hire Crowe. If not, then Crowe would go somewhere else as planned and find a better job. "And fight off any pirates, or any ships that try to board us."

"Fair enough."

Margrave shuffled uncomfortably. "And any sea devils."

"Sea devils?" Crowe tried not to sneer. "Now you're superstitious."

"Careful, I'd say, rather than superstitious. Believe me, I've heard many stories that have made me think twice about the existence of such things. I hope this doesn't put you off — "

"Don't worry, Captain; it'd take more than some bedtime story to put me off earning a living."

The gangplank had bounced slightly under Travis Crowe's boots as he crossed from pier to deck. He'd been on enough ships before, plying the coastal routes round Freiport, Allantia and even as far around as Turnitia, but he had never liked them.

This ship had two sturdy masts and rode higher in the water than anything Crowe had sailed on before. The Belle was carrying supplies and ballast, and more than enough men, but he didn't see any cargo to trade. He should have taken that as a warning sign and left immediately, but a trip out of Freiport was all that mattered to him. Every ship Crowe had ever been on before had carried cargo from one port to the next. He'd never been on a ship that had left a port unladen.

He stowed his gear below and then went to find Margrave. The stocky captain was in his Day Room, talking to a baggy-eyed blonde man who was squeezed into a chair too small for him. Two hooded men were standing behind him. After a moment, Margrave noticed Crowe and shook his hand in both of his.

"I'm glad you made it. We'll be sailing in a couple of hours." His eyes crinkled as he smiled and slid the ship's crew book across for Crowe to sign on. "You won't regret coming along, I promise."

"Yeah, that's good," Crowe began. "I hate to be a pain, but, what are we carrying?"

"Carrying?"

"Cargo. I assume we have some. That's what the likes of me are protecting, usually."

Margrave looked at the silent figure in the chair and his standing companions, and smiled weakly. "Not… exactly."

"What Captain Margrave means to say," the man in the chair said, "is that my companions and I are the cargo, such as it is."

"You must be worth a lot."

"Not particularly, but later in our voyage, perhaps." He smiled. Crowe took an instant dislike to him. He was clearly a smartarse of the first order.

"This voyage is not one of mere trade, but exploration." Margrave said. "Farran here is searching for a particular place. It is in that respect that he is the… cargo."

Crowe looked at Farran. He seemed familiar somehow and Crowe had a vague recollection of seeing him in a tavern once or twice. "He need any special protection?" He asked.

"Not at the moment, but it's always possible, especially once we find what he seeks."

"Treasure, you mean?" Crowe tried not to laugh. "I wouldn't have thought such fine businessmen would have fallen for dockside tales."

Farran stood. He was taller than Crowe and broader. "What we seek isn't a matter for you. Just keep us alive, soldier."

"Your friend here paid me enough to get you that."

Margrave looked between them. "I must say, I hadn't expected such hostility. Please, let us concentrate on the journey. It will be most dangerous and we will need all our wits about us."

Crowe nodded and left the room.

Crowe was no sailor, but he knew that no-one was paid to board a ship who didn't work a full day. The bos'un had set him to swab the afterdeck as the Belle was swept out to sea on the Down Tide. The complex layers and squat spires of Freiport began to shrink as the Belle moved out into the Allantian Channel.

As the beginnings of an eclipse darkened the day, Crowe had taken his rum ration at the rail to watch the land fall away behind the ship and Farran appeared beside him. Farran's pale skin and blonde hair took on a strange look under the light of Kerberos.

"You seem very concerned about things that shouldn't concern you. And people that shouldn't concern you."

"I've seen enough Brotherhood priests in Freiport and other places to know one when I see one."

"You don't strike me as a follower of the Final Faith, Crowe. Especially since Sandor Feyn speaks so highly of you."

"Feyn's usually a good judge of character. If I was with the Faith, Feyn would never have given me a second thought."

"I'm glad to hear that." Crowe didn't like that tone. It was the sort of tone that implied if Farran didn't like Feyn's judgement, he might try something stupid. He leaned on the rail and Crowe caught a glimpse of his linked-circle tattoo. The symbol of the Brotherhood was inked onto the base of Farran's neck. "Yet you're not one of us?"

"I'm me, lad, not one of someone else."

"Now, that comes close to heresy. Turning against the Lord Of All."

"By the terms of the Faith, maybe. I've got nothing against the Lord, just against men and women who claim to speak for him."

No-one who hadn't been to sea could imagine the storms that battered ships out there. Hundred mile-an-hour winds whipped the seas into a screaming frenzy and the waves towered over the ship. Crowe didn't think there was anyone aboard the Belle who hadn't spent the whole week throwing up. Even the most experienced hands were losing every meal they ate.

That was bad enough, but then a few days later the ship passed by the Sarcre Islands and approached the Stormwall. This was an impassable barrier, according to every sailor on board. Margrave himself was of the same opinion, but the Brotherhood man, Farran, merely smiled infuriatingly whenever the subject came up. Now that they were actually here, however, he had no choice but to give his counsel on the matter.

He did this by summoning his two silent companions. They had been sequestered in the hold and everyone aboard had heard the chanting and smelled the strange scents that emerged from there. Powerful magic was being worked in the hold.

"My friends," Farran began, "you are about to make history. This ship will be the first ever to pass through the Stormwall." He ignored the disdainful laughter that was stifled all around. "You have each been given a set of words," he went on, and Crowe looked at the slate he had been given. The syllables on it were random as far as he could tell. "When my colleagues begin their great work, you must all recite the words, over and over until we are through. My colleagues are depending on your concentration to help power the spell."

The crew had been excited in a way, to be a part of the workings of a real spell. As strange and acrid vapours began to rise from the hold and sweep around the ship, the crew began to chant the strange words.

"Ha rey soon-pa," they began, repeating it over and over.

As the air around the ship began to thicken, the sea began to behave strangely. It was coagulating and then shaking itself apart, until it was like sand bouncing on a drum skin.

"Change words," Farran called, as the two hooded magicians floated across the deck to each end of the ship.

"Toh da che," the crew began to intone, "Ta che doh."

As they chanted, the magicians pulled at the threads of power and used grand gestures to guide them. Ahead of the ship, the sea began to fall away, as if it had been scooped out. Soon, a tunnel, large enough to let the ship flow through, curved down under the furious but now impotent Stormwall.

The noise inside the tunnel of water was unbelievable, both because of the sound of moving water itself, the chanting and the screaming of the clouds and lightning of the Stormwall. Men screamed too, certain that the ship was sinking, or being crushed to matchwood by the Stormwall. The more men began to scream, the less they chanted and the ship began to rise as the tunnel began to implode.

Finally, the ship was excreted from the tunnel before it collapsed utterly. The sea surged back into the space, now astern, where the tunnel had been. It slammed shut with an enormous booming crash.

They were beyond the Stormwall.

When the storms eventually subsided, and the Fat Sea settled as Kerberos continued its own voyage across the skies, life on board ship returned to something resembling normality; hard work and cramped conditions, but open skies and plenty of fresh air. Crowe was beginning to enjoy it and wondered whether a life at sea was something he could really settle down to, at least for a year or two.

A few days later, he was helping the Belle's carpenter shape some replacement belaying pins when the call floated down from the crow's nest.

"Land ho!"

The men rushed to the rails and Crowe found himself beside Margrave, both men shading their eyes with their hands. Sure enough, something was shining on the horizon. Crowe didn't trust himself to speak. Beside him, Margrave was almost hyperventilating. "It's true," he kept repeating. "It's true. It's true…"

"The Isle of the Star." Crowe managed to say.

"An island made of diamond."

Farran joined them at rail. "Incredible. You've obviously heard the legends, of course, but I assume you never expected to really see it."

"You never said this was what you were looking for," Crowe pointed out.

"How long do you think, until we reach it?" Farran said to the Captain.

"Tomorrow morning with any luck."

Feet were thumping on wood all around as Crowe sat up with a start. Men were grabbing belaying pins, knives and anything else that could be used as a weapon. Crowe leapt to his feet, snatching up his sword.

"What's the panic?" he called.

"Search me mate," someone shouted back. "An attack, maybe."

"Oh well done, I'd never have thought of that," Crowe muttered, scrambling up on deck. Kerberos was floating overhead, almost the entire sky choked with its azure glow. Men were darting everywhere, while Margrave tolled the ship's bell. Margrave's nightshirt was open at the throat and he looked half asleep.

"What's happening? I don't see any ships." Crowe said.

Margrave looked sick. "If there were ships, we'd have fewer problems." He nodded towards the rail. "Look at the water."

Crowe took a few steps and looked down.

The water heaving against the hull was black, but what made the breath catch in Crowe's throat were the sickly green lights, like distant lanterns in fog, that were converging on the ship. "What in the pits? What are they?"

"Sea devils, I suppose."

"There's no such thing!"

"Tell them that." Crowe left his longsword where it was and grabbed a shorter cutlass, which had a nice solid hand guard to punch with, and a fairly wide blade like that of a machete. On a ship, nasty brutish and short was the best type of weapon. He didn't want to get the end of the longsword stuck in a plank or beam somewhere and thus leave himself open to being gutted.

"We should stop them boarding," Farran snapped.

"How do you suggest we do that?" Margrave asked icily.

"Prepare to repel boarders!"

It was too late anyway; the first webbed arms were appearing over the sides. The creatures were covered in repulsively slimy green scales, with spines rippling down their backs. The huge heads were split by a wide maw filled with needle-sharp teeth. Fist-sized inscrutable black eyes gazed out at the crew.

Nobody waited for the creatures to co-ordinate their attack. Crowe drew his short, machete-like cutlass and grabbed a belaying pin and leapt at them. Margrave was lunging forward right next to him, stabbing at one creature, while Crowe backhanded another in the face with the belaying pin and stabbed it in the armpit.

Its anatomy must have been different from a man's, as this didn't stop it. It leaped forward, slobbering, and Crowe sliced some of the spines from its back and kicked it in the guts. It staggered back and Crowe punched the dagger up through its jaw. It dropped at last, but another creature turned and offered him more spines, by shooting them from its back. He dropped behind some barrels just in time.

He rose again to see Farran raise his hands abruptly, the fingers curling into claws. Crowe realised what was about to happen and dove to the side just in time. A ball of crackling ice flew past his head and slammed into the nearest creature. Its scales froze and exploded into glass-like shards as it took its next step. It swung round, bleeding from a crater in its side and lunged for Margrave. The Captain fell, but Crowe intercepted the creature before it could deliver a finishing blow, his cutlass biting into the inside of its upper arm.

It fell back, screaming, and Crowe brought a fatal blow down into its neck.

The deck of the Belle was a mass of struggling bodies, but the sailors were definitely pushing the creatures back into the sea. Crowe managed to pick up another cutlass from a fallen sailor and took off a webbed and clawed hand that was slashing towards him, before slashing the creature's throat.

Leaping over the twitching body, he kicked another creature off of Margrave, who gasped for breath now that its hands were free of his throat. It rose, lunging for Crowe, but the bos'un speared it through both shoulders with a pair of daggers, and cut its throat.

"You should not be here," it hissed suddenly, through its wound.

"It speaks!" Margrave was amazed.

"Leave, while you can," the creature insisted. "Or die."

"We're not the ones who'll be dying," Farran told the thing.

The creature looked at him. "There is no escape."

"What sort of city is on this island?" Margrave asked. "Is it yours? Do your people live here?"

The creature spat black slime. "This is no city."

"What is it then?"

"It is a bridge."

"A bridge? To where?"

"To Kerberos."

All the men around instinctively looked upwards, then Crowe and Margrave looked at each other. "I'm not much of a nautical cove," Crowe began, "but I've walked across a few bridges over the years and they all have spans. Do you see a span here?"

"No."

"It will reveal itself at the appointed time," the creature burbled. "Leave or die." It stopped breathing then.

"Throw it overboard," Farran ordered. The bos'un glared at him and looked to Margrave for instruction. Margrave gave him a hurried nod, and the creature and its comrades were returned to the waters out of which they had climbed.

No-one felt much like breakfast after the fight, but they went through the motions anyway, before a party was put together to explore the island.

Though it was called the Isle of the Star, it wasn't particularly star shaped. The ground resembled plain old white rock crystal or glass, as far as Crowe could tell.

There were no diamonds or jewels on the beach either. There was nothing but more rock crystal and chunks of broken glass. There was no sign of vegetation either and the beach simply rose up into a tall central peak. The centre of the island was less a hill proper than a twisted spire, like the horn of some sea beast. If so, it was a beast that was wracked by disease. Its surface seemed to weep, as droplets and tears left trails between long-worn pustules.

It didn't look much like anything even remotely valuable. Crowe suddenly knew with a certainty that the legends had been started by people who had never been out here. The Isle of the Lump of Shapeless Glass wouldn't have brought a storyteller many tots of rum in even the most desperate dockside tavern.

"Well, Farran," Margrave said. "Is this… Is this it?" Margrave was too professional to sound as disappointed as he clearly wanted to.

"This is the Isle of the Star," Farran replied smoothly. "And it has a value."

"What value can such a place possibly have?"

"Its history, Captain Margrave. That is its value."

"You mean this may have been built by the older races? They may have left something?" Margrave asked hopefully.

"Something like that."

The bos'un picked up a chunk of knobbly glass and threw it at Farran's feet. "Is this what you call diamond?"

Farran made a placating gesture. "Diamonds don't sparkle when they're first found. They have to be cut and polished — "

"Aye, that they do," another sailor joined in. "But I've worked in a diamond mine and rough diamonds don't look like this rubbish. This is slag, not gemstones."

"Maybe the people who used to live here made jewellery and smelted gold. This could be what's left," Farran suggested. "There may yet be profit to be found elsewhere on the island."

"What people?"

"You're standing on one." Startled, the bos'un looked down, as did Crowe and saw that there was indeed a vaguely humanoid skeleton set into the translucent earth below him. "Somebody used to live here."

Something else caught Crowe's eye, on a smooth blister a few feet above. He lurched over and realised that what he was seeing wasn't on the blister, it was inside it.

The skull of some ancient beast, full of crumbling fangs, was lying on its side deep inside the rock. Crowe had seen flies trapped in amber and sold in the markets of Freiport, but he had never seen anything like this. "What it is?"

"Sea devils," a sailor muttered.

"Or Dwarves," another said.

"He's the tallest sodding dwarf I've ever seen, mate," Crowe replied. Margrave could only shake his head in wonder. "I've never seen such a creature. Whatever it is, it must be an ancient thing."

Crowe turned away in disgust, walking back towards the longboats. This place wasn't right. Not for him and not for anyone.

"Where are you going?" Farran shouted.

"Back to the ship."

"Send water and food across," Margrave said. "We may camp here tonight."

"Rather you than me."

Crowe rowed back to the Belle alone, his head buzzing with a sick and dizzy feeling. At first he thought it was still the images of the trapped bones that was making him feel strange, but as he climbed back aboard the ship he began to realise that in fact there was a literal buzzing in his ears.

It was a sound that Crowe had never heard before. No-one on board had ever heard anything like it before, and everyone was looking around them in a mixture of terror and bafflement. It was a hissing and sizzling sound, descending from the skies and filling the air. Crowe could feel it quivering in the breaths he took.

Someone pointed to the sky, and cried out: "Look!"

There were no clouds in the sky, but even the deep blue of the day was peeling itself apart, as the very air shuddered in agony. The air was tearing itself apart.

The Isle of the Star was burning, glowing from the inside out with the silver light of a million of the stars that twinkled in the night. In a heartbeat, it was too bright to look at. Crowe spun, trying to find a direction in which he could still see. There was a sudden silence and then Crowe felt the blinding starlight burn every muscle in his body. His hair was straining to escape from its roots and every part of him was screaming in the fire that consumed him.

There were footsteps thumping across the deck and the sound of men's' voices. Crowe blinked the water out of his eyes and tried to look over the edge of the barrel in which he sat.

A startled sailor was looking at him. Crowe didn't recognize the man. Maybe he was a pirate. More likely he was a dream, or a figment of Crowe's imagination. Perhaps he was dead and the sailor was just another soul that had joined him in Kerberos.

"Mister Farrow!" the man shouted. "I think there's a man alive here!"

More men came running at his call, but Crowe couldn't even tell what they looked like; the blackness was descending over him once more.

"If you call this alive," he heard a voice say.

CHAPTER 19

Gabriella took some time to let the story sink in. No wonder Crowe was such a troubled man, as well as troublesome, soul.

"How did your ship get back through the Stormwall?"

"I have no idea. I blacked out and when I came round, I was being… rescued."

She decided not to press the issue. There was magic involved here, and she didn't know much about magic. "You told me about the fire and how you got burned."

"It's not exactly something that would slip my mind easily."

"You never said where the fire came from."

"Of course I bloody didn't, because I don't know! That's the whole point. It was like it came from Kerberos itself. Just like that bloody sea-thing said, all right? There was a bridge between Kerberos and the Isle, and everyone in its path died."

"Except that isn't the end of the story. There was the other ship, the one that picked you up."

"The Vigilant."

"Why did you do what you did there?"

"Self-preservation, girlie. Looking after number one. They were going to try do something I really didn't want to repeat and I tried to stop them."

"You killed them to protect them?" Somehow, saying it made it almost logical, which wasn't her intention.

Crowe blinked and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not looking for forgiveness, pet. Not from you, not from anyone."

Gabriella thought long and hard before answering. "I understand."

Kesar stood on the slope of the rise upon which they had made camp and watched the glittering peak of Freedom through a spyglass.

"It's ideal," he commented to Preceptor DeBarres. "All of Kell's little friends, bottled up in there. Unless we force them out and they manage to escape into the closest settlements."

"There are no settlements nearby. They've already displaced the goblin nests, and those have been dealt with. Unless, of course, they scatter into the Sardenne."

"They would be most welcome to do that," Kesar murmured. "They may find it better than the bridge to Kerberos."

"You mentioned that a moment ago. You could try to sound more ironic."

Kesar smiled. "But it is indeed a bridge to Kerberos."

DeBarres, standing next to Kesar, looked at him disbelievingly. "What? You're not seriously telling me those heretics are going to…"

"They're going to see the light, Preceptor. It is a bridge to Kerberos, I assure you. Well, perhaps it would more accurate of me to say it is a bridge from Kerberos."

"A bridge has two ends. But not always two directions of travel."

Kesar rose and strolled towards his tent, DeBarres following. Kesar began to neaten his hair with a small comb, absent-mindedly, as he looked up towards Kerberos. "Tell me, Preceptor, do you know where magic comes from?"

"From the Lord of All, as does everything in the world." He grunted. "I know there are those who think otherwise, however."

"People don't have access to the histories that you and I, or the Anointed Lord, do."

"I'm only a soldier, Eminence. A good one, of course, but a soldier nonetheless."

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"The Lord of All gave me a particular set of skills and talents and Katherine Makennon and Eminence Voivode saw where those talents best lay." He smiled calmly, knowing it would needle Kesar. "Between three such august personages, I can't imagine they're all wrong. Can you?"

Kesar's lip curled as he gave DeBarres a cold stare.

"Mid-morning the day after tomorrow,'" Gabriella said. A light drizzle had begun and so Gabriella and Crowe had withdrawn into their tent. They squatted opposite each other on low stools, while she tried to light an oil lamp.

"Yeah, that's what Kesar said."

"Which means tomorrow now. Why be so specific?" she asked.

"I told you not to trust him, Dez. That bloke's got something up his sleeve."

"But whatever it is, it can't be military…"

Her mind was racing, and she found herself fighting against it. It was plunging headlong in a direction she didn't want to go in. "It could be something to do with — "

"Aw crap," Crowe muttered. "The bridge. Those things we met at the Isle of the Star, they knew in advance what was going to happen! Like, it was a regular thing…

"And if this place is the same."

"And it is."

"Because that would mean Kesar knows about the regular thing, yet no-one else had ever heard of it." Her voice faltered, and he knew she was beginning to get an inkling of what he was trying to get her to see.

"You told me yourself," Crowe said, "the higher you rise in the ranks of the Final Faith, the more access you get to ancient knowledge, to records written by Faith scholars over the centuries. The average person doesn't really believe that goblins really exist, but every member of the Swords knows about them. I doubt you know the complexities of the Faith's accounts as well as Eminence Kesar does, in his role as Treasurer, right? And I'd be willing to bet that somewhere in Scholten, somebody — maybe Makennon, maybe an Eminence, I don't know — that somebody knew what the Isle of the Star was, and knew what Freedom Point was, and damn well knew what was going to happen and when!"

"Right… So?"

"Joachim Foll takes a pot-shot at Rhodon and all bloody hell breaks loose. Kell and his mates in the Brotherhood are on the run, but where do they run to? Luckily Kell has a hideaway, in the form of a fancy glass mountain, out where no humans live…"

"Freedom."

"So the word spreads, the sinners and the heretics and the Brotherhood all make a bee-line for this fabulous new gaff, right? The goblins would make mincemeat of these no-hopers, but there are some good magicians in the Brotherhood. So the way is cleared out for everyone to come here."

"And in a place where they can all burn together." A chill ran down Gabriella's spine. "Only the Brothers and sinners and heretics who need to be cleansed didn't come alone. They brought their friends and families and lovers. People who have committed no heresy. All to burn together."

"If you're going to celebrate, I want nothing to do with it."

"The deaths of innocents are never a cause for celebration. Never." She shook her head. "But Kell has been sending people here for months, via the Golden Huntress…"

"He's had two years to get this place up and running."

"But how did he find out about it in the first place?"

He took several deep breaths. "Why don't we go and ask him? Where do we find a way in?"

"From the Brotherhood, of course."

The Brotherhood were everywhere in Freedom. While the women cooked and tended children and danced, the men were drilling. It wasn't just the mercenaries, either. Groups of civilian men were being enticed to join in. There was a literal series of levels to their drills, with men and boys in casual clothing trying out simple exercises on lower terraces, rising up to men in uniform leather jerkins practicing with weapons on the higher terraces.

Crowe tried out a couple of the regimes and found it was handy for getting warmed up; he has spent too long in the saddle over the past couple of weeks and some muscles were feeling the worse for wear.

This gave him the chance to listen to what the men in training were saying. Most of them chatted about girls and booze and friends or family they had left behind, but some were too proud of their achievements here to keep their mouths shut. Soon, a well-trained man in a red robe came by the terrace on which Crowe was practicing with a short staff. The man had a Brotherhood tattoo on his forehead, of all places. Crowe could hardly believe it; the bloke obviously didn't get the secret part of a secret society.

A more disturbing thought occurred to him; perhaps the Brotherhood wanted to be less secret, impossible though it seemed. He gave the man a friendly nod. Then he spotted Gabriella beckoning for him to come over.

Goran Kell walked down the steps of the Glass Mountain, enjoying the sight spread out before him. Four men in red robes, all with Brotherhood tattoos on their foreheads, flanked him, though he was confident he didn't need them.

Chaga, on the other hand, he did need, but Chaga had never returned from Andon. Kell could guess what had happened and, for one of the few times in his life, felt a pang of sadness.

He continued on, looking over the terraces. There were plenty of pretty girls to amuse him, but for now he was more interested in the men who were being trained.

"How are they progressing?" he asked the robed man to his left.

"Quite well, considering. The Dreamweed makes them open to suggestion and the lifestyle makes them fit. They'll make good soldiers."

"They'd better." He smiled to himself. Freedom, what a joke. "There's a new Brotherhood coming and they'll spearhead it."

Gabriella wasn't crazy, of course, despite that being Crowe's first thought when she expressed an intent to get the Brotherhood to give her Kell. She wasn't mad enough to try making one of the men around here confess. She simply picked one to follow.

They persued their chosen guide to a tunnel entrance and then walked on past it, as if they weren't interested in it.

"Aren't we going up?"

"Not like this," Gabriella said. She darted into a tent belonging, if the washing hung outside of it was anything to go by, to a very showy woman. She dragged Crowe into a corner and applied the makeup she had stolen to his bicep. It was an excellent imitation of a Brotherhood tattoo. She also blackened her own hair, and made a smudge on her chin that, from a distance, could be taken for a scar like the one Kannis had.

"You're missing your calling Dez," he whispered. "They could really use someone with your talent in the theatre."

"One more word and I'll make yours a nice big target. Or a Faith symbol."

"The day I wear a Faith symbol is the day I'll die. Of shame," he added pointedly.

The interior of the Glass Mountain was surprisingly bright. Gabriella had expected to have to sneak through dark, dank, tunnels, using the touch of her hands and feet on the rock to guide her round corners or up stairs.

The bright and airy walkways, glowing with pearlescent warmth, were the last thing she expected. Crowe seemed equally surprised.

"Wasn't the Isle like this?" Gabriella asked.

"I've no idea. We never went inside it."

There were plenty of people around, mostly men but nobody questioned their right to be there. Many rooms in the complex appeared marbled and seemed to be used mostly as meeting points, with no furnishings. Other rooms held dining equipment, or shelves of objets d'art, or beds. It was truly a palace and Gabriella wished she could take the time to explore more of it.

After a couple of hours they had found no sign of Kell, but Gabriella had identified the limits of what she suspected to be a private set of apartments.

"How are your lock-picking skills?" she asked.

"Bloody fantastic if I do say so myself."

"Good." She glanced around to be sure no-one was passing this junction and tapped a narrow doorway. "Open this."

It took a matter of seconds and then they were through into a well-appointed hallway. Two doors opened on to a store room and a small bedroom. A third opened into an office. Crowe was at the desk immediately, opening the drawers.

He brought out two leather-bound tomes and looked at them as though astonished.

"Something wrong?" Gabriella said.

"I've seen these before. They're Margrave's day books from the Belle. I imagine the logs of the Vigilant must be around here somewhere too. It obviously survived my attempt to destroy her."

Gabriella picked up first one logbook, then the other. There was a crossed-circle stamp on each one. "These are from a Faith Archive…"

A loose page fell out from near the middle and she picked it up. It turned out not to be a page from the book, but a note from a Confessor. 'Taken from customs agent, deliver to Scholten, most urgent.' The date was two years old.

"They stole this. The Brotherhood, I mean. Kell's people"

"From the Belle?"

"From the Faith. That's how Kell found out about this place, two years ago. He must have intercepted the messenger." Putting the log books down, she stepped out of the room and moved along to the next door. She pushed it slightly ajar and peered in. It was a bedroom, with a man snoring on the large four-poster inside.

She slipped inside and padded across, trying to get a good look at the man's face without waking him. He had a Brotherhood tattoo on his back and braided red-blonde hair, but he had his face buried in the pillow.

Gabriella took breath and whispered: "Kell?"

He made a snuffling sound and rolled over, blinking bleary eyes.

"Yes, what?" He focussed on Gabriella and licked his lips. "Oh, right. You're from the Faith aren't you?"

"Very much so. I missed you after our little meeting in Andon."

"A rare compliment, thank you."

"I also wondered about this place. This palace, I mean. It's so beautiful. I've never seen its like."

"Do you think man is the only intelligent race to have lived on Twilight?"

"Of course not, but…"

"But?"

"But the other races, the older races, they're all gone."

"True, but this mountain has been here for a very long time and over those millennia, there came others. The Rabash, for example, whom we call goblins. There are those who remember this place. It's power and its fate."

Gabriella didn't like the sound of that. "Its fate?"

"My dear girl, don't tell me you thought these drifters and dispossessed wanderers, fugitives from the Final Faith's repression, built the terraces or excavated the passages that join these mountains?"

"No. I suppose they were built by the Dwarves."

"Dwarves… Heh. If you say so. Such a place is not unique of course."

"The Isle of the Star?" Gabriella suggested.

"Well done! Like the Isle of the Star, this is a bridge to Kerberos, Sister DeZantez. This is the gateway from which we will journey to Kerberos." Kell said.

Abruptly, three hidden doors burst open, admitting armed men into the room. They all wore simple black jerkins and leather armour and the linked-circle tattoos on most of them were clearly visible. Kell swept the bed sheets away from himself and over Gabriella's head, blinding her and confining her.

Boots and fists thudded into her back and limbs and head, and hands stripped away her weapons. Then the sheet was removed again. Kell hopped out bed and revealed that he was wearing trews and boots.

"Did you really think I could be tracked so easily, without knowing who was following? Did you really think I don't have scryers watching my own home and wards in the corridors? I was worried I wouldn't get back to this room in time for you to find me in it."

There were six men around her, but they carried cudgels and maces in their hands rather than blades. "While you've got me at a disadvantage, I don't suppose you're in the mood to tell me a few things?"

"No." He nodded to the Brotherhood guards. "Find a nice high terrace and throw her off."

Several pairs of hands reached for her and that was their mistake. Gabriella grabbed one man's wrist and pivoted, throwing him into Kell even as she snatched the mace from his hand. She used the opposing force from the move to back-kick a second guard in the gut and crack a third man's cheek open with a mace.

She spun on the balls of her feet, kicking high and slashing back-handedly with the mace. In a few heartbeats, all six men were down and she dove for her own pair of swords.

When she rose, ready to go after Kell, he had a sword-point to her throat. "I'm sorry to disappoint you." He lifted the sword that had been in his hand all along and motioned her towards the door through which she had entered. He stepped beside her, keeping the point at her throat. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut short our visit."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but no sound came as Travis Crowe, standing in the doorway, said: "Hello Kell" and stepped through. He put his sword to Kell's throat and hesitated, looking between Kell and Gabriella. Gabriella felt a wave of triumph wash over her and not just relief.

"It seems I have you at a disadvantage." She pushed the point of Kell's sword away and put her own blade to his throat. "Now, about — "

Stars exploded in her vision and her sword flew across the room. Crowe stepped smartly across, shaking the hand with which he had hit her and planted his foot on her sword. He levelled the tip of his blade towards her. Behind him, Kell spoke.

"I'm afraid, Sister DeZantez, that things are a little more complex than you thought. Your friend Crowe here is not only your friend. He's, shall we say, my friend Crowe."

"Sorry, God-girl," Crowe said.

"Kill her," Kell told him.

Crowe drew back his sword-arm ready for the fatal thrust and Gabriella steeled herself. She refused to close her eyes. If she was to go to the clouds to join Erak, she would go proudly. Crowe hesitated.

"One thing about Dez. She likes to think she's smart. Likes to think she knows it all and had it figured out. I like to think she needs to know she's not as smart, and I wouldn't mind seeing her face when she hears how different the truth is from what she thinks it is. When she knows what you're doing here."

Kell gave him a weary sidelong glance. "Well… I've been keeping track of your progress from Solnos — and, may I say, congratulations on dealing with the goblins. They've been the bane of my flock, as well as yours, for some time."

"If they were the bane on your flock, they were a bane you set on them when you — "

"Kicked them out of here, yes."

"That can't have been easy."

"A simple matter, actually," Kell said pleasantly. "Troops drawn from Lord Aristide's regiment at Fayence, some very good magicians and the promise of better pickings further north. The goblins are not as stupid as they sometimes seem, but they have sensitive spots, as do humans."

"Why here? Why not Freiport?"

"Freiport already has a means of governance. And, sadly, an ideal of freedom?"

"And this place's name is a lie." It didn't surprise her.

Kell helped himself to a goblet of brandy from the bedside cabinet. "What makes the Final Faith so strong?"

"Our Faith in the Lord and his faith in us," Gabriella said automatically.

He shook his head with a smile. "I prefer to think it's the centralised chain of command. You'll have to forgive me for my tendency to think in military terms, but I've been a soldier for a long time, and one thing I've always found most vital is to respect the chain of command." He sipped from his goblet and Gabriella longed to smash it into his face. "For many years, the Brotherhood has been organised in cells, hiding in the shadows. It lacks a central focus. It lacks a chain of command."

Gabriella understood at once. "It lacks an Anointed Lord."

"Or similar figure," Kell allowed. "Or at least it did, until now. Scarra is gone, Feyn is gone, who's left to lead the Brotherhood in Western Pontaine?" He grinned. "Oh, it's me."

"Those people out there won't take kindly to that idea." She hoped she sounded more certain of that idea than she felt.

"No? I think otherwise, Sister DeZantez. I'm their saviour. I brought them to a better life with no authoritarian interference. Oh, I make suggestions and give advice, and it's always gratefully received. In return they get… treats."

"Like pets performing tricks."

"A training regimen is a training regimen. And they love it because they feel loved by me. So they come and the men see training going on and they're invited to try it. And they do. And they do well. When the Brotherhood rises, supported by a central leader, they will have their own Knights, their own soldiers. It'll take years, to be sure, but this place is cut off from the world." He came over and leaned in close, so she could smell the brandy he just drank. "I have as many years as I like."

"It was lucky, finding this place."

"A Faith messenger between Turnitia and Scholten happened to get drunk in the wrong tavern and let slip that he was carrying some interesting documents…"

"The ships' logbooks?" Crowe said. Kell frowned for a moment, then nodded. "And copies of the records of Wyngarde and his Glass Mountain, all on their way to Scholten."

"You also hired an assassin." Gabriella said.

"Which one?" Kell said.

"To kill Eminence Rhodon."

"Oh, that one." He spread his hands. "What can I say…?"

"Something truthful would be nice," she suggested.

"Quite so, Sister DeZantez. You are correct. I did engage a man called Lukas Bertam to assassinate an Eminence at the wedding of vom Kalten's boy. But you already know that."

"I know about him and I know he died beforehand, and the shot was made by Joachim Foll."

"Foll?" Kell nodded to himself. "You don't happen to know who hired him?"

Gabriella didn't know, but she had an idea. It was one she didn't want to believe, but she didn't have to believe it. She just had to distract Kell with it. "Would you believe me if I said Rodrigo Kesar?"

Kell blanched. "You're — No?" He blinked several times. "But why…?" He turned to Crowe. "Anyway, enough chit chat. Be at one with the Lord of All, with my blessing."

Nothing happened. Kell frowned. "Crowe? You are the man Feyn hired for me, remember? Kill her."

Travis Crowe could feel the sword in his hand and imagined it penetrating flesh as it had so many times, but he found himself unable to move towards Gabriella. A sibilant voice hissed "Protect" in his ear, except that there was no-one there to have said it.

That voice wasn't the loudest one he could hear, though. Kell's own voice held that honour, but it was Kell's voice from a short while ago. Kell's voice proclaiming his ambition to be a religious leader. Kell's voice admitting to tricking the people here into being his soldiers and slaves.

Or was it his father's voice?

"Protect."

Crowe drew back his sword again and swung it right at Kell's face. Kell was inhumanly quick, ducking under the swing and shoulder-charging Crowe. Crowe tumbled backwards across the bed and rolled off the other side, as Kell lashed out at Gabriella with his own sword. She scooped up the nearest of her fallen swords in time to block and parry, before leaping up onto a table to kick him in the head. Crowe bounded over the fallen guards and added his blade to the melee once more, its tip darting out at Kell.

Kell snatched up a fallen mace and used that to block Crowe's blade, while fencing with Gabriella. He managed to drive her backwards, towards one of the doors through which the guards had entered earlier. She was able to keep straight in her mind where the fallen guards were, so as not to trip over them, but she didn't expect one of them, with almost his last gasp of life, to grab her foot and pull her off balance.

She fell, dropping the sword so she could use that hand to break her fall. Kell smashed Crowe in the gut with the mace, doubling him over, then leapt across to bring his sword down at Gabriella's head before she could rise.

She didn't try to rise, but instead rolled right onto her back and thrust one leg up at his groin, the whole sole of her boot powering into it. Kell's eyes bulged, and he staggered back, just in time for Crowe to ram a dagger up under his jaw and into his brain.

Kell toppled, the sword clattering loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Gabriella said.

There was the sound of booted feet and clanking of weapons and armour from below. "The other door."

They ran across the room and out through the door on the other side, onto a staircase.

Gabriella peered out onto the landing. No-one was there. Beckoning Crowe onwards, she moved and began to edge down the sweeping crystalline staircase. She could hear Crowe's weapons rattling and hoped the enemy, wherever they may be, weren't as sharp-eared.

There they were at the foot of the stairs: four men in red robes, fairly alert and obviously soldiers, but clearly not expecting trouble from inside the palace. They seemed to be chatting amongst themselves; one leaning on a polearm, the others with sheathed swords.

Gabriella had frequently defeated greater numbers of men who knew she was coming, sparring in the old arena, so four should be no problem. Her hands seemed to make the decision for her, drawing the swords before she even realised that that was what she had decided to do. As if to forestall any second thoughts she might have, the sound alerted the robed soldiers. They turned, agog at the sight of two warriors on the loose in Kell's home.

With a shout of alarm, one robed man started up the stairs towards Gabriella and Crowe. He tried to thrust at them with a pikestaff. Deadly on the battlefield against horses, but a stupid weapon to carry indoors. With no room to manoeuvre it, the owner was all but defenceless as Gabriella's swords flashed; one guided the polearm harmlessly aside, while the other cut down into the soldiers collarbone.

Then Gabriella was past that one, and engaging the Brotherhood soldiers further down the stairs. She blocked with one sword and thrust with the other; she cross-blocked with both, then swept a soldier off his feet and stabbed the man behind him.

She didn't stop.

Crowe watched, dumbstruck, as Gabriella swept down the stairs. There was blood and screaming and a grace to Gabriella's movements that seemed out of place in such a grisly scene.

Then he plunged down the stairs after her, swinging at the fourth man with a short sword before he could stab Gabriella in the back. Crowe's blade split the man's skull, and he fell, silenced and twitching. Now Crowe was in the fight, but the fight seemed all but over. Gabriella was continuing downstairs and Crowe's legs carried him along behind.

Footfalls and the jingle of mail approaching alerted Crowe to the arrival of a new enemy behind him. He spun left, gripping the end of his sword with both hands. The quillon punched into the side of the man's skull and he dropped.

Then a man with a crossbow stepped through the door at the bottom of the stairs, several more soldiers crowding in behind him.

Moving faster than a crossbow bolt as it flew was impossible, but Gabriella knew she didn't have to try to move faster than the bolt. It was the bowman's hand to eye co-ordination she had to outmatch. The man was wearing no glove, and so Gabriella could see the tendons of his hand flicker as he began to press the trigger lever.

Gabriella was moving before the bolt was launched. Releasing her swords, she dove head-first downstairs. Her quilted gambeson would protect her from too much damage when she hit the marble floor.

The iron-tipped bolt passed over her back, ricocheting from a step above her.

Gabriella half-slid, half rolled across the floor and came up with palms outstretched to catch her swords. One of them was immediately thrust into the bowman's gut. The bowman looked at her, astonishment keeping the pain at bay for a moment. Gabriella could feel the warmth of the man's blood oozing onto her hand, and wished she could just plunge it into water and cleanse it. She settled for kicking him first in the groin and then in the face as she rose to her feet. He flew backwards, screaming as he slid off the sword-blade.

There was movement to either side; Gabriella was now standing in a knot of the robed soldiers. Four of them. The bowman collapsed in a writhing, screaming heap and a sword was swung at Gabriella's head from the right.

Gabriella ducked, cutting at the man's wrist with her left hand sword. She reversed the sword in her right fist, slamming it up into the attacker's throat. Then the man was down, Gabriella flicking the blood off her sword and into the faces of the other enemies, who flinched.

Crowe leaped down, drawing into two of the soldiers with a flurry of cuts and blows. Gabriella blocked a series of lightning-fast cuts from the man still facing her, then pushed, not cutting or stabbing, but simply shoving his enemy back by brute force. The man's sword was knocked aside and Gabriella stepped forward, slamming her shoulder into the enemy's chest. The man, knocked off balance, started to fall. Gabriella slipped in the offal spilling from the bowman and crashed to the floor on top of him. Both her swords clattered aside.

Gabriella knelt astride her fallen foe and punched, then again, and again. Grunts exploded out of Gabriella's chest in time to the flashes of pain from her knuckles as she beat the soldier down. With each punch, the soldier's bare head smacked back into the floor.

"Dez!" a voice called, "Dez!" There was a pause. "Gabriella!"

It was Crowe. Gabriella looked up, startled by his use of her proper name. Crowe was the only man left standing in the hall. "He's dead, all right? That slab of meat you're trying to drive into the floor is not going to get up again."

Gabriella looked at the soldier she had been punching. The man had not moved even though the punches had stopped. Blood was pooling under his head. His face looked like it was wearing a mask of stewing meat. The anger that burned between her ribs and under her shoulder-blades was not subsiding. It was boiling the breath in her lungs and rushing in her ears. "He was…" Gabriella didn't know what he was now. A dead opponent and no more. That was all that mattered; that was all that could matter.

Gabriella let go of the corpse, scooped up her swords and stood.

"His name was Pett Wynn. He was a Knight of the Order of the Swords of Dawn from Oweilau." She pointed to another body, without looking round. "Johan Kroun. Knight of the Order of the Swords of Dawn from Malmkrug. You get the idea."

Crowe looked dazed. "These were members of the Swords? What — "

"Not were. Still are. Kell's bodyguards are a team of the Swords." Her voice was very small. She felt as dazed as Crowe looked. A door clattered then and she reached through it and hauled out the last face she expected to see here, short of the Anointed Lord herself.

It was Brother Markus, who had once guarded a crossroads right outside Joachim the assassin's escape route. He looked different in his mercenary garb and she supposed she had too, when she had worn Kannis' company's gear to slip into Turnitia.

"Sister DeZantez… This isn't what it looks like!"

"Isn't it? What in the Pits is it, then? A meeting to plan a surprise party for the Anointed Lord's birthday? Well, my lad, what shall the charges be? Apostasy, heresy?"

"What are you talking about?" Markus demanded, his voice shaking as much as his bones, he was so terrified.

"You and your friends, playing bodyguard for a ranking member of a proscribed heretical sect. One who, as it happens, was involved in the assassination attempt on an Eminence of the Final Faith!"

"What about you yourself?"

"What? Me?!" She was outraged at his retort.

"Why are you here, then? If you are on duty, why aren't you in the garb of the Order?" Markus sidled closer, his voice dropping. "Or could it be that you're looking for a way out of the Order? That you came, like all those worthless dregs of humanity out there, to leave your old life behind and start a new one? A new life that's free of the dogma of the Anointed Lord?"

"If you want to be free of your life, free of the 'dogma of the Anointed Lord,' all you had to do was ask," Gabriella said. Then she slid forward, one sword batting his out of the way and the edge of her heel darting into his solar plexus, making a good attempt to go through it. He doubled over as she spun and rammed the point of her other sword into his throat. She could feel it scrape the collarbone as it went in, severing the vertebrae on its way out.

Markus' eyes bulged as he collapsed. He tried to take a breath, but his eyes were already glazing over, as blood flooded his lungs.

"Consider yourself free," Gabriella told him and withdrew the sword, which held only the barest smear of blood. As it had before, that neatness always pleased her. Markus toppled forward, the look of disbelief never leaving his face.

"Orders…" he managed to gasp, clutching at the hole in his throat.

Gabriella didn't believe a word of it. "Who's orders?"

"Eminence — "

"Don't lie to me, you whoreson!"

"Eminence…"

"Liar," she whispered, but too late. Markus was in the Pits of Kerberos.

CHAPTER 20

All hell was breaking loose as Crowe helped Gabriella out onto the terraces. More Brotherhood guards attacked them at every step of the way, but they were no match for Gabriella's dual short swords and Crowe's broadsword.

"It's a trap!" Crowe shouted, for the benefit of the unarmed people around. "The Brotherhood are selling us out to the Faith."

People looked at each other, pointing and gesticulating, all trying to judge how true that was. Gabriella took up the same cry as she fought across the terraces. "They worship the same God, dammit!"

That was enough logic for a few of the more alcohol-fuelled hotheads, who immediately started closing on the guards. As soon as an armed Brother cut down an unarmed gambler, it looked as if Crowe and Gabriella's claim was verified. At once, mercenaries turned on Brothers and drunks picked fights with each other. Crowe hoped there weren't too many true Brotherhood members in the vicinity; waving three or four pounds of iron around for a long time took its tool.

He cut down two more men and shouted: "Kell's dead! His guards were Faith assassins!"

The fighting was dying off quickly, as there were a lot more angry drunks and mercenaries than there were Brotherhood swordsmen. The last few Brothers broke out of a ring of mercenaries and made it to horses. A couple of arrows followed ineffectually after them as they galloped away, but they didn't get too far.

Halfway across the valley between the gatehouse in the ridge of peaks and the archway that — from this side — resembled a wide fish-mouth filled with fan-like stalactites, half a dozen riders in gleaming white swept out from a gulley and tore through them. Even at this distance, Crowe didn't need a spyglass to recognise Knights of the Order of the Swords of Dawn.

"It's the Faith!" someone called. One person cheered, but quickly fell silent. "They've come for us!"

They've come for somebody, Crowe thought.

People were gathering their belongings and preparing to get out of Freedom. Crowe was glad the place had lost its lustre for them. It was better that they found their own reasons for leaving, rather than him try to convince them. He knew they would never have listened. The thought reminded him that he still had the two ships' log books. He went to the nearest cooking fire and tossed them in.

Several people were approaching as he did so. Gabriella slumped onto a bench against a terrace wall, staring into space.

"You know what's going on," the nearest man said. "The Order of the Swords are out there! Are they going to attack?"

Crowe wondered how he was supposed to know and almost asked Gabriella. He caught himself just in time, not wanting to reveal her true identity to these confused people. They'd probably try something stupid like holding her hostage for safe passage.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

With a little cajoling, he got a few mercenaries to stand guard. They wouldn't do any good against the Order, but it would make them feel better. Then he returned to Gabriella's side.

"Gabriella," he said softly, so that no-one nearby would hear. "I know… I'm not the best role model for a devout lass, but one thing I've learned in my life is to expect betrayal. It's less of a shock that way."

"I noticed that about you." Her voice was tiny and distant, as if she wasn't really there.

"I know you don't want to believe what that bugger said about your Eminence, and maybe you shouldn't, because maybe it was a load of turds, but you have to accept that he said it and that maybe he believed it."

"That's not what troubles me. What troubles me, is I already thought of it, remember? Except I hoped I was lying to Kell when I said it." Tears began to streak down her cheeks. "Am I supposed to accept even the possibility another Eminence was behind the attempt on Rhodon's life?"

"It wouldn't be the first time some bloke with ideas above his station made it look like he or his mates were under threat. False flag, mercenaries call it."

Gabriella shook her head. "But a public assassination attempt, it makes no sense. If the assassin is a too good — or too bad — a shot… If Kalten didn't have decent Healers in the castle, Eminence Rhodon would be with the Lord of All on Kerberos."

A delegation of men and women began edging towards Crowe and Gabriella as the sun moved behind the Glass Mountain.

"You have to lead us!" one girl insisted. "Those soldiers aren't going to just let us return home. They'll think we're sinners, they think we're heretics. I mean… what do you think?"

"Do I know what they think? Is that what you're asking?" Gabriella mocked. "I know what they think because I am them; don't you understand that? I'm an Enlightened Sister of the Order of the Swords of Dawn. Those men and women out there are my comrades and my friends."

The girl paled, but stood her ground.

"If you try to fight them," Gabriella went on, "you will die. And I will be one of those killing you."

Crowe pulled her aside. "Dez… Gabriella, they have a point."

"I am not going to fight against the Order!" Gabriella snarled.

"You have to."

"Never!"

"They're going to get a lot of innocent people killed. Including us, Dez, don't forget that. There's more than just Brotherhood thickheads in here. There are their sisters, wives, friends, people who don't even know they've got a cuckoo in the nest. If the troops out there don't let us away from Freedom Point then they — and we — will all burn! Not just the Brotherhood followers who deserve it." She looked away. "All right, love, I can see that this isn't quite sinking in. Let me put it this way: Does the Faith make mistakes?"

"We're none of us perfect, I suppose."

"Kurt Stoll."

"What?"

"Kurt Stoll. The Enlightened One you roasted back at Solnos."

"I know who Stoll was. What's he got to do with anything?"

"He was an Enlightened One of the Final Faith, right? But he made mistakes, didn't he?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"So… If you could have got to him before he went bad — let's say you saw him go into the Golden Huntress for his first whore or his first meeting with Warrigan when he got daubed with the linked circles — would you have run in and stopped him?"

"Of course!" Preventing the fall of a Enlightened One would be a moment of great honour, and great service to the Lord. "I'd try reasoning with him and if that didn't work, I'd outright order him to get the hell out."

"And if that didn't work?"

"I'd deck him."

"That's my girl! Decking your own priests… I knew there was a reason I liked you enough not to kill you."

"It would be better that than seeing him burn," she said frostily.

"A lot of these people were conned by Goran Kell, Karel Scarra and others like them. By Kell, Dez. These are all people conned by the Brotherhood. Most of them probably think they were driven to it by the Faith, but you and I know that isn't true. The Faith is just something convenient to blame when you get caught out trying to put one over on how things are supposed to work. I mean, what's the punishment for singing a Brotherhood hymn in the street in Turnitia?"

"A hefty fine, maybe a few nights in the cells. Five or ten lashes if you're really far gone."

"It's a lot less than burning. Yet who told these people they'd go to the roasting gibbets for the slightest thing, or be castrated for whoring, if the Faith caught them breaking Makennon's rules? It sure as buggery wasn't you, was it? No, pet, it was the Brotherhood. Nice way to recruit new blood, not to mention new gold for the coffers; tell people your rivals will cut them up and burn them but that you'll look after them for a fee."

"You make it sound like a protection racket."

"Isn't it just, though? Protection for the soul."

"Protecting souls is my job."

"Then do it! There are sinners here, right enough but there are also victims of Brotherhood propaganda who need protecting from their — "

"Mistakes."

"Yeah, Dez. Their mistakes. And Kell's plans."

CHAPTER 21

Gabriella stood on top of the gatehouse, put a spyglass to her eye and surveyed the Order's positions in the valley beyond. The twenty Knights had excellent support from the mercenary companies they had brought along, but Gabriella wasn't too worried about them. People could always bribe mercenaries, if it came to it. Then again, these were bands with old contracts with the Final Faith.

"Any thoughts?" Crowe asked, next to her.

"Preceptor DeBarres is on form, going by the dispositions. We're not going to fight our way out of here, even if I wanted to."

"At least it'd be a better death than burning. And some might have a chance."

"Come on, Crowe, you're a soldier. You know you can't just shove a sword in a serving wench's hand and expect her to take on experienced warriors. Especially not the Order of the Swords of Dawn."

"We can't leave them to it."

"Look, let's be blunt about this. These are ordinary people. Farmers, merchants, innkeepers, beggars… They're not soldiers and you know they can't be made into soldiers in a matter of hours."

"Believe me, Dez, I've noticed. Even Kell knew it would take years."

"Good. I'm glad you accept that, not that it matters, because even if it was possible, I wouldn't do it. I'm a Knight of the Swords. Those are my people out there."

"Your people are going to be trying to kill you, first chance they get."

"They're going to be trying to kill people around me."

"A battlefield's a confusing place, Dez."

"I know."

"In the heat of the battle, I promise you, they won't be able to tell you apart from this lot."

"Then I'm glad I have a better idea."

"Fighting our way through the Order's lines is not an option," Gabriella announced to the gathered people of Freedom. "But that does not mean we can't break through."

"How?" a man asked. "If we don't fight — "

"If you want to rely on force of arms, you go right ahead and give my regards to the Lord of All when you see him. You're not warriors. What we need to be relying on is speed and surprise. We'll lure the Swords' cavalry to a point where I can meet them for parlay. I'll be dressed like them, in a manner they'll recognise. While we negotiate with them, they'll not be covering the western pass anything like as strongly as they are now. At that point, you will break out there. Do not try to make for the archway and out through the sinkhole. It's a bottleneck. But by taking to the smaller canyons to the west and scattering up the slopes, they won't be able to follow you. That's your best hope to make it out."

"What… What should we do after that?" A woman said.

"Repent." Gabriella said simply. "If you were brought here by a friend or family member, then tell what they did to our Confessors. If you are truly repentant, and not a follower of the Divine Path, you will be welcomed back into the Final Faith."

"What about those of us who don't want to be part of the Final Faith."

"Then hide. Because our Confessors will find you and your souls will be cleansed of your unrepented sins, by fire."

"Won't you lead us?" a girl asked.

A mercenary scoffed. "So we'll all become good little Faith worshippers? You know that's not going to happen."

"Most of you will," Gabriella said. "Not all, I know. But most of you will see the light. Some of you will burn. Definitely, deservedly. But not today." She paused to let that sink in. "We move in an hour."

An hour later, Gabriella mounted her horse. She wore her surplice, with the Faith's crossed-circle, over a sleeveless tunic and short kirtle. Beside her, Crowe was also on horseback and, behind the pair of them, were the people of Freedom.

Gabriella looked up at the swollen globe of Kerberos and nodded to it in greeting. Truth to tell, she expected to be in its clouds in a matter of minutes, whatever happened. She would not fight her own comrades in the Order.

"Sinner?"

"I'm hanging on your every word, God-girl." Crowe snapped back.

"Be careful."

Then she spurred her horse forward.

On the raised mound where the soldiers had camped, DeBarres lowered his spyglass. He raised his hand and waved it in a circle over his head. "Two riders are heading this way. Let's go and meet them."

He lowered his helm and galloped on to the field, nineteen other Knights fanning out behind him.

The ground passed under Gabriella's horse with terrific speed, but she barely felt the bumpiness of the ride. It was as if the horse was gliding through clouds already. With no helm, she could feel the wind in her hair and it was exquisite. If this was to be her last living sensation, it was a good one.

She didn't even realise she was whooping with delight.

She waved at the oncoming Knights, gesturing northeast, and angling her mount that way.

Crowe felt much the same. So he would die here. It was as good a time as any. He was vaguely aware of his hand raising a pole with a white sheet tied to it, but he didn't really believe a helmeted Knight would even notice the sheet until it was too late.

He didn't realise he was screaming like a banshee either.

DeBarres lowered his lance, ready to drive it through the leading rider's chest. It was only a matter of seconds now… Something white flickered out the corner of his eye, and he realised it was a surplice just like the one he himself was wearing. It was a surplice of the Faith, of the Order of the Swords of Dawn.

Then he recognised the shock of copper hair and shouted.

"It's DeZantez!"

Hoping he wasn't too late, he let go his lance and made the signal to abort the charge.

The slipstream of the armoured Knights passing within inches of his side almost pulled Crowe from his mount. He looked across to see Gabriella standing in her stirrups, beckoning to one of the Knights.

He wheeled his horse around and moved to join Gabriella as the Knight approached. The other Knights were circling uncertainly and she was able to encourage them to continue moving slightly further north and east, towards the valley's steep wall.

The one to whom Gabriella had beckoned pulled off his helm and Crowe recognised DeBarres' pitted face.

"What took you so bloody long?" DeBarres yelled, astounded.

"Hunting Kell," Gabriella called back. "He's dead and so are his friends."

"I hope you've got a lot of quills ready," DeBarres grinned. "I'll want a full report and any intelligence you found in there."

"Preceptor!" Another Knight shouted. He pointed westward. "They're getting away!"

It was true. Men, women and children, both mounted and on foot, were swarming out of the gatehouse and running west. Some mercenaries were emerging from the Faith camp, but they were too far from the gatehouse to have a chance of intercepting the fleeing people.

"Gabriella?" DeBarres asked.

"Prisoners," she explained. "Slaves and victims of Kell and the Brotherhood."

DeBarres looked around one more time, then signalled to his men, who formed up around Gabriella and Crowe.

"Let's go, then!"

They galloped out across the field, heading for the Order's encampment and Crowe could already feel a familiar sensation. He could hear it too; the air itself buzzing. Everyone looked up at the sky. The heavens were parting.

"What the hell is that?" DeBarres roared.

"Hell is right," Crowe shouted over the din.

"Not hell," Gabriella shouted. "Heaven! Can't you hear it?"

Gabriella dismounted and fell to her knees in awe. She was only the first as they all followed.

The air was not just humming but singing, a high pitched trill that rose and rose. On the neighbouring peaks the snow was evaporating and rising up with the mountain's song.

Travis Crowe was on his knees too, just as awe-struck. Much as he despised the Faith and the Brotherhood, he had no doubt that this was the Lord Of All at work. It wouldn't make him waste his time going to what some other bloke or woman thought was a holy event, but it was beautiful to watch.

The mountain was glowing; light flared from the heart of it and the white crystal surface brightened like the dawn.

A maw seemed to open in the face of Kerberos, and suddenly cleansing light, far brighter and purer than mere whiteness, punched a hole through the skies over the peaks surrounding Freedom Point.

A shockwave of explosive sound blasted out across the slopes. Men and women all clutched at their ears and some even fell. It was as if all the souls in the clouds of Kerberos had loosed a war-cry to turn the bones of every still-living soldier to jelly.

"What is that?" one of Kesar's attendants yelled over the explosive din.

"Magic!"

"No sorcerer is that powerful!"

"The Lord of All is!"

Across the terraces, grass and flowers exploded into flame and disappeared in the wink of an eye. The dry stone walls began to glow a deep red and the stones themselves began to melt together. Tents and yurts vanished, instantly reaching their materials' flashpoint. The city that the people had brought with them was cleansed as if it had never sullied the mountain with its presence.

The rock faces of Freedom Point itself began to shift, not in a landslide, but in a bizarre, slow churn. The blazing white rock flowed smoothly, like butter. Inside, every piece of furnishing, and every corpse in the palace complex flashed into light and vanished. Superheated air burned pure gold, swimming through every tunnel and every corridor, sealing them tightly.

Then the icy white fire blazed out in all directions.

And then it was just as suddenly gone.

Gabriella had never seen anything so beautiful.

The peak of Freedom Point was still glowing, a pure copper tone, the shade of Gabriella's hair. "The Lord of All," she whispered.

"The Lord came and touched the world." She wished that Erak could have seen this.

It was wonderful and everything she had done, everything that had happened at Freedom Point, right now was absolutely worth it. She wouldn't have changed any of it for the world.

Beside her, Crowe was on his knees, shaking.

"Bloody hell," he kept mumbling, over and over. "Bloody hell."

Gabriella was right about one thing, he decided. That was God touching the world. Just reaching out like it was no effort at all to reach from one world to the next. Or, more accurately, from the next world to this one.

It was the Lord Of All, right there in front of his eyes; no doubts, no questions. He had seen the Lord at the Isle of the Star too; he just hadn't known what he was seeing. It had been too big, too fabulous, for his brain to take in.

He also saw that the Lord paid no heed to either the Faith or the Brotherhood. He threw back his head and laughed. All those petty people insisting that the Lord wanted things done their way, and here the Lord had come and not given a monkey's toss who was doing things which way. It was perfect. It was wonderful. It was as if the Lord of All had shown him that just to prove that he was right not to trust either faith.

He rose and held Gabriella. She didn't pull away. "It was the Lord of All," he said.

"It was." She managed a smile. "You believe now?"

"In the Lord of All? Always did, like a good soldier. It's just you God-botherers I don't believe in."

Preceptor DeBarres was the first to look away from Freedom. All across the valley, little groups of people were picking themselves up and beginning to walk or ride away.

He walked towards Gabriella and Crowe.

"Gabriella?" She looked round, and he saw the beatific smile that he knew he was wearing too. "We should get back."

"Back?"

"To the Order's encampment, to start with. Out of this valley, eventually. I'm sure you two could do with some food and a change of clothes, if nothing else."

Gabriella blinked. "Yes, I suppose…"

"Now that you mention it," Crowe said, "I do feel a bit peckish. And I could murder a drink."

As they mounted up and cantered towards the Order's camp, DeBarres leaned in close to Gabriella. "There's something you need to know. I think others knew what would happen at Freedom."

"What others?"

"Eminence Kesar." He caught her gaze with his, and she could see that he was aware of the severity of what he had just said. She didn't quite nod, but briefly lowered her eyes in a way that implied a nod. "I won't pretend to know what it means," he went on, "and I suggest that you don't either."

"I'm not the pretending type," she said. "I'll leave that to Crowe."

A few weeks later, Eminences Rodrigo Kesar, Jan Voivode and Ludwig Rhodon were sat round a large table, going over scrolls of each others' reports on the events in Pontaine and at Freedom Point.

"Remarkable," Voivode was saying. "If only I could have been there, to see the Lord's clear light."

"It was," Kesar agreed.

"So, the assassination attempt on you, Ludwig, has been well avenged by Sister DeZantez and many people saved from the machinations of Kell and the Brotherhood. An excellent outcome. It's nice to have a victory to declare, after the lunacy of that business with Munch."

Rhodon looked unsure. "And yet many of those people who were saved from the Lord's power were almost certainly sinners and heretics. A minority, perhaps, but the numbers are unclear. What is clear," he went on slowly, "is that Sister DeZantez has shown… questionable judgement, at best."

"You question her judgement?"

"I would go so far as to describe her actions as apostasy."

Voivode slammed his hand on the tabletop as he rose angrily. "Eminence! That suggestion is beneath you! Sister DeZantez has always been one of my most devout knights. You insult Preceptor DeBarres and myself by suggesting that one of our students has in any way — "

Rodrigo Kesar watched the eyes of the two other Eminences. Voivode's eyes were filled with righteous passion and Kesar didn't think that could be faked. Not by Voivode, at any rate. He prided himself that he might have been able to pull off such a performance but, then, he had been portraying a public face for so long that he had almost forgotten how not to do it. Ludwig Rhodon, on the other hand, looked pained. Whether that pain was due to his wound, the thought of a betrayal by DeZantez, or some other issue, Kesar couldn't tell. Not yet.

"Eminences," he said quietly. "I have met Sister DeZantez on several occasions and found her an admirable Knight and an admirable Enlightened One. However, I have also met her friend Travis Crowe and he is certainly a man of, at best, dubious character and morality."

"He is a known associate of the Brotherhood," Rhodon insisted. "A gambler, smuggler of hard liquors, and worse. What possible reason could there be for an association between the two of them?

"DeZantez was also seen in the company of Sandor Feyn, a known Brotherhood figurehead."

"Whom she executed quite properly," Voivode snapped.

"And why was she trying to hunt down Feyn in the first place?" Rhodon asked. "It wasn't part of her duties. She was supposed to hunt Kell. And don't give me any nonsense about the list of proscribed men. Kell was a bigger target."

"It was at my suggestion," Kesar interrupted mildly. That shut both of the other Eminences up. "I find it troubles me when there is such a division between members of the Faith; especially between two such esteemed Eminences. It seems to me that there are questions which must be asked, when such an upset as this arises. Purely," he added, with a nod to Voivode, "to clear up any misunderstandings which may have arisen due to the confusion of recent times."

"Is this the Anointed Lord's opinion as well?" Voivode asked.

"I would never presume to speak for her when not specifically authorised to do so, upon a specific matter."

"Of course."

The light that was funnelled down to the Anointed Lord's audience chamber was fading by the time Kesar entered. Katherine Makennon was already waiting for him, her long dress and woven hair as radiant as the room itself. "I overhead the debate," she said. "Most interesting. Is there anything to Rhodon's concerns about this Sister DeZantez?"

"Probably not, but anything is possible."

"Taking an arrow is a very affecting thing, I suppose," she reflected, "especially when one can't then take personal revenge on the man who did it. It's possible he simply resents her having cheated him out of such revenge."

"The odds would favour that interpretation, yes."

"I've never played the odds, Rodrigo, you know that. You made the right call. Let's keep an eye on everyone who was involved with this matter: DeZantez, Rhodon, DeBarres, everyone."

"As your will, so mote it be," Kesar agreed. He backed out of the room, leaving Makennon to her devotions.

Epilogue

Gabriella had finally accepted the duty to tend the church in Solnos until a new Enlightened One could arrive, but it was obvious to Crowe that she didn't intend to stay long. She spent most of the first day after they arrived by Erak's grave.

Crowe found her there when he came to say goodbye. If he never saw another member of the Faith or the Brotherhood again, he'd be very happy. With one exception. "I'm sorry about…"

"You said that before. At the time."

"I thought you might be more willing to believe it this time, Dez," he said. "And also, I'm going."

"I thought you might."

"Church isn't my kind of place. Sooner or later the new Enlightened One will get the roasting gibbets working again, and… I've got loads of sins still unaccounted for."

"You could confess them to me."

"No, I couldn't. Not to you." He sighed. "I know you think you'd be doing me a favour, but sometimes I just don't want to be a burden. Seriously." He gestured towards the church's stable. "I don't suppose you could spare a horse?" He was already eyeing a strawberry roan that looked right for him.

"No, I couldn't."

"Pity." He threw a saddle onto the horse, and mounted up. "What can I say? I am a horse thief, among other things." He galloped off down the street, half hoping she'd pursue him, but also glad she didn't.

"You'll be paying for that someday, Sinner!" he heard her call. She didn't sound particularly convinced.

Gabriella watched him go, feeling a momentary pang of regret. She went back into the church and knelt before the altar. Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength and wisdom.

Though she concentrated on her prayer, and on envisioning Erak swooping in the clouds of Kerberos, she kept having to bat away an annoying thought. It nagged her and worried her like a terrier with a rat and wouldn't let go. So she prayed for an end to that tiny torment as well.

She prayed for the chance to find out why Rodrigo Kesar, surely the most respected of the Anointed Lord's Eminences, had switched Kell's assassin. There was no doubt in her mind that he had done so, but she could not imagine why. She knew she couldn't simply ask him, or accuse him, so she prayed for guidance in the matter.

It was a prayer that she somehow knew would be answered. Some day.

Content

David A Mcintee
The Light of Heaven

Prologue

Two Years Later

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21