trial, don’t go.’
‘Protocol wouldn’t allow that. Particularly as it’s where my resignation’s due to be announced.’
‘Then you’ll just have to smile through it.’
‘Yes, and after that I can concentrate entirely on our plans for the refuge. Talking of which…’ He altered course with a politician’s deftness. ‘…I’m having a meeting soon with the owner of the location. I’d like you there.’
‘What could I contribute?’
‘Something very valuable, perhaps. I can’t go into details now, but will you come?’
‘Some idea of what you expect of me would help.’
‘Possibly a service to the new state. Perhaps nothing beyond attending the meeting.’
Caldason thought about it. ‘All right.’
‘I’d like Serrah in on this, too.’
‘The meeting?’
‘This could concern your unit, and she is a member.’
‘Who hasn’t been on a mission for three months.’
‘I’d like the option of her being included. We can’t afford to have somebody with Serrah’s experience stand idle, not when we’re this stretched.’
‘I’d like to have her back. She’s moved on a lot since she tried to kill herself. But she’s still… unpredictable.’
‘She’s lost so much, Reeth. Her child, her job, her country, all she believed in. I think that entitles her to be a bit erratic, don’t you? I’m not convinced she’s ready for mission duties yet, but we should at least consider the possibility.’
‘As I said, I’d like her back.’
‘Excellent. I’ll get word to her.’ He looked around the bustling cellar and spotted Goyter returning. He waved her over.
‘Any idea where Serrah is this morning?’ he asked.
Goyter licked a thumb and consulted one of her numerous pieces of parchment. ‘She’s with Tanalvah Lahn.’
‘Ah, good. Tanalvah’s steady. She’ll keep Serrah out of trouble.’
3
Serrah Ardacris was in trouble.
Horrified, Tanalvah watched as her charge was driven back towards a wall by the two sentries still on their feet. They had pikes, giving them the advantage, and they were enraged. Serrah fought like a rabid thing, hacking at them savagely with her blade as she retreated.
To Tanalvah the situation looked dire. But Serrah seemed to be laughing.
Three of the sentries’ comrades were down. One was groaning and trying to rise. Another sprawled unconscious. The third lay very still in a widening pool of blood. The bench they’d been using as their checkpoint was overturned, and scraps of parchment fluttered in the chill morning breeze. On either side of the wagon that served as a roadblock a small crowd had gathered.
A loud crack brought Tanalvah back to earth. Serrah had chopped clean through one of the guard’s pikes. Its bearer was disbelieving for a second, then narrowly dodged her follow-up swing. Discarding the useless halves, he quickly pulled back, fumbling for his own blade. She turned her grinning wrath on his companion.
He had a simple strategy: herding her like swine until he could bury the pike in her chest. Serrah thought him unimaginative. She spun at him, using the momentum to hurry along a low stroke. He recoiled, avoiding it by a hair’s-breadth. Her next blow scoured his fist, biting deep. Wailing, he let go of the pike with his injured hand, upsetting its balance. As he botched correcting it, she went in again. He took the full force of her blow, toppled backwards, and landed flat-out, arms and legs akimbo, the pike rolling clear.
From where she stood, pressed into a doorway thirty paces distant, Tanalvah could swear she heard a hefty smack as he hit the flagstones.
Head thrown back, her long blonde hair falling loose, Serrah was laughing. Partly in triumph, but mostly from some darker impulse.
The remaining sentry charged, bellowing to mask his dread. She stood her ground and met him. Their swords crashed together in a discordant note nobody failed to hear. Then their blades took to chattering; a brittle, malevolent discourse in steel.
The intensity of her attack began to overwhelm him. He longed to abandon the fight. It was in his face. In his eyes. Even Tanalvah saw it, a good stone’s lob away. But there was no break, and their clamour grew more frantic. The sentry hammered and slashed, while Serrah wielded her blade like a scalpel. He tried to overcome her with force and bluster. She fenced.
And in a split second, struck. Her blade raked his cheek. He cried out and slapped a palm to the wound. Crimson ribbons dribbled from between his fingers. In pain and fury he rushed at her, brandishing his sword, yelling hoarsely. She swept aside his blade and cut him down. He sank rather than fell, ending on his knees, head lolling. She was already moving away as he pitched to the ground.
Tanalvah slipped from her hiding place and dashed to her friend. She found her smiling.
‘Come on! We have to get away!’
Vacantly, Serrah stared at her.
Tanalvah grabbed her wrist. ‘We can’t stay here.
Come on!
’
Smile fading, Serrah focused. She glanced down at Tanalvah’s hand. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘You’re the one who should be.’ She squeezed Serrah’s arm and implored, ‘This is crazy. They’ll be others here soon. We’ve got to
go
.’
The small crowd watched them silently.
Serrah looked about, as though seeing her surroundings for the first time. Something of her old self emerged. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’ She nodded at the main thoroughfare. ‘That way.’
They ran.
A smattering of cheers rose from the crowd, and several people shouted encouragement. Others began yelling abuse. As the women jogged away, a shoving, ill-tempered commotion broke out; a scaled-down version of the divisions that plagued Bhealfa as a whole. But Serrah and Tanalvah weren’t pursued. Not by anything human.
They’d covered a block when Tanalvah tugged at Serrah’s sleeve. ‘Look!’ She pointed back the way they’d come, and up.
Serrah turned without breaking step. She saw something above, flying at rooftop height and closing in on them. Its vast wings flapped in a slow, leisurely rhythm. Though everyone knew it didn’t really need wings at all.
A shadow fell across the fleeing women. The creature circled overhead, and they could see it more clearly. It was some sort of hybrid, mostly bat with insect traits, the latter providing it with three sets of spindly legs. The effect was not unlike a housefly, albeit one the size of a hay cart and sporting coal-red eyes.
‘I don’t think it’s a hunter-killer,’ Serrah judged, scowling irritably, ‘just a damn snoop.’
‘Then any minute it’s going to start shouting about where we are.’
They were trotting now, with the tracer glamour hanging over them, keeping pace. There weren’t many people on the streets this early, but those that were began taking an interest.
‘Alert! Alert!’
the glamour screeched.
