shield-bearing militia, producing an intense flash, a loud explosion and an eruption of noxious smoke. The cloud dispersed to show several troopers ablaze, their uniforms splattered with glutinous burning oil. Comrades rushed forward to beat at the flames.
The crowd and the militia took to exchanging missiles-rocks, arrows, slingshot and the occasional spear flew. On both sides, men and women fell. Then a trumpet sounded, and as one the lines of militia parted and let through a detachment of charging cavalry. The disturbance was becoming a full-scale riot.
In a room on the upper floor of a nearby house, derelict and half burnt out, two people watched the confrontation. One was Quinn Disgleirio.
He took a peek through the window. ‘That could take some time.’
Dulian Karr sighed and parked himself on a battered wooden crate. ‘At least we were lucky enough to find this place to shelter in. I’ve never seen a conflict blow up so quickly.’
‘We’re living in volatile times. And it’s going to get worse.’
Outside, the sounds of fighting swelled. Screams, shouts and explosions could be heard, backed by the crowd’s constant roar.
‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Karr asked.
‘Only sit it out. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t agreed to undertake this reconnaissance with you. It’s not as though we’ve gathered intelligence of any real importance.’
‘I’m not dead yet, Quinn. The day I can’t go out on a field trip is the day you can consign me to the Pastures of Sleep for real.’
‘Do you still think we’re right about trying to get more of us out to the island? Rather than staying here and making the best of it, that is?’ said Disglierio.
‘It was always the plan to get as many people over as possible, you know that. If things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong we’d probably be there now.’
‘But circumstances have changed, haven’t they? The gods forgive me for saying it, but the Diamond Isle doesn’t seem so much like a haven now as a rat trap. For all the restrictions here in Bhealfa, at least there’s plenty of scope for hiding and hitting out at the occupiers.’
‘True. But let’s not fool ourselves. The best we can hope for if we stay here is to harass them. For myself, I can see the attraction of making our stand there.’
‘You’re an old romantic, Karr. My ideal would be to stay. But then, I’m a patriot. That’s what the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade’s all about, after all.’
‘Then you’re a romantic yourself, Quinn.’
Disgleirio smiled. ‘Could be. I just hate the idea of surrendering my soil to a foreign power and scuttling off to a run-down pleasure resort.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not going?’
‘No. I may be a romantic but I haven’t lost my reason. There’s a chance we could hold out there. And just maybe something will turn up to help us. Don’t ask me what.’
‘If we don’t have hope, we have nothing.’
‘I do worry that we couldn’t possibly get all of our people out there. Choices are going to have to be made, and that seems cruelly unfair.’
‘I know. Decisions of that kind are never easy. But that shouldn’t stop those of us fortunate enough to have the chance.’
‘We’re talking as though reaching the island’s going to be easy. This could all be academic.’
‘It’s a big ocean, Quinn. Short of a complete blockade of the Diamond Isle it’s impossible to close every loophole.’
‘That’s what they’ll do though, isn’t it? Gath Tampoor, or Rintarah. They’ll seal it tight as a drum and-’
‘Perhaps. We have to hope we find a way of preventing that.’
In the streets below the commotion increased again. Karr rose to take a look. The security forces were fighting back with magic, and concentrated energy beams scythed through the crowd. Militia used glamoured stun batons to down protestors, against a background of dazzle charges and concussion rounds.
Karr resumed his seat, shaking his head sadly. ‘It’s not the way the noble art should be used,’ he complained. ‘They debase it.’
‘You sound just like Phoenix. But we do the same whenever we can,’ Disgleirio reminded him.
‘In self-defence. There’s a distinct moral difference involved.’
‘I daresay that’s the way they see it too.’
‘Then they’re barbarians. The occupiers and their collaborators both. They cloak themselves in a mantle of civilisation, but they’re barbaric all the same. That’s another difference, Quinn; between what they say and what they do.’
‘By now you should be used to the way they employ language as a weapon against us. Taking another’s land is liberation. Suppressing the people’s right to speak is freedom. Executing a patriot is an act of public order. And anybody opposing them is a terrorist.’
‘What depresses me is how many believe it. Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes a kind of truth. Couple that with keeping the populace in ignorance and you have a situation where most citizens of the empire are happy to send troops here but couldn’t find Bhealfa on a map.’
‘They don’t need to. They’ve swallowed the oldest propaganda trick in the book. All you have to do is tell people they’re under threat and they’ll let their rulers do anything they want, no matter how draconian,’ Disgleirio said bitterly.
‘And they call magic an arcane art. It’s nothing compared to the subtle craft of deception.’
‘As an ex-politician that’s something you know all about, isn’t it? But we shouldn’t fall into the trap of blaming the citizens of either empire. They’re as much victims as the rest of us.’
‘Of course they are. But we can’t do much about their salvation. What we can do is look after our own kind, diminished as our ranks may be. Small triumphs, Quinn. That’s what we have to content ourselves with now.’
Disgleirio nodded. ‘Tanalvah’s a good example. Finding her was a piece of pure luck.’
‘Ah, yes. If ever there was a case of someone more sinned against than sinning, it’s that young woman. It would be nice to think we could bring about an improvement to her tragic life.’
‘That’s the way I see it. Tan’s done nothing to harm anyone. She deserves a little happiness.’
9
Tanalvah spent the night thinking about death.
She thought of all the deaths she had been inadvertently responsible for, and of Kinsel’s probable death. She thought of her own, and of how she might bring it about.
But what seemed appealing during the lonely watches of a sleepless night carried less certainty at dawn. She was with child, and two other children depended on her. Kinsel could be alive. And she had an abiding conviction that Iparrater, her goddess, would be even more wrathful if Tanalvah added suicide to her sins.
The balance was in favour of taking another breath, facing another day.
This day, in particular, held a prospect worth rising for. Karr had promised her that Teg and Lirrin would be collected from the temple Tanalvah had entrusted them to. The children would be joining her here, in the Resistance hideaway. Not the most appropriate place for youngsters, perhaps, but at least they’d be together.
Easing herself from her bunk, she let out an involuntary groan as gravity delivered a reminder of her condition. She felt giddy and nauseous, as she often did first thing, and spent a moment breathing deeply until the sensation faded. Stretching, she got some feeling back into her aching limbs. Then she pulled on a formless shift and slipped her feet into a pair of leather-topped clogs somebody had given her.
The room she’d been allotted wasn’t really a room at all. It was essentially a cubicle carved from the living rock of the catacombs, twenty paces deep, twelve wide. A makeshift wall of timber frames and canvas blocked what would have been its open end, with a flap door similar to a tent’s. Tanalvah suspected it was an ancient burial chamber that had been cleared of bones, but didn’t like to dwell on the idea.
Some effort had been put into making it comfortable for her. The bed had a plump straw mattress, with
