wasn’t finding him as easy a mark as she thought. Self-deception or not, it gave him heart. His pace went up a notch. He dared to hope.
In the event, his determination wasn’t put to the ultimate test. He became aware of a vibration underfoot. It soon translated to the sound of thundering hooves. A large body of riders was approaching. His opponent heard it, too, and as though obeying some silent signal, they disengaged and backed away from each other.
Other sounds began to overlay the hoof-beats. Shouting, screams, the pounding of boots on cobbles. Disgleirio and the woman turned towards the source. Several hundred people were running their way, chased by a contingent of cavalry wearing the distinctive scarlet tunics of the paladin clans.
A handful of lead runners darted past Quinn and his adversary. More and more followed, until they were engulfed by a torrent of terrified people. Disgleirio lost sight of the woman, and after a moment resisting the tide he joined the stampede. All was chaos. He was carried along in a sea of frightened faces and bellowing voices. His shins were kicked and his ribs elbowed. He was jostled and shoved.
Somebody grabbed his arm and held on tight. He struggled violently, then saw it was the wounded Bladesman he’d ordered away. Following his lead, half dragged, he fought his way across the pugnacious flow of humanity. They eventually broke out onto a less densely packed stretch of pavement. The Bladesman hauled Disgleirio across it and into a gap between two decrepit shanties.
‘Thanks,’ he panted.
‘I know you told me to leave, chief, but-’
‘Forget it. It’s a good thing you didn’t.’ He glanced at the bloodstained, makeshift cloth binding the man’s arm. ‘How is it?’
‘I’ll live. What the hell was that flying thing, chief? And the woman?’
‘I think we ran into a meld.’
‘I thought they were a myth.’
‘Apparently not.’ Disgleirio looked out at the passing crowd and the paladins harassing them. ‘We can’t do anything here. Best to get away.’
His companion nodded. ‘Er, what’s that, chief?’
‘What?’
‘Your tunic.’ He pointed.
A scrap of paper was half stuffed in Disgleirio’s pocket. He took it out and unfolded it. There was writing on it, in block capitals. They read: INVASION OF DIAMOND ISLE IMMINENT. EXPECT MORE RAIDS ON
RESISTANCE HERE.
‘What is it?’ the Bladesman asked.
‘See for yourself.’ Disgleirio showed him the note.
‘Where did it come from?’
‘I don’t know. It must have been…somebody in the crowd.’ He scanned the street again, puzzled.
Two blocks away, sheltering in the entranceway to a stable, Aphri and Aphrim were locked in a lingering kiss.
‘We can’t loiter here, my love,’ she whispered, gazing deep into his barren eyes.
He nodded. There was something in that simple gesture which could have been interpreted as sadness.
‘Soon,’ she promised.
He shrunk in her embrace, not in stature, but mass. His body joined with hers. She drank him.
Aphri stretched, and belched.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, drawing her sword.
‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’ Devlor Bastorran demanded.
She relaxed and let the sword slip back into its scabbard. ‘Just keeping my hand in.’
‘Fool. Do you have any idea the risk you’re running brawling in public like this? Not to mention forcing me to be seen with you.’
‘You worry too much. We were only disposing of a few malcontents. You should be grateful.’
‘Grateful be damned. We’re perfectly capable of dealing with this rabble without your help. I want you out of here.’
‘All right, all right. I’m going.’
‘Oh, no, I’m not taking your word for it. You’re leaving under escort. I’ll have my aide go with you.’ He looked around. ‘Where the devil is the man? Where’s Meakin?’ he yelled at two lieutenants twenty paces distant. They shrugged and shook their heads. ‘Well, find him!’ he bellowed. The pair scurried off.
‘It’s wonderful,’ Aphri told him.
‘What is?’
‘The new state I’m in. The connection with the grid. I’ve never felt so powerful.’
‘I know,’ Bastorran said. ‘But do me a favour, Kordenza. Save it for Caldason.’
16
Sluggish winter tides lapped the Diamond Isle’s shoreline. The sky was overcast and the air raw.
There was activity everywhere. Lookouts haunted cliff tops, guards patrolled the seashore, civilians were coached in spear and sword. Fortifications and defensive lines were being erected throughout the island.
Several score men and women toiled on a beach in the shadow of the terraced fortress, some working with long-handled spades while others knelt, busying themselves with trowels. Carpenters hefted stacks of narrow timber planks. Braziers, cauldrons and anvils were scattered about the place.
Two well wrapped figures watched from a nearby promontory.
‘What are they doing?’ Kutch said.
‘Being inventive,’ Caldason replied. ‘That’s something human beings are pretty good at when their backs are to the wall.’ He pointed at the people digging. ‘They’re using the sand to make moulds for arrow heads, spear tips, even some sword blades. The metal’s heated in the kilns over on that side, and they use the wooden blocks to carry the cauldrons. It’s crude, but effective.’
‘Don’t we have enough weapons already?’
‘We can’t have too many in a situation like this. And some you can’t easily retrieve once you’ve used them, like arrows. You have to assume they’re single use. So we’ve set a target of turning out twenty thousand arrow heads.’
Kutch whistled. ‘That’s a lot.’
‘It’s nowhere near enough. Think about it. Say two hundred archers use fifty arrows each and that’s half of them gone. We could get through that many in one engagement.’
‘It doesn’t sound much when you put it that way.’
‘It’s the same with the number of people we have to defend this place. But don’t get me started on that.’ Caldason turned away from the scene. ‘If we get a move on we can make supper at the redoubt. What do you say?’
‘I’m starving.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
They had use of a small, two-wheeled farm cart, with a mare to pull it. As most of the island’s roads were ill- kept, many of them little more than trails, the going was bumpy.
Five minutes into their journey they saw a work gang felling a small wood close to the road.
‘We seem to be cutting down an awful lot of trees,’ Kutch said.
‘All those arrow heads need shafts,’ Caldason reminded him, ‘and we have to have bows and spear shanks. Not to mention fuel.’
‘What if we run out of wood?’
