still lived-only to find that the world had turned into swirling green and blue clouds, thick, wet.
No, not clouds. He was inside a bulging, sloshing sphere of water. Hanging suspended now, as it rolled, taking him with it, out into the courtyard.
From the rooftop, which he was able to look up at as the misshapen globe tum-bled him over and over, he saw an assassin pitch over the edge in a black spray of blood-and then he was looking at Madrun and Lazan Door, wielding two curved swords each, cutting through a mob that even now scattered in panic.
At that moment sorcery ignited the courtyard, rolling in a spitting, raging wave that swept up the main building’s front steps and collided with the door, shattering it and the lintel above. Clouds of dust tumbled out, and three vague shapes rushed in, disappearing inside the house. A fourth one skidded to a halt at the base of the cracked steps, spun round and raised gloved hands. More magic,; shrieking as it darted straight for the two unmasked Seguleh and those few assassins still standing. The impact sent bodies flying.
Torvald Nom, witnessing all this through murky water and discovering a sudden need to breathe, lost sight of everything as the globe heaved over one last time, even as he heard water draining, splashing down out to the sides, and watched the blurred pavestones beneath him draw closer.
All at once he found himself lying on the courtyard, drenched, gasping for air. He rolled over on to his back, saw a spark-lit, fiery black cloud tumble through the sky directly overhead-and that was curious, wasn’t it?
Detonations from within the estate. A sudden scream, cut bloodily short. He looked over to where Lazan Door and Madrun had been. Bodies crowded up against the inside wall, like a handful of black knuckles, and their bouncing, skid-ding journey was at an end, every knuckle settled and motinless,
Someone was approaching. Slow, steady steps, coming to a rest beside him.
blinking, Torvald Nom looked up. ‘Cousin! Listen! I’m sorry, all right? I never meant it, honest!’
‘What in Hood’s name are you going on about, Tor?’ Rallick Nom was wiping blood from his tjaluk knives. ‘I’d swear you were scared of me or something.’
‘I didn’t mean to steal her, Rallick. That’s no lie!’
‘Tiserra?’
Torvald stared up at his cousin, wide-eyed, his heart bounding like an antelope with a hundred starving wolves on its stumpy tail.
Rallick made a face. ‘Tor, you idiot. We were what, seven years old? Sure, I thought she was cute, but gods below, man, any boy and girl who start holding hands at seven and are still madly in love with each other twenty- five years later-that’s not something to mess with-’
‘But I saw the way you looked at us, year after year-I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t sleep, I knew you’d come for me sooner or later, I knew…’
Rallick frowned down at him. ‘Torvald, what you saw in my face was envy. Yes, such a thing can get ugly, but not with me. I watched in wonder, in admira-tion. Dammit, I loved you both. Still do.’ He sheathed his weapons and reached down with a red-stained hand. ‘Good to see you, cousin. Finally.’
Torvald took that hand, and suddenly-years of guilt and fear shedding away-the whole world was all right. He was pulled effortlessly to his feet. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Helping out, of course.’
‘Taking care of me-’
‘Ah, that was incidental, in truth. I saw you on the rooftop earlier. There’d be a few trying that way. Anyway, you did a nice job of catching their attention.’
‘That quarrel through that one’s head was from you?’
‘At that range, I never miss.’
They turned then as Studious Lock, limping, emerged from the wreckage of the main entrance. And behind him strode the Lady of the house. She was wearing leather gloves that ran up to the elbow on which dagger-sheaths had been riveted. Her usual voluminous silks and linens had been replaced by tight-fitting, fighting clothes. Torvald squinted thoughtfully.
Studious Lock was making his way towards the heap of bodies.
Lady Varada saw Rallick and Torvald and approached.
Rallick bowed. ‘Did the mage give you any trouble, Mistress?’
‘No. Is the rooftop clear?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Seba?’
‘Probably scampering for his warren as fast as his legs can take him.’ Rallick paused. ‘Mistress, you could walk back in-’
‘And who is left in my Guild, Rallick? Of any worth, I mean.’
‘Krute, perhaps. Myself. Even Seba would manage, so long as he was respon-sible for a single cell and nothing more.’
Torvald was no fool, and as he followed this conversation, certain things fell into place. ‘Lady Varada,’ he said. ‘Er, Mistress Vorcan, I mean. You knew this was coming, didn’t you? And you probably hired me, and Scorch and Leff, because you believed we were useless, and, er, expendable. You wanted them to get through-you wanted them all in here, so you could wipe them out once and for all.’
She regarded him for a moment, one eyebrow lifting, and then turned away and headed back to her house.
Torvald made to pursue her but Rallick reached out a hand and held him back. ‘Cousin,’ he said in a low voice, ‘she was Mistress of the Assassins’ Guild. Do you think she’s anything like us? Do you really think she gives a damn if we live or die?’
Torvald glanced over at Rallick. ‘Now who’s the fool, cousin? No, you’re right, about me and Scorch and Leff- and those fallen Seguleh over there-she doesn’t care. But you, Rallick, that’s different. Are you blind? Soon as she stepped out, her. eyes went to you, and all the stiffness relaxed, and she came over to make sure you weren’t wounded.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘And you can’t be so stupid, can you?’
At that moment the main gates crashed open and two bloody figures staggered in.
‘We was attacked!’ Scorch shouted in outrage.
‘We killed ’em all,’ Leff added, looking round wildly, ‘but there could be more!’
Torvald noted his cousin’s expression and softly laughed, drawing Rallick’s at-tention once more. ‘I got some wine in my office,’ Torvald said. ‘We can sit and relax and I can tell you some things about Scorch and Leff-’
‘This is not the night for that, Tor-are you deaf?’
Torvald scowled, then thumped at the side of his head. Both sides. ‘Sorry, got water in my ears. Even you here, you sound to me like you’re under a bucket.’
The thumping worked, at least for one ear, and he could hear now what every-one else was listening to.
Screams, all through the city. Buildings crashing down. Echoing howls. Recall-ing the fireball he’d seen, he looked skyward. No stars in sight-the sky was filled with smoke, huge bulges underlit by wildfires in the city. ‘Gods below!’
Harllo ran down the road. His knees were cut and deeply scored by his climb up the slope of scree, and blood ran down his shins. Stitches bit into his sides and every muscle was on fire. And Venaz was so close behind him that he could hear his harsh gasps-but Venaz was older, his legs were longer, and it would be soon now, no matter how tired he sounded.
To have come so far, and everything was about to end… but Harllo would not weep. Would not plead or beg for his life. Venaz was going to beat him to death. It was us simple as that. There was no Bainisk to stand in the way, there were no rules of the camp. Harllo was not a mole any more; he was of no use to anyone,
People like him, big and small, died all the time. Killed by being ignored, killed because nobody cared what happened to them. He’d walked the streets of Darn jhistan often enough to see for himself, to see that the only thing between those huddled shapes and himself was a family that didn’t even want him, no matter how hard he worked. They were Snell’s parents, and Snell was what they’d made between them, and nothing in the world could cut through those tethers.
That was why they let Snell play with Harllo, and if he played using fists and feet and something went bad, well, that stuff happened all the time, didn’t it? That’s why they never came to get him. And the one man who did,
