was all she said.
‘Fine,’ replied Kristofine, ‘I need to get to work, my father will be wondering where I’ve fetched up.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kjellrunn awkwardly as she fumbled with the door handle. Kristofine didn’t move from the fireplace, watching her leave with an accusing gaze.
The sky was full of keening wind and cold rain as Kjellrunn trudged home, and remained so for many hours to come.
There can only be true peace when the Scorched Republics give up their foolish notions of autonomy and join the glory of the Empire. Once we are united we will crush the city states of Shanisrond in the south. Until then, the Empire waits for war and all its chances for glory.
– From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
The creature remained unflinching, unmoving beneath writhing fire. Steiner dared himself to look away. The newcomers were not alone; other girls and boys lined the edges of the square, ranging from ten to twenty years old. All were pale with tiredness and sullen-eyed. They wore quilted coats in mottled scarlet that reached their knees, while heavy boots and mittens completed the attire. Steiner guessed them to be novices, cargoes from previous years, other lives separated from their loved ones. Here was the living proof they would not be executed after all. The children hunkered in the doorways of buildings many storeys tall, others hid in shadows beneath brightly coloured awnings.
The soldiers filed into the square behind the new arrivals, blocking the archway beneath the gatehouse. There would be no frantic dash down the steps to Romola, no desperate begging to escape. The soldiers unslung their maces and held them close to their sides, hidden along the line of their cloaks. The dragon remained still, even as the fire continued to roil about it.
‘It’s a statue,’ said Steiner after a moment. He stepped forward and held his hands up. The fire at least was real, he could feel the warmth even at a distance of several feet.
‘This one has a brain,’ said Shirinov. He moved through the throng of children, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he went.
‘You are almost right about the statue,’ said Khigir, but was prevented from explaining further as Shirinov bellowed at the new arrivals to form three rows directly beneath the maddened gaze of the dragon.
‘There’s been some mistake,’ muttered Aurelian. ‘If you could just get word to my father he’ll see you’re handsomely rewarded.’ The blond-haired boy preened. ‘I don’t have witchsign, I can assure you.’ He was duly cuffed by Shirinov for not standing to attention.
‘For years you have been told that children with witchsign are cleansed.’ Shirinov let the last word hang in the air. That the far side of the square was crowded with children undermined the threat of any cleansing, whatever the term had implied.
‘You are not to be killed or cremated. You will in fact be quite safe. At first.’ Shirinov’s silver smile was, as ever, at odds with the words emanating from behind it. ‘You are to become the next generation of Vigilants in the service of the Solmindre Empire, new blood for the Synod.’
The novices at the far side automatically stood straighter at the mention of the Empire, a few standing to attention, almost snapping out salutes.
‘You can do this willingly, or you can serve the Empire in a less pleasing but infinitely longer fashion.’ Shirinov lifted his gaze to the dragon, regarding the massive form as if it were some great work of art. ‘There will be some of you who are reluctant to use your powers, and some of you,’ the Vigilant paused, clamping one hand on Steiner’s shoulder, ‘remain unknowing.’ Shirinov hobbled a few paces and thrust his face towards Maxim. ‘But there is witchsign upon you, within you, and we will draw it out. If you must be tainted with the arcane then you will use your powers in service to the Empire.’
‘I’m sure if you test me again you’ll see—’ Aurelian’s protest was cut short as Shirinov knocked him to the ground with a gesture from several feet away. The boy yelped and several children flinched on instinct. All stared, mouths slack with shock, faces frozen with disbelief that Shirinov could mete out punishment from afar.
‘You will demonstrate your abilities,’ continued Shirinov, ‘just as I have demonstrated mine.’ He paced along the row to where Aurelian had fallen. ‘You can demonstrate them willingly.’ He leaned low over the blond-haired boy, his silver mask falling into shadow. ‘Or under duress. The choice is yours. I suggest you make the most of it; you’ll have few choices available in the years ahead.’
‘You don’t have it, do you?’ said Maxim under his breath.
‘Have what?’ replied Steiner.
‘The witchsign. I can tell, I could sense it on everyone in the hold, but not you.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ growled Steiner. Shirinov was shouting at a rake-thin girl who looked ready to collapse.
Maxim frowned at Steiner again and muttered, ‘Tell them. They’ll let you go home.’
‘No, they won’t,’ replied Steiner. ‘Now that I’ve seen the island there’s no going back.’
‘Tell them,’ urged Maxim.
‘Tell us what?’ grunted Khigir. Whereas Shirinov had been visible and loud, Khigir remained silent, haunting the back of the crowd like a lost soul. Somehow Maxim had missed the Vigilant standing nearby, despite the many tongues of fire that danced around his boots and the hem of his coat. ‘Tell us what?’ repeated Khigir.
‘Nothing,’ replied Steiner, though he knew the ruse would be over shortly. They’d ask him to demonstrate witchsign in some form and nothing would happen. Then would come the consequences; what would happen to him? Would the Vigilants return to Cinderfell? Would they return for Kjellrunn?
Shirinov strode across the square until the two Vigilants stood shoulder to shoulder, looming over Steiner, who remained unbowed by the smiling and frowning faces that crowded his vision in silver and bronze.
‘Tell them what?’ shouted Shirinov so loud the child beside Steiner began snivelling.
‘Nothing. There’s nothing to tell. The boy misunderstood me is all.’
Shirinov turned to Maxim and levitated him with a gentle motion from an open palm. The children around them gasped and Maxim could only stare at the ground in sickened awe.
‘Tell. Them. What?’ repeated Shirinov.
‘Steiner doesn’t have witchsign! You chose him wrongly! He shouldn’t be here. Let him go home.’ Maxim had squeezed his eyes shut but none failed to notice the tears at the corners. He was seven feet from the ground and trembling with fear.
‘You think I don’t know how to conduct an Invigilation?’ seethed Shirinov.
‘He means no harm,’ said Steiner. ‘He’s just mistaken is all.’
