another two guilders. ‘We need to know what the Empire is talking about, and we need to know it quickly.’
‘Come back tomorrow,’ said the old spy. ‘This kind of work can’t be rushed. I’ll reach out to a few contacts and see what I can discover.’
‘Can we stay here?’ asked Kristofine. Tikhoveter started laughing, a cruel sort of sound that gave way to a painful cough.
‘You don’t have to be so rude,’ she replied.
‘Safer for everyone is we stay at a tavern,’ said Marek. Steiner led them down the stairs.
‘I’ll have word by tomorrow,’ said Tikhoveter from the top of the staircase. He did not see them out. The rain had slackened during their brief stay at Tikhoveter’s house but the temperature was dipping.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Kristofine. ‘It takes weeks for a man on horseback to carry messages from one town to another. How does he expect to have answers for us by tomorrow?’
‘It’s what makes the Vigilants of Vozdukha so necessary,’ said Marek. ‘They can set whispers on the wind and send them over hundreds of miles, faster than any man on horseback could ever dream of riding.’
‘Like Mistress Kamalov?’ asked Kristofine.
Marek nodded. ‘It’s why a Troika of Vigilants usually has one graduate from the Vozdukha Academy in its ranks.’
‘So they can stay in touch with the Empire, wherever they are,’ said Steiner.
‘And some folk with witchsign,’ explained Marek, ‘those who are too sick or troublesome, are pressed into service as envoys or spies.’
‘Folk like Tikhoveter,’ said Steiner, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Can we trust him?’
Marek shrugged. ‘Who knows. But he’s our best bet right now, so we have to take that chance.’
Steiner looked back at the townhouse and tried to feel some hope, but uncertainty carried a dread all of its own.
The noise could be heard a few streets away. Kimi and Marozvolk exited the blacksmith’s where they’d purchased swords.
‘Smoke,’ said Kimi, nodding to the pale blue sky. Dark clouds had crowded in over the city and it was just starting to rain. She set off against the flow of people who hurried past them, hurrying away from trouble. Violence had come to Svingettevei and Kimi knew in her bones it was no mere sailor’s brawl. Panic was written across the face of every person who fled down the street or cowered in a doorway.
‘It could just be a house fire,’ said Marozvolk. They exchanged a glance that confirmed neither of them really believed such a thing. A brisk walk became a jog and then, on some unspoken agreement, they both ran towards the sound. Kimi shouldered her way through the crowd, staring down any that blocked her way. She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword to make her intent clear. There was a wail of pain from ahead of them, cries of dismay, people calling out to each other. Most of the voices were children.
‘It has to be the novices,’ muttered Marozvolk.
‘What in the Hel is …’ Kimi got no further. Marozvolk rounded a corner and almost ran into three soldiers, lurking at the edge of the street in their black cloaks and heavy armour. No doubt the soldiers were as shocked as Kimi, trying to make sense of the unfolding chaos in Virag’s streets. A wagon was bright with fierce flames and a handful of children lay strewn on the cobbles, unmoving, bleeding or both. Mistress Kamalov and Kjellrunn stood in the centre of the street, shielding the children as best they could. The renegade Vigilant looked both severe and forbidding, while Kjellrunn was ashen with fear, her eyes wide with shock.
‘This is bad,’ muttered Marozvolk.
Kimi searched for Steiner, cursing under her breath when it was clear he was nowhere to seen. ‘Where is that damn fool?’
‘Stand down and cease all use of the arcane this instant!’ bellowed a man’s voice. Kimi noted the speaker; he stood on the opposite side of the street, holding a short sword to a young novice’s throat. It was the Imperial Envoy they had seen earlier. Kimi gritted her teeth in frustration. She should have gone back to the ship to warn people.
‘He won’t do it,’ muttered Marozvolk, nodding to the Envoy.
‘How can you be so sure?’ whispered Kimi.
‘The children are more useful to them alive. Always have been.’
A burly sergeant with a two-handed maul kicked one of the children on the ground, who cried out and curled up into a ball. Somehow the many soldiers – Kimi guessed over a dozen – hadn’t noticed the Yamili women emerge from a side street. Nor had they seen the vast cloud of birds that stared balefully from the rooftops, nor the knot of Spriggani who appeared beside the burning cart. Mistress Kamalov, Sundra and Kimi shared a nod and all the terrors of Hel descended on Virag that day.
Mistress Kamalov reached into the sky, urging a commotion of gulls, cormorants, and gannets to dive from above, summoning them with the arcane. Her lips moved silently and she frowned in concentration. The various birds buffeted the soldiers. Individually they had no hope of harming the armoured men, but their confusion was all Kimi needed. Kimi caught the first soldier square across the back of the neck with her sword. There was a bright gout of blood as the blade cut deep, all but decapitating him. Seconds later he was an armoured corpse littering the cobbles.
Marozvolk grabbed the nearest soldier from behind, one hand clamping over the man’s faceplate, blocking the eye slit. The soldier jerked backwards but Marozvolk pulled with all of her strength and the helm came free. Confused and off balance, the soldier had barely turned to see his attacker before Marozvolk slashed him across the throat in a bright torrent of crimson.
‘Worth every penny,’ said Marozvolk, hefting the new blade.
Kjellrunn used the cover of screeching birds to circle around the soldiers and reach the Envoy. A fallen mace leapt up from the cobbles and her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t meant to use the arcane, but the weapon had come to her as if summoned. The Envoy stared in disbelief, hands shaking, face pale, as Kimi and Marozvolk carried out their grim trade of death, besting the soldiers.
‘Surrender your weapons at once!’ the Envoy shouted as Mistress Kamalov’s birds swooped and slashed at him with their claws. Kjellrunn closed on the Envoy with a snarl on her face. She pulled back the mace, every muscle tense for the strike to come.
‘You will surrender!’ shouted the Envoy in desperation.
Sundra glowered at the scene, her eyes a dark and terrible grey. A soldier raised his mace to strike her brother, Tief, as he fought another attacker. Sundra muttered an invocation to her goddess and streaks of grey covered the soldier’s armour. The man inside the armour stiffened and became still, until with a final gasp the soldier was petrified. Tief shoved the newly formed statue, grunting a curse. The soldier fell backwards and shattered apart on the cobbles with a terrible crash. Tief snatched up the soldier’s mace
