approached. Kjellrunn counted a dozen at least, possibly twenty.
‘Cast off now!’ bellowed Romola.
Kjellrunn’s stomach turned to ice. Kimi and Marozvolk hit the boarding ramp even as two sailors attempted to drag it on board. The soldiers were moving down the pier as fast as their heavy armour would allow.
‘Archers!’ Romola’s voice again. She had drawn her sabre and pointed towards the pier. Kjellrunn ran, heading for Romola at midships. Sailors were heaving and grunting as they drew up the anchor and Kjellrunn struggled to slip past them.
‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘Wait, gods damn it! My brother is still ashore.’
The pirates’ arrows raced through the air, embedding in the thick wood of the soldier’s hastily raised shields. Other arrows clattered off the stone pier and ricocheted into barrels and crates near the guild masters. The soldiers had dropped to one knee behind their shields, their advance slowed.
‘Keep firing!’ shouted Romola.
Kjellrunn reached the captain and took her by the arm. ‘We have to wait for my family!’
‘It’s your family or my ship and my crew,’ shouted Romola. She shook Kjellrunn off.
‘Just a few more minutes!’
‘A few more minutes and there won’t be a ship to come back to.’
Sundra emerged at Kjellrunn’s side and took her hand. ‘Come away from the captain, no good will come of it.’
A soldier on the pier had slung his shield across his back and ran towards the ship, sprinting as best he could in the heavy armour.
‘Cast off, damn you,’ shouted Romola. ‘Push off from the pier.’
The soldier leapt on, mounting a pile of crates as arrows fell all around him. He was almost at the gunwales when Romola planted a foot against his head and forced him off the ship. The deck was a flurry of action as sailors went about their tasks.
‘Look out!’ shouted a pirate beside Kjellrunn. Moments later a handful of grappling hooks streaked over their heads, ropes arcing behind them after. The metal clattered on the wooden deck and the ropes became taut. Someone screamed and Kjellrunn discovered a sailor pinned up against the side of the ship, a grappling hook, thrown from land, embedded in his thigh. Kjellrunn drew the pirate’s cutlass as the pinned man clutched at his leg and howled in agony.
‘What are you doing?’ he gasped. Kjellrunn severed the rope attached to the grappling hook and a soldier on the pier collapsed backwards.
‘I have wounded here!’ shouted Kjellrunn.
More grappling hooks were thrown, prompting more calls of alarm.
‘How did they know to bring grappling hooks?’ said Romola. ‘They’re soldiers, not marines.’
‘Whatever they are,’ said Kjellrunn, pointing to another contingent of soldiers further up the docks, ‘there are a lot more of them.’
‘Marines don’t wear armour, halfhead,’ said the captain. ‘Keep firing, you filthy dogs!’ she bellowed at the archers.
The hissing sound of fabric unfurling filled Kjellrunn’s senses as the main sail dropped from its boom. Kjellrunn caught a glimpse of Mistress Kamalov at the stern of the ship with four novices, all standing with feet spread wide and arms outstretched, fingertips splayed. The sail snapped out and the ship lurched forward. The shouting stopped as all aboard clung to whatever was closest to hand. Kjellrunn dropped to her knees and blinked through the unnatural wind. There was a moment where no one said a word and the only sound was the shrieking arcane gale and an almost unhinged laughter. Kjellrunn turned to see Romola staring up at the main sail with a wide grin.
‘May you have witchsign!’ shouted the captain above the howling gale. ‘Glorious witchsign and a fair wind at your back!’
The Watcher’s Wait surged away from Virag and the sailors dropped more of the sails. Kjellrunn ran to the stern, ignoring Mistress Kamalov and her charges, who squeezed their eyes closed in concentration. The pier was taken over by black-clad soldiers, who stared after the ship in mute fury. Kjellrunn watched the city as it grew smaller and smaller with distance. Somewhere in that sprawl of people was her brother, her father. Did they even know they had been left behind?
The docks were awash with people, some shouting, some crying. Most were staring slack-jawed at the blood-red frigate heading for the open sea. The sails were full with a wind that shouldn’t have existed.
‘Seems our good fortune didn’t last long,’ said Marek. Steiner could just make out the gaunt frame of Mistress Kamalov standing at the stern, arms outstretched, summoning a gale to speed them on their way. Four novices stood beside her, following the renegade Vigilant’s lead. Was that Kjellrunn staring from the back of the ship? He hoped so.
‘The pier is crawling with soldiers,’ said Kristofine, clutching Steiner’s hand with a wild look in her eyes. The crowd near the pier started to dissipate, keen to be away from the armoured men in black cloaks.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Steiner as the Watcher’s Wait departed Virag. ‘Romola left without us.’
‘She did warn us she’d set sail if soldiers came,’ said Marek. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with one calloused hand. ‘At least Kjellrunn and the children will be safe.’
‘That’s good for Kjellrunn,’ said Steiner. ‘But what about us?’
‘We need to get out of the city,’ said Marek. ‘The Empire will be asking a lot of questions over the next few days.’ He walked away and headed towards a side street. Kristofine and Steiner followed, their gazes lingering on the ship as it receded into the distance.
‘Shouldn’t we try and book passage on another ship?’ asked Kristofine with a worried glance over her shoulder.
‘No one will be going anywhere for about a week,’ said Marek. ‘They’ll forbid the captains from leaving port. Every hold and crate will be inspected.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she replied. ‘We could still catch up with them at the next port.’
‘Actually I do know that.’ Marek’s voice was low and his words clipped. ‘I used to serve with those men. I used to give the orders.’
‘Fine,’ replied Kristofine, though her tone of voice said otherwise. ‘But we’re on our own and need to be prepared.’
‘If we delay we’ll be caught,’ said Marek, his expression grim. Steiner could tell his father was struggling to keep his anger in check.
‘But we have nothing but the cloaks on our backs,’ replied Kristofine from between gritted teeth. ‘What’s the point of escaping if we starve to death on the road?’
‘She
