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She glared at him. ‘What?’

‘They say you got a rich kid killed over in Merakasa. One of your band, wasn’t he?’

‘They say you’re a murderer of innocent women and children.’

‘That’s horse shit.’

‘Right.’

Karr watched them as though they were a game of pass the ball.

‘I’m not careless with lives,’ Caldason rumbled.

‘And

I

am?’ Serrah returned.

‘I didn’t say that.’

When

are you respectful of other people’s lives? When you’re having one of your uncontrolled berserks, maybe?’

‘That’s not fair. I have no -’

‘Excuse me,’

Karr grated. ‘Can I have your attention, please? Thank you. If you two can’t work together I’ll have to disband your unit. Which would be a shame because we see this mission as a rehearsal for more ambitious assignments. And not only will it increase our funds, it’ll get you that bit nearer to the Clepsydra, Reeth. So why don’t you both turn your little creative tensions towards the job at hand?’ He beamed at them. ‘What do you say?’

They looked at each other. Serrah shrugged.

‘Fine,’ they chorused.

It was dusk by the time they got to the site and in position. That left about a quarter of an hour before the convoy arrived.

The point they chose was on a tight lane. One side was lined with outbuildings and abandoned properties. The other fronted the boundary of a wood, where a pair of cottages stood in a small roadside clearing.

Caldason and Serrah, on horseback, had hidden themselves on the wooded side. The bridge was to their right, but couldn’t be seen. What they could see was a lookout, stationed at a bend in the road, who had a clear view of the approach.

To their left was the city, sparkling with its usual dizzy magic. Light bursts, lancing beams, glamours born and dying like a million swarming fireflies. The distant urban roar.

Out here on Valdarr’s hinterland there was little in the way of magical discharge. Hardly anybody was about. A mild breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle, and grass after a recent shower. It was quiet, except for the sound of axes biting timber.

The sky was turning the colour of lemons and blood as the sun sank. Stars glinted against spreading purple velvet.

Serrah took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though savouring a fine tobacco. The distraction of the mission seemed to have lightened her earlier testy mood.

‘At least the air’s better in these parts,’ Caldason remarked.

‘It’s not something I’m usually aware of.’ She added by way of explanation, ‘I’m a city girl.’

It was the first time he’d known her volunteer any kind of personal detail. ‘I prefer the reality of the countryside,’ he confided.

‘That’s an odd choice of word;

reality

.’

‘It’s the Qalochian way of seeing the world. To us, cities seem an unnatural way to live. Unreal.’

‘You’ve never got used to them? Even after all your…’

‘Years? No, it gets worse. More people buzzing pointlessly about more buildings. More self-deluding magic. None of it’s restful to the spirit.’

She glanced in the direction of the lookout. ‘Change happens. You can’t fight it.’

‘Live as long as I have and you realise that, believe me. But some things never change. People don’t, not really. They wallow in ignorance and always have an appetite for cruelty.’

‘I’d like to think there was some kindness and wisdom, too.’

‘So would I.’ His tone didn’t allow for any.

For a moment it looked like Serrah was going to take issue. Instead she steered him back to the mission. ‘It can’t be much longer now,’ she said, checking with the lookout again.

Two of their band appeared on low rooftops opposite. They lugged coils of rope.

There was a sudden absence of noise as the axes fell silent.

‘At least they got that done in time,’ Serrah muttered.

Late birdsong swelled to fill the void.

She dug into her saddlebag and brought out a cylindrical glamour. It was barely longer than the fist she clutched it in.

‘I don’t know why you need a wailer,’ Caldason grumbled. ‘A blast from a horn should serve.’

‘Do you

have

a horn?’ she came back acerbically. ‘Could you play one if you did?’

‘You don’t play it, you blow it.’

‘I’d rather not put that much reliance on your lungs. This is surer. Nobody’s going to miss hearing it.’

He had a finger to his lips. ‘Listen.’

The sound of a drawn out, unbirdlike whistle reached them. They turned to the lookout. He was waving frantically.

‘They’re on their way.’ Serrah wrapped her horse’s reins around one hand. She held the glamour ready in the other.

The men on the roofs ducked out of sight.

Caldason drew his broadsword. ‘Everybody should be in place by now. Sit tight.’

Several minutes dragged by. Then the lookout signalled again before concealing himself.

The clip-clop of hooves could be heard, and wagon wheels rattling on the bridge’s planks. Then the head of the convoy appeared: two mounted paladins, followed by a quartet of militia. An enclosed wagon came next, a four-hander, with driver and bowman guard. Another pair of militia rode behind, ahead of the second wagon. The caravan rounded off as it began, with the four militia-two paladin combination.

‘What do you think?’ Serrah whispered. ‘Eighteen, maybe twenty?’

‘About twice our strength, yes. Could be worse.’

The whole convoy was on the straight now. Alert to the danger of a narrowing road with cover on either side, it began upping its pace to get through quicker. Soon it would reach Serrah and Reeth’s hiding place.

‘Easy,’ he cautioned, eyeing the glamour she clutched. ‘Watch the timing.’

‘All

right

,’ she hissed. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘And plug your ears.’ He offered her a small ball of wax. She had to slide the glamour into her armpit to free a hand.

The escort was scanning both sides of the road, wary and nervous. Caldason worried that the convoy’s gathering speed might just get it through before his men could do what had to be done.

A second later the two lead paladins hit the trigger point.

‘Now!’

he yelled.

Serrah struck the base of the glamour hard against her thigh, setting it off. The wailer gave out an ear-splitting scream, a note so shrill and intense it cut to the bone. Reeth and Serrah had to restrain their horses from bolting. From all around, flocks of screeching birds took flight.

The convoy’s mounts shied and faltered, too, slowing progress. Their shocked riders struggled to control them in the confusion. Several had the presence of mind to draw weapons, and the bowmen nocked arrows.

Serrah’s glamour expired and she tossed it away. The abrupt silence was almost as painful as the din itself. She aped Reeth and gouged out the earplugs.

The wailer was supposed to act as both a distraction and a signal to the rest of the band. But nothing seemed to be happening, and the convoy was still moving, though in disarray. It was almost level with Reeth and Serrah’s hide.

‘Damn it!’

she snapped. ‘What the hell’s keeping -’

A new sound rent the air. The crack of splintering wood and a growling creak as something ponderous slowly toppled.

Ahead of the convoy a massive tree crashed down and blocked its path. Taller than the road was wide, the tree’s upper third smashed through a barn on the far side, completely demolishing it. Branches bounced as they struck the road and swirling clouds of dust were liberated from the crushed building.

The charging convoy struggled to rein in, drawing up just short of the roadblock. The sudden stop made the first wagon slew to one side, finishing at an angle across the lane. One of the militiamen following on was unsaddled.

At the rear of the convoy the riders tried turning their horses about. But they were still churning and shouting when there was another thunderous crash. The band had felled a second tree, cutting off retreat and boxing in the convoy.

‘Let’s go!’ Caldason spurred his ride and burst out of cover.