Then Ess’yr was coming around the edge of the crowd. Her brother was a little behind her.
‘You should go,’ said Ess’yr.
‘We’re leaving,’ Orisian told her. ‘On the ship. I wanted to say goodbye.’
‘We will come to you.’
‘It’ll have to be soon. We’ll be gone today.’ He felt a sharp pang of apprehension. He could not leave her behind without talking to her. To him, if not to her, it was a parting that needed to be marked. He saw that Varryn was regarding him with unreadable eyes.
‘Soon,’ Ess’yr said, and he heard a promise in her gentle voice. ‘But not now.’
‘We’d better go,’ Rothe said quietly. ‘I don’t think this is a good place to be now.’
Reluctantly, Orisian agreed. Ess’yr was already turning away, and he was suddenly afraid that he might not see those beautiful features again. He might have tried to call her back, but did not.
Yvane had been talking quietly with a Fox woman, and now rejoined them, her face troubled.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
The four of them walked together out of the camp and over the bridge into Koldihrve. The rain was soaking. It churned up the surface of the river.
‘They really are savages,’ Anyara murmured.
‘They are,’ agreed Rothe, and then to Orisian’s faint surprise added softly, ‘but I’ve seen worse things done by humans.’
‘They caught that White Owl not far from here,’ Yvane said as they stepped back on to the human side of the river. ‘From the sound of it, there’s a lot more where he came from. Very close. There’s going to be a good deal of blood spilled.’
‘Today?’ Rothe asked.
‘Probably. They say there’re scores of White Owls. And your friends from Horin-Gyre too.’
‘Wait, wait,’ hissed Orisian, slowing suddenly.
The others looked questioningly at him, and he nodded down the street. Four or five men were standing in the sheeting rain. They were indistinct figures, shapeless cloaks hiding any detail, but nothing about them suggested goodwill. Yvane squinted at them, flicking rainwater from her brow.
‘I thought you said you didn’t upset Tomas yesterday,’ she said.
‘I didn’t,’ Orisian muttered. ‘We parted on the best terms I could manage.’
He was casting about for another path to take. Every instinct told him this was something more than the simple observation Tomas had kept them under since they arrived in Koldihrve. Already, the men were moving, coming towards them. He could see weapons: staffs and cudgels.
‘I’ll deal with them,’ Rothe growled. There was something close to relish in his voice.
‘No,’ Orisian said. ‘No fighting unless we have no choice. We’ll go around them, get out to the ship.’ Inside, the thought was ringing in his head that he should have called Ess’yr back when she turned away from him. But it was too late for that.
‘Down here,’ he said and led them into a side street. ‘Yvane, can you find the way to Hammarn’s house?’
‘I should think so.’ She brushed past him to take the lead.
The alley narrowed, so that they had to trot along in single file. They passed the backs of small houses and shacks. There were no doors, and the few windows were shuttered. Water was spouting from the roofs, drenching them. The ground was slick mud, constantly treacherous, and littered with broken bits of wood, empty barrels and discarded pots.
‘There’s a street up ahead,’ Yvane called. ‘It’s easy from there.’
They burst out on to the road, splashing through puddles. The mud was viscous and clinging. Rothe slipped to one knee and Orisian helped him up.
‘Oh, dear,’ Yvane said.
Tomas stood facing them, no more than a dozen paces away. Ame was with him, and three other men of his Watch. The First Watchman wore a thick woollen cloak and held a longsword.
‘The very folk we sought,’ Tomas rasped.
‘I see you’ve taken that sword down from your wall,’ Orisian said. ‘Why is that?’
Rothe was stepping forwards, but Orisian put a restraining hand on his arm without taking his eyes from Tomas.
‘Because it might be I’ve been played for a fool, that’s why,’ Tomas growled.
‘We don’t take kindly to being taken for fools by those as think they’re our betters,’ Ame added from behind Tomas. He was eyeing Orisian with a kind of malevolent eagerness. Orisian was acutely, almost agonisingly, aware that he was unarmed. The moment felt pregnant with violence, the hissing rain filled with a pressure that was going to demand release. He and Tomas faced each other.
‘Word from the Black Roaders is they’re hunting two runaways. Boy and girl,’ said the First Watchman, his eyes flicking from Orisian to Anyara and back again, ‘perhaps travelling with Fox Kyrinin, perhaps with a warrior. And not just any ordinary folk these: kin of the Thane himself. Word is there’s reward to be had for any who take hold of them, and nothing but strife for those as aids them.’
‘You told me no one would trouble us, if we gave no cause,’ Orisian said. He spat rainwater away from his lips. It felt like the air itself was turning to water, like breathing would be impossible soon.
‘Cause, is it?’ snapped Tomas. ‘Well, I’ve cause enough. I’ve a town to keep safe from harm. We want no part in arguments between Blood lords, but you’ve put us there. And done it without telling me the truth of who you are.’
‘Not intentionally,’ Orisian said as calmly as he could. ‘Let us be on our way, and the trouble will pass you by.’
‘You think so?’ scoffed Tomas. ‘I think maybe not.’
‘Don’t imagine you’re more important than you are, Tomas,’ muttered Yvane. The First Watchman shot her such a look of feral contempt it startled even the na’kyrim. Orisian groaned inwardly, sensing any chance of a peaceful outcome to this slipping away.
‘Don’t test me,’ Tomas snapped at Yvane. ‘You’ll all come to the Tower, and we’ll see then what’s to be done for the best.’
‘No,’ said Orisian heavily. ‘We can’t do that.’
He saw Ame’s lip begin to twitch into a snarl. He saw Tomas’ eyes narrow.
There was a clattering, urgent sound then, from somewhere out in the storm on the town’s landward edge. It sounded like pots being hammered together, or a shield being beaten. It sounded like an alarm.
‘Tomas! Tomas!’ A faint and distant voice, almost lost in the downpour. ‘They’re here! Riders! White Owl!’
Orisian saw the shock that flashed across the First Watchman’s face. For an instant he felt sorry for the man. He felt sorry for all of them, as choice and chance collapsed into this one pattern that might kill them all. There were other noises, caught up in the roar of the rainstorm: drums, cries from across the river.
‘That’s the Fox,’ said Yvane. ‘It’s starting.’
Orisian stared at the na’kyrim for a moment.
‘Then it is time for us to go,’ he said.
He flicked a glance at Rothe, striving to ask a question with his eyes. He thought he saw the answer he was looking for. Orisian moved first, his shieldman a moment behind him. Tomas and all his men were staring at Yvane, their aggression momentarily overlaid by confusion and alarm. They were slow.
Orisian hit Tomas around the waist, inside the First Watchman’s sword arc before he even realised what was happening. They smacked down together into the mud. Orisian heard the sound of Rothe reaching Ame in almost the same instant, but it barely registered. His whole world had narrowed into a maelstrom of mud and water and the flailing limbs he wrestled with. A detached part of his mind said he was surely going to die here, yet his body had a furious, frenzied hunger for life and he punched and clawed at Tomas like a wild animal.