Part of a wall collapsed behind her, blocks of stone tumbling out across the square. A huge man stepped through the ragged gap, a great length of wood in his hands, studded with black iron, his armour and his long beard coated in dust. Two others followed, a man and a woman, all with the same smooth skin, the same young faces and the same old, black eyes. Ferro scowled round at them as she slid her sword out, the cold metal glinting. Useless, maybe, but holding it was some kind of comfort.

“Welcome to you all!” called Bayaz. “I have been waiting for you, Mamun!”

The first of the Eaters frowned as he stepped carefully over the headless corpse. “And we for you.” White shapes flitted from the roofs of the buildings, thumped down into the square in crouches, and stood tall. Four of them, one to each corner. “Where is that creeping shadow, Yulwei?”

“He could not be with us.”

“Zacharus?”

“Mired in the ruined west, trying to heal a corpse with a bandage.”

“Cawneil?”

“Too much in love with what she used to be to spare a thought for what comes.”

“You are left all alone, then, in the end, apart from this.” Mamun turned his empty gaze on Ferro. “She is a strange one.”

“She is, and exceptionally difficult, but not without resources.” Ferro scowled, and said nothing. If anything needed saying, she could talk with her sword. “Ah, well.” Bayaz shrugged. “I have always found myself my own best council.”

“What choice have you? You destroyed your own order with your pride, and your arrogance, and your hunger for power.” More figures stepped from doorways round the square, strolled unhurried from the streets. Some strutted like lords. Some held hands like lovers. “Power is all you ever cared for, and you are left without even that. The First of the Magi, and the last.”

“So it would seem. Does that not please you?”

“I take no pleasure in this, Bayaz. This is what must be done.”

“Ah. A righteous battle? A holy duty? A crusade, perhaps? Will God smile on your methods, do you think?”

Mamun shrugged. “God smiles on results.” More figures in white armour spilled into the square and spread out around its edge. They moved with careless grace, with effortless strength, with bottomless arrogance. Ferro frowned around at them, the Seed clutched tight at one hip, her sword at the other.

“If you have a plan,” she hissed. “Now might be the time.”

But the First of the Magi only watched as they were surrounded, the muscles twitching on the side of his face, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “A shame that Khalul himself could not pay a visit, but you have brought some friends with you, I see.”

“One hundred, as I promised. Some few have other tasks about the city. They send their regrets. But most of us are here for you. More than enough.” The Eaters were still. They stood facing inwards, spread out in a great ring with the First of the Magi at their centre. Ferro Maljinn felt no fear, of course.

But these were poor odds.

“Answer me one thing,” called Mamun, “since we are come to the end. Why did you kill Juvens?”

“Juvens? Ha! He thought to make the world a better place with smiles and good intentions. Good intentions get you nothing, and the world does not improve without a fight. I say I killed no one.” Bayaz looked sideways at Ferro. His eyes were feverish bright, now, his scalp glistened with sweat. “But what does it matter who killed who a thousand years ago? What matters is who dies today.”

“True. Now, at last, you will be judged.” Slowly, very slowly, the circle of Eaters began to contract, stepping gently forward as one, drawing softly inwards.

The First of the Magi gave a grim smile. “Oh, there will be a judgement here, Mamun, on that you can depend. The magic has drained from the world. My Art is a shadow of what it was. But you forgot, while you were gorging yourselves on human meat, that knowledge is the root of power. High Art I learned from Juvens. Making I took from Kanedias.”

“You will need more than that to defeat us.”

“Of course. For that I need some darker medicine.”

The air around Bayaz’ shoulders shimmered. The Eaters paused, some of them raised their arms in front of their faces. Ferro narrowed her eyes, but there was only the gentlest breath of wind. A subtle breeze, that washed out from the First of the Magi in a wave, that lifted the sawdust from the stones and carried it out in a white cloud to the very edge of the Square of Marshals.

Mamun looked down, and frowned. Set into the stone beneath his feet, metal shone dully in the thin sunlight. Circles, and lines, and symbols, and circles within circles, covering the entire wide space in a single vast design.

“Eleven wards, and eleven wards reversed,” said Bayaz. “Iron. Quenched in salt water. An improvement suggested by Kanedias’ researches. Glustrod used raw salt. That was his mistake.”

Mamun looked up, the icy calmness vanished from his face. “You cannot mean…” His black eyes flickered to Ferro, then down to her hand, clenched tight around the Seed. “No! The First Law—”

“The First Law?” The Magus showed his teeth. “Rules are for children. This is war, and in war the only crime is to lose. The word of Euz?” Bayaz’ lip curled. “Hah! Let him come forth and stop me!”

“Enough!” One of the Eaters leaped forward, flashing across the metal circles towards their centre. Ferro gasped as the stone in her hand turned suddenly, terribly cold. The air about Bayaz twisted, danced, as though he was reflected in a rippling pool.

The Eater sprang up, mouth open, the bright blade of his sword shining. Then he was gone. So were two others behind him. A long spray of blood was smeared across the ground where one of them had been standing. Ferro’s eyes followed it, growing wider and wider. Her mouth fell open.

The building that had stood behind them had a giant, gaping hole torn out of it from ground to dizzy roof. A great canyon lined with broken stone and hanging plaster, with splintered spars and dangling glass. Dust showered from the shattered edges and into the yawning hole below. A flock of torn papers fluttered down through the empty air. From out of the carnage a thin and agonised screaming came. A sobbing. A screech of pain. Many voices. The voices of those who had been using that building as a refuge.

Poor luck for them.

Bayaz’ mouth slowly curled up into a smile. “It works,” he breathed.

Dark Paths

Jezal hurried through the tall archway and into the gardens of the palace, his Knights around him. It was remarkable that High Justice Marovia had been able to keep pace with them on their dash through the Agriont, but the old man scarcely seemed out of breath. “Seal the gates!” he bellowed. “The gates!”

The huge doors were heaved shut, two beams the thickness of ships’ masts swung into position behind them. Jezal allowed himself to breathe a little easier. There was a reassuring feeling to the weight of those gates, to the height and thickness of the walls of the palace compound, to the sizeable host of well trained and armoured men defending it.

Marovia laid his hand gently on Jezal’s shoulder, began to steer him down the cobbled path towards the nearest door into the palace. “We should find the safest place possible, your Majesty—”

Jezal shook him off. “Would you lock me in my bedroom? Or should I hide in the cellar? I will remain here, and co-ordinate the defence of—”

A long, blood-chilling scream came from the other side of the wall and echoed around the bare gardens. It was as if that shriek made a hole in him through which all confidence quickly leaked away. The gates rattled slightly against the mighty beams, and the notion of hiding in the cellar gained appeal with astonishing speed.

“A line!” barked Gorst’s shrill voice. “To the King!” A wall of heavily-armoured men clustered instantly around Jezal, swords drawn, shields raised. Others kneeled in front, pulling bolts from quivers, turning the cranks of their heavy flatbows. All eyes were fixed on the mighty double doors. They rattled gently again, wobbled slightly.