‘So what's the news then?’

Coots knelt to his haunches. The plain leather vest he wore made his arms look enormous while leather bands strapped them above and below the elbow. He took up a handful of branches that he broke in his wide blunt hands. ‘We've found a pitiful little fishing village on the coast. As rundown as you can imagine. But they've got a sweet-looking new boat just sitting there ready to be pushed down the strand. It's like a damned gift from the Gods.’

‘And that's what worries you.’

‘Yeah. Makes me all queasy – but maybe that's just my innards clenching.’

‘OK. We'll keep watch for a while. You and Badlands first.’

‘Aye, aye.’

To Kyle, ‘We'll wait here, hey? Then we'll steal our boat.’

‘OK. But, I have to warn you, I don't know a thing about sailing ‘n’ such.’

Stalker and Coots exchanged amused glances. ‘That's OK,’ said Stalker. ‘’Cause neither do we.’

BOOK II

The Eternal Return

These stories of one-time Trell or Thelomen occupation of our lands are utterly false. There never have been, nor are there any, systematic eliminations or nefarious schemes to eradicate any race. All these rumours are the inventions of our enemies intended to stain us. I ask you, if such peoples once lived here, where are they? Where have they gone? What has become of their works?

Paulus of Rool

Continent of Fist

CHAPTER I

After the melee

All is quiet -

Just me

And the Eel.

Uligen of Darujhistan

FAR DOWN BELOW HURL'S BOOTS THE RIVER IDRYN HISSED AS IT parted around the iron bars of Heng's Outer River Gate. She squinted east, downstream, into the dead of the moonless night and held her crossbow tight, balanced on the stone crenellations of the bridge.

‘See anything?’ asked Shaky from her side.

‘’Course not. Bloody dark as the inside of your head, isn't it?’

‘Just askin’.’

Hurl bit down hard on her anger – Shaky wasn't the cause of it. ‘Sorry. No, I can't see a Lady-damned thing.’

‘Here they come.’ This from Sunny in the dark. Hurl peered down the arc of the bridge's walkway. Figures closed, not one torch or lantern among them: Storo, magistrates Ehrlann and Plengyllen, Sergeant, now Captain, Gujran – turns out the man's a Genabackan from Greydog – and a squad of garrison regulars.

‘Again,’ Ehrlann was telling Storo in a fierce strained whisper, ‘we, the Council, stand against this decision. It that not so, Plengyllen?’

The tall bearded magistrate nodded his ponderous agreement. ‘We consider it ill-advised.’

Storo simply threw his arms over the crenel. ‘Quiet?’ he asked Hurl.

‘Until now.’

‘They're going of their own free will,’ Storo said, louder.

‘You could have forbidden it.’

‘As you could have.’

The paunchy magistrate held up his hands. ‘We have no power to force anyone to do anything. We are not the coercive arm of governance.’

‘How convenient for you.’

‘That sounds sour, Sergeant – Captain. Ah, my apologies… Fist. Why be sour now that you have achieved that for which no doubt you always longed – a command of your own, yes?’

‘[didn't ask for it.’

‘Yet here you are.’

‘Just doing my duty.’

‘Oh yes – that.’

Seeing Storo's hands tighten into fists, Hurl hastily cut in, ‘Where's Jalor, ‘n’ Rell, and Silk?’

‘Out with a squad of Gujran's best on the south shore.’

‘The Council was not informed of any sortie!’ burst out Plengyllen, outraged.

‘That's because I preferred it remain a secret.’

‘How dare-’

‘Are they ready?’ Storo asked Captain Gujran.

‘Ready, sir.’

‘Raise it.’

Gujran drew his shortsword, held it high. A deep rumbling shook the stone arch. Behind them, the top of the gate ratcheted upwards. Hurl squinted to scour the ghostly shades of trees lining the shores. If the Seti youngbloods weren't out there now, they'd be there soon. Beneath her feet the first of the flotilla of rafts and boats nosed silently out carrying those refugees who had agitated to be allowed to flee the city. Hurl wished them Oponn's favour, but personally she considered their chances slim to nil.

‘Ten to one says none make it through,’ said Sunny from the dark.

‘Shut the Abyss up!’ grated Hurl. Noise brought her attention around. A sibilance such as that of many voices speaking, subdued. Movement atop the eastern walls. The populace of Heng gathering to watch. Damn the Lady! This was supposed to be secret – which meant they were probably selling Trake-damned tickets. How could any mass flight such as this have been kept secret?

‘Any takers?’

‘No one's going to take you up on that, Sunny!’

‘Yeah, I'm in,’ said Shaky.

‘Me too,’ said Gujran.

Hurl glared. ‘How can you two…’

‘Movement in the south,’ said Storo.

Everyone looked. Hurl slitted her eyes till they hurt, straining to see beyond the silhouettes of the trees to where the hillsides rose into the distance. There, swift movement of lighter greys: Seti horsemen sweeping like clouds across the hills.

‘They're using the old Pilgrim Bridge. The road to Kan,’ said Magistrate Ehrlann. ‘Why didn't you demolish that bridge?’ he demanded of Storo. ‘I told you to demolish it.’

Storo sighed. ‘The Seti can ford the Idryn wherever they want. They don't need any Burn-blasted bridge.’

‘So?’

‘So, others are coming. Forces that may need the bridge.’

‘Forces? What forces could you possibly mean?’ demanded Magistrate Plengyllen.

‘I don't know right now. We'll see who gets here first.’

‘Oh come,’ Plengyllen scoffed, ‘how could you know anyone is coming?’

‘Someone is.’

‘But how could you know this?’

‘Because Toc and Laseen both know goddamned horses can't climb walls!’

‘They're gettin’ away,’ called Shaky, his voice rising to a near squeak.

Everyone turned to the river. Jammed with refugees and citizens convinced of Heng's immediate ruin in flame and slaughter, the convoy of small boats and rafts had poled and oared their way beyond bowshot of the city walls. Now, Hurl knew, came the most dangerous time. Now was when any ambush would be sprung. Out past any hope of intervention on the part of the city defenders. Everyone watched, silent, breath held, as the vessels disappeared into the dark. Don't bunch up, she urged. Stay apart. Quiet.

The night remained still. The stars shone bright and hard. Light's Path arched as a smear of paleness across the dark vault. Hurl allowed herself a small hope that perhaps, perhaps, some of the train would escape. Misguided fools though they may be. She stiffened at a hiss from Sunny. ‘What is it?’

‘Through the trees…’

Orange lights now blinked in the far distance under cover of the trees lining the river's edge, north and south. ‘Shit…’

‘Yeah. That's a shitter all right.’

Shortly, a single arrow trailing yellow flames arched high into the night sky. It fell into the river to be snuffed out but it had done its job. Hurl hugged herself, knowing what would follow. Despite her dread she was unable to look away as a storm of flaming arrows sped up into the sky only to descend, like a cloud of falling stars, straight down over the water. Most winked out yet some remained, slammed into wood, marking the helpless vessels for more. Hurl thought, or imagined, she could just make out the panicked cries of the women and children refugees – the fools! How could they imagine they'd be allowed passage? Better, from the Seti point of view, to keep everyone bottled up behind the walls. Down on the streets food was already short.

‘Why do you do nothing?’ Ehrlann demanded of Storo. ‘You must do something…’

‘There's nothing I can do,’ Storo ground out, his voice rigid with control. ‘I told them this would happen but they went anyway.’