Zhia recognised the leader's facial tattoos marking him as an officer bonded by a Fysthrall woman. There were gaps in the ranks, so they must have seen some fighting already tonight. Zhia was intrigued and worried: a mob would have to be in a frenzy to take on real soldier., especially troops as uncompromisingly effieient as the Fysthrall.

'Calling Falcon,' Zhia called, reading his name from his cheek.

She was always a little disappointed that the Fysthrall's methods of subduing a man's spirit were so effective – when a soldier was bonded, he was given an animal's name, for he was no longer a man, but a woman's property, and his new name, his owner's and his army unit were then tattooed onto his face. Crude, Zhia thought to herself, that it worked only confirmed their opinion of their menfolk.

The man bobbed his head in acknowledgement and hurried to her, kneeling immediately. 'Yes, Mistress.'

'You have lost men already tonight?'

'Yes, Mistress; two died in an ambush. We killed many before they were driven off.' His command of the local dialect was excellent, but his accent was thick. He kept his eyes on her feet; this one had been well trained, Zhia realised. He looked about fifty summers – forty parades, in Fysthrall, from the annual ceremony all males performed from the age of ten. She didn't recognise his face or the owner's name so she guessed the woman was either dead or of very low family status.

'Are they attacking anyone, or just soldiers enforcing the curfew?'

'Anyone, Mistress – several of your Sisters have already disappeared this night, I have heard.'

'Well then, you will escort us home,' Zhia said.

'Mistress, I have orders-'

'No longer.' She pointed. 'It's that way.'

.

CHAPTER 21

Fordan Lesarl, Chief Steward of the Farlan, had spent his entire life in the service of his lord. He had been educated from birth to take his, father's place, taught how to use men like disposable tools. His foresight had led to the creation of a network within each city-state that was unrivalled throughout the Land. It was run by Whisper, one of Lesarl's coterie of unofficial ministers, and based on a web of local agents well-used to dark-eyed men and women looming out of the shadows with a list of requirements.

The Farlan agent in Scree was a corpulent merchant, Shuel Kenn, who had done well to hide his surprise when Lord Isak himself had appeared and demanded a base for his operations. Despite the glitter in his eyes that suggested Kenn was already calculating the profit he might make from playing the dutiful host, he had spared no expense to fulfil his employer's wishes. The house he provided for Isak was not his principal residence, but it was large and luxurious, and well situated in a quiet street a short distance from the homes of the truly wealthy, so they could enjoy the city guard's protection whilst maintaining their privacy. A walled courtyard surrounded three sides of the house, and a large old chestnut tree in the middle obscured the view should anyone consider watching the rear, while the street-door was fortified against anything less than a full-on battering ram.

Tila and Vesna sat on a covered balcony at the rear of the house, facing the morning sun and drinking warm tea flavoured with lime and honey. After the horror of the two previous evenings, Scree was peculiarly silent.

'All night, whenever I closed my eyes, I saw that stage covered In blood,' Tila whispered, clutching her cup. The shadows around hit eyes betrayed her disturbed sleep, and Vesna was worried that what lew hours' rest she had managed had led her even more troubled.

'1 know,' he told her. 'I've seen prisoners executed in public before, and never found anything in it to entertain me. To execute prisoners on stage, as part of a play – that's abominable, but to murder a priest, before the whole city? It beggars belief. I haven't the words.' Vesna pinched the bridge of his nose against the tired ache building behind his eyes. He was a seasoned campaigner, and his own uneasy rest had taken him by surprise. 'There was a time when death didn't move me,' he said, reflectively. 'I wonder what happened?'

'You grew up,' Tila said, squeezing his hand affectionately. 'I've de¬cided that to survive as a soldier, you have to live like a child – to see everything through the eyes of an adult would be too much to bear.'

Vesna looked down at her fondly. 'Perhaps you're right. In Tor Milist, a sergeant told me I was thinking too much. Doing that'll get you killed, but all I could think about was you. What a pathetic place to die; furthering the cause of a man I'd happily kill. All those who died there… for the first time I felt guilty. I'd dragged them some¬where they had no need to be.' He paused, his voice dropping low. 'What a pathetic way it would have been to lose you.'

'Don't think like that,' Tila said. 'Duty took you there. I might not agree with Lord Isak, but he believes it was in the best interests of the tribe, and that decision is now his to make. We must obey our lord.'

Despite his despondency, Vesna smiled at Tila's sudden vehemence. He frequently forgot the twenty summers between them, until some tiny detail brought him up short, and when that happened, the years sat heavier on his shoulders, even as Tila's bright smile lifted him up.

'Aye, we'll follow his will, though he's little more than a lad and you're not much better! Gods, to be that young again.' He pointed at the chestnut tree that dominated the courtyard. 'That reminds me of when I was a lad; we had one at Narole Hall and I'd climb it every time I did something wrong.' Vesna laughed suddenly. 'It happened so often my father threatened to cut the damned thing down.'

And did he?'

'No, it was an empty threat – he did exactly the same when he was a boy.' He shook his head. 'I've started missing that house recently, though I've not lived there in years.'

'What happened?' Tila asked. 'It's your family home, isn't it?'

Vesna gave a weary shrug. 'I inherited my father's debts. He was a good father, but a poor manager of estates, and I ran up a few more myself after he died. Don't think I appreciated the place when I was young; parts of Anvee are beautiful, which is why a lot of old soldiers go there to find a peaceful retirement. Of course, they still need to eat, so they train boys like me, whose parents want them to last beyond their first battle. It's only now I realise those old veterans found some¬thing genuine there. When I was a lad, all I could think about was getting to the city and joining the army.'

'So you had to sell your home?'

Almost. The local magistrate was an old friend of my father's and he found a merchant who liked the idea of living in an ancestral home. The merchant was a good man: he gave me a fair price, and agreed that if ever I could repay that money, with remarkably modest interest, I'd get my house back.'

'But you haven't?'

Her question provoked a flush of embarrassment. 'Somehow 1 never managed to save the money – first of all I had a lot of debts to pay off, but since I had inherited an Elven blade from my father, and I was my swordmaster's finest student, I decided paying debts wouldn't get my home back, so I commissioned my armour from the College of Magic and decided to win honours on the battlefield instead. I knew not hing of trade, so where else was the money to come from?'

'And the money you've made on the field has gone to servicing the remaining debts?' Tila finished his sentence. This was a common story; those who held a debt could sell it or pass it on. It was a cruel system, for one missed payment, maybe because of illness, or an emergency, was often enough to start the descent into bankruptcy. Once they were caught in this trap, few found a way to escape.