'Watch where you're stepping!' the fishwife said cheerfully to her companion as their skirts swished past Casuel's disbelieving eyes. They could not see him! They did not realise he was there! How could that be? There was no magic worked round him! He leaned against the post, eyes blank with fear. He was going to die here!

Movement on the dockside caught his eye; the boats were unloading baskets of sluggishly moving crustaceans and the fishwives and townsfolk were stepping forward to argue the prices. A whimper of fresh despair escaped him, nothing to do with the agonies in his belly. Pushing through the throng, Casuel saw several blond heads heading for the distant berth of the pirate ship. He reached for the earth, a futile effort, the iron in his stomach twisting and dispersing the magic. He clutched at the wound in hollow terror; it felt as if his whole stomach was tearing apart inside him.

'Casuel!' Allin's white face peered through the netting, her expression one of horror. 'Halcarion help me!'

'The enemy, here!' Casuel struggled for more words, lightheaded, shuddering as every sense in his body screamed in confusion over the wound.

Allin moved round to kneel in front of him, dumping her basket and ripping at her petticoats.

'Hold still,' she commanded, as she folded a pad of linen. A faint scent of lavender floated to Casuel's nostrils, rising above the charnel smell of blood like a ghost of summer.

'Here.' She pressed the linen against the wound and Casuel gasped. After a moment, he grasped the hilt of the dagger but Allin gripped his fingers tight, heedless of the blood.

'No, not until we've got you to a surgeon.' She removed his hand with absolute authority and looked around, her round face pale and set.

'Look!' Casuel pointed to the ship, arm jerky and uncoordinated, desperation in his faint voice.

There was trouble aboard the pirate vessel. Allin stared as one of the great booms came crashing down, sails tearing with a sound like thunder, the screams of a crushed man mingling with the shrieks of the gulls. A sweep of torn canvas landed on two men to become an active, smothering thing, their muffled struggles increasingly frantic as they grappled with it, ragged edges rippling with malice as it wrapped itself tighter and tighter. A body fell from the highest mast, ropes coiling after it like snakes. A second man fell but was caught up before he reached the deck, a killing noose looping around his neck; he hung in the shrouds like a broken-necked bird. A little crab-boat at the next berth bobbed against the jetty, its crew oblivious as they haggled cheerfully with a knot of eager customers.

'Get Planir,' Casuel gasped but Allin was already tying the rough dressing tight to his wound with her sash.

'Don't move and for Saedrin's sake, don't touch the knife,' she commanded and ran full-pelt across the quay, heedless of the surprised glances of the populace calmly going about their business.

Casuel leaned against the net-post, sucking in feeble breaths, eyes wide with dread and despair as he watched the chaos on their vessel. He could see Darni now, unmistakable in his red cloak and dark hair. The cheerful sunlight danced on Darni's sword as he flailed at some invisible enemy, swinging this way and that at another unseen foe. Wheeling swiftly round, he lunged, lashing out and felling some hapless seaman, heedless of his unintended victim as he pursued the phantoms only he could see. Swaying and jumping, his sword swung, all his attention on the empty air before him. He lunged but less smoothly this time, his moves becoming more and more ragged, panic threatening as he looked round, assailed now on two sides, three and more.

Camarl was backing slowly along the stern rail, dagger held before him, half bent in a fighting crouch, one hand reaching backwards to check his position, eyes fixed on some unseen threat. He darted forward, then back, leaping to one side to avoid an imaginary thrust. Flinching, he clapped a hand to his shoulder, body angling to protect the injury his mind was seeing, arm hanging uselessly by his side, blade falling from numb fingers. Moving backwards once more, he suddenly ripped off his green cape and dived over the rail, plunging into the busy waters of the harbour. Casuel saw his head reappear briefly but realised with consternation that the young noble's attempts at swimming were failing, the skills of his body foiled by his mind's conviction that his arm was useless.

Several more white gouts of foam in the dull green water of the harbour signalled the fates of men falling from the rigging. The booms and canvases of the ocean ship swung wildly to and fro, flailing as if they were caught in some manic whirlwind while the gaily coloured sails of the little fishing boats hung gently flapping in the light breezes. Ropes lashed out at impossible angles to tangle around legs and arms, tools and spars rose from the deck to stab and club unprotected heads. A water cask pulled itself from its rack and bowled down on a couple of lads cowering by the deckhouse, crushing them mercilessly. All the while, the everyday business of the port hummed merrily around the carnage, unseeing, unheeding.

'Stuff me!'

Casuel managed to lift his heavy head to see Otrick staring down with a expression of mingled horror and wrath. He raised a blood-stained hand to point to the crowded quayside.

'Fair heads.' He forced the words out through gritted teeth.

Otrick leaned forward, eyes narrowing. 'I'll have the bastards.'

Women waiting their turn to pick over the baskets of blue-grey shells began to look around as fingers of wind plucked at their scarves and shawls. A couple of fishermen glanced up at the clear blue sky with puzzled expressions. Gusts of air snatched at skirts and cloaks and the press of the crowd began to loosen and spread out. Water began to seep across the quayside, exclamations rising as women cursed suddenly damp stockings and looked to see who could be so carelessly discarding slops, whether garbage had choked one of the sloping drains that ran across the quay. Several stumbled, cobbles unaccountably loosened, rolling underfoot. One nameless figure slipped and fell, a circle of confusion rippling outwards as someone else tripped over her, basket rolling round to catch another unwary victim. The cheerful mood of the morning began to waver as people looked round, puzzled and disconcerted.

'Right.' Otrick cracked his knuckles and bright blue fire crackled in his eyes as they glinted in the sunlight. The fair-haired men had almost reached the ocean ship but the growing disquiet among the quayside crowd was slowing them, although still no one seemed to see the foreigners, surely unmissable with pale heads shining above their stark black livery, silver studs dull with sea salt. A sudden, smacking wave wrenched a clutch of the little crab boats away from the dock, ropes snapping, the waiting townsfolk recoiling from the spray and leaving the black-clad men exposed. Water bubbled up around their feet, foam seething through the cobbles. Cracks opened up in the dock as their boots came down, catching their iron-shod heels. The men staggered, buffeted as if by a winter gale, when women just strides away could move without hindrance. Cries of alarm and annoyance from the people rose above the slapping of the water and the cries of the gulls. A dark cloud boiled up from nowhere and hid the sun.

'Just knock them down, I don't want anything too dramatic.' Planir appeared with Allin at his heels and raised a hand as Otrick gathered sparkling blue light around his fingers. 'We don't want to start a riot and I don't want too much to have to explain to Messire! This is bad enough as it is.'

The old wizard snorted with disapproval but the blackness melted away and the fair-haired men simply dropped to the cobbles as if they'd been clubbed. Shouts of consternation rose as the fishwives and sailors suddenly noticed the interlopers; some began forcing a path away, others moved closer then hesitated to approach, gesturing with wondering hands.