‘May you have witchsign!’ shouted the captain above the howling gale. ‘Glorious witchsign and a fair wind at your back!’
The Watcher’s Wait surged away from Virag and the sailors dropped more of the sails. Kjellrunn ran to the stern, ignoring Mistress Kamalov and her charges, who squeezed their eyes closed in concentration. The pier was taken over by black-clad soldiers, who stared after the ship in mute fury. Kjellrunn watched the city as it grew smaller and smaller with distance. Somewhere in that sprawl of people was her brother, her father. Did they even know they had been left behind?
The docks were awash with people, some shouting, some crying. Most were staring slack-jawed at the blood-red frigate heading for the open sea. The sails were full with a wind that shouldn’t have existed.
‘Seems our good fortune didn’t last long,’ said Marek. Steiner could just make out the gaunt frame of Mistress Kamalov standing at the stern, arms outstretched, summoning a gale to speed them on their way. Four novices stood beside her, following the renegade Vigilant’s lead. Was that Kjellrunn staring from the back of the ship? He hoped so.
‘The pier is crawling with soldiers,’ said Kristofine, clutching Steiner’s hand with a wild look in her eyes. The crowd near the pier started to dissipate, keen to be away from the armoured men in black cloaks.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Steiner as the Watcher’s Wait departed Virag. ‘Romola left without us.’
‘She did warn us she’d set sail if soldiers came,’ said Marek. He rubbed his stubbled jaw with one calloused hand. ‘At least Kjellrunn and the children will be safe.’
‘That’s good for Kjellrunn,’ said Steiner. ‘But what about us?’
‘We need to get out of the city,’ said Marek. ‘The Empire will be asking a lot of questions over the next few days.’ He walked away and headed towards a side street. Kristofine and Steiner followed, their gazes lingering on the ship as it receded into the distance.
‘Shouldn’t we try and book passage on another ship?’ asked Kristofine with a worried glance over her shoulder.
‘No one will be going anywhere for about a week,’ said Marek. ‘They’ll forbid the captains from leaving port. Every hold and crate will be inspected.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she replied. ‘We could still catch up with them at the next port.’
‘Actually I do know that.’ Marek’s voice was low and his words clipped. ‘I used to serve with those men. I used to give the orders.’
‘Fine,’ replied Kristofine, though her tone of voice said otherwise. ‘But we’re on our own and need to be prepared.’
‘If we delay we’ll be caught,’ said Marek, his expression grim. Steiner could tell his father was struggling to keep his anger in check.
‘But we have nothing but the cloaks on our backs,’ replied Kristofine from between gritted teeth. ‘What’s the point of escaping if we starve to death on the road?’
‘She has a point,’ said Steiner, stepping between them. He pointed out a handful of market stalls further up the street. ‘Come on.’
There was a perfunctory attempt at haggling, but Marek was more committed to being on his way than commanding a good price. Moments later they were outfitted with a satchel and two packs filled with food that would keep them going for a few days at least. The stalls were packing up for the night and the rain, which had never really stopped, began anew.
No sooner had they gathered their supplies than two Imperial soldiers appeared and began to question one of the vendors. As one, Steiner, Kristofine and Marek pulled up their hoods to shield them as much from prying eyes as the drizzle that fell in Virag’s crooked streets. Steiner hid the sledgehammer beneath his cloak and prayed they were not searched.
‘What else do we need?’ he said.
‘Something to sleep on,’ replied Marek. ‘And Kristofine should have a blade.’
‘But I don’t know how to fight.’ The tavern-keeper’s daughter from Cinderfell looked at the older Vartiainen, shock and worry writ plain on her face.
‘Not yet you don’t,’ replied Marek. ‘But you’re going to learn now that you’re on the road with us.’
‘Is that wise?’ Steiner wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
‘Do you have a better idea?’ Marek’s impatience was clear as he paced down the street, away from the soldiers. Steiner leaned in close to his father.
‘I just don’t want her getting hurt is all,’ he whispered.
‘That makes two of us,’ replied Marek.
‘Three of us,’ added Kristofine, with a curl of her lip. ‘And I can hear you. What do I say if the soldiers ask us our business?’
‘We’ll tell them we’re mercenaries,’ replied Marek. ‘There’s never a lack of violence in Vinterkveld.’
‘Fine,’ said Kristofine, though this time Steiner had the sense she had made up her mind about something. ‘Where do I get one of these swords, then?’
It took around an hour to get what they needed. The rain fell harder with every coin they spent and a deep chill settled over Virag as the sun slunk towards the horizon from its hiding place behind the clouds. Steiner clenched his numb fingers into equally numb fists and Kristofine huddled close to him.
‘If we leave now we’ll never know if Tikhoveter discovered anything,’ said Steiner, slowing his pace.
‘We can’t be sure Tikhoveter didn’t sell us out to the local garrison,’ said Marek, clearly wanting to be on his way.
‘But he may be my best chance of finding out where Felgenhauer is.’ Marek shook his head and cursed softly. ‘We don’t have the luxury of time for that sort of thing.’
‘Luxury? She’s family! Family isn’t a luxury. I’ve already lost Kjellrunn to gods know what port in Shanisrond. I may never see her again.’
‘I’ve more a mind to search for Kjell than Felgenhauer,’ said Marek, his expression hard. ‘Come on. Now isn’t the time for this.’
‘Your father has a point,’ said Kristofine. ‘Let’s leave.’
‘If this uprising is going to stand a chance I’m going to need someone with the arcane on my side. I’m going to need Felgenhauer.’
‘Steiner.’ Marek’s tone was pleading now. ‘She’s likely dead, and us along with her if we go back to Tikhoveter.’
‘I’m going to speak with the spy,’ said Steiner. ‘We paid him and he owes us.’ He set off down the cobbled street as the drizzle continued to fall.
‘Gods damn it,’ muttered Marek, but he followed his son all the same.
‘Is there any chance we’ll agree on anything today?’ said Kristofine to Marek as they followed Steiner through the winding streets.
‘I don’t have much hope,’ said the blacksmith.
Smoke rose up over the city and obscured the few stars that peeked through the dreary clouds. Every chimney on every street gently exhaled more soot into the darkening sky.
‘Cities are wretched places,’ said Kristofine. ‘I feel like