Stormtide

CHAPTER TWO
Kimi

Seen from afar, Virag was a sprawling port city that discoloured the Svingettevei coastline like grey lichen. Plumes of smoke dissipated above the buildings creating a fug over the winding streets. The pall of grey reminded Kimi of Vladibogdan.

‘I never thought I’d set foot on the mainland again,’ said Kimi. She was almost shaking with nerves. Tears of relief shimmered at the corners of her eyes despite the fierce wave of happiness she felt.

‘How long were you on the island?’ asked Marozvolk.

‘Five years,’ replied Kimi. ‘Five years as a political prisoner. Five years as a token of loyalty to the Emperor.’

‘You must have arrived just after I finished my training,’ said Marozvolk. Kimi could feel her trepidation. There had been no jailers on the island: the number of soldiers and Vigilants present was more than sufficient for the task. ‘I served on Arkiv for a time but found myself back on Vladibogdan four years later.’

‘Why didn’t you come to me sooner?’ said Kimi with a note of frustration in her voice. ‘I spent five years without hearing my mother tongue. Five years without even meeting another Yamali.’ A pained expression crossed Marozvolk’s face but Kimi received no answer. ‘Five years in the forges,’ continued Kimi, ‘with only the Spriggani and the souls of the dead for company.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Marozvolk avoided her eyes. ‘It wasn’t as if I could simply visit you and take off my mask. I had duties. I was lost when I first reached the island, unsure of myself, unsure who I could trust. The academy fill your head with strange ideas. They instil a sense that we couldn’t possibly survive without the Empire.’

‘So you could be loyal to Felgenhauer but you couldn’t make yourself known to me?’

‘Vigilants watch each other with constant suspicion,’ said Marozvolk. ‘Especially the young ones, and especially the Vigilants close to Felgenhauer.’ The ship drew closer to Virag and sailors made ready to drop anchor.

‘Well, it seems you’ve figured out who you’re loyal to now,’ said Kimi over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘And who you are.’

Marozvolk watched her go. ‘You don’t sound very convinced, your highness.’

The view had not improved as the Watcher’s Wait made port. Kimi waited to disembark with Maxim, drumming her fingers against the side of the ship with impatience.

‘All these beautiful chalk cliffs and the city looks like this,’ muttered Marozvolk. The pirates tied off the Watcher’s Wait at the long pier they’d been assigned to and Kimi clenched her fists with impatience. ‘I’ll never understand why people would willingly live in a city.’

‘I’ve never been in a city before,’ said Maxim, staring wide-eyed at Virag. Kimi could feel his excitement. She dropped to one knee and took his hand in hers. For a second she thought of her younger brother, though Tsen would be fully grown now, ready to take on the responsibilities of a—

‘Kimi, why are you holding my hand?’ asked Maxim, frowning slightly.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Kimi smiled, aware even as she knelt beside the boy just how large she was. ‘You reminded me of my brother for a moment there.’

‘Can we go ashore now?’ he asked, eyes straying to the city and all the wonders and terrors therein.

‘I’ll need you to stay on the ship.’

‘But I wanted to see—’ Kimi held up one finger to silence the boy’s protests the way her mother had gently quietened Tsen when they were little. He was so like Tsen at the same age. Their mother had still been alive then.

‘It’s safer on the ship,’ explained Kimi, her tone calm and even. ‘We don’t know how unfriendly the locals are, or if there are Imperial soldiers here.’

‘But I can be useful!’ pleaded Maxim.

‘And more useful besides if you’re not dead,’ countered Kimi. ‘I don’t want to argue about this, Maxim.’

The boy’s shoulders sagged with defeat. ‘I’ll go up to the crow’s nest and watch you from there,’ he said solemnly.

‘Good. Keep an eye out for anyone unusual and stay up there if any fighting starts.’ Maxim nodded earnestly, then scampered off to start his long climb to the crow’s nest.

‘That’s your idea of safety?’ said Marozvolk, staring up the main mast to the crow’s nest above.

‘He’ll be out from underfoot,’ replied Kimi, ‘and so far away from trouble it might pass him over.’ She paused and waved to a tall woman with long, dark red hair who served with the crew and went by the name of Rylska.

‘Can you keep an eye on that boy up there?’

Rylska beamed a broad smile and saluted enthusiastically. ‘Of course! I don’t know much about children, but then I didn’t know much about sailing when the captain took me on, so why not?’ She began climbing, whistling cheerfully as she went. Kimi watched the red-haired pirate ascend to the crow’s nest.

‘That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, did it?’ Marozvolk chuckled and then looked at the city. ‘Will our reception really be that bad?’ she asked.

‘Two unescorted, dark-skinned women on the west coast of Vinterkveld.’ Kimi cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ She looked over Marozvolk’s cream robes. ‘But I do know we should get you some new clothes. Clothes that don’t hint at your former occupation.’

The boarding ramp had barely made contact with the stone pier when Kimi set foot on it. A few steps and she was swiftly on dry land. For the first time in weeks she felt as if she could breathe again, away from the novices, away from Steiner.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’ said Marozvolk, hesitating as she reached the cobbled pier, but Kimi was already moving, keen to be among the bustle of Virag’s winding streets.

‘Romola said we should split up and scout ahead,’ shouted Kimi over her shoulder. ‘So that’s what I’m doing.’ Maxim and Rylska waved from the crow’s nest while Steiner stood at the prow, watching her leave.

It took Marozvolk a few minutes to weave through the crowds at the docks and catch up with the princess. Kimi held her sleeve up to her nose and mouth as they pressed deeper in to the city.

‘It smells worse than the Izhorian swamps in summer,’ she muttered darkly in her mother tongue.

‘And what do they smell of?’ replied Marozvolk.

‘Death, mainly. Anyone travelling from Yamal to Midtenjord rarely survives that journey.’

‘I’m from the south coast,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘Or … I was before I was taken. There was never much call to go anywhere near Izhoria.’

‘Just as well,’ said Kimi with a grim smile. ‘The swamps don’t really smell of death, but they do smell of sulphur and I don’t know what’s worse.’ The two women turned a corner and found themselves on a wide thoroughfare full of carts and horses. Dung, mud, and rotting food spattered the cobbled street.

‘What kept you?’ said Kimi as she stepped around something foul.

‘What do you mean?’ replied Marozvolk.

‘You took a while to catch up after I disembarked. Did Steiner ask you to have a word with me?’ Marozvolk shook her head, then caught the stern glint in Kimi’s eyes and sighed.

‘He did speak with me. He’s concerned about you. He doesn’t blame you for being angry with him—’

‘I should think not,’ snapped Kimi.

Marozvolk cleared her throat. ‘What happened between you two?’ Kimi stopped walking, then pulled out the sliver of stone that hung from a chain about her neck.

‘This is all that’s left of the Ashen Torment. One of the mightiest artefacts in all of Vinterkveld and this’ – the jagged rock was no larger than Marozvolk’s little finger – ‘is all that’s left of it.’

‘Felgenhauer told me about its existence. And what it does,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘What happened? How did it …?’

‘I lent it to him so he could command the cinderwraiths to rise up against those loyal to the Empire.’ Kimi’s eyes became hard, her mouth a narrow line. ‘When he was done he destroyed it with that damn sledgehammer he’s so fond of waving about.’

‘No ordinary weapon could unmake an artefact of such power,’ said Marozvolk with a frown. ‘The Ashen Torment was crafted by Bittervinge himself.’

‘The sledgehammer is most decidedly not ordinary, that much is clear.’ They resumed walking at a much slower pace.

‘But the destruction of the Ashen Torment is a good thing,’ said Marozvolk slowly. ‘Those souls could pass on to the afterlife once they had been released.’

‘True enough, but when the Emperor hears that I let his most powerful artefact be destroyed he’ll send soldiers south to Yamal and wipe out every last one of us as punishment.’ Kimi felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and told herself it was the city’s smoke that made them smart. ‘I’d forgotten how fragrant western cities are.’ She coughed behind her sleeve.

‘Why didn’t you stop him from destroying it?’ asked Marozvolk, her voice low, a note of caution in her words.

‘I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since we left the island,’ Kimi growled with frustration. ‘He wanted to make sure no one else rose up as a cinderwraith. It’s hard to say no to something like that.’

‘And what will you do now?’

‘I need to return to Yamal and speak to my father. We need to gather the tribes and prepare for war. I owe the sly bastard that much.’

Marozvolk remained silent and looked uneasy.

‘What is it?’ asked Kimi.

‘Nothing. I just …’ Marozvolk, stripped of her snarling wolf-faced mask, was an open book. Her expressive face told of a deep worry that consumed her. ‘I’m not sure I can go back to Yamal, Your Highness. I want to. I want to help you, protect you if I must, but … my parents disowned me when I failed the Invigilation.’ Marozvolk shook her head and looked away.

‘What would your parents do if they saw you?’ asked Kimi gently, slowing her stride. ‘What could they do? They should be grateful you’re alive at all.’

‘Part of me would give anything to see my family again,’ said Marozvolk, eyes downcast. ‘But they disowned me in a heartbeat. I can’t go back to that.’

Kimi eyed the other woman for moment. They’d shared a cramped cabin for three weeks but carefully avoided any difficult conversations. Until now. All their efforts at interaction had been directed at caring for Maxim. Without the distraction of the boy, Kimi was painfully reminded that Marozvolk had been one of her former jailers, but it seemed even jailers had problems of their own.

The women continued into the city in silence. The buildings stood three storeys tall, so different to the nomadic tents of Yamal. Virag’s rooftops were adorned in grey slate as opposed to the thatch more common in the northern reaches of Vinterkveld.

‘Everything is grey and damp here,’ said Kimi. ‘It’s a wonder anyone gets out of bed.’

‘Hard to disagree with that,’ replied Marozvolk. The further they ventured away from the docks the more people watched them pass. Eyes filled with suspicion followed their passing, or was it merely curiosity?

‘I imagine most sailors from Shanisrond or Yamal stay near the docks,’ said Marozvolk.

‘We’re not sailors,’ replied Kimi. She looked at the shingles hanging outside each of the shops. Each bore an illustration of the profession practised inside. They appeared to be on a street of scribes, judging by the depictions of quills, scrolls and even the odd book. ‘We just need to find a …’ Kimi turned into an alley and pressed on before coming to an abrupt stop. Marozvolk walked into the back of her, apologising in hushed tones until she spotted what Kimi had seen moments before. Three dockers waited at the end of the crooked cobbled alley. All were heavy-set men with deep frowns and mouths set in flat lines. The largest of them clutched a cudgel in a scarred fist.

‘It’s a shame Romola didn’t have a few weapons to spare for us to come ashore with,’ said Marozvolk under her breath. She clenched her fists and a silvery glimmer of arcane power moved across her skin. Her fists began to turn the colour of granite.

‘You can’t use the arcane here,’ said Kimi just as quietly, grasping her arm quickly. ‘It will attract too much attention. Come on.’ She took Marozvolk by the hand and led her through a door.

The tailor was a gentleman who had not seen fit to die despite his great age. The elderly man’s spotted pate and rounded shoulders stood in stark contrast to his sharp eyes and firm jaw, and Kimi doubted she had ever met anyone so old. Even Sundra and Mistress Kamalov demonstrated a blush of youth compared to the tailor. Weak light filtered into the shop through the uneven windows at the front. It smelled of dust and sandalwood, stewed tea and quiet desperation. A fire snapped and popped in the hearth, lending the shop a reprieve from the dismal chill outside.

‘I do not make clothes for women,’ said the tailor slowly, first in his own tongue, then in Solska when it was clear he had not been understood.

‘I don’t want clothes for women,’ replied Kimi with a lift of her chin. ‘I want britches, a shirt, a good coat and some boots that just happen to fit my friend.’

‘And how do you propose to pay for all of this?’ replied the tailor, pursing his lips. He had a sour look about him, but Kimi imagined she’d be sour too if she’d lived a long life in Virag. She unfastened her thick leather belt and laid it across the counter, then slipped a few coins out of a false lining on the reverse side. Each was solid gold and bore the profile of the Emperor.

‘Given you speak their language, I assume you’ll take their coin?’

‘Solmindre crowns are very welcome here.’ The tailor attempted a smile but the expression might have easily been constipation.

‘Half now, half on completion,’ said Kimi.

‘As you wish,’ replied the tailor, smooth as silk. ‘Will there be anything else?’

‘Make the three shirts and as fast as you can. I don’t know how long we’re going to be in town.’ She cast an eye over his bony hands. ‘You have assistants to help you, I hope?’

The tailor rolled his eyes, then held up one forbidding finger and shook his head. It took Kimi a moment to realise the gesture was not for her but the three thugs waiting in the alley outside. They looked even more brutish through the uneven glass.

‘Friends of yours?’ asked Kimi.

The tailor took up a measuring tape and bade Marozvolk stand on a low stool. ‘They are not even friends to each other,’ said the tailor. ‘And they are only friendly to me when they come to collect their due.’

Kimi eyed the thugs in the alley. They stared back with dead-eyed indifference. ‘Is there somewhere close by that I can buy a weapon?’ asked Kimi in an idle tone. She held up four fingers in an obscene gesture at the thugs outside.

‘There is always somewhere to buy a weapon in Virag,’ muttered the tailor. ‘Which is entirely the problem.’

The tailor ignored the women in his shop once the measurements had been taken. A young girl was sent to round up seamstresses to begin the work. Kimi and Marozvolk left the shop and headed back to the main thoroughfare. They had barely walked a hundred feet when they spotted an Imperial Envoy, dressed in the customary blue robes of his office, with a soldier’s black cloak across his broad shoulders. His hair and beard were close-cropped, and he could not have looked more different to the men of the Scorched Republics, who wore their beards long and their hair longer still.

‘Frøya save us,’ hissed Marozvolk as Kimi pulled her behind a stationary wagon. The Envoy was escorted by four soldiers, looming over the crowd in black enamelled armour. Each helm bore the red star of the Solmindre Empire proudly on the brow. The soldiers were led by a sergeant carrying a two-handed maul, while his subordinates carried maces and shields.

‘What are they doing here?’ breathed Marozvolk, barely daring to peek around the corner of the wagon.

‘I think we’re about to find out,’ replied Kimi as the Envoy mounted the steps of an impressive but dilapidated building.

‘Citizens of fair Svingettevei!’

‘I loathe Envoys,’ muttered Marozvolk. ‘What is this place?’ she added, looking up at the building.

‘An old temple to Frejna if I had to guess,’ said Kimi. ‘Look at the crow sculptures over the windows, and the tree motif above the door.’

‘I speak to you today on behalf of the Emperor himself,’ called the Envoy in a booming voice. ‘I bring you warning of a terrible danger growing in the south.’ A crowd was starting to form around him. ‘As many of you know, the cities of Shanisrond are teeming with pirates!’

‘We should go,’ said Marozvolk, still remaining out of sight behind the wagon. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘I just want to hear what he’s going to say,’ replied Kimi.

‘Envoys are failed Vigilants that are too useful to kill,’ hissed Marozvolk. ‘If he has the sight then I could be in a lot of danger.’

‘These thieves have harassed Imperial shipping for many months,’ continued the Envoy. ‘And now we suspect they will come north.’

‘What do you mean, “sight”?’ Kimi frowned.

‘It’s how Vigilants detect witchsign. They can see the arcane about you. Some say they can smell it but it’s usually called the sight.’

‘You head back to the ship,’ said Kimi. ‘I just want to hear him out.’

‘Their agents may even be among you as I speak,’ added the Envoy. ‘And you will know them by their dark skins.’ At this, several of the people turned to glare at Marozvolk and Kimi.

‘I’m not leaving without you,’ said Marozvolk through gritted teeth. ‘Can we go now?’

Kimi stared at the crowd with a frosty look, then turned on her heel and slipped away into the next street.

‘I think it’s best I listen to you a bit more in future,’ said Kimi when they were safely away.

‘I’m not just trying to protect myself,’ replied Marozvolk, her words clipped with frustration. ‘I’m looking out for you too, Your Highness.’

CHAPTER THREE
Kjellrunn

Kjellrunn had stayed in her cabin all morning. She had no wish to be among the press and clamour of bodies as they vied for position on deck, no wish to squeeze past pirates and novices for the chance to sight land. Kjellrunn had never left Nordvlast before, never gone more than a dozen leagues from Cinderfell in any direction, and now the Watcher’s Wait approached Svingettevei with all its wonders and dangers but she felt nothing.

She had endured three weeks of nightmares, endlessly seeing her Uncle Verner killed by the Okhrana, and feeling her powers swell again with murderous fury. Over and over she dreamed of smashed corpses and the desolation she visited on the Imperial agents sent to hunt down Mistress Kamalov.

‘Kjellrunn. Do not tell me you are still in bed?’

Kjellrunn groaned and squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of Mistress Kamalov’s voice. She turned over in her bunk as the door creaked open and the renegade Vigilant pushed into the room. The old woman shook Kjellrunn firmly by the shoulder.

‘Up! There is much to do. We have made port at last.’ Kjellrunn pulled the blankets higher, as if they might fend off the day’s problems.

‘Come. I know you are dressed.’ Mistress Kamalov spoke Nordspråk with a harsh Solmindre accent that left no one in any doubt where she hailed from. ‘It’s time for you to get off this ship. We will have meat and wine and conversation with someone other than pirates and children.’

Kjellrunn rose from the bed without a word. It wasn’t wise to disobey the old woman once she’d set her mind to something.

‘I suppose Steiner has already gone ashore?’ Her voice was a sleepy mumble as she pulled a comb through the tangle of her blonde hair.

‘Of course,’ replied Mistress Kamalov as she fixed her headscarf. ‘But Kimi went first. She could barely wait for the boarding ramp to fall.’

‘Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until they come back? We don’t know what we may run into.’

‘Wise? Yes. But ship’s biscuit and dried meat are no good for children already half-starved from Vladibogdan. We must eat! And you most of all. Like a bag of bones, you are.’

Kjellrunn’s stomach rumbled as if on cue and she smiled with reluctance. ‘I’d just rather avoid running into the Okhrana again.’

‘This is good. It means you have some sense, but sense is no good if you starve to death on this stinking ship! Come on now, out of this cabin.’

They made their way through the dark confines of the Watcher’s Wait and up creaking steps to the main deck, where the escaped novices of Vladibogdan waited. The children were pale and slender in the main and numbered around two dozen.

‘Never much food on Vladibogdan,’ Mistress Kamalov had explained. Steiner had been little more than sinew and scars when he’d returned. The novices’ clothes were ragged and threadbare and many had naked feet. The faraway look that so often haunted the children’s eyes during the journey had been replaced by the fervour of excitement. The cadre of children fell silent as Mistress Kamalov crossed the deck. That she had escaped the Empire and lived as a renegade Vigilant had imbued the old woman with a legendary status among the children. But none had been told about the day a dozen Okhrana came for Marek and Verner in the woods north of Cinderfell. None knew that Kjellrunn had defended her father and the old woman. Not a single novice would be able to imagine Kjellrunn’s fury, manifested in such a display of arcane power that she had almost destroyed the old woodcutter’s chalet. Kjellrunn still saw the faces of the men she had killed when she slept, swept up in a storm of her vengeance, dashed against the trees and ground until they were bloody pulp.

‘Come,’ said Mistress Kamalov with a clap of her hands. ‘Cease your wool-gathering. You must keep your wits about you today, yes?’

Kjellrunn flinched and shivered. Even a passing thought of the dead Okhrana was enough to distract her.

‘We go to the city,’ said Mistress Kamalov to the children. ‘Stay close.’ Mistress Kamalov had never been given to ceremony or pomp and today was no different. The rag-tag band of two score children followed the elderly woman down the boarding ramp. Kjellrunn ushered the last of them off the ship and encouraged them to keep together. Such a large rabble of children attracted stares and comments from the dock workers as they went. Kjellrunn fell into step beside the old Vigilant and returned the hard stares of the locals, daring them to make trouble for her charges.

‘Kjellrunn. You are clenching your fists.’ The old woman directed a forced a smile at a nearby port official. ‘Try to relax, yes?’

‘This isn’t just a bad idea,’ said Kjellrunn under her breath as the children followed behind. ‘It’s a terrible idea.’

‘These children have been incarcerated for years,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘They have faced each day not knowing if they might live or die. Do you really think there is anything we can do to keep them on that ship?’ The old woman frowned. ‘Better we keep an eye on them if possible.’

Kjellrunn thought of all the times she had gone to spend the afternoon in woods north of Cinderfell.

‘I suppose I slipped away often enough to come and see you in the forest.’

‘Yes, for training. But these young souls want to spend their coin on stew and bread, clothes and boots, and Frejna knows what else.’

‘I don’t know how they’re going to pay for all this,’ said Kjellrunn, glancing over her shoulder at the ragged children in their threadbare clothes.

‘They looted the corpses of their captors.’ Mistress Kamalov grinned wickedly.

‘Corpses?’

‘There were a lot of soldiers on the island, a lot of loyal novices and Vigilants. These children have fought and killed for their freedom.’

Kjellrunn looked back over her shoulder at the novices with renewed interest. Some of the children were her own age but the majority were much younger.

‘Hah. You thought you are the only one who has killed, yes?’

Kjellrunn shivered as she tried not to think about the dead Okhrana. ‘I still think it’s a bad idea to head into Virag …’ Kjellrunn trailed off as they reached a wide thoroughfare, far more imposing than the crude roads and humble tracks of Cinderfell and Nordvlast. Carts and wagons filled the view and the various ethnicities of Vinterkveld hurried in all directions, bearing heavy loads.

‘Are you unwell, Kjellrunn?’ said Mistress Kamalov. Kjellrunn had stopped walking to take in the vista while the novices clustered around them, all whispering, bickering and laughing.

‘I …’ Kjellrunn blinked and looked around. ‘We’re really not in Nordvlast any more, are we? Cinderfell, I mean. We’re not home any more. We can’t go back.’

‘Darling girl,’ said the old Vigilant in a rare moment of tenderness. ‘We spend three weeks cooped up on a stinking ship, and only now you begin to understand.’ The old woman squeezed her close. ‘It’s to be expected, I suppose. Do not worry. We will make a new home, yes?’

‘Where?’

‘I do not know.’ Mistress Kamalov looked away. ‘But I do know two children have already slipped away.’ The old woman pointed down the street and frowned. ‘Come now. Quickly.’

Mistress Kamalov had many talents but moving quickly was not among them. The old woman hobbled as best as she could. Kjellrunn supported her and they followed the two novices a few hundred feet down the road. The other children whispered and pointed.

‘Go find your friends,’ snapped Mistress Kamalov at two of the older children. ‘Find them and bring them back here.’ She held up a finger in warning. ‘And no trouble!’ The children sprinted down the street, pleased to be given such a task by their hero. Kjellrunn glared at the other novices, daring them to wander off from Mistress Kamalov’s protection. Sounds of yelling up ahead forced Mistress Kamalov to walk faster.

The crowds scurried away, parting to reveal an Imperial soldier who had grasped one of the older children by her neck. The raven-haired girl struggled and spat. She cursed as if she’d been born to it, filling the air with profanity in three different languages.

‘It would be Trine,’ said Mistress Kamalov, sounding exasperated.

‘Who’s Trine?’ asked Kjellrunn.

‘Only the most unruly novice I’ve ever crossed paths with.’ The renegade Vigilant glowered as three other novices argued with the soldier. An Envoy across the street stared and pointed, his mouth hanging open in shock. His gaze alighted on Mistress Kamalov, Kjellrunn, and the other children.

‘I sense witchsign on a scale I have never …’ He said no more as the girl called Trine jerked free of the soldier’s grasp. Kjellrunn could only watch as events unravelled, powerless to stop them.

The soldier lost his patience, and backhanded Trine with a heavy gauntlet. A trio of boys ran to protect their friend but the soldier stepped forward and punched one of the boys in the face. The boy was all of twelve summers old and weighed no more than a bushel of potatoes. He crumpled to the ground and his head smacked against the cobbles, silencing everyone. The boy’s friend, a sandy-haired youth from Nordvlast called Eivinde, knelt down beside him.

‘He’s bleeding!’ shouted Eivinde, plaintive and desperate. ‘He’s not moving.’

The soldier hesitated, feeling all eyes in the street fall upon him. Trine shook her head and wiped her bloody nose on her sleeve.

‘You fucking pigs.’ There was a fury in her eyes that Kjellrunn knew all too well. It had been the same fury she’d felt when Verner had died.

‘Capture or kill them all,’ bellowed the Envoy. ‘I don’t care which.’

The soldier hefted his mace and Kjellrunn ran toward Eivinde, hands outstretched in desperation. Trine opened her mouth and her neck glowed blood red. She breathed out, exhaling a torrent of flickering orange and yellow. The soldier’s head was engulfed in arcane fire.

‘We’ll kill you first,’ screamed Trine, turning to the Envoy. The soldier stumbled backwards, clawing at the searing metal of his helmet, desperately trying to remove it. Kjellrunn felt the acid burn of sickness in the back of her mouth. Her hands were shaking.

‘Not again.’

Chaos broke across the street like a wave. The people of Virag fled as the soldiers advanced on the novices. Far from being afraid, the children unleashed their talents. An unnatural gale pushed one soldier back, tearing fitfully at his cloak. A choir of five Vozdukha novices laughed as they summoned the dire wind, sending the soldier tumbling backwards down the street until he lost his footing and crashed into a wagon.

Another soldier leapt aside to avoid a ball of fire and landed on the cobbled street in a clatter of armour. He lurched to his feet only to discover his cloak was alight. Three Academy Plamya novices held their ground with looks of terrible concentration etched on their faces, hurling more fireballs at their attackers.

‘Kjellrunn!’ barked Mistress Kamalov. ‘Don’t just stand there!’ But Kjellrunn’s legs were locked, every muscle tense, she could barely breathe. ‘So much death,’ she whispered.

A gang of four novices from Academy Zemlya ran forward, calling on their arcane affinity with the earth. Their skin darkened to granite grey as they closed on the sergeant, still bearing his two-handed maul. Kjellrunn could only stare as the novices punched with fists of stone. The sound of rock slamming against armour joined the cacophony in the street. The sergeant stepped back and swung hard with the maul. The strike caught the largest of the novices square in the chest and sent him sprawling. Two other novices fixed themselves to the sergeant’s legs, trying to wrench his armour off with brute strength. The third novice scaled his back, pulling herself up with fistfuls of his cloak. She clamped her hands around the sergeant’s helm, one hand covering the eye slit.