‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Hirad.

‘Simple, really,’ said Ilkar. ‘We’re landing in about an hour, I think. We’ll find a place to stay tonight and while you lot take a look at the sights, Ren and I’ll hire a boat to take us upriver tomorrow. ’

‘And you’re quite sure your village is the place to start looking for these mages of yours?’ The Unknown was frowning.

‘It’s as good a place as any. We used to send a lot of adepts to Julatsa at one time and there’ll be people there who are sympathetic and, more important, who will know where to look for more. Just hanging up a sign here won’t get us far. But of course I have personal reasons for wanting to go there, I’m sure you’ll understand. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’

‘The Raven never work apart,’ said Hirad.

Ilkar smiled. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘And flame-resistant,’ said The Unknown.

The east gates of Xetesk opened and the massed ranks of refugees stood, their movement an expanding ripple across a human sea. Ten thousand and more with hope renewed that this time food and not soldiers would be disgorged.

From where Avesh stood on a patch of churned mud with everything he loved and everything he owned, he couldn’t see the base of the gates. Couldn’t see what or who came out, but he could rely on the mood of the crowd to give him the information he needed.

He pulled his wife and young son to him, their bony frames pressed against his, and stepped away from their pile of filthy blankets and scant possessions. How they hadn’t died of cold, starvation or disease through the winter, having lost their farm to the storms, he would never know. But they had been spared and that was all he cared about.

The family all knew the drill. If it was food they would split up and run because if you were slow you got nothing. But if you were lucky, you got three shares. At first Avesh had been against that but he’d been forced to harden his heart as the death toll from illness and hunger rose daily. Rather them than his family.

And now, with spring coming to ease the chill and the first colours of new life pushing through the thawed earth, it looked like their persistence might actually pay off. Though they were all haggard and thin they were still alive. Today, Avesh was daring to believe they would live to rebuild their lives.

The noise built around them. Those with the strength made ready to run or swallow their disappointment. But something was different. Avesh caught it in the air just before he heard the shouts. A cry of surprise. Another of indignant outrage.

He watched for a few moments, feeling the unease whiplash through the throng. His first instinct had been to move forward but he held his ground, his heart querulous. He bit his lip and stood on tiptoe.

‘Atyo, hop up on my shoulders. Let’s look see.’ The scrawny lad scrambled up. ‘What can you see?’

‘Soldiers,’ he said. ‘And riders. Lots.’

‘Coming along the path?’

They’d seen this a dozen times but the mood of the crowd suggested something new.

‘No, all over. Everyone’s moving.’

And now Avesh could see it. The move forward had faltered, was already reversing. The noise of countless scared people was growing to a crescendo shot through with the harsh shouts of soldiers carrying on the breeze.

The boy climbed down and looked up into his father’s eyes.

‘What will we do?’

‘Give me a moment, son,’ said Avesh.

The crowd was rippling again. No, not a ripple, a wave heading outwards away from the gates.

‘Gods falling,’ he breathed. He gripped Atyo and Ellin, turning them both to him. ‘They’re trying to clear the camp, the bastards. If we get separated, we’ll meet back at the crossing of the River Dord to the north. Can you both find that?’

‘Why would we be separated?’ asked Ellin.

He didn’t have to answer her. The wave hit them instead. He grabbed them each by a hand.

‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’

The press was thickening but Ellin hesitated.

‘Our things.’

‘Leave them. Come on.’

Avesh could feel the surge through the ground now. A drumming like a thousand hoof beats. But this stampede was human. He swung them both around, stumbling against somebody who rushed past. He caught the briefest glimpse of an ashen face before it was lost in the throng.

They began to run. There was only one direction. To try and cross the path of the crowd would be suicide. Avesh held them firm, taking care to move at the same pace as his boy, but when the youngster tripped anyway, Avesh scooped him into one arm and ran on, his wife right beside him.

He could see nothing but flailing limbs, hair streaming and the backs of countless desperate people driven to run though they barely had the strength. It was a chase that would exhaust itself quickly, and already the weakest were falling, their legs powerless to keep them upright, their spirits unable to take them a single pace further. And those that fell were left. There was nothing anyone could do, not even family, as the packed horde fled on, dragging the crying survivors with it.

Avesh ignored the ache in his wasted left arm muscles where he clutched Atyo and dared a look down at his wife. Ellin’s face was determined as she ploughed on, transmitting her fear through the painfully tight grip on his hand.

Through the screams, the shouts and the thrumming of feet across the ground, Avesh could hear horses and the rhythmic heavy thud of men running in unison, closing fast. The crowd gathered sudden extra impetus. Worse, it split. Avesh pulled left, Ellin went right. Their hands slipped agonisingly apart. Avesh tried to change direction and reached out his hand. Their fingers brushed but that was all and he caught only a glimpse of her gaunt face and despairing hand as the crowd swept her away from him.

Riders galloped through the gap, voices hoarse, shouting orders to move.

‘Ellin!’ Avesh yelled. ‘The Dord. Remember the Dord!’

‘Mummy!’ screamed Atyo, wriggling around, straining to see her.

Avesh saw her just once more, bobbing like a bottle in a stormy sea, helpless, unable even to struggle as she vanished from sight.

‘Mummy!’

‘It’s all right, Atyo,’ said Avesh, head down and running again, breath heaving painfully into his lungs. ‘We’ll find her. We’ll see her soon.’

Right in front of him, a man tripped and fell. Reacting fast, Avesh hurdled the sprawling figure. His left foot came down on slimy wet mud and slipped sideways. Hopelessly unbalanced, he pitched right, holding hard on to his son as he went down.

The sound of horses was very close again. He rolled over, people scrambling past him cursing, shouts chasing them, that rhythmic thump of feet mingling with hoof beats reverberating through the ground.

Avesh clambered to his feet, presenting his back to the streaming mob threatening to knock him back down again. His muddied and terrified son was screaming, out of control, clutching handfuls of his clothing.

‘We’ll be all right,’ said Avesh. ‘We’ll—’

He was standing in a space that suddenly contained too much horseflesh to dodge. He turned left and right, his vision filled with black and brown flanks, greaved legs and riding boots. He felt a heavy impact as a stallion reared near him, its rider yelling at him to move, but he could do nothing more than fall flat on his back.

He lay still, hooves coming down close to his head and body on their way past, driving the wailing refugees further and further from Xetesk. The relative silence flooded him. He gasped a breath.

‘We’ll be safe now, boy, safe now,’ he said, stroking Atyo’s head. His hand came away wet. Blood. He froze.

‘Atyo?’ The boy was limp in his arms. ‘Atyo?’

He scrabbled frantically into a sitting position and held the boy in his lap. Atyo’s head lolled to one side, blood matting his face. And, just below the hairline, his skull was stove in, caught by a horse’s hoof. He had never stood a chance.