‘We will. You forget who we are. What we are.’

‘You make no mention of the most worrying development; the disturbance to the matrix. There was a particularly severe episode just in the last few days, as you know.’

‘Again, why shouldn’t this be Gath Tampoor’s doing?’

‘Because

we

can’t do it. It’s beyond the powers we now have, and we’ve no reason to think they’re any more advanced.’

‘What, then?’

‘There are two possibilities, both of which I find troubling. One is that some unknown, unsuspected power is respon

sible for interfering with the magic’s flow. In some ways that might be the worse option, as it implies something we didn’t anticipate.’

‘And the other possibility?’

‘I fear that Caldason might have become aware of his capabilities.’

‘Now we get to it. That damnable situation has been a thorn to us for far too long. But why should he have woken to himself now and not before?’

‘Who knows? That may not be as important as recognising that he

has

.’

‘He can’t have entirely realised his potential, or we’d certainly know it.’

‘Perhaps not, but he could be progressing by degrees. As a man might learn some new skill.’

‘With respect, Felderth, what I see are several unrelated events. Thugs making trouble on the streets, as ever was; a barbarian warlord, latest in a long line of ten-day wonders; and an anomaly in the matrix, which in itself isn’t entirely without precedent. None of it necessarily adds up to a threat to us. I repeat: remember who we are.’

‘Take this,’ his brother said, plucking a red rose from its stem, ‘and see in it the fate of our rule if you’re wrong.’

Rhylan took the flower and breathed deep of its gorgeous aroma.

But the instant he stepped outside the barrier the rose turned black and crumbled to dust.

The constant glow of magic that emanated from any heavily populated area usually outshone the night sky. But this evening the luminescence was less bright than normal, perhaps because the colder weather meant fewer people on the streets. And the rooftop of the safe house where Caldason and Serrah sat was on the edge of Valdarr, well away from

the frenetic centre. Consequently they had a rare view of the stars.

‘And how do your people account for them?’ Serrah asked.

‘The Qaloch tell several stories of how the stars were created.’

‘There isn’t one accepted version?’

‘No. Qalochian religion and myths aren’t carved in stone the way they are in most other places. There tend to be various versions of our legends.’

‘Which do you like best?’

‘About the stars? My favourite’s the one about Jahon Alpseer. Ever hear of him?’

She shook her head.

‘He’s one of the Qaloch god-heroes who presided over the birth of the world. Back then, there weren’t any stars, because the gods saw no need to hang other lamps than the Sun and Moon. That was mostly because they were too busy fighting a constant war against an equally powerful race of demon deities. The prize they fought over was the fate of the human race, which is to say the Qalochian race, as it was our story. The demons wanted to exterminate the small number of men and women the gods had made; they feared this new lifeform would multiply until it threatened their power.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, quite a lot, actually. But the climax of the story tells how Jahon faced the lord of all the demons, Pavall, in a duel they fought across the sky. Jahon was getting the worst of it, because Pavall was a night demon who could conceal himself in shadow and strike out of the darkness. So Jahon used his sword, which was made of ice incidentally, to pierce holes in the black veil that shrouded the world. The holes let in the great light from outside, exposing Pavall, and Jahon slew him. Jahon left the holes so that no other demons would ever be able to hide in darkness.’

‘It’s a charming story. A bit…martial.’

‘Yes, it’s typically Qalochian. These days, at those rare times when Qalochians meet, it tends to be told ironically.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, the way things have worked out, we say that Pavall must have won after all.’

‘Oh. Gallows humour.’

‘Don’t knock it. What is it they say? Better to laugh lest you cry.’

‘That isn’t restricted to Qalochians, Reeth. Though there’s been precious little to laugh about lately. But let’s not get into the whole Kinsel thing again. Thinking about it’s too depressing.’

‘You looked a bit downcast when we came away from the hill. Was it something Tanalvah said?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t about Kinsel. She mentioned Eithne.’

‘I thought that was a subject you didn’t like talking about.’

‘There are times when it’s a taboo with me,’ she admitted. ‘But they tend to be triggered by something I wasn’t expecting, like when I was in the temple. Generally I can live with it, though I can never make promises about the future. I was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about Eithne until Tan brought it up.’

‘There is one thing I’ll confess to being curious about,’ he ventured carefully. ‘It’s not really about your daughter, but-’

‘Spit it out. If it’s too close to the heart I’ll tell you.’

‘Eithne’s father.’

‘Ah. A flesh wound rather than a direct hit.’

‘You can tell me to mind my own business.’

‘It’s all right. There’s not much to say about him, actually. He was like me. Well, he was in some ways; mostly he wasn’t. I mean we were alike in being professional fighters. Only with

him it was the army. He was really ambitious and rose fast. Fought in a number of campaigns and gave a good account of himself. Then the fool went and got himself knifed in a brawl in a tavern. No, it didn’t kill him. He ran off with the healer who nursed him through it. She was older than me, too, a bit. Eithne was five or six when it happened. He didn’t want to be tied down with a child, you see. At least, that’s what he said.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need. I was too young, and we wanted different things. It didn’t take me long to realise I was better off without him. Though I’ve often wondered whether it would have gone better for Eithne if she’d had a father around.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have got you talking about this. It must be painful.’

‘No, not at all. Talking can help, in fact. That’s something I’ve taken a long time to understand.’ She brightened. ‘Let’s make a pact. From now on, either of us can ask the other about anything. And if it’s something we don’t want to talk about, we just say. That way we can stop tip-toeing.’

‘All right.’

‘Good. Now, about the gold consignment.’

‘I walked into that, didn’t I?’

‘It’s the best service you can give to the Resistance right now, Reeth. Besides, it occurs to me you might be better off out of Bhealfa for a while.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t look at me like that. I know you can take care of yourself, but a couple of things have been bothering me. First, do you remember finding your file when we torched the records office? With all the pages torn out? I’ve seen how bureaucracies work, when I was with the CIS, and I’m telling you that kind of thing doesn’t happen without authority. Somebody very powerful has an interest in you, and they didn’t want anybody seeing the contents of that file, least of all you.’

‘I have to admit that has been puzzling me. What else?’

‘The meld. She might or might not be connected to it, but if there’s even a slim chance she is, it starts looking as though you’re attracting some unhealthy attention.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’m officially an outlaw, you know; I’d expect there to be records on me.’

‘I bet if we’d gone through every file in that place, yours would have been the only damaged one. It

means

something, Reeth. Though I’m damned if I can think what.’

‘I don’t know that it adds up to a need for me to leave the country.’ He held up his hands. ‘All right, all right. It’s true I’ll probably go anyway-’