‘Shit,’ Serrah muttered. ‘Look disinterested.’

‘Any idea

how

?’

The meld took a step towards them, then noticeably started.

‘Reeth.

Your face.

’

His features were liquefying. In seconds his eyes reverted to their original colour, the shape of his cheekbones went back to normal, his whiskers fell away.

‘Lousy fakes!’ Serrah cursed as her own disguise began to fade.

The meld turned on her heel and ran to the right. But as she moved, a near-identical duplicate dashed to the left. The two figures were joined by a membrane, a glistening film resembling a wet spider’s web. When they were separated by a couple of yards it ripped apart and the halves were each rapidly sucked back into their bodies.

Now two foes were advancing on Reeth and Serrah, and all four of them went for their blades. The crowd, dense as it was, shrank away.

‘Watch that one!’ Reeth warned, pointing at Aphrim.

‘Watch your own!’ she tossed back.

Aphri and Aphrim moved in.

The female came at Reeth fast. Their blades clattered together and the pounding began. Her passes were quick and surgical. He matched her for skill and gave as he got. They bobbed and leapt, whipping the air with steel.

Where Aphri was agile, Aphrim was strong. The first time their blades met, Serrah felt the shock from wrist to shoulder. She withdrew nimbly from his next stroke. As he regrouped she was under his guard and swiping. He blocked, and set her bones shaking again.

With Reeth and Aphri it was keen-edged precision. She engaged him with a series of probing nips, interspersed with wide, unpredictable swings. He ducked. Her blade sailed over his head and sliced a rope supporting a wooden cage of chickens. The cage fell and burst in a turmoil of squawking and feathers.

Reeth battered at the meld, forcing her back. Then he struck her blade a glancing blow. It was no more than a metal kiss, but she’d over-stretched, and lost balance. She staggered, slipped and crashed into a greengrocer’s barrow, bringing it down. While she lithely recovered, rolling a yard and springing to her feet in one fluid move, the grocer’s stock disgorged. There was an avalanche of apples, cauliflowers and onions. Potatoes, turnips and oranges bounced in all directions. Some of the crowd scrabbled for them, or trod them underfoot. People slipped and fell on the mush as the stall’s owner bellowed impotent oaths.

Caldason and the meld squared off again. The crowd was shouting and brewing minor fights of its own. Caldason knew it was a bad place for a brawl. Law enforcers were going to be drawn like flies, and soon.

Serrah and Aphrim had fallen into a slog of hack and slash. He was given to vicious downward swipes, using his sword like an axe, and one nearly cleaved her. Instead his blade ploughed through the wooden support of a stall selling beer. The counter pitched forwards, hurtling half a dozen barrels to the ground. Two smashed instantly in foaming amber explosions. The others rolled into the crowd, bowling one man off his feet and triggering fistfights for the spoils.

Taking the chance to pull back, Serrah tensed for Aphrim’s fresh assault. But his next move baffled her. He tossed his sword

aside, as though discarding a broken toy and, staring at her, he opened his mouth wide. For one crazy second she thought he was going to poke his tongue out at her. But what shot out of his mouth was a glittering red orb the size of a grapefruit. It flew at her, swift as an arrow, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. At the last moment she dropped and it soared overhead. The glowing ball smashed into a clothes stall and detonated in a huge gout of flame. The stall and its stock went up immediately, throwing out a wave of heat and acrid black smoke.

This was too rich for the blood of many in the crowd, and there was a disorderly retreat. But the press of people was so great they could only withdraw about twenty feet. The fire spread from the burning stall to an adjacent sweetmeat booth. A few hardy souls appeared with buckets of water and tried to douse it.

Slowly, warily, Serrah advanced towards her opponent. Aphrim stood in the same position, absolutely still, his face impassive. She was tensing for a charge when his jaw gaped and he spat another fireball. This one came lower than the last, and would have impacted at her waist if she hadn’t swerved. The fireball zipped past on a downward trajectory and hit the road, shedding sparks, then rocketed on, straight at the crowd. There was panic. People yelled, screamed and struggled to get out of the way.

Reeth and Aphri’s duel had spilt back into the road. The flaming globe was set to miss them by several feet as it sailed towards the mob. Reeth took a chance. Back-footing Aphri with a rain of blows, he threw himself to one side, swinging his sword in a high, broad arc. The flat of his blade met the flying orb like a bat slapping a ball. He acted on instinct; for all he knew the globe would explode on impact.

But as Reeth came heavily to ground, the orb was deflected onto a new course. It travelled at a right-angle to the crowd, speeding in the direction of the houses lining the market.

Nobody moved an inch, not even Aphri, and everyone was transfixed in silence as they tracked its progress.

A small comet towing a vivid crimson tail, the missile headed for the upper storey of a brick and timber warehouse. With a precision it would have been hard to improve on if actually aimed, it flew through the only window with open shutters. There was a second of utter quiet, followed by an echoing blast and an eruption of flame. Smoke spewed from the window. People began blundering out of the street-level door, red-eyed and coughing. Behind them, the interior of the warehouse was blazing.

The spell was broken. Renewed uproar swept the market. Reeth climbed to his feet, but Aphri had gone. He looked round and saw her running. Aphrim had bypassed Serrah and was on the move, too; dashing his twin’s way. To Reeth, Aphri looked like someone racing towards a life-sized mirror. The two figures collided, but only one carried on. Bystanders shifted fast to let the meld through.

Serrah jogged over to Reeth. ‘Do we go after her?’

‘No. Look.’

Militiamen were shoving aside the spectators, and red tunics appeared.

There were those among the onlookers who might have tried to stop Reeth and Serrah from getting away. Whether they stayed their hands through fear, gratitude or greater hatred of the law-enforcers, the crowd parted and let them pass.

Minutes later, they were several blocks away.

‘I can’t say that exactly added to our sum of knowledge,’ Serrah lamented. ‘Apart from the fact that those two are dangerous.’

‘Actually, we learnt something valuable. We can be pretty sure the meld’s connected in some way with the paladins.’

‘Like I said, Reeth; it might be a good idea to get out of Bhealfa for a while.’