Tanalvah’s family. The only one she’d ever known. Miraculously arriving in her life ready-made: another gift from the gods.

Let there be something better for them,

she thought.

For all of us. In our new home.

She shivered as though a chill wind had blown in from the unrealised future.

If we ever get there.

In common with every other land, there were locations in Bhealfa that people tended to avoid. Dangerous, unsettling places, such as the Great Chasm at Murcall, that legend said had opened up to swallow a warlord’s invading horde. Spots like the forest of Bohm, with its curious ruins that many believed dated from the time of the Founders, and from which few travellers returned. Or the Starkiss valley fracture, where at intervals a geyser spewed raw magic, despite a thirty-year effort to seal the breach.

There were undesirable sites for urban dwellers, too. Lawless quarters, debtors’ prisons and the re-education camps figured high on the list. But one was shunned above all others. A place where people were more often taken than chose to visit.

The headquarters of the paladin clans in Valdarr was a forbidding redoubt. Doubly so as an autumnal dusk fell. A large and imposing complex of grey stone structures, it existed behind high walls and heavily guarded gates. Black pennants flew at the tops of its many watchtowers.

That the compound stood in such a prime position was testament to the clans’ overweening power. As soldiers of

fortune, to use the polite term, they fought for both Gath Tampoor and Rintarah, and professed to see no conflict of loyalties. Their constitutional position was unique. They were deemed stateless, a legal nicety they’d wrung from grateful clients on opposite sides of the divide.

If an ignorant person were to ask what the paladins did that regular forces didn’t, the answer would be everything and anything. Consequently their wealth and influence were considerable.

As the light began to fail, a man walked the spotless paths bisecting the rows of neatly maintained buildings. An observer would have put his age at around twenty summers. He was blond and clean-shaven. The tunic he wore was black with triple lines of red piping at the wrists and a circular red patch on the left breast. Markings that indicated his function was administrative rather than combative, and that he served the clans without being fully

of

the clans. He had an oilskin document pouch tucked under one arm. Back straight, he moved smartly, free arm swinging military style. Watchful human eyes followed his progress, and eavesdropper glamours hovered above.

His thoughts centred on the secrets harboured by his stern surroundings. Their secrets, and his own.

He came to a long, low, single-storey building that was in fact a wing projecting from a much larger central edifice. This was the core fortress, its sloping walls dizzyingly tall and dressed with crenellated defences. The wing was an infirmary, reserved for the highest ranking.

A pair of sentries guarded the door. Their tunics were crimson, indicating full clan blood. They didn’t salute him, but did stand aside to let him pass. He nodded and went in.

The interior consisted of a central corridor with doors off to either side. The room he wanted was at the far end. Just before he reached it, the door flew open.

An elderly man stumbled out. His robes marked him as a physician, and he was in a state of agitation. No sooner had he cleared the door than a china jug flew out, barely missing him, and shattered against the opposite wall. He pushed past, ashen faced, and fled.

The young man took a breath, knocked, and stuck his head into the room.

‘I said

stay out

! Oh, it’s you, Meakin.’

Devlor Bastorran, heir apparent to the clans leadership, lay in an oversized bed. One of his legs was plastered from thigh to ankle and suspended by a pulley. He was coverd in scars and abrasions and his closely trimmed black hair had a small shaven patch, revealing a laceration that was still healing.

He put down the porcelain bowl he was about to throw. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, man. Come in!’

Lahon Meakin entered. ‘If this isn’t a convenient time, sir…’

‘Time’s one thing I have plenty of at the moment.’ He nodded at a chair. ‘Sit.’

The aide shut the door and did as he was told, placing the folder on his lap.

Bastorran turned to look at him, and winced through clenched teeth. ‘Damn leg!’

‘Can I summon assistance, sir?’

‘Absolutely not. If that last healer’s anything to go by, I’m better off without their ministrations.’

‘Sir.’

‘Now report.’

Meakin started to leaf through the contents of his folder.

‘And keep it brief, will you?’ Bastorran added. ‘Just the basics.’

‘Yes, sir. I have a summation here.’ He fished out a sheet of parchment and cleared his throat. ‘Let’s see. Accounts for

today are still coming in, of course, but we have most of Valdarr’s figures for the last twenty-four hours. There were fourteen instances of public disorder serious enough to warrant our attention. Five cases of arson directed at government or imperial property. An attempt was made to steal a consignment of arms in transit, which proved unsuccessful, though there were three fatalities. Regrettably, two paladins lost their lives in other incidents. As did eleven members of the watch and a licensed sorcerer assigned to one of their units.’

‘Detentions?’

Meakin consulted another document. ‘Er, seven hundred and twenty-two, sir.’

‘That’s up again.’

‘Yes, sir. And thirty-one of those resulted in summary execution, as allowed for by the new emergency regulations.’

‘Excellent. Things are certainly looking up now we’ve been allowed to take the kid gloves off.’

‘The Clan High Chief must be very pleased, sir.’

‘My uncle?’ Bastorran’s face clouded.

‘As he’s campaigned for so long for tougher measures against the insurgents, sir,’ Meakin hurriedly added.

‘Ah. Yes, Uncle Ivak’s a pig in shit at the moment.’

If Meakin thought that was disrespectful, he knew better than to say so. ‘Do you want the details, sir?’

‘What?’

‘Of the arrests. I can break them down into-’

‘Details weary me. You should know that by now. The only important thing is that we’re consigning more of these criminals to prison or to the block. But that isn’t the reason I wanted you here.’

‘Sir?’

‘I want you to meet someone. I’m doing this because you might have to liaise with this person if I can’t. But you have

no need to know what task they’re performing for the clans. Nor do you have to know more than necessary about this visitor.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Understand this, too.’ He spoke emphatically, his gaze unblinking. ‘Everything to do with this person is to be regarded as secret. Any breach of security will have grave consequences. You’re comparatively new to my service, so let me underline the importance of the oath you took to the clans, and your personal oath to me. Break it and you know what the consequences will be.’

‘Yes, General.’

In a slightly softer tone, Bastorran went on, ‘You’ve made good progress in the paladins, Meakin. I might say remarkable progress given that you weren’t clan-born. That’s rare. And not everybody approves of your rise. So see this as a test of your loyalty. Serve me well and you’ll not regret it.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘There’s just one thing I should tell you about our visitor. She’s a symbiote.’

Meakin found it difficult to hide his surprise. ‘A meld?’

‘I believe that’s the common term for a very uncommon…relationship. But it might be better not to use it in front of her.’

‘Of course not, sir.’

‘I expect you to extend the same courtesy to her as you would anyone else acting on our behalf.’