Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

Simon stared. He still clutched his bowl and spoon, and yards away, Nadu lay dying, or already dead. The fallen man’s face was white.

Patla leaped to her mate’s side. ‘You’ve killed him.’

Chase angled the knife toward her. ‘Steady now, or you can join him. It was an accident. You all saw it was an accident, didn’t you? He swung at me. I just defended myself.’

‘We saw. Sammael sees you too. He will judge you,’ Nana said.

Patla stood over her partner’s body, her fists clenched, staring at Chase as if she would kill him herself, even if she were stabbed for it.

‘Well, now.’ Chase grinned as if this was all very amusing to him. ‘What shall we do with you all? What shall — we — do?’

Beside his brother, Nyl grinned, his eyes gazing in different directions.

Simon gripped Lorie’s arm. Violence he had seen before, and blood, and sudden death, and he had lain buried in darkness waiting for his own death, but he had never known this terror. Desperate possibilities flitted through his mind, all hopeless: he couldn’t protect his family, not all of them, even with his own life. How quickly Nadu had died, how quickly any of them could die.

‘I think,’ Chase said. ‘You, mammut-lady, will drive on to Athanor, and you all—’ He gestured to Simon and his family. ‘It was an accident, you all saw. He slipped and fell. People die easy out here. Be sensible, and we’ll all get to Athanor safe and sound, right?’

Sam clung to Nana, who was keeping her mouth shut for once.

Simon avoided looking at Patla. ‘What’s done is done,’ he said. ‘I just want to get to Athanor with my family. Nothing else matters.’

‘A wise man, I like that.’ Chase spat black into the fire. It sizzled. ‘And what do you say?’ He gestured to Patla with the knife. Nadu’s blood glistened dark on the blade.

She stared at him with burning eyes. ‘I will take you to Athanor.’

‘Then we’re agreed. Good.’

Simon hustled his family to their cabin. He shut the door and they sat on their bunks together, saying nothing.

‘What do you think they will do with us?’ Lorie asked.

Simon remained silent. He didn’t want to scare them, and the lie stuck in his throat.

‘I never did like that man,’ Nana said.

‘Dad,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’

‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘We—’

The cabin door swung open. Simon jumped to his feet.

Chase and his brother stood outside, the brother holding the dog by its collar, and Chase holding—not a knife, but another thing, blunt black metal with the smell of sulphur. Recognition stirred: it was a gun.

Simon knew of such weapons — dangerous toys for the most part. Set fire to blasting powder, and the explosion drove a lead ball from the metal barrel. Quick death in the hands of any unskilled fool. Useless in war because even the least capable Fire Adept could light blasting powder from a distance, and too expensive for most hunters.

Yet Chase had one, and presumably it was loaded. At short range, it would blow a hole straight through Simon’s chest.

‘I am Simon vai Oryche,’ he said quietly. ‘If anything happens to me, or my family, be sure you will answer for it. The arm of House Oryche is long.’

Chase grinned. ‘If you’re Oryche, I’m the Archduke of Barga. But keep your hair on, Grandad. Do as I say, and no one gets hurt.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Turn out your pockets and bags. All of you.’

Blood boiling, Simon obeyed. They pulled bags from where they were stowed under bunks and in corners; everything was opened and emptied on the floor.

Chase took Simon’s knife, and their cash, of course, and the tourmaline pendant Simon had given Lorie for her birthday. The family had few belongings of any value.

‘Where’s the paper the mine-manager give you?’ Chase asked.

Simon hesitated. Chase clearly remembered him asking Afsen for the draft, so it was useless to deny having it. He pulled the document from his coat. ‘It’s worth nothing to you. It’s made out to me by name.’

Chase squinted at the paper, reading, or pretending to. ‘Maybe so, but I’ll have it. There’s nothing you can’t sell in Athanor.’

He stepped back and slammed the cabin door, shutting the family inside. After a moment, there came the regular bang of a hammer, hammering nails into the timber.

Night fell, and silence, save the occasional snort from a dozing mammut.

Simon tried the door. It didn’t budge. Chase must have nailed a plank across it. They couldn’t get out, though at least no one could enter without warning either.

‘We can’t stay here,’ he said.

‘But—’ Nana and Sam spoke over each other. ‘We can’t leave. Where can we go?’

‘Gather up your things. Warm clothes, blankets, food, anything that could be a weapon.’

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Their belongings still lay scattered over the floor and bunks. Simon picked up some clothes.

‘It’s night out, and freezing,’ Nana said. ‘What do you mean to do?’

‘Get out of here,’ Simon said. ‘We’ll walk to Athanor.’

‘You’re mad.’ Nana shook her head. ‘It’s too far. Do you want to kill us all?’

Simon paused to catch his breath. Was he mad? The wilderness was dangerous at the best of times. They weren’t prepared for camping out, and a snowstorm was coming. But he would rather face wild beasts and bad weather than a man who had already murdered once, and might plan worse horrors given time to think.

‘He’s right,’ Sam said. ‘Are we leaving tonight?’

‘Yes, if we can. But they may be watching us.’

Sam nodded. ‘We’d better wait a while.’

They sorted through clothes and packed what could be carried. The little stove burnt through its stock of charcoal. Outside, the wind moaned round the cabin. Their breath condensed on the window shutter and froze.

Simon forced himself to wait. In his tense state, time dragged; it felt like hours had passed, but he thought it wasn’t so long. With the sky overcast he had no way to check.

Sam and Nana dozed on one bunk. Lorie stripped the bedding from the other bunks and packed it. Simon reluctantly collected his precious books, all two of them. He sat for a time and leafed through the familiar pages, then stowed them under the bunk. Then he just sat, listening to the wind and the rumbles of the mammut.

His head sagged; he jerked into wakefulness, realising he had nearly fallen asleep. Lorie dozed, sitting against the wall at the foot of the opposite bunk, where Sam and Nana were asleep.

Simon stood and stretched. He tried the door again, leaning his full weight against it. Whatever was holding it shut held firm, no give at all. He didn’t think he could force it, not without noise, and he had no tools with him, except those of his trade. He ran his hands over the timber. A shame it was wood: the metal nails and hinges he could work with, but wood was difficult. It had too much of Water in it, even old timber like this.

Still, he had few options. He took out his stylus. The glyphs lined up in his mind’s eye: he scratched the sigil into the wood.

The stylus point skipped and snagged in the wood grain. Simon persevered and finished, judging the result good enough. He focused on the sigil, and slowly, the force built, hovering at the edge of awareness. It felt wrong — unbalanced, weak. The timber insulated the metal. He was used to working with rock, and metal was easier still, but he had never got on with timber.

The summoning grew as strong as it would ever be. He took a breath and released the sigil. The wood shivered beneath his fingers.

He grabbed the door handle and braced himself to hold the door’s weight, should it fall, but the summoning was already fading, leaching into the timber. It flickered on the verge of his mind, grasping at the iron and failing, and nothing he could do now would make it hold.

He cursed under his breath. The last threads of the summoning dissipated, and the door stood firm, secure as ever.

‘Is it time to go?’ Sam said, sounding sleepy.

Simon hit the door with the flat of his hand. ‘I can’t unfasten the door. Perhaps a different series of glyphs…’

‘Or we could go out the window,’ Sam said.

Simon glared at the boy. He should have thought of the window himself—it was small, though. It would be a tight squeeze for the adults.

When he opened the shutters, ice-cold air gusted into the cabin. Outside was grey-swirled darkness. Not as dark as the blackness under the earth, no night ever was, but he couldn’t see any distance. The wind spat sleet in his face.

‘All right. We’ll try it,’ he said. ‘Wake the others.’

They were already stirring, roused by the chill.

‘You first, Sam,’ Simon said. ’We’ll drop the bags to you. I’ll go next, then Lorie can help Nana.’

‘But what about Patla,’ Sam said. ‘And that masked woman. I’m sure she’s no cousin of theirs. She might have been kidnapped or anything. Are we just going to leave them?’

Simon stared at his son. He really hadn’t thought about Patla, let alone the masked woman. The realisation came with a stab of guilt: he’d been so focused on his own family, he hadn’t considered anyone else. ‘If we could help them, without endangering ourselves… but I don’t see how we can.’

Sam frowned.

‘I don’t think they’ll hurt Patla,’ Simon said. ‘They need her to handle the mammut. And the woman must have some value to them. When we get to Athanor, there are people we can tell. Chase won’t get away with this.’ He patted his son’s shoulder. ‘Now, are you all ready?’

Sam wriggled through the window and jumped to the road below, landing with a soft thump. Simon dropped the bags after him.

‘Careful!’ Nana hissed. ‘There’s a jar of pickles in mine.’

‘Pickles? Do you really think—’ Simon bit back what he was going to say. It was food, after all. They might be glad of it. ‘Never mind.’ He passed her bag down to Sam.

Simon went through the window backwards, awkwardly. His shoulders scraped the frame, but he made it, and hung by his hands. The ground should be inches below. He dropped. His boots hit the hard road. He stumbled and Sam grabbed his arm to steady him.

‘I’m all right.’ He turned to the window. ‘Nana next. I’ll catch you.’

The old woman nodded and disappeared from view. As Simon had done, she came though the window feet first.

‘Ow,’ she squawked. ‘I’m stuck.’

She wasn’t a large woman. ‘You aren’t stuck,’ Simon hissed. ‘I got through, so can you. I’ll pull you.’

‘Don’t. I can do it.’

He grabbed her legs and hauled. Something twanged, and Nana screeched loudly and dropped into his arms.

‘My stays,’ she wailed.

‘Ssh. Not so loud.’ He set her on her feet. ‘Lorie, come on.’

Lorie wriggled through the window into his arms. He set her on her feet.

‘Which way?’ Sam said.

‘Away from the road.’ Simon picked up a bag. ‘Quick now. We may have been heard.’

The train at their backs was the only reference point they had. They stumbled down the road bank. From the train came a thump; a sound like a window shutter being thrown open.

‘Run,’ Simon said. He shoved Nana ahead of him.

Behind them, someone shouted incoherently. Simon broke into a trot, dragging Nana with him. Sam and Lorie ran ahead.

A sharp crack split the night. Simon ducked, stumbling in his haste and nearly falling. The gun! Chase had fired the gun at them from his cabin window. He almost laughed: he doubted Chase could see them in this murk, let alone hit them at this range.

Nana hauled on his arm. He was unsure who was helping who — she might be old, but she was wiry, and his bad leg slowed him.

The dog barked. Simon glanced back. He could see nothing, but he heard the dog snarling as it ran.

‘Run,’ he shouted. He pushed Nana ahead.

They couldn’t outrun the dog. He certainly couldn’t, but he could slow it, and the others might escape. He dropped his bag and shrugged off his heavy coat. He wrapped it round his left arm and waited, his heart pounding.

The dog was a grey shape bounding through the grey night. Three yards away it saw Simon and stopped, growling. Simon braced himself.

The animal hit him like a hammer. Jaws gripped his arm with crushing force even through the thick coat. He threw his body weight forward, bearing the dog to the ground. It wrenched at him with fearful strength, throwing him from one side to the other.

Simon jabbed at its eyes with his free hand. It twisted under him, released its bite hold on his arm and lunged at his throat. He fell backward, barely holding it off him. White teeth snapped in his face. He felt the heat of its breath.

He rolled. The wrong way — his coat-wrapped arm was under him, and useless. The dog bit down hard on his flailing right hand.

Simon yelled in agony. He kicked at the dog, his boot striking flesh.

Glass shattered in the dog’s face. Cold liquid splashed over Simon, the smell pungent and familiar. The dog screamed and twisted away.

He kicked it as hard as he could. It staggered, and he scrambled to his feet. Blood streamed from its face; he thought it might be blind. He grabbed his bag, and swinging it by the strap, hit the dog in head. It stumbled. He kicked it again, and again, driving it back until it yelped and staggered into the darkness.

Simon almost fell himself. His hand hurt terribly and he was shaking. It was Nana at his side, he realised, holding him up, and that strong sharp smell was vinegar.

‘What did you do?’ he said.

‘Hit it with the jar of pickles,’ she said. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes.’ He steadied himself. ‘I never thought your pickles would save my life.’

She sniffed. ‘It was the last jar too.’