In a small part of Avolo—far from the docks, or the inns of the city centre—was a street of less than twenty houses where the richest merchants had their homes. These were the men and women who had risked their fortunes on exploiting the new lands of Gal’azu and had made it big. These were the men and women who voted each other onto the city council, and made all the decisions that affected the future of Avolo and its hinterland.

Rosalind led Lothar to one of them. Servants ushered them into a study, where Urkal Foberoy was waiting.

He was a big man, who seemed to take immense care of his moustache, while letting the rest of his body do whatever it liked.

‘Drink?’ he asked, gesturing to his cabinet. ‘I have everything.’

‘Two of your most expensive whiskies, then,’ Rosalind said.

Urkal raised an eyebrow, but obliged her. ‘So, this is Lothar Sauer,’ he said, handing over the drinks. ‘Rosalind tells me you might be able to help me.’

‘Apparently, though she’s told me nothing about what you need.’

‘I see. The Blades are tied up in Viscula. Now is the perfect time to act.’

‘Viscula?’

‘The largest of the islands off the coast,’ Rosalind explained. ‘It has been occupied by a pirate band. Not an easy job to eradicate them. Tough work for the Blades.’

That checked out with Lothar’s earlier meeting. Usa and Izil probably fancied easier work than being the first bodies sent into a pirate den. ‘So, you want the Blades out of the way?’

Foberoy’s lips pressed together. ‘I need your word that whether you take this job or not, you won’t repeat the details.’

‘You have it.’

‘Very well. I’ve spoiled my daughter, Clara, Mr Sauer. I fooled myself that she was still the bright, daddy’s girl—full of promise—when she was five, six, seven. She’s sixteen now, and she’s a tramp. Gets into bed with any lowlife who bothers to flatter her. This time it was one of the Blades’ best. Raimy Molleker, a man who fucked his way across the old world and when he’d rogered every piece of skirt there, came to Gal’azu to carry on. She ran off with him to Dorwich City. Out of my grasp. I want her back, before it’s too late and she’s ruined her life. If she hasn’t already.’

‘What makes you think she’s still in Dorwich if the Blades are on Viscula?’

‘They came through Avolo,’ Rosalind explained. ‘I looked for her, and asked the right questions. The hangers-on were all left behind. The Blair siblings have built themselves a big palace in Dorwich. She’s there.’

‘The job is to get her back for me,’ Urkal said.

‘You’re asking me to go against the Blades?’

‘Not really,’ Rosalind said. ‘The Blairs won’t care about this girl. I doubt Raimy will, either.’

‘Do they know she’s your daughter?’ Lothar asked the merchant.

‘Yes.’

‘Then they care. They have a hold over you. A way to influence the council.’

Foberoy held his hands up. ‘Alright. Maybe they care. But I’ll pay you well. It’s up to you to make sure the rescue doesn’t get traced back to the Apples.’

Lothar thought about it. ‘What exactly is going on with this island? How long will it keep them there? I don’t want my crew in Dorwich when the Blades return.’

‘There’s developments in Gal’azu,’ the merchant explained. ‘Again, keep this to yourself. The Kuthenians have arrived.’

‘Kuthenians?’ The Kuthenians were a people whose homeland was located far from the original settlers of Gal’azu—the Durnish, Hargons, Livanians, and Alinko. It was said their population was boundless.

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‘Aye. They’ve established a bridgehead on the other side of the bay. It’ll soon be a rival port to Avolo. These pirates work for them. They’re harassing our shipping, scaring off traders. If we let them do it, Avolo will die off and the Kuthenians’ city will take over. We can’t let that happen. We’re paying the Golden Blades a small fortune to eradicate those scum. It won’t be easy for them—weeks of digging them out of their bases and hideouts. Messy work. While they’re at it, you can get Clara and bring her home. By the time the Blades are done, Raimy will have forgotten about my daughter and shacked up with someone else. With any luck, he’ll get a rusty pirate blade up his arsehole and die slowly.’

Lothar doubted that. But it seemed there was a window to act. And, as Rosalind had said at The Rose, a councilman would owe him one. That might be very useful. ‘How much?’

‘Ten pounds, so long as she’s returned to me unharmed.’

Rosalind eyed Foberoy, who gave a resigned expression. ‘And I’ll give you the first two pounds up front, for your expenses.’

Ten pounds. Ten pounds was a lot of money. Maybe enough to pay the wages of a few more mercs from the Blades, if they felt inclined to switch employers.

Lothar held out his hand. ‘Very well. It’s a deal.’

***

They roamed the region between Eisenberg and the hill fort. Most settlements they stopped at were small farms, owned by extended family groups. A few were larger, where several families had grouped together.

There were no goblins to fight. The brigands didn’t bother anyone. When they got as far as the earthworks, they found that Pavel, the new leader, had also begun the business of farming, marking out fields over which his fort could watch and defend.

They came across a small graveyard and found Manslayer’s resting place, next to that of the man who killed him. Ashlyn had started to warm to Edmund Rigge, and wished she’d stopped herself. The same feelings of hopeless pain that had followed her father’s death returned, and she struggled to bury them.

Meanwhile, Twerk and The Explorer chafed at the work they’d been set. The slowness of it didn’t suit their temperaments. But Ashlyn and Christoph enjoyed it. They both had country backgrounds, and the cheer and hospitality of the families they visited perked them up.

It was when they set off to the northeast of the hill fort that Jaelin announced he was leaving.

‘I know what Stiff said. But I’m wasting my time doing this. I’m goink to find the next barrow.’

‘He won’t be happy with you,’ Ashlyn warned him.

‘Maybe. But if I find it, he’ll come round. And if I get myself killed, he’ll have no one to be angry with.’

Wilson appeared to be gripped by some internal struggle, as if unsure whether to forbid Jaelin leaving or wish him well. The upshot was he stared at the man in strained silence.

‘Good luck,’ Christoph said. ‘I understand why you want to go. You are The Explorer, after all.’

Jaelin grinned. ‘Exactly.’ He nodded at Ashlyn and Wilson, then wasted no more time in taking his leave.

Ashlyn couldn’t quite put her finger on why she felt let down by him. She knew he was a loner—understood that. But she thought he might have had more to say to her.

The three of them completed their patrol and returned to Eisenberg. Wilson retired to Henrik’s smithy where he boarded. Ashlyn and Christoph took a meal at The Pig and Iron.

‘There’s hardly any of us left now,’ he observed.

Ashlyn nodded. There had been a moment, after they had liberated Eisenberg, when it felt like she was part of a team: a group of misfits that somehow worked together. Now it felt like she’d been abandoned. ‘I suppose you miss your aunt especially.’

‘Not really. It’s about time I stood on my own two feet. Besides, I still have you, so I’m happy.’

Ashlyn studied him. He was handsome, she supposed, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. And only a couple of years younger than she was. ‘Since it’s just the two of us now, maybe you should invite me up to your room?’

He stared at her, as if he had just been given his winter solstice present a day early. She supposed it was flattering.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Are you trying to get me to change my mind, Christoph?’

‘No! Absolutely not.’

The two mercs arrived the next day. They had a letter from Stiff, explaining they were new recruits. He wanted them to do the Warg Den mission.

Wilson eyed them balefully. ‘You’re Golden Blades.’

‘We were for a while,’ said Usa, the older brother. ‘We’re Rotten Apples now. All signed up.’

The younger one just stared.

‘Well, crap,’ Ashlyn said. ‘Jaelin’s gone. Do you still think we can do it, the five of us?’

Wilson considered it. ‘I’m not scared of ’em. But they were flaming big, I can tell you. Forty hit points each.’

Usa and Izil looked at one another. All of a sudden they were less keen. ‘How many?’ Usa asked.

‘Three of ’em chased me and Jaelin. We only escaped by luck. Could be more in the den. We never got that far.’

‘Stiff wouldn’t be sending us if he didn’t think we were capable,’ Christoph offered.

Ashlyn thought his faith in their employer was somewhat naïve. ‘They’re big,’ she suggested. ‘But surely we can outthink them?’

The five mercenaries looked at one another, with varying degrees of doubt.

‘Can you get us there, Wilson? Without Jaelin to guide us?’

‘Of course I can damn well get us there.’