Urkal Foberoy handed Lothar and Rosalind their whiskies. ‘Yes, we’ve had quite a few ships come in recently. Dropped off more colonists than we’ve seen for a couple of years, I would say. How many of them are the type you’re looking for, I’m not so sure.’

Lothar nodded, and sipped at his drink, letting its flavours dance on his tongue for a while, before swallowing. The warmth spread from his chest to his extremities. For a moment, he wondered what the life of a rich merchant must be like, with so much luxury. Less ageing, surely, than the life of a mercenary. ‘Well, I’ll put out feelers tomorrow.’

‘But Stiff has a problem,’ Rosalind told Foberoy. ‘He can’t work out of The Rose anymore. He needs a new base, and preferably one with some prestige.’

‘That’s not a problem. I can set him up in the city hall. You won’t have it all your own way, though, Sauer.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Wynter Blair is in town. Recruiting out of The Anchor.’

‘Oh. That’s not good. She had one of her mercs break my fingers last time I cramped her style—and I haven’t brought any heavies with me.’ Apart from Rosalind, only The Baron and Murder had accompanied him to Avolo.

‘She doesn’t have a great number with her, either,’ Foberoy reassured him. ‘But she has brought that debaucher, Raimy ‘Rake’ Molleker, with her. He’s already sniffing around my daughter again. I told Wynter he needs to keep his pecker in his pants.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ Rosalind said. ‘And telling him he can’t have her is only liable to increase his ardour. But maybe I can tempt him with an alternative. Men like that are usually attracted to the latest beauty.’

‘I’d be grateful if you could do that, De Cheney.’

Lothar walked Rosalind from Foberoy’s residence to hers. The councillor’s whisky didn’t keep the night’s chill away, and their breath hung in the cold air. ‘Thank you again for helping me with Brid, Rosalind.’

‘Of course.’

‘You know you mentioned attracting this Raimy fellow. You didn’t mean you would do it, did you?’

He was surprised when she laughed at him. ‘I almost believe you mean it, Lothar. It would take someone far more nubile than I to catch his eye.’

Lothar frowned. ‘Well, good. And of course I mean it. There’s no one in Gal’azu more beautiful than you. And that’s a fact.’

She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘You know, since Eisenberg, and the whole ‘magic’ thing. I’ve been feeling a distance has come between us.’

She sighed. ‘You need to understand. Having magic is dangerous. It brings hate, distrust, and jealousy. And it’s far worse for women. Male wizards are at least feared and respected. Women are burned, or drowned, as witches. I don’t regret helping you, but I feel vulnerable.’

‘But I won’t tell anyone. You know that.’

‘Lothar. There was Eisenberg, and then there was Mer Khazer. People know. Word will get out. Maybe only rumours at first. But they will grow. Being unseen is so much easier. I don’t regret what I did—I just have to accept that things are going to get more difficult.’

‘And these ‘things’ are all to make Gal’azu a better place?’

‘Yes. Why? You don’t believe in that?’

Lothar sighed. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ve spent so long trying to keep my head above water, I haven’t had time to think about such things.’

‘That’s fair. It’s a privilege, I suppose.’ They stopped at the entrance to her house. ‘Well, we’re here.’

‘Yes. Good night.’

‘I thought you would stay here while you’re in Avolo. Where else do you have to go?’

‘Nowhere in particular, but I can get a room.’

‘No.’ She took his hand. ‘Stay with me.’

Lothar was chasing shadows. He had to sift through the dross of potential new recruits, discarding the vast majority who had nothing to offer him. Meanwhile, Wynter Blair had got to all the good ones first. He had to play catchup, offering them something different when they’d already half decided to join The Blades.

The pick of the bunch was one Alfie Goodfellow, a Durnishman who went by the nickname The Guvnah. Hope soared in Lothar’s breast when Goodfellow returned to the little stall Foberoy had set up for him in the city hall. The Guvnah had it all—Level 7, the same as Cap had been. At 29, he was eleven years Cap’s junior, which made him one of the most impressive soldiers Lothar had ever met.

‘I thought it only right to come and tell you in person, mate,’ The Guvnah began, and Lothar’s hopes fell like a stone. ‘I decided to go with The Blades. They just have a higher level of operators, and in my experience, that’s more important than anything.’

Lothar nodded. ‘I understand. No doubt I’d have done the same in your position. I appreciate you coming to tell me.’

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He offered his hand, and The Guvnah took it.

‘I wish you and The Apples all the luck, mate,’ Goodfellow said. And then he disappeared from Lothar’s life.

Already feeling morose, things only got worse that evening. Just as he was getting ready to leave, Wynter Blair and three of her mercs arrived.

‘Come to gloat?’ he asked. A twinge in his fingers made him study one of her mercs more closely. ‘Or break something else?’

The man’s eyes lightened and a smile came to his lips. ‘Oh, that’s right, I remember now. At The Anchor. Hope those fingers healed up alright?’

‘Not too bad, thanks. They only ache when it’s cold. Or warm.’

The merc laughed, and even Wynter grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Her skin seemed to stretch too tight across her face, and she was one of those people whose smile made them look manic.

‘This is Shade,’ Wynter told him. ‘Don’t think we did the proper introductions last time. He’s not all that bad really. This beautiful lady is Vixen.’

‘Hello, Vixen.’ The woman was a striking looking Alinko warrior, with a slim build and braided black hair. ‘And this,’ Lothar continued, ‘must be Raimy ‘Rake’ Molleker. Your reputation precedes you.’

The others smirked at this, while Raimy himself refused to meet Lothar’s eyes. His facial features were so perfect, it made you want to punch him there just to add a defect. Except it would probably only make him look more rugged. His jawline and nose were manly, while his dark eyes somehow glittered. His body was naturally athletic, and Lothar assumed he didn’t have to make any effort to maintain it.

‘You know, Lothar Sauer,’ Wynter said. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion you’re alright. The Guvnah said you took it well when he told you his decision. And what you’ve achieved out west, with what you’ve got—well, you’ve demonstrated your qualities.’

Lothar was taken aback with the compliment. ‘Thank you. I’m a little surprised to hear you say it.’

‘Well, we may be rivals and all. But I like to think I’m fair. And in this game, you need to appreciate talent. It’s just a shame about Cap.’

‘Yes, he was a big loss, I’ll admit.’ Lothar studied her reaction. ‘Oh. You didn’t mean that.’

‘He was certainly a loss. But no, that’s not what I meant. You see, I think you realised he was a plant, and somehow contrived to get rid of him. But killing him—’

‘—I didn’t kill him.’

‘Oh. Well, bad luck for you then.’

‘Because now your brothers want me dead?’

‘With Cap dead, Sal has no other choice but to kill you and destroy your order. That’s why I’m here, to make sure you can’t strengthen your squad.’

Lothar’s eyes flicked to the belts of his visitors. They all carried knives. ‘That’s all you’re here for?’

‘Aye. Sal never told me to kill you. So I won’t.’

‘I appreciate that.’

‘But when that order does go out,’ she said, ‘we’ll follow it. And we won’t hesitate.’

Lothar didn’t doubt it. If he’d ever seen a bunch of cold blooded killers, it was these four. ‘Then I thank you for your honesty. And if the tables are turned, I’ll try to afford you the same courtesy.’

Wynter’s eyes rose in surprise, then she smiled. ‘I like you, Lothar, known as Stiff to his friends.’ Her smile disappeared. ‘What a shame.’

In the cold and the dark, Lothar made his way from city hall to Rosalind’s place. At least I have De Cheney waiting for me, he told himself. My only immediate problem is whoever has decided to follow me.

He stopped and waited, not wishing to lead his stalker to Rosalind’s house. The man who appeared, looking a little sheepish, was one of the mercs Lothar had interviewed. He racked his brain for a name, having learned so many in the last few days. It was the mace at the man’s belt that reminded him.

‘Ah. Larik the Bludgeoner.’

‘Yes. I hope I didn’t scare you. I came to find you earlier. You were talkink with the Blades, and I listened in. The conversation only encouraged me to sign with The Apples all the more. I decided to follow you, just in case one of them decided to make a move against you.’

‘I see.’

Larik wasn’t a tall man, but he was muscular. His neck and shoulders were huge, and he had the perfect frame for wielding a weapon like a mace. He was still only Level 2, but Lothar considered him an excellent prospect. ‘Yes. I’ve come to Gal’azu for adventure, you see. And I think I will find that with you, and not those fancy Blades.’

Lothar patted him on his bulging upper arm. ‘Larik, you’ve cheered me up no end. Welcome to the squad. Had dinner yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then escort me to my friend’s house safely, and I am sure she will reward us both with a fine meal.’

***

Salvador Blair waited alone in the hall of his palace. He poked at the fire in the grate. Its light fought off night’s dark embrace. It flickered when the door opened.

Sal turned, not bothering to hide his anxiety. Relief flooded him at the arrival of Clamor. He’d lost his second and third best scouts in the last few days. Felix ‘Clamor’ Rittel had been recalled from his previous assignment to deal with the current threat.

The scout padded across to the fire, then held his hands out to the warmth. Some wit had given the man the nickname Clamor years ago; he moved like a ghost, and only spoke when he had to. Sal hated the name. But once one was given, it was near impossible to swap it for another.

‘Well?’ Sal demanded.

‘It’s a lot worse than you thought,’ Clamor told him in his quiet rasp. ‘There are about five thousand of them in all. It’s a migration, with all ages in the horde. But I reckon four thousand can fight, and two thousand are warriors.’

‘Thousands?’ Sal repeated, his mind racing at the implications. ‘How did the others not see them coming? It’s not like goblins have the best scouts.’

‘No, not scouts. Worse than that. They have a mage amongst their number. A good one. I only noticed his sorcery at the last moment, or I too would have become his victim.’

‘He sensed you?’

‘Maybe. I got out of there as fast as I could.’

‘Of course.’ Clamor’s news embedded itself in his brain, his mind’s attempts at denying the truth battered aside. Thousands. And a mage. ‘We can’t beat them,’ he admitted out loud.

‘No,’ Clamor agreed. ‘What do you think we should do?’

Sal’s mind provided him with the answers, even though he didn’t want them. ‘This is a threat to all the settlers in Gal’azu. We will have to unite against it. Even then…’ He almost gagged on his next statement. ‘We’ll have to work with The Apples.’

‘That’s not going to be easy.’

‘You don’t know the half of it. I sent Wynter and Rylan out to disrupt them.’

‘Rylan?’ Clamor repeated, his voice coming as close to alarmed as it ever did.

‘I know. But the bastards killed Cap, didn’t they? What else was I supposed to do?’

Clamor returned to silence, and Sal was left to curse his luck.