Kailas left the Fiddler’s Retreat at cockcrow under clear skies.

The morning was crisp and cold. Goosebumps prickled her flesh as she cast a wary eye around.

The stable lad had made good on his promise and left Blackrump saddled up by the hitching post. Kailas mounted up and followed a farmer driving a horse and cart through the gates. Something caught her eye - the gates - held open by worn lengths of damp rope tied to old posts. The knots were swollen from rain and discoloured by mould. She suspected the gates had been left open for days, if not months.

Beyond the stockade, steam drifted from the sodden landscape under the rising sun. Kailas spurred Blackrump into a canter past the farmer, splashing through puddles. The muddy lane descended through wooded foothills dotted with sheep and rabbits. A herd of deer grazing on the ridge fled at their approach.

Fear prickled between her shoulders.

Kailas turned Blackrump in a tight circle, checking her backtrail. The rolling countryside looked empty, but something was back there. She could feel it, like someone standing at her shoulder.

She cantered away, keeping an eye on the forests and copses either side of the road. Twice, she would have sworn she glimpsed a figure moving through the trees, but every time she took a closer look, there was nothing.

The wooden eagle hung snugly against her skin. She pressed her hand to her breastbone, feeling its shape beneath her shirt. Gut instinct told her whoever had given it to her, whether benefactor or malefactor, was close behind.

She pushed Blackrump hard all morning until she saw a town on the far bank of a river. More travellers appeared on the road, and Kailas was forced to slow down. She found herself in a queue of horse-drawn carts, riders and carriages, waiting to cross the stone bridge.

Kailas slotted Blackrump behind a flat-bed cart stacked with logs. The slow pace gave her time to stretch out her aching back and eat the last of her food – a slab of marchcake and wedge of cheese, washed down with water.

The town on the riverbank was built from white stone. Well-heeled inhabitants chatted in groups by the steps of a circular town hall. Kailas envied their peaceful existence, their normal, everyday lives. The town standard flying from the roof showed a black bear standing on its hind legs against a field of red and white.

‘What is this place?’ she asked a woman leading a donkey.

‘Bearsbridge.’

The road to Ordasius skirted the town, heading south-west. With reluctance, Kailas turned Blackrump away from the Bearsbridge gates and pushed on.

By mid-afternoon, the muddy track had grown considerably wider, before it joined the North Bay Road at a busy crossroads. Seagulls called and wheeled in the air. The tang of salt and fishy air gusted inland from Goldlight Bay, prompting memories of her arrival only three months before. She hadn’t expected to be back so soon.

Two roads branched off, bypassing the city. The first met up with the Great East Road and continued into the Pereguard heartlands. The second joined up with a road that lay empty to the horizon. Its neglected surface was tinged green from invading scrub and weeds.

Kailas’s mouth went dry. The Smoke Road.

The Smoke Road headed west to the border with Ithos Darg, where it continued onwards, cutting through the poisoned forest to Mealduth.

From the saddle, the land to either side of The Smoke Road looked poor, a mixture of barren plains and salt marshes. Kailas couldn’t see how masked priests could cross this desolate region by day unnoticed. Furthermore, the fortified Cartarus Garrison sat near the border. Maybe, the King’s soldiers had already detained the Mayqsa, and she could rest easy.

Thoughts of the Mayqsa consumed her until she crested a ridge and got her first view of the city. She slowed to let Blackrump catch his breath, remembering the rainy, cold night of her arrival. Now, with Ordasius’s grandeur laid before her, she couldn’t believe what she had missed.

The city’s curtain walls were the thickness of three Fiddler’s Retreats laid end to end. The guard towers flanking the north gate were the size of large keeps. By contrast, the men patrolling the battlements were no more than dots from this distance.

Beyond the gate, a panorama of carved, stately buildings stretched as far as the eye could see. Turreted towers reaching twice as high as the Governor’s citadel in Mealduth glowed orange under the setting sun. The flags atop them whipped in the stiff breeze funneling through from Goldlight Bay.

At the heart of the city, a brilliant white castle dominated the skyline. The stone walls sparkled in the sunlight, as though set with jewels. Four corner turrets tapered to graceful spires that pierced the clouds.

Here was safety, Kailas thought.

˜

The sun was dipping in the sky by the time Kailas reached the north gate – a whitestone arch large enough to accommodate a ship.

Welcome. The inscription crested the arch’s apex, repeated in Sargosanian, Valantian and other languages she did not recognise. The arch was carved with noble representations of Ordasiun tradesmen and women: metalworkers, thaumaturges, magical artificers, soldiers, swordsmiths, clerics, kegsmiths to seamstresses, laundry maids and cooks.

Four lanes of traffic flowed under the arch and past a guarded checkpoint. Kailas rode alongside traders arriving from the port town of Kingsmead at Goldlight Bay. She fell in behind a brewer driving a dray stacked high with barrels. The air was heady with ale fumes and horse manure.

At least ten city guards – bluecloaks - were on duty in navy tunics over chainmail, open-faced helms with a lobster tail protecting their necks, plus a small visor across the nose. One bluecloak chatted briefly with the brewer while his comrade passed a casual eye over his dray.

Stolen story; please report.

Kailas’s eye was drawn to the gold-stitched flag of Avellion on the guard’s tunic. The royal crest was divided into four insignias – one for each quarter. The White Star of Ithos Darg sat in the top left quarter. Avellion’s shameful secret. Considering what most people thought about the place, she was surprised it was still there.

The guards waved the brewer through with a shared laugh, and Kailas moved up to take his place.

A middle-aged guard looked her over, the creases round his eyes deepening as he spotted her rucksack. Kailas’s heart picked up speed as he walked around Blackrump. She’d done her best to avoid notice, ensuring the bloodstain was out of view. Still, something was unsettling him.

‘Where’ve you come from?’ His stare made her shiver.

‘The Scars,’ she answered in as light a tone as she could muster.

He pointed to the tip of her sword, peeking out beneath the folds of her cloak.

‘Pull your cloak back.’

Kailas did so with nerves fluttering in her belly.

The guard examined the ornate hilt, the leather embosses on the scabbard.

‘Nice sword.’ He knuckled one hand on his belt, scrutinising her.

Kailas nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘If you want to enter Castle Ward, you’ll need a permit for it.’ He gestured her through before waving to the next person in line.

For a moment, the fact she was free to go refused to register, and she kicked Blackrump through the gate with mixed feelings. Avellion had been at peace for so long, the guards weren’t expecting trouble. Yet, trouble was coming.

Crossing under the dark gateway, the sound of Blackrump’s hooves on cobbles was lost amidst the clamour of market traders calling for custom.

Kailas rode through the busy market square, where traders plied their wares dressed in silks and velvet. One fellow wore outlandish puffball sleeves, slashed to reveal bright orange underneath. The atmosphere was rich and exotic, the air was fragrant with wood-smoke instead of torquor fumes, and there wasn’t a beggar in sight.

In contrast to Mealduth’s monoculture, the area rang with a multitude of voices, from refined Ordasiun to workers’ slang, the rural twang of visitors from the country as well as foreigners with heavy accents, some of whom spoke in their own tongue. Groups of dark-skinned men and women from the south, maybe as far as Sargosan, mingled with the crowds. Kailas spotted a few ice haired Bluelanders. She searched for anyone with slick black hair and dead-white skin, without any luck.

She nudged Blackrump through the bustling throng. After the quiet of the countryside the noise was overwhelming, but a lifetime of city living meant she swiftly readjusted. Bunting fluttered on cords across the market square, giving the place a festival air. Wood-framed buildings lined the courtyard, their cream renders gleaming orange under the sinking sun. Lavish woodcarvings of animals, flowers and leaves covered the shop facades.

Glancing through the windows, Kailas caught glimpses of sumptuous interiors lit with globes of swirling, coloured light. The affluent sauntered around the shops before hopping into one of the ubiquitous golden, horsedrawn cabs with their purchases. What she was seeing made the most exclusive parts of Mealduth seem impoverished, by comparison.

Kailas halted by a shuttered shop to examine her map. The castle was centred on the cross-folds. A mile of crowded thoroughfare lay between her and the inner gates. A labyrinth of side alleys and streets twisted off in all directions, so densely drawn she could barely follow them with her finger.

The aroma of roasting spices wafted from a street-grill, making her stomach growl. She spent half her remaining money on a spit-roast hog roll and devoured it in the saddle. As the road slowly climbed, the shops and stalls were replaced by municipal buildings built from blocks of smooth, white stone. One boasted a flight of steps so wide, she counted fifty paces to cross from one end to the other.

Saturated by new sights and sounds, she didn’t register the Castle Ward gates until a reflected glare from the gold scrollwork stung her eye. Six royal guards, wearing red tabards and black chainmail, formed a blood-red barrier in front of the high spiked gates.

Kailas hauled on the reins.

The guard in charge wore a captaincy badge over his left breast. ‘Permit?’ He put out his hand.

‘Sorry?’

‘Entrance permit.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t have one.’

‘City hall deals with requests to enter Castle Ward.’ The captain inclined his head in the direction of the main road. ‘It’s the big white building down on the left. You will need to show two forms of identification as well as a reference from a senior official from your hometown. There is a small administration fee to pay. Once you have done that, come back.’

It was a speech the captain clearly gave many times a day. He pushed back her cloak to examine her sword and took a firmer tone. ‘Weapons are not allowed past this point unless you have a carry permit. City hall deals with that, too.’

Kailas unstrapped her sword-belt and held the assemblage out.

‘You can have it. I just need to get inside.’

The captain gave her a hard stare before turning his back on her.

Another guard, an older man with a kind expression, gave a rueful shake of the head.

‘Please, don’t turn me away,’ Kailas protested. ‘I have an urgent message for the Crown Equerry. I must see him.’

The captain glanced back.

‘The Crown Equerry is a very busy man. You’ll need to make an appointment through his diarist. Unless you have a seal or badge that matches our master book. It will, of course, have to be verified by his notary.’

He’ll bore the Mayqsa to death. ‘I don’t have any of that,’ she said, strapping her sword back round her waist.

‘Come back when you do.’

The captain returned to his post as a richly dressed lady riding a dapple-grey mare dipped her hat and rode through the gates without anyone challenging her. Kailas watched her go, sorely tempted to set her heels to Blackrump and gallop through, before she dismissed it as a terrible idea.

‘Ancier of the Scars sent me!’ she called out in a last-ditch attempt to gain the captain’s attention. ‘He works for the Crown Equerry. He told me you’d let me in!’

The captain shrugged.

‘Hundreds of people come through these gates every day on official business, from all over Avellion. I don’t know every one of them, girl.’

Kailas cursed Ancier. After all his grand words and gestures, the guards hadn’t even heard of him!

‘What about the King’s Thaumaturge? Or the Commander-in-Chief?’

The captain put one hand to his hip, narrowing his eyes.

‘You’re throwing a lot of important names around. The fact remains, I can’t let you through without the right paperwork.’

‘What if I told you the Mayqsa are on their way here?’ Kailas tried one last ditch attempt. ‘A hundred of them, out for blood.’

A well-used look passed between the guards. The captain’s expression grew colder.

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Kailas said.

‘We heard you,’ another redcloak spoke up. ‘Just like we’ve heard all the others. If it’s not earthquakes or monsters, it’s demon armies or hell on earth. We’ve heard every excuse from salesmen and conmen, paupers and priests, willing to try anything to get through these gates.’

‘But the Mayqsa -’

‘It’s a new one, but it’s not going to get you anywhere,’ the Captain said, waving her away. ‘This is a restricted area. Please leave.’

‘I’ll see her out, Sir,’ said the kindly-looking guard. He took Blackrump’s reins and led him away down the hill.

Kailas swallowed back fear. Light was fading. Who was to say the Mayqsa weren’t already creeping round the darkening passageways that spread like tendrils through the city?

‘You mentioned Ancier,’ the kind guard said, leading her down a side street. ‘The Crown Equerry has a great deal of respect for him.’

‘Your captain didn’t seem to have heard of him,’ Kailas said.

‘Don’t mind the captain. We have to deal with all sorts.’ He stopped and released the reins. ‘You’d have better luck trying The Tabulas. The main decision makers meet up there for a drink. Vargassa’s a regular.’

‘Who’s Vargassa?’

‘The King’s Thaumaturge. Didn’t you say you wanted to see her?’ He gave Kailas swift directions, adding, ‘Don’t tell anyone I sent you.’

Kailas wanted to ask what Vargassa looked like, but the guard was already walking away. She pointed Blackrump down the hill with the fervent hope she would find The Tabulas half-empty like The Fiddler’s Retreat, with Vargassa the only customer.