Witchsign. Den Patrick

time.’

      ‘Embellished,’ said Verner, and grinned. ‘She even speaks like her mother.’

      ‘She certainly doesn’t get her vocabulary from me,’ said Marek. Kjellrunn slipped her chilled fingers around the mug and felt the warmth.

      ‘The Empire blames the emergence of the arcane on the dragons,’ said Marek. ‘And for that they will not rest until all trace of it is scoured from the world.’

      ‘Even if it means murdering children?’ asked Kjellrunn, her thoughts straying to Steiner, though he could hardly be mistaken for a child these days.

      ‘Even if it means murdering children,’ replied Marek. ‘There is nothing they will not do to keep the arcane out of the hands of commoners and serfs.’

      Kjellrunn drank and drank deep, but there was a bitter note to the milk that caused her to hesitate. Marek and Verner continued to sup and stare at the fire, as if the answers to Steiner’s predicament might be found there.

      ‘Drink up now,’ said Marek, and she did. The stairs to the loft seemed many, and harder to climb than ever before. How had she become so tired? It had been a long day, true enough, but she fell into bed still dressed, too exhausted to rise again. She shucked off her boots, and curled into a ball.

      ‘Where are you, Steiner?’ she whispered to the darkness, but no answer came.

       CHAPTER SIX

       Steiner

       Cinderfell holds especial importance, lying as it does on the North-western coast of Nordvlast. It is the last stop before taking ship to Vladibogdan, and the last town that many of the taken children will ever see. The people of Cinderfell have watched us take scores of children year after year. I fear that if there is some uprising then it must surely occur in Cinderfell, or close by. We must be watchful.

      – From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.

      Steiner had not meant to be late. It seemed as if all the people of Cinderfell had crowded around the lonely stone pier to witness his leaving. He descended the rutted track leading to the coastal road, not bothering to call in at home. He had no wish to speak with those who had cast him to the fate awaiting him on the island. The crimson frigate lay at anchor and rowing boats headed back and forth, ferrying cargoes of children with witchsign from all across the Empire and Scorched Republics. The sky resembled a vast quarry, inverted, the clouds all arrayed in shades of brutal grey, jagged and dangerous.

      ‘There he is!’ shouted a voice from the back of the crowd. Heads turned and the crowd parted. Steiner’s head was a dull throb of pain and his guts fared no better. Pieces of straw clung to his tunic, evidence that he’d spent the night in a stable. Better that people not know which one.

      ‘Took your sweet time,’ said a gruff voice.

      ‘They’ve almost got all the children aboard,’ chided another.

      ‘Thought you’d try to run,’ said another voice.

      ‘Don’t mind me,’ replied Steiner, senses too dull to form a more biting response. He walked and glowered and walked some more.

      ‘Not such a smart-arse today, eh?’ said Håkon, the butcher.

      The crowd withdrew from Steiner as if the taint of the arcane was contagious. Men and women and dozens of children watched; a few kissed their fingertips as he passed – the old sign for warding off evil. Steiner struggled not to curse at them. At least Kristofine was not among the townsfolk, he was glad of that. She was the last person in Vinterkveld he trusted; he’d rather she’d be spared witnessing his departure.

      The pier was clear of everyone but soldiers, six of them forming a cordon to keep back any desperate parents, though none had followed their offspring north from the other Scorched Republics. Hierarchs Khigir and Shirinov lurked together, all folded arms and stooped shoulders.

      ‘I told you the boy had spirit,’ said Khigir in his deep drone. The frown on the plain bronze mask was no less strange.

      ‘I was about to order the sacking of the blacksmith’s cottage,’ said Shirinov from behind the silver smile.

      ‘Sorry to have made you wait in the cold so long,’ said Steiner. ‘Must be hard when a chill gets into old bones.’

      Shirinov slunk forward, then raised his hand.

      ‘Steiner!’ The shout came from the crowd.

      The Hierarch stopped and looked at the newcomer but Steiner had no need to turn. He knew the voice well enough.

      ‘Steiner, I have something for you.’ Marek’s statement was a plea, but Steiner had no care to answer it. ‘Steiner, please?’

      He flashed an angry glance over his shoulder and saw the blacksmith and fisherman side by side, held back by soldiers. Kjellrunn was nowhere to be seen, probably for the best with Vigilants so close at hand. Marek held a rough sack and offered it towards him.

      Steiner walked to the cordon of soldiers and eyed the sack.

      ‘What am supposed to do with this?’

      ‘It’s for the journey,’ replied Marek, his expression pained.

      ‘Keep it,’ replied Steiner. ‘I want nothing from you.’

      ‘Steiner, I’m sorry.’ Marek’s voice cracked.

      ‘Just remember I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for Kjell.’

      ‘Steiner.’ Marek looked crushed but Steiner couldn’t find it within himself to feel much pity. He turned on his heel and walked the length of the pier, away from the cordon of soldiers, away from the despairing eyes of his father. The sound of the Spøkelsea washed over him and several gulls pierced the quiet with mocking calls, setting his nerves on edge.

      ‘You turn your back on family?’ It was Khigir, the frown of the pitted bronze mask no less intimidating up close.

      ‘What do you care?’

      ‘There are some who are taken and never truly let go of their previous lives.’ Khigir looked back towards the crowd. ‘Yet you are not one of them.’

      Steiner shrugged and watched the rowing boat leave the ship.

      ‘You are a contradiction, yes?’ added Khigir.

      ‘I’d say I’m straightforward if you’ve a care to know me.’

      ‘Straightforward how?’

      Steiner took a step towards the Vigilant. ‘When I’m happy I smile and when I’m angry I frown. I don’t need a mask to hide behind.’

      ‘You will change in time. You will have a mask soon, I think.’ Steiner thought he heard a mocking tone in Khigir’s words.

      ‘Why would I need a mask?’

      ‘Come now, boy,’ said Khigir. ‘It is time to depart.’

      ‘I’m not your boy,’ he replied through gritted teeth. ‘My name is Steiner.’

      The wind gusted across the bay and the townsfolk drifted along the coastal road in threes and fours, like frail autumn leaves. Steiner glanced down the pier one last time and saw the crowd part around Marek as Verner led him away. Anger burned brightly even as a stony desolation filled his chest. A light rain began to fall, making a susurrus on the surrounding sea.

      Shirinov was elsewhere as Steiner descended from pier to boat, shouldering his way between surly children who scowled as he sat down. Steiner struggled to keep his composure and he bowed his head, clenching his hands into tight fists.