Witchsign. Den Patrick

could just get word to my father he’ll see you’re handsomely rewarded.’ The blond-haired boy preened. ‘I don’t have witchsign, I can assure you.’ He was duly cuffed by Shirinov for not standing to attention.

      ‘For years you have been told that children with witchsign are cleansed.’ Shirinov let the last word hang in the air. That the far side of the square was crowded with children undermined the threat of any cleansing, whatever the term had implied.

      ‘You are not to be killed or cremated. You will in fact be quite safe. At first.’ Shirinov’s silver smile was, as ever, at odds with the words emanating from behind it. ‘You are to become the next generation of Vigilants in the service of the Solmindre Empire, new blood for the Synod.’

      The novices at the far side automatically stood straighter at the mention of the Empire, a few standing to attention, almost snapping out salutes.

      ‘You can do this willingly, or you can serve the Empire in a less pleasing but infinitely longer fashion.’ Shirinov lifted his gaze to the dragon, regarding the massive form as if it were some great work of art. ‘There will be some of you who are reluctant to use your powers, and some of you,’ the Vigilant paused, clamping one hand on Steiner’s shoulder, ‘remain unknowing.’ Shirinov hobbled a few paces and thrust his face towards Maxim. ‘But there is witchsign upon you, within you, and we will draw it out. If you must be tainted with the arcane then you will use your powers in service to the Empire.’

      ‘I’m sure if you test me again you’ll see—’ Aurelian’s protest was cut short as Shirinov knocked him to the ground with a gesture from several feet away. The boy yelped and several children flinched on instinct. All stared, mouths slack with shock, faces frozen with disbelief that Shirinov could mete out punishment from afar.

      ‘You will demonstrate your abilities,’ continued Shirinov, ‘just as I have demonstrated mine.’ He paced along the row to where Aurelian had fallen. ‘You can demonstrate them willingly.’ He leaned low over the blond-haired boy, his silver mask falling into shadow. ‘Or under duress. The choice is yours. I suggest you make the most of it; you’ll have few choices available in the years ahead.’

      ‘You don’t have it, do you?’ said Maxim under his breath.

      ‘Have what?’ replied Steiner.

      ‘The witchsign. I can tell, I could sense it on everyone in the hold, but not you.’

      ‘Don’t say anything,’ growled Steiner. Shirinov was shouting at a rake-thin girl who looked ready to collapse.

      Maxim frowned at Steiner again and muttered, ‘Tell them. They’ll let you go home.’

      ‘No, they won’t,’ replied Steiner. ‘Now that I’ve seen the island there’s no going back.’

      ‘Tell them,’ urged Maxim.

      ‘Tell us what?’ grunted Khigir. Whereas Shirinov had been visible and loud, Khigir remained silent, haunting the back of the crowd like a lost soul. Somehow Maxim had missed the Vigilant standing nearby, despite the many tongues of fire that danced around his boots and the hem of his coat. ‘Tell us what?’ repeated Khigir.

      ‘Nothing,’ replied Steiner, though he knew the ruse would be over shortly. They’d ask him to demonstrate witchsign in some form and nothing would happen. Then would come the consequences; what would happen to him? Would the Vigilants return to Cinderfell? Would they return for Kjellrunn?

      Shirinov strode across the square until the two Vigilants stood shoulder to shoulder, looming over Steiner, who remained unbowed by the smiling and frowning faces that crowded his vision in silver and bronze.

      ‘Tell them what?’ shouted Shirinov so loud the child beside Steiner began snivelling.

      ‘Nothing. There’s nothing to tell. The boy misunderstood me is all.’

      Shirinov turned to Maxim and levitated him with a gentle motion from an open palm. The children around them gasped and Maxim could only stare at the ground in sickened awe.

      ‘Tell. Them. What?’ repeated Shirinov.

      ‘Steiner doesn’t have witchsign! You chose him wrongly! He shouldn’t be here. Let him go home.’ Maxim had squeezed his eyes shut but none failed to notice the tears at the corners. He was seven feet from the ground and trembling with fear.

      ‘You think I don’t know how to conduct an Invigilation?’ seethed Shirinov.

      ‘He means no harm,’ said Steiner. ‘He’s just mistaken is all.’

      ‘Mistake? I do not make mistakes.’ The Vigilant crooked his fingers until they were claw-like, grasping at something unseen. Maxim began wailing, and held hands up to his face and curled into a ball.

      ‘That’s enough!’ shouted Steiner. Khigir remained silent, but edged away from Shirinov, who continued to tighten his arcane grip on Maxim.

      ‘It will be enough when I say it’s enough,’ replied the Vigilant. ‘Is it not like the grip of the Empire? Absolute in every way.’

      ‘I said that’s enough,’ bellowed Steiner. He pulled the sledgehammer free of the bag and swung it in a broad arc. Steiner felt the heat of all his anger, his frustration, his disappointment, all joined in the surging motion of the attack. The sledgehammer caught the Vigilant in the side of his chest, but not before Shirinov raised a hand to ward off the blow. Steiner felt the resistance, noticed the hammer slow before it took Shirinov from his feet, lifting him into the air. The hunched Vigilant staggered and collapsed amid the newcomers, who scattered to all corners of the square. The walking stick clattered on the flagstones as Maxim landed face down on the cobbles with a grunt. The boy did not move and a terrible hush settled over everyone, all eyes turning to Steiner, Shirinov, and the crumpled form of Maxim.

      For a moment the only motion in the square was the flickering of flames. It seemed to Steiner that the dragon who stood above them was not wreathed in flames, but contained by them instead. Smaller flames continued to dance around Khigir’s feet and the frowning mask moved side to side in a slow shake.

      ‘Steiner. What have you done?’

      The soldiers burst forward, raising their maces. Steiner stood his ground, grasping the hammer defiantly, but it was not the soldiers with their helms and red stars that concerned him. Shirinov dragged himself to his feet, hands pressed to his ribs. The silver mask lifted and the smile on its lips had never been crueller, a trickle of blood leaking from one corner.

      ‘I’m going to enjoy destroying you,’ said the Vigilant. He reached out again, a tender gesture at odds with the intended result. Steiner glanced down, rewarded with the sight of solid ground beneath his boots.

      ‘What is this?’ The Vigilant reached forth with both hands, fingers splayed, shaking with effort. Steiner felt the power brush against him, no more than a harsh breeze. He was unsure why he resisted Shirinov’s power but was grateful all the same. The Vigilant stumbled, as if buffeted by the wind. Shirinov took a moment to retrieve his walking stick before lifting his hand once more. This time the gesture was a command, not a summoning of power.

      ‘Take him,’ he said. The soldiers behind Steiner drew close and raised their maces. Steiner hefted the sledgehammer in response, knowing he’d be lucky to take just one of them before they beat him to the ground.

      ‘Stand down!’ The words were a thunderclap across the square and the soldiers fell back two steps and stood to attention. Steiner turned to find another Vigilant descending the steps of one the larger buildings. Other Vigilants followed in her wake, including one wearing a mask like a wolf’s face, but it was clear who was in charge. The many novices bowed their heads and Khigir and Shirinov stood to attention. A single word rushed around the square, an awed susurrus:

       Felgenhauer.

      The Vigilant wore a mask the colour of drab stone, all features angular, neither masculine nor feminine. The mouth was a displeased slash and the eyes that stared through the holes bore many questions.