Stormtide. Den Patrick

had been carved into the wood.

      Verner.

      Silverdust stood slowly and nursed a pang of jealousy. How he longed for the peaceful slumber of death’s cold embrace. How he yearned to pass on from this existence. Silverdust glided from the clearing back towards the town. There would be no peace, not while the Emperor still drew breath.

       CHAPTER TEN

       Steiner

      It took two weeks to make their way along the Rusalka River. Steiner had never travelled anywhere by barge before, nor had he ever been so absolutely bored. The persistent damp leeched any good mood out of the three travellers. The owner of the barge was a stooped man called Rezkh who might have been any age from fifty to seventy years old. Long, iron-grey hair emerged from under a battered grubby hat and he rarely said much on account of missing most of his teeth. When he did communicate, in a series of grunts, mumbles and gestures, the conversation was directed at Marek.

      ‘There’s not even a view to look at,’ said Kristofine, gesturing to the ever-present mist surrounding them. The river was the colour of unquenched steel and the riverbanks were thick with reeds the height of a man on both sides. Trees would emerge from the mist like ghostly sentinels as the barge slunk along the river. In the distance crows called out to one another in strident tones muffled by distance.

      Kristofine spent the time learning swordplay from Marek, though there was scarcely enough space for the lessons. Rezkh the boatman would let Marek teach for an hour or so before complaining bitterly about ‘the gods-damned racket of swords crashing against each other’.

      It was after one of these training sessions that Kjellrunn and Marek joined Steiner at the prow and stared ahead into the gently swirling mist. They settled down under their cloaks and pressed their hands into their armpits to keep warm.

      ‘Just our bad fortune to be travelling in winter,’ said Marek.

      ‘Better this far south than up in Nordvlast,’ said Kristofine, still catching her breath from the lesson.

      ‘Why is it called the Rusalka River?’ asked Steiner, trailing a hand over the side of the barge and into the water. ‘Why not just the Virag River?’ Marek cleared his throat and looked around to check that the bargemaster wasn’t eavesdropping on them.

      ‘Before the Empire came into being it was more common to meet things on the road that weren’t human. And sometimes they lingered near the canals too.’

      ‘Things that weren’t human?’ said Kristofine.

      ‘The old stories tell of water nymphs who served the land,’ explained Marek. ‘It was seen as good fortune to have one close to home. The fields and forests were more fertile when a nymph was happy, so they said.’

      ‘And when they weren’t happy …?’ asked Kristofine.

      ‘The Emperor’s hatred wasn’t merely confined to dragons. He hates all arcane beings. The Empire placed a bounty on the heads of the nymphs and for a time the men of Virag earned coin by murder.’ Steiner pulled his hand back under his cloak, his water-chilled fingers clenched into a fist. Kristofine huddled closer to him.

      ‘But the Emperor hadn’t counted on the true power of the nymphs. They didn’t pass on to Frejna’s realm and die like the Emperor had hoped. The nymphs came back but now they called themselves rusalka. Where once they had brought life, now they brought only death.’

      ‘What happened to them?’ asked Kristofine.

      ‘The rusalka wrought a terrible vengeance on the living for their treachery. Trade by barge stopped completely in Vannerånd, Svingettevei and Drakefjord. The Empire sent Vigilants to kill the Rusalka and many were slain on both sides. Some say the Rusalka were wiped out, but I think some still exist near lakes, where it’s quiet and people are few.’

      The barge bumped against something and Steiner flinched. He looked around with one hand on the haft of his sledgehammer, then breathed a sigh of relief. Rezkh had found a small pier to tie up to for the night.

      ‘Maybe it’s time we went ahead on foot?’ said Steiner. ‘I think I’d like to spend some time among the living. This endless mist is getting to me.’

      Marek smiled and clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We’re close to the final stop anyway.’

      ‘How do they get you?’ asked Kristofine. ‘The Rusalka, I mean. How do they, you know, kill you?’

      ‘A rusalka appears as a beautiful woman bathing in the river. When a man gets close by she calls to him, and the man can’t help but draw close to her.’

      Kristofine rolled her eyes.

      ‘And when the men are close enough the rusalka’s hair comes alive and wraps about the man’s neck, dragging him under the water and drowning him.’

      ‘We should really go the rest of the way on foot,’ said Steiner.

      ‘Seems to me the people of Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Svingettevei could have maintained their barge trade if they’d had any brains,’ said Kristofine, gathering her bag.

      ‘How’s that?’ asked Marek.

      ‘If the rusalka lured only men to their deaths, they should have employed women to run the barges.’

      Marek laughed long and deep and Steiner found himself caught up in the sound, laughing along with him. It was the first time any of them had laughed since Tikhoveter had been killed.

      The riverside inn was a welcome sight after two weeks aboard the narrow barge. A small village spread out from beside the canal though most of the buildings were little more than shadowy outlines in the mist. Once they had settled in, Steiner took a bath and joined Marek and Kristofine downstairs in the bar.

      ‘We’ve wasted two whole weeks on the barge,’ he said. ‘I need to start telling my story now.’

      ‘Steady now, Steiner,’ warned Marek in a hiss. ‘We only just escaped Virag. We need to be cautious. The Empire has ears everywhere.’

      ‘Even here, in a riverside inn lost in the mist?’

      Marek shrugged. ‘I’m just saying we should be careful is all.’

      Steiner cast his gaze around the bar and searched the faces of the local men and women. Wasn’t it the business of spies to blend in and look like everyone else? He approached the bar and nodded to a handful of heavyset men in muddy smocks and forced a smile.

      ‘Hail, friends.’

      ‘Friends?’ said tallest of them. He was a bull-necked man with a heavy brow and black beard shot through with grey. ‘Were only friends if you’re buying the drinks.’ The men around Bull-neck chuckled and looked away.

      ‘I bring news about the Empire. A story really.’

      ‘A story!’ Bull-neck grinned. ‘What a delight.’ Steiner couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic on account of his accent. ‘An’ you come all the way from …?’

      ‘Nordvlast,’ supplied Steiner.

      ‘So you come all the way from Nordvlast to interrupt our conversation with a story about the hated Empire. The Empire that took my niece three summers ago.’ The man’s expression darkened. ‘Go back to Nordvlast, halfhead.’

      ‘There have been two uprisings against the—’

      ‘Go back to Nordvlast,’ repeated the bull-necked man. ‘There’ll be no uprising in Svingettevei. We prefer to keep our heads attached to our shoulders. Go.’

      Steiner headed back to his table where Kristofine waited with an anxious look. Steiner slumped down in the seat beside her and stared