Stormtide. Den Patrick

faltered under a series of punishing blows. One boy retreated while the other wailed in shock as his stony arm shattered apart.

      More soldiers emerged from the side streets and from behind, arriving in groups of four until sixteen of the number loomed over the novices, in black armour, maces grasped in armoured fists.

      ‘You will stand down,’ screamed the Envoy, still holding his short sword to the young girl’s throat. The sergeant continued his onslaught, swinging wildly with his maul at the novices, who fled and ducked and dodged back to Mistress Kamalov at the centre of the street. Kjellrunn counted at least four children strewn across the cobbles.

      ‘Kjellrunn,’ whispered the old woman as rain began to fall. ‘We are surrounded.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

       Silverdust

      The wind howled around the jagged black peaks of Vladibogdan, ushering in a grey shimmer of rain from the Sommerende Ocean. Silverdust gazed at the sky from a tower in Academy Vozdukha as the waves crashed against the cliffs far below with a hushed roar. Rare were the times a wind blew in from the north east. Such winds had a way of invading the very island itself. Up through the darkened cove the winds would race, ascending a hundred blackened steps, keening through the gatehouse which lay quiet and empty, and into Academy Square.

      The square had been cleared of rubble since the uprising and the shattered pieces of the dragon statue had been committed to the sea. The many bodies of the fallen had been taken below to the forges, where Silverdust himself had immolated them with arcane fire. No one had assigned him the role of the cremator, yet it was important to him that each body meet a decent end. Silverdust had taken a quiet relief in this. No one would rise as a cinderwraith since Steiner destroyed the Ashen Torment and the vast statue at the centre of the island. No longer would dead souls toil in eternal service to the Empire. Silverdust was now the last of his kind. His fate would not be passed on to another generation.

      The dark pall that had lain heavy over the island for years had dissipated, drawn this way and that by winds from all cardinal points. Silverdust had enjoyed three weeks of peace until the north-eastern wind gusted in. Three weeks of peace until now.

      A knock on the door roused the Exarch from his reveries. He reached out with his mind and found Father Orlov waiting in the corridor outside.

      Come. Silverdust sent the word with telepathy; he had lost the ability for speech long ago. The door creaked open and Father Orlov edged into the room. He was a heavyset Vigilant, broad in shoulder and thick of arm.

      ‘Exarch,’ said Father Orlov with a half bow. His mask was a handsome face with nine stars embossed down the right-hand side, one star for each province of the Empire.

      Father Orlov. Silverdust inclined his head, though in truth he had no respect for the Vigilant. We have not had a chance to speak since the uprising.

      ‘You have kept yourself very busy, Exarch.’ Father Orlov edged further into the room and Silverdust could sense the man’s wariness. ‘Appearing only at night to take the corpses from the courtyard. You have given the children much to talk about.’ Father Orlov paused a moment. ‘And much to fear.’

       Cremation. A rotting body causes pestilence and we can ill afford a plague taking hold on the island. Not after everything that has happened.

      ‘Your wisdom is a guiding light in these dark times,’ replied Father Orlov. Silverdust ignored the sarcasm. ‘Will you walk with me, Exarch? I think it would do everyone good to see the highest-ranking Vigilant in the academy taking an interest in the living.’

       I will walk with you, Father Orlov, though rank is rarely a comfort in the wake of disaster.

      ‘And truly this has been a disaster,’ said Father Orlov as he exited the room. ‘And someone will have to answer for it.’

      Silverdust wondered if there were a note of warning in Orlov’s words, or if the man had tipped his hand.

       There is always a price to paid.

      Father Orlov glanced over his shoulder to check Silverdust was following him down the dark stone corridor. The children called him Cryptfrost behind his back, on account of his chilly temperament, and for the power he wielded over water and wind. Orlov would be keen to blame Silverdust for Steiner’s destruction of the Ashen Torment and his subsequent escape.

      The Exarch and Father Orlov emerged in Academy Square and looked over the battered flagstones. Novices swept the square of grit and sand as best they could despite the wind.

      ‘I barely recognise the place now,’ said Father Orlov, unable to disguise how forlorn he was at the disarray before him. The Vigilant clenched his fists and Silverdust could sense a fierce eddy of disgust, shame and anger for what had happened during Steiner’s uprising.

       It is much changed.

      Blood stained the flagstones of Academy Square, each mark a reminder of someone who had risen up against the Empire or died to defend it.

      ‘It was quite the scene,’ said Father Orlov, after taking a moment to compose himself. ‘The Spriggani priestess killed a great many of our men, turning them to stone with her gaze.’

       I had heard as much.

      ‘Your absence during the fighting was noted.’

       I stayed close to Academy Vozdukha, protecting loyalist students.

      This was lie, but one almost impossible to disprove. Academy Vozdukha was home to the school of wind, and though it had been a long time since Silverdust had taught, he had reason to be there.

      ‘I also heard you … negotiated with them. At the end.’ Father Orlov stopped walking and cradled a gloved fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘With the Vartiainen boy and the Spriggani.’

      Silverdust turned to the Vigilant, his curving mirror mask reflecting the nine stars of Father Orlov’s proud visage. The Exarch loomed over his subordinate.

       Careful, Orlov, you are perilously close to accusing me of treason.

      ‘And yet you were seen in the company of the dragon rider—’

       I was merely trying to broker a temporary peace. The Vartiainen boy did not want to rule the island. He wanted to escape and to take his friends with him.

      This much at least was true. Steiner had never wanted dominion over Vladibogdan. Destroying the Ashen Torment had been testament to that.

       My intent was to put an end to any further killing. It is by my actions that we have any loyal novices left alive at all.

      Silverdust could feel Father Orlov’s gaze upon him, sense the Vigilant’s own telepathy brushing against his mind for some clue to the Exarch’s dishonesty.

      You will not find what you seek with the arcane. Silverdust touched two fingers to his temple. My aged mind is as bewildering and impenetrable as any forest.

      Orlov bowed. ‘Forgive me, Exarch, but you can understand my caution. We have suffered the worst setback in the history of Vladibogdan. I need to know who I can trust.’

      I can understand your caution, Father. Silverdust walked to the centre of Academy Square and for a moment the battle raged all around him, phantoms conjured by memory. Arcane fire flared brightly, guttering as renegade students summoned winds to fight it. Soldiers fell choking as cinderwraiths robbed them of their dying breaths.

       Tell me how things stand on the island now the dust has settled.

      ‘Loyalty has largely been determined by academy,’ said Father Orlov. ‘The