‘I brought the others. We’re all here.’

  She hoped that would give them pause. The flyer could not hold more than four or five men, but if they were trained that was enough. More of them were outside the courtyard, crouched in the street: close enough that she could sense the trickle-currents of their xaser weapons.

  It took more nerve than expected to walk completely into the open, all her senses screaming danger, smiling at Ed as though nothing were wrong. Anguish clawed at his face.

  Invisible targeting beams from six different weapons moved across her skin, centred on the same target.

  Now.

  This was the moment.

  Both hands grabbed hold of Ed’s shirt as she spun, threw herself in a sacrifice move which hurled Ed to the dusty ground close to the flyer. Then she was continuing the roll, onto her feet - ‘Stay there!’ - and thrusting forward, into a sprint towards the nearest building.

  Coherent X-ray beams torc the ground apart behind her.

  But she was faster, diving through an open window, registering a glimpse of startled old-woman features, and then Ro was bursting through a wooden doorway and in a narrow stinking alleyway filled with broken crates and remains of rotting vegetables.

  Ro hurdled obstacles, brain on fire as she sensed but could not decipher the bursts of microwave communication among the armoured soldiers in the surrounding streets.

  Go right.

  The decision was instantaneous and a rusty brazier exploded - xaser beam - as she swerved, ran down a short alley towards an open half-door and launched herself headfirst over it. Ceiling-wall-floor whipped past her vision as she used an aikido roll then bounced off a doorway post and spun into a bigger room - fat man asleep on a couch with a hardcopy newspaper draped over his face - then a thrusting wu shu kick to smash open the next door and she was into the street.

  Startled faces looking in her direction - ignore - and a skeletal outline beyond the rooftops - there: a half-completed mag-lev station - and she had a place to aim for. There would be cover and few crowds - ‘¡Madre de Dios!’ as another beam cracked through the air - and Ro ran faster, in the open again, spotting soldiers ahead but then there was a turning to the right which she took knowing two men were standing here, but taking them by surprise at close quarters.

  Thai-style whipping elbow-strikes pummelled them, then she dropped and kicked from the ground, rupturing their knees with pentjak silat manoeuvres they could not see coming. Helmets muffled their screams as the soldiers fell and she jumped up and ran on.

  Sparks like fireflies glimmered in the air.

  Moving with her, keeping pace.

  Come and get me, motherfuckers.

  Stink of disinfectant, dirty window - in holodramas people leap through glass all the time but in real life shards would slice arteries and she had to find another route - there, a drainpipe, and she clambered up like a spider monkey while her growing cloud of sparkling lights followed her.

  Roar in the distance. One of the flyers, ascending.

  Shit.

  Red-clay tiles scattered beneath her feet as she ran and scrabbled across the roof, leaped across an alleyway - helmet’s mirror-visor looking up from below - and then she was on the next roof, slipping - ‘Shit!’ - on her left buttock as she slid down a slope then kicked off, a moment of freefall, and dropped to solid ground once more, rolling to break the fall then up on her feet and running.

  The big flyer would have xaser-gatling arrays and more. The situation was closing in fast and reaching the mag-lev station was no longer an option.

  Sparks like fireflies.

  Run.

  Dodging passers-by, rebounding from a group of shoppers, she saw a squad of soldiers spilling into the street ahead of her and she ran left, into a small shop filled with trinkets and a woman gasped and then Ro was through the storeroom at the rear and out into the alley where she collided with a big soldier twice her size.

  The man grabbed at her but Ro used a wing chun trap and triple punch to stagger him, slammed the edge of her hand into his collarbone, feeling the crack as she spun him into a judo knee-wheel and took him down. She would have escaped then but he was armed and could shoot a running figure so she followed him to the ground, took hold of his helmet and twisted into a neck-crank that was pure catch-as-catch-can grappling and he was out of it for good.

  All fighting styles become one in extremis, and Ro had studied every discipline.

  Lights in the air. A growing swarm of sparks.

  Soon, I’ll stop running.

  Moving fast now.

  When Ro judged the moment was right she broke into the open, to a wide square where people scattered as the big flyer slid overhead. Its roar pulsed down, pounding the air, drowning the panicked yells of fleeing citizens.

  Ro stood in a cruciform stance, arms outstretched, while all around her ten thousand sparks of light swirled and danced. Swarming. Ready to strike.

  Gatling arrays swung to target her.

  Now.

  She lowered her head as the sparks shot upwards.

  Sixty seconds later, Ro was walking down a deserted street while in the square behind her wreckage burned, belching black smoke over a gout of orange flames, and no-one was left alive to scream.

  The courtyard where she had abandoned Ed was just minutes away, and she knew the small flyer would still be there because she had already seen to that. Only Ro could remove the flight-control block she had induced as she threw Ed to what she hoped was a safe position. So they had a means of getting out of here.

  If the other big flyer, currently circling Nogales while firing out bursts of urgent communication, decided to pursue her and Ed ... well, it might find itself entering an electrical storm that was unexpected and more ferocious than anything its flight crew had ever seen.

  You will not kill me.

  Ro wiped her sweat-slick forehead, and her hand came away red.

  Not before the children are all safe.

  <>

  ~ * ~

  14

  NULAPEIRON AD 3423

  Tom sent a courier to Elva, so that she would come to the funeral. He wondered if Axolon was still melded to the wall, or if they had finished removing him.

  After a time, he asked a Palace servitrix to enquire about Lady V’Delikona. The young servitrix returned within minutes, curtsied, and told Tom that the Lady was in conference with High Lords of several sectors. Invitations were going out, throughout Nulapeiron; Corduven’s funeral was to be a major affair of state, a farewell to the most publicly heroic figure of the war.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tom, and dismissed the servitrix.

  I did that too easily, he thought a moment later, and considered calling her back to apologize. But it was too late.

  Have I removed any injustice at all from the world?

  Tom had played his part against the Blight. Perhaps that was enough ... unless the Anomaly truly was coming. Then it was all for nothing.

  A chime sounded, and a Palace Halberdier, weaponless, entered on Tom’s command. He bowed to Tom, and said: ‘I have a verbal invitation for you, sir, to visit the Palace barracks. It’s from an officer on secondment here, Lieutenant Gervicort. He presents his compliments.’

  This was the heart of Palace V’Delikona where he ought to be safe, but Tom did not trust such a message. ‘Is that all he said?’

  ‘If you asked, I was to say, remember when A’Khelikov apologized?’

  Tom thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘That’s Adam Gervicort, all right. Which way do we go? I’m ready now.’

  ‘If you’ll follow me, sir.’

  Adam had been a servitor in the Academy - formally, the Akademia dell’Guerro - and had startled Tom and Jay, Lord A’Khelikov, as they observed the training grounds. Jay’s glance had flickered over Adam as if he were an inanimate object, dismissing him not just as a threat but as a person. Afterwards, though, he had apologized, and clasped forearms with Adam as though Adam were an equal, not a servitor. It was the moment when Tom realized the Academy was not run like a normal realm.

  Since then, Adam Gervicort had obtained manumission, fought as a freedman and been decorated in the field, promoted to Brevet-Lieutenant in the midst of action.

  We should spend time with our friends, while we can.

  Tom followed the Halberdier through the main portal of the barracks. Tom’s intestines seemed to vibrate just for a moment before he was in the plain corridor: some kind of deepscan with a vengeance.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Should’ve warned you.’

  ‘That’s all right. Carry on.’

  They took a ramp downwards to the next level, where an echo of subdued yells and scuffling feet mixed with the scents of fear and striving upon the air. Tom smiled, breathing deeply. They were nearing a fight-gym of some kind; he felt at home.

  At the gym’s entrance, they slipped to the left where a hard bench was placed for the benefit of observers. Tom sat, turned his attention to the fight in progress ...

  Fate!

  ... and gave an astounded smile as he recognized the huge, black-skinned warrior in a carl’s plain tunic, crouched at the mat’s centre, tracking the seven Halberdiers with padded weapons who were circling him. One of them charged forward with a yell, but the warrior spun and lashed out a kick which dropped a different man: the more immediate danger, a Halberdier who had crept closer from the rear. Then the dark warrior ducked low, grabbed the legs of the charging, yelling Halberdier and straightened up, sending the Halberdier flying.

  ‘Kraiv,’ said Tom delightedly. ‘Kraiv, my friend.’

  The housecarl was all muscle and no fat, yet it was still a surprise to see a fighter of such bulk move so fast. The remaining Halberdiers were canny, using teamwork to attack simultaneously, but Kraiv was having none of it. He chopped down the biggest of their number with a scything kick to the thigh – He’ll be limping for a tenday, thought Tom - and banged a second Halberdier into a third, heads clashing. Immediately, Kraiv charged the remaining two attackers, taking the offensive, and hit them precisely at the same time. He stepped back as the bodies landed.

  A row of watching Halberdiers looked stunned. Then, to a man, they thumped their fists against their chests and yelled their appreciation for Kraiv’s skills. His fallen opponents, scattered around the mat, were trained fighters in their own right, not amateurs.

  You should see him with a morphblade in his hands.

  A narrow, hard-looking man was lowering himself onto the bench beside Tom.

  ‘Have I missed anything good?’

  ‘Adam! Adam, you old bastard.’

  ‘Good to see you, too, sir.’

  They clasped forearms, hard.

  ‘Sorry to hear about General d’Ovraison,’ Adam added. ‘We all admired him, but he was also your friend.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was Jay who deserved Adam’s sympathy, but Tom wondered whether he should mention it. Diplomatically, he said, ‘Funny that your message referred to Jay A’Khelikov. He’s been here, too.’

  ‘Um ... I think he knew the general quite well, Tom.’

  Tom smiled, to show that he understood what Adam meant, and that he, too, was aware of it.

  Then two massive ebony fists twisted Tom’s tunic and hauled him up to his feet, and he was hugged in an embrace he could not have escaped from.

  ‘Tom, my friend.’

  ‘Kraiv ... You can ... put me down ... now.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Gervicort.’ Kraiv’s voice rumbled, basso profundo, as he addressed Adam. ‘Old comrades are well met.’

  ‘Who are you calling old?’ said Adam, and grinned.

  They relaxed in the officers’ mess, swapping news. Adam and Kraiv had both attended the wedding, but there had been little time for Tom to catch up with either of them. Now, over indigoberry cordial (Kraiv and Tom) and Golden Angels (Adam), they talked about their friends and families. Kraiv’s wife, Draquelle, was happy at the Manse Hetreece, having returned there with their young son Homric after Tom’s and Elva’s wedding. Adam was less happy with his current posting, as an administrator on Lord Akezawa’s staff, which was perhaps why he tossed down the Golden Angels fast enough to make his eyes water. At some point he gestured to the cordial in Kraiv’s goblet and said: ‘Sure you won’t try a real drink?’

  ‘He follows the Way of Rikleth,’ Tom answered for him. ‘That means he’ll abstain.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Adam, but on the next round he switched to daistral, and drank it while it was still too hot for comfort.

  Kraiv smiled in approval.

  ‘You know how the Book of the Tri-Fold Path begins? Distrust every system, including this one.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tom. ‘I like that.’

  ‘I thought you would.’

  It was an hour later when a Halberdier came up to their table, bowed, and handed over a message crystal to Tom. ‘By civilian courier, sir. Sorry, we couldn’t allow him on the premises. No authorization.’

  ‘He’s been paid?’

  ‘In advance, sir, by Lady Corcorigan.’

  ‘Thank you, soldier.’

  Tom opened up the brief message, scanned it, shut the holo down. Then he picked up his drink, frowned, and replaced it on the table.

  ‘What is it, Tom?’ Kraiv’s voice deepened even further than usual. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘I don’t... think so. It’s from Elva. She’s arriving in the morning.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ said Adam.

  ‘Yes, but ... She’s picked up a travelling companion on the way, she says. And that’s all she says.’

  Adam looked at Kraiv, then grinned.

  ‘The Lady’s keeping you on your toes, is she, my Lord?’

  ‘I ... Go heisenberg yourself, Gervicort.’

  ‘What kind of bifurcatin’ language is that for an officer and a gentleman?’

  Kraiv shook his head sadly, and took a surprisingly delicate sip of his cordial. Tom and Adam burst into laughter, which only slowly faded.

  Corduven. If only you could be here, too.

  Then Tom raised his goblet. ‘To missing friends.’

  Kraiv and Adam clinked their goblets against his, and all three drank the toast in unison.

  Next morning, Tom was there to meet Elva’s blue arachnargos as it danced on slender tendrils to a docking platform, lowered its thorax all the way to the ground, and opened an exit. Elva stepped straight down onto the flagstones. The luggage drone floated past her and alighted, as the arachnargos reared up once more.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ said Tom, then shook his head. ‘That sounds soppy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’ll do.’ Elva reached out her arms. ‘Hug me, for Fate’s sake.’

  Tom did, and kissed her, too.

  Then he finally had to ask: ‘So this ... companion ... that you mentioned. Where are they?’

  ‘She should be coming’ - Elva turned and pointed - ‘round about now. See?’

  A stub-winged grey lev-car came hurtling at a dangerous angle past a tall natural pillar in the cavern system, straightened up, then flew directly towards the platform.

  ‘Um ... Perhaps we should get out of the—’

  Before Tom could finish speaking, the lev-car had twisted to one side, hovered, and dropped down to a silent landing beside them. The bubble-membrane liquefied, and a short, lean figure wearing a soft blue beret strode down onto the wing, and jumped lightly to the ground.

  ‘Hello, there,’ she said brightly. ‘You must be Tom.’

  ‘This’ - Elva was smiling - ‘is the Lady Renata of Realm Shinkenar. You know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, er ...’ Tom looked from Elva to the stranger. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Well, I am Avernon’s sister,’ said Lady Renata. ‘I presume the little blighter at least mentioned my existence.’

  ‘Oh ... Well met, my Lady.’

  Tom had been about to bow, but Renata strode forward and clasped his forearm with a surprisingly strong grip, as peers and comrades would.

  ‘You’re a climber, I hear.’ Her voice sounded approving. ‘I clamber about a bit myself.’

  ‘I can believe that.’

  Renata grinned. ‘Avernon said you weren’t much of a one for noble manners.’

  In her family, that was obviously a compliment.