‘No!’
Gathering the last of what she had, Noon cupped her hands and pulled them apart, drawing the energy that stormed inside her into a maelstrom of green fire. It boiled in front of her, tongues of flame licking and flickering, growing bigger and bigger – the largest fireball she had ever attempted. She could feel the confines of it growing weaker as her control of it lessened. The muscles in her arms singing with the effort, she shoved the ball of fire out, throwing it across the roof towards Agent Lin.
It was better than her first attempt, and it exploded with an impressive roar, but it was too large with too little winnowfire energy within it. Agent Lin twisted her body away, her head down as she pulled up her cloak to cover herself – too late, Noon saw that it was made of heavy treated leather and it shone in the light – and the fire passed over her, as harmless as a blustery shower.
When she straightened up, the Winnowry agent was pin-wheeling her arms, faster and faster. Noon had a moment to wonder what she was doing when she saw the circles of green fire growing around the woman, bands of lethal flame. And then another figure appeared behind her, stumbling out of the dark, a long straight sword raised over his head.
Agent Lin must have seen something in Noon’s face, or perhaps it was the simple tilt of her head, because the woman spun round and released one of the rings of fire towards Tormalin. It curled across the roof, licking sparks off the metal plates, and Tor was forced to jump out of its way, shouting with alarm and falling to his knees.
The second ring was for her. Noon staggered back, perilously close to the edge of the roof, and still she felt the heat crisping her clothes as it passed. She stumbled, falling onto her backside, and before she could get back up, Agent Lin was approaching, her hands full of fiery daggers again. As she spoke, she threw them. They landed to either side of the cowering Noon.
‘I honestly don’t know, Fell-Noon, whether I should kill you or not. I would like to, I would like to very much, but I suspect what they have waiting for you at home will be even worse.’
‘Kill me, then. Because I’ll kill you, first chance I get.’
The woman stood over her now. Her softly curling grey hair was in disarray and there was a smudge of blood on her chin. Agent Lin raised her hand, summoning a long shard of brightly shining fire. Noon could already imagine how it would feel, plunged through her chest.
‘Oh, well. If you insist.’
Agent Lin formed a fist, and a white ghost fell on her from above. It was Fulcor, her fur brilliant under the moonlight and her leathery wings filling the whole world. Noon heard Lin give a startled shout, and then the woman was gone, knocked from the side of the roof onto the dirt below.
‘Fulcor?’
The bat rose up into the night, followed by a barrage of fireballs. Noon got to her feet to find Tormalin next to her, taking her arm.
‘Quick, while that fiery lunatic is distracted. We have to get out of here.’
They ran to a ladder at the edge of the roof and descended into chaos. The passengers were crowded at the edge of the line, while Agent Lin fired knives of fire at the rapidly retreating shape of Fulcor. Vintage appeared out of the crowd; part of her coat was smoking and singed, but otherwise she appeared to be unharmed. The far carriage, the one containing all of Vintage’s supplies and the artefacts she hoped to trade with Esiah Godwort, was fully aflame, burning so brightly that Noon had to shield her eyes from it. Other parts of the winnowline looked like they would be in a similar situation shortly.
‘Run, my dear, before she—’
Agent Lin screamed, a noise of combined rage and triumph, and an entire wall of green fire swept towards them. Noon saw it engulf a man and woman who didn’t move out of the way fast enough, and in the next instant they were screaming horrors – the woman’s hair flew up like a taper, and she saw the man press his fingers to a face that was already melting.
It burns so hot, thought Noon faintly. Winnowfire burns so hot—
Tormalin was barrelling her to the edge of the path and suddenly they were half falling, half scrambling down a steep incline, Vintage hot on their heels. The sky above their heads was rent with green fire, but the woods ahead of them were dark and thick. They ran between the trees, quickly losing themselves in the dark, and Noon thought she’d never been less afraid of the Wild.
23
My dearest Nanthema,
I’m hoping this letter reaches you safely and that, indeed, you yourself are safe. I am writing to you from the Goddestra Delta, where we arranged to meet, and I have been here now for the entire Fallen Moon festival. I have even made some discreet inquiries and listened very carefully to all the port gossip, but there has been no mention of an Eboran in these parts, and, as you can imagine, I’m sure it would have been remarked upon. I do hope you are safe.
I tell myself that I can’t imagine what could have kept you from our long-awaited meeting, except, of course, that I am imagining everything – bandits on the road, a sudden illness (no, I will not name it here), a landslide, bad weather, or perhaps you took a shortcut through the Wild. You’ve probably been delayed by something terribly prosaic, and, of course, I shall wait. I have rooms at the Salted Anchor Inn and I have enough money to keep me here until the next moon (I have already written to my father asking for further funds. I concocted some story about college accommodation being pricier than expected. He will never question it).
I have sent this letter to the last address I have for you at Jarlsbad. It’s likely that you’ll never receive it, and tomorrow morning I’ll spot you jumping up from the jetty, your face bright with adventure, but if not, then I hope these words find you well.
All my love, V.
Copy of a private letter from the records of Lady Vincenza ‘Vintage’ de Grazon
‘The dream you had—’
The fell-witch turned and glanced at Tormalin, before pulling her hat down further over her ears. The sun was a pale disc just above the treeline, watery and cold, and there was a chill mist between the trees. They had been walking through the night, moving steadily away from the winnowline. When Tor looked back behind them, he could still see a dense cloud of black smoke above the distant treeline. It made him uneasy.
‘What about it?’
‘You said you’d had the same dream as Lucky Ainsel. What did you make of it?’
Vintage was some way ahead of them, crashing through the undergrowth. She was, of the three of them, the most familiar with travelling through the Wild and had demanded that she scout ahead, but in truth, the scholar was in a foul mood. Noon was hanging back, much of the colour vanished from her cheeks, and there were dark circles around her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
‘I knew I was in danger. I knew I had to get out of that death-trap.’