“He’s Abask. All the Abasks were taken to Brigant after the last war.”
“He lives in Calidor. He’s a servant to Prince Thelonius. He’s not a spy. He’s with me. We’re traveling to Calidor.”
The interrogator walked to the table and picked up a large metal hook.
“What are you doing?” Edyon’s voice rose to squeaking pitch. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Please! I’m sorry if I was rude. But I’m telling the truth. Do you think we’d have such a bad story if we were spies?”
“You’ve come from the Brigantine camp.”
“We came from Goldminster. We got the route wrong.”
“I thought you’d only just come across the border from Brigant? That’s what you told the guard on the gate.”
“I . . . I . . .” Edyon couldn’t think clearly, his lies tangling together around the point of the metal hook as the interrogator took a step toward March.
“Stop! Just stop, please! We . . . we were lost. We . . .”
Your future has many paths. You must make a choice. And thievery is not always the wrong one. But you must be honest.
Madame Eruth’s words now came back to him clearly, and he knew he had to tell the truth.
“We came from Dornan, from the fair. There was a fight. I . . . I hurt someone. We were trying to get to Rossarb, but they were following us, so we went onto the Northern Plateau. That’s where we were coming from when the guards caught us.”
“The only people who go into the Northern Plateau are demon hunters. You doing a bit of demon hunting on the side?”
Edyon almost laughed, but he knew he would sound hysterical. “Do I look like I hunt demons?”
“You’re just a spy then.”
“I’m not a spy. Please listen to me. Please!”
The scarred man shook his head and placed the point of the hook against the skin under March’s arm.
“No! No! Stop!” Edyon screamed, lunging forward, but he was pulled back by two guards.
March’s eyes fluttered open and he aimed a feeble kick at the interrogator, but there was no strength in it. The interrogator pressed down on the hook, and a tiny spot of blood beaded out against March’s skin. Edyon’s stomach turned and he thought he might be sick.
You must be honest . . .
“I’m the son of Prince Thelonius of Calidor,” Edyon found himself saying. “This man is helping me get back to my father. If you hurt him again, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” The man turned; the disdain in his voice silenced Edyon. “So now you’re from Calidor too? Not from Pitoria?”
And the interrogator turned back to March and sank the hook into his chest.
March howled.
“Stop it!” screamed Edyon. “I am the prince’s son! There were demon hunters on the Northern Plateau. They took my proof—the prince’s ring. I had it on a chain but they stole it, Gravell and the girl, they stole it.”
The room fell suddenly silent, apart from March’s low agonized moans. The interrogator’s face was calm. He appeared at last to be listening, to be believing.
“A ring . . . on a chain?”
“Yes,” said Edyon. “A gold seal. An eagle with a green emerald. Please. That is the truth. It’s the seal of Calidor. I am Prince Thelonius’s son.”
The interrogator turned to Edyon’s guards, his face still giving nothing away. “Take these two back to the cells. Find the men who arrested the demon hunters and bring them to me.”
“Gravell and the girl?” Edyon could hardly believe it. “They’re in here?”
But the man’s only reply was to throw the hook across the room so that it clattered to the floor.
MARCH
ROSSARB, PITORIA
IT WAS so dark and cold, but Edyon’s voice was soothing him and Edyon’s hand was holding his. March’s head was in Edyon’s lap, and he could tell Edyon was crying. His mouth was parched and he couldn’t move without making the pain worse. He was tired, so tired, but couldn’t sleep. He knew there was no hope. He could feel his life ebbing away.
At first he just wanted it to be over, to hurry up and die. But then he remembered all the lies he’d told Edyon. It was his fault that Edyon was here, in this dungeon, with these men and their fists and their boots and their hooks. If it wasn’t for him, Edyon would be on a ship now, on his way back to Calidor and the life of a prince. He needed to tell Edyon, to explain what he’d done and why. Maybe Edyon would forgive him. He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry. He didn’t have the strength. All he could manage was, “I’m sorry.”
Edyon told him not to be sorry and he talked about the journey they’d make together when they were released. He said something about a crossroads and how they’d soon be on the way to Calidor, and how when they were there they’d be warm and well fed and lying on feather beds. They’d travel through Calidor together, seeing the whole country, and Edyon would meet his father, the prince, and do his best to be honest and not so cowardly, and March was angry at that so he forced more words out, not caring that they hurt.
“You’re not a coward.”
His voice was so wrecked he hardly made sense, but Edyon said, “You’re the brave one.”
And then Edyon carried on with his story. How they’d go to Abask and stay in the mountains there, and March would show Edyon all the places from his childhood. And March tried to remember them, but they were just fractured images of mountains and sky. But then he saw his brother, Julien, there and he felt relieved.
He was going home at last.
TASH
ROSSARB, PITORIA
TASH HAD been sitting in a cell for two days.
After all the years of avoiding sheriff’s men, it was soldiers that had got them. Tash felt there was something wrong as soon as she saw the checkpoint at the gate. There were never any checks in Rossarb; it was a tiny place, with a few bored soldiers normally. But now it seemed to have half the Pitorian army within its walls, and by the time they’d realized that, it was too late. The soldiers had stopped them, found the demon smoke, and that was that.
Gravell had tried to fight, but there’d been too many of them, even for him. Tash had tried to run, but the soldiers had been too close. One had grabbed her by her dreadlocks and pulled her back so hard she thought her head would come off. And, while her head had stayed on, the purse containing Edyon’s gold chain had fallen out. The soldiers had taken the smoke and the chain and dragged Gravell off somewhere. Then she’d been thrown into the cell with a load of other women who were in for theft or prostitution, Tash guessed. The cell stank. There was a bucket for pissing in that hadn’t been emptied for a day.
“So why are you here, sweetheart?” another prisoner called Nessa asked.
“For being stupid.”
“Well, ain’t that the truth all over?” Nessa replied.
“Why are there so many soldiers in Rossarb?” Tash asked. “The place is full of them.”
“To fight, of course. Haven’t you seen ’em? There’s a whole army of Brigantines just over the river.”
“I didn’t come that way.”
“Ahh. You came the cold way, was it?” Nessa laughed. “The high way? I recognize you now. You’re with that demon hunter, Gravell.”
“Might be.”
“I remember him. Lousy tipper. They got him too then?”
Tash didn’t reply.
“Shame. Nice fella, really. Lashes and a year’s hard labor for possession of demon smoke; the gallows for demon hunters.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Well, if we get lucky, the Brigantines’ll take the castle and let us all out.”
“Can’t see that happening.”
“Nor me, luv, nor me. But we live in hope. Got nothing else.”
At that the cell door was unlocked and the jailer shouted, “Get up and get ready to move! All of you! You’ve got new accommodation.”
The women gave a mix of cheering and mocking comments about moving to the inn or the soldiers’ barracks.
The man replied, “You’re not far wrong. You’re going to a nice room in the cellar of the barracks. These fine lodgings here is reserved for enemy soldiers.”
“Is there ale in the cellar?”