‘Simple, really,’ said Ilkar. ‘We’re landing in about an hour, I think. We’ll find a place to stay tonight and while you lot take a look at the sights, Ren and I’ll hire a boat to take us upriver tomorrow. ’
‘And you’re quite sure your village is the place to start looking for these mages of yours?’ The Unknown was frowning.
‘It’s as good a place as any. We used to send a lot of adepts to Julatsa at one time and there’ll be people there who are sympathetic and, more important, who will know where to look for more. Just hanging up a sign here won’t get us far. But of course I have personal reasons for wanting to go there, I’m sure you’ll understand. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’
‘The Raven never work apart,’ said Hirad.
Ilkar smiled. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘And flame-resistant,’ said The Unknown.
The east gates of Xetesk opened and the massed ranks of refugees stood, their movement an expanding ripple across a human sea. Ten thousand and more with hope renewed that this time food and not soldiers would be disgorged.
From where Avesh stood on a patch of churned mud with everything he loved and everything he owned, he couldn’t see the base of the gates. Couldn’t see what or who came out, but he could rely on the mood of the crowd to give him the information he needed.
He pulled his wife and young son to him, their bony frames pressed against his, and stepped away from their pile of filthy blankets and scant possessions. How they hadn’t died of cold, starvation or disease through the winter, having lost their farm to the storms, he would never know. But they had been spared and that was all he cared about.
The family all knew the drill. If it was food they would split up and run because if you were slow you got nothing. But if you were lucky, you got three shares. At first Avesh had been against that but he’d been forced to harden his heart as the death toll from illness and hunger rose daily. Rather them than his family.
And now, with spring coming to ease the chill and the first colours of new life pushing through the thawed earth, it looked like their persistence might actually pay off. Though they were all haggard and thin they were still alive. Today, Avesh was daring to believe they would live to rebuild their lives.
The noise built around them. Those with the strength made ready to run or swallow their disappointment. But something was different. Avesh caught it in the air just before he heard the shouts. A cry of surprise. Another of indignant outrage.
He watched for a few moments, feeling the unease whiplash through the throng. His first instinct had been to move forward but he held his ground, his heart querulous. He bit his lip and stood on tiptoe.
‘Atyo, hop up on my shoulders. Let’s look see.’ The scrawny lad scrambled up. ‘What can you see?’
‘Soldiers,’ he said. ‘And riders. Lots.’
‘Coming along the path?’
They’d seen this a dozen times but the mood of the crowd suggested something new.
‘No, all over. Everyone’s moving.’
And now Avesh could see it. The move forward had faltered, was already reversing. The noise of countless scared people was growing to a crescendo shot through with the harsh shouts of soldiers carrying on the breeze.
The boy climbed down and looked up into his father’s eyes.
‘What will we do?’
‘Give me a moment, son,’ said Avesh.
The crowd was rippling again. No, not a ripple, a wave heading outwards away from the gates.
‘Gods falling,’ he breathed. He gripped Atyo and Ellin, turning them both to him. ‘They’re trying to clear the camp, the bastards. If we get separated, we’ll meet back at the crossing of the River Dord to the north. Can you both find that?’
‘Why would we be separated?’ asked Ellin.
He didn’t have to answer her. The wave hit them instead. He grabbed them each by a hand.
‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’
The press was thickening but Ellin hesitated.
‘Our things.’
‘Leave them. Come on.’
Avesh could feel the surge through the ground now. A drumming like a thousand hoof beats. But this stampede was human. He swung them both around, stumbling against somebody who rushed past. He caught the briefest glimpse of an ashen face before it was lost in the throng.