the vaults using two laundry paddles but that was closer than she ever wanted to get to the thing again. The memory of its violet light tingled along her bones. The others couldn’t feel it the same way she did, but a sense of unease set in at around ten yards, becoming terror at three, and madness much closer than that.
Nona could feel Ara’s anger vibrating along their thread-bond but she kept a tight hold on the channel and refused to open a discussion. Ruli had said they gave Ara black-skin armour and an Ark-steel sword. Abbess’s orders. Ara was a Jotsis after all, even if a nun was supposed to have no family. Nona took comfort in that. Ara would survive. There would be time for recrimination and apology if Nona also lived to see the week out. And if not, perhaps the thread-bond might offer a last moment for honesty; to say that their friendship had always been too precious for Nona to risk with the admission that she wanted more.
‘I’ve never even seen a Scithrowl,’ Sister Oak muttered into a pause between verses. She was marching between Nona and Kettle and looked as if she would much rather be watching over Red Class. Nona doubted Oak had held a sword since she had taken holy orders over twenty years before.
‘Don’t worry, Sister Oak, Sister Cage has seen hundreds and lived to tell the tale.’ Kettle grinned across at Nona.
‘I have.’ Nona didn’t mention that she’d had Zole with her all the while and that they’d spent the whole time running away or hiding.
At the top of the Vinery Stair Nona turned to see if Sister Pan had given up or fallen behind yet.
‘Holy Ancestor!’ Nona stopped dead.
‘What?’ Ruli and Alata turned with her.
Sister Pan was sitting on the barrel cart with one arm resting on the shipheart’s casket, apparently untroubled.
‘Keep it moving!’ Sister Rock and Sister Scar scowled back at them. Ruli and Alata turned, pushing an amazed Nona onwards.
The plateau’s arms formed an alcove where the convent vineyard was able to catch the sun while sheltering from the wind. The Vinery Stair wound a gentle gradient high above rows of grape vines offering a limited view to the south. Having lost three-quarters of its elevation the track rounded the northern arm of the alcove and suddenly the destruction at their doorstep was revealed. Farmhouses, upon which Nona had rested her eyes countless times across the years, now vomited flame towards the sky. Others were now nothing more than charred patches of ground, trailing smoke. She hurried to join Ketti near the front of the nuns, astonished at how quickly the destruction had been wrought, and within sight of both the convent and the city walls.
Abbess Wheel’s song halted abruptly at the scene and silence reigned while they rounded the last turn that brought them to the turnpike gate near the end of the track. Ahead of Nona the abbess turned the corner and stopped in her tracks. Nona found herself pressed against Wheel’s back and struggling to prevent the nuns behind from knocking them both flat. A Scithrowl war band was advancing in the opposite direction, a dozen foot soldiers in chainmail vests, padded armour on their arms and legs, stained with soot and blood. They came in three ranks of four, the first row shouldering long spears, the next with greatswords at their backs and shorter blades on both hips. Behind them four archers. A skirmish band out to kill and burn. No doubt Adoma sought to goad the emperor’s forces to leave the city and protect his peasants. Crucical would of course allow no such thing. On open ground the Scithrowl numbers would make a slaughter of his soldiers.
Where every other sister paused, Sisters Tallow and Iron, who had been flanking the abbess, kept walking. They drew steel from their scabbards, fast enough to make it sing. Two of the Scithrowl first rank, startled by the unexpected encounter, were too slow to lower their spears. The nuns wove past the thrusts of the other two spearmen. A heartbeat later they were among the foe, three Scithrowl collapsing behind them while a fourth tumbled from the outer edge of the track. The soldiers with greatswords reached for shorter blades and died before taking a swing. Two of the archers managed to run. Tallow and Iron both took up spears from the fallen. Tallow hefted her weapon, taking a moment to appreciate its balance and weight,