Witchsign. Den Patrick

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      ‘Just because I can’t read doesn’t make me a half-wit,’ said Steiner through gritted teeth.

      ‘If they are pirates they’re not trying very hard,’ said Marek. ‘Perhaps they stopped in for repairs,’ he added, before turning to walk back up the hill.

      ‘What do you think it is?’ Steiner called after him. The frigate’s arrival would be the talk of the town for weeks to come.

      ‘I don’t know.’ Marek frowned and cleared his throat, as if it troubled him. Kjellrunn stopped and looked over her shoulder. There was a faraway look in her eye, as if she could see something Steiner could not. It was the same look she had after she’d been in the woods, or when she spoke of folk tales.

      ‘No good will come of it,’ she said, ‘whatever it is.’ Her words were as cold and grey as the skies overhead. Steiner struggled to suppress a shiver as she turned her eyes on him. There was something not right in his sister, nothing he could put a name to, yet he feared they would find out what it was all too soon.

      ‘Hoy there, Steiner.’ Kristofine stood outside the tavern’s doorway with a playful smile, arms folded across her chest. She was of a similar age to the blacksmith’s son, always top of the class and always polite to her teachers, though their school days had ended two years previously.

      The meagre daylight had dimmed and a stillness had descended on the bay, as if the four winds themselves held their breath in anticipation.

      ‘Hoy there,’ said Steiner. ‘Working tonight?’

      ‘And every night, my curse for having a father who owns a tavern.’

      ‘Is my uncle here?’

      Kristofine nodded. ‘Was it only your uncle who you came to see?’

      Steiner shrugged. ‘Well, you never know who you might run into at a place like this.’

      They smiled at each other and Steiner wondered what to say next. Kristofine watched him for a moment and looked away.

      ‘What’s got you hanging around the doorstep on a cold night like this?’

      Kristofine nodded to the bay, where the ship’s lanterns looked like stars fallen to the sea. ‘Our new friend there, not that you can really see it now.’

      ‘What news?’ asked Steiner.

      ‘The worst kind,’ she replied. ‘It seems the ship brought a score of soldiers ashore. They’re staying at the Smouldering Standard, booked out every room.’

      ‘Imperial soldiers?’

      ‘It has to be the Synod,’ said Kristofine. ‘Though they’re late this year.’

      ‘An Invigilation then?’ said Steiner, thinking of Kjellrunn. This would be the last year she’d have to face it, but the fact offered small comfort. ‘You going to let me in before I die of cold?’ he asked, forcing a smile.

      ‘Maybe I’ll charge you a kiss to step over the threshold.’ She cocked her head to one side and Steiner wondered at this new-found playfulness. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed her. Everyone in Cinderfell had noticed Kristofine.

      ‘A kiss is about all I’ve got,’ he replied.

      ‘Then how will you pay for the beer?’

      Steiner rattled the coins in his pocket. ‘Maybe I have more than just kisses.’

      Kristofine pushed back against the door and Steiner felt the faint sting of disappointment as he realized there’d be no kiss after all.

      The tavern was full of old salts, fresh-faced youngsters and all ages in between. Bright lanterns hung from the beams and the smells of stale beer and pipe smoke teased Steiner’s senses, not unkindly.

      ‘He’s over here,’ said Kristofine, beckoning to him. They emerged through a knot of fishermen to find his Uncle Verner sitting alone in a corner, away from the hustle of the main bar.

      ‘Hoy there, young Steiner!’ Verner had his boots up on the table and was cleaning his nails with a short knife. He was a blond man with a face lined deep by wind and rain, and he wore his beard short, unlike many of the Cinderfell men.

      ‘The wanderer returns,’ replied Steiner.

      ‘You going to sit down or fall down? You look shattered. Isn’t Marek feeding you?’

      ‘Money is tight, there’s not much food. You know how it is.’

      Verner rose from his seat and caught him in a rough embrace. ‘Kristofine, a beer for my nephew and a bowl of stew with some bread to go with it. We need to get some meat on these bones.’

      Kristofine paused to look Steiner over. ‘That we do.’ She slipped away through the crowd, Steiner’s eyes searching for her even as she was lost from view.

      ‘Frøya’s tits!’ said Verner. ‘I’m out of town for a week and you’re all but courting Kristofine there. Not that I blame you.’

      ‘Keep your voice down. We’re not courting,’ said Steiner. He leaned in closer. ‘We’ve missed you, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?’

      ‘Ah, it was nothing.’ Verner took a sip from his tankard. ‘Nothing important. I just took some smoked fish to market in Helwick.’

      ‘Helwick? The local market not good enough for you any more?’

      Verner smiled but said nothing. The chance to ask further questions slipped away as Kristofine arrived at the table with a battered wooden tray bearing equally battered tankards.

      ‘Thanks,’ said Steiner.

      ‘Your stew will be over shortly.’ And then she was gone again.

      ‘You look like you’ve all the world on your shoulders,’ said Verner.

      ‘Just worried about Kjellrunn is all. There’ll be an Invigilation any day now. I know she doesn’t have any of the arcane about her, but the way she talks about goddesses and portents … It makes people uneasy.’ Steiner stared into his tankard. ‘It makes me uneasy.’

      ‘Be nice if they could let us alone for just one year,’ said Verner, voice close to a growl. ‘It’s not as if Nordvlast is part of the Empire, is it?’

      ‘And when has that stopped them?’

      The Synod scoured every town and village on the continent of Vinterkveld, and even the neighbouring Scorched Republics were not spared: Svingettevei, Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Nordvlast all acquiesced, yet all resented surrendering their children to the belligerent Empire.

      ‘Why do we let them come here?’ said Steiner. ‘Why do we let them take our children year after year? Couldn’t we stand up to them? I’ve asked Marek but he refuses to speak of it. I’m a man now, don’t I deserve a few straight answers?’

      ‘Straight answers, is it?’ said Verner. ‘The Scorched Republics may not СКАЧАТЬ