She didn't look strong. She looked skinny and ragged, bony face smeared with soot and grease. West could have taken her for a boy. 'I'm sorry, Pike, but it's no easy ride where we're going.'

She grabbed hold of West's arm as he turned away. 'It's no easy ride here.' Her voice was a surprise. Soft, smooth, educated. 'Cathil is my name. I can work.' West looked down at her, ready to shake his arm free, but her expression reminded him of something. Painless. Fearless. Empty eyes, flat, like a corpse.

Ardee. Blood smeared across her cheek.

West grimaced. The memory was like a wound that wouldn't heal. The heat was unbearable, every part of him was twitching with discomfort, his uniform like sandpaper against his clammy skin. He had to get out of this horrible place.

He looked away, his eyes stinging. 'Her too,' he barked.

Lorsen snorted. 'Are you joking, Colonel?'

'Believe me, I'm not in a joking mood.'

'Skilled men is one thing. I daresay you need them, but I cannot allow you to simply take whatever prisoners catch your eye—'

West turned on him with a snarl, his patience worn right through. 'Her too, I said!'

If the commandant was impressed by West's fury, he didn't show it. They stood there for a long moment, staring at each other, while the sweat ran down West's face and the blood pounded loud in his temples.

Then Lorsen nodded slowly. 'Her too. Very well. I cannot stop you.' He leaned in a little closer. 'But the Arch Lector will hear about this. He is far away, and it might take time for him to hear, but hear he will.' Even closer yet, almost whispering in West's ear. 'Perhaps one day you will find yourself visiting us again, but this time to stay. Perhaps, in the meantime, you should prepare your little lecture on the rights and wrongs of penal colonies. There'll be plenty of time for it.' Lorsen turned away. 'Now take my prisoners and go. I have a letter to write.'

Rain

Rain

« ^ »

Jezal had always found a good storm a thorough amusement. Raindrops lashing at the streets, and walls, and roofs of the Agriont, hissing from the gutters. Something to be smiled out at through the wet window while one sat, warm and dry in one's quarters. Something that took the young ladies in the park by surprise and made them squeal, sticking their dresses excitingly to their clammy skin. Something to be dashed through, laughing with one's friends, as one made one's way from tavern to tavern, before drying out before a roaring fire with a mug of hot spiced wine. Jezal used to enjoy the rain almost as much as the sun.

But that was before.