As the Ra’magulsha and her crew limped into harbour at Stromgard, Lann peered out at the place through the small porthole set in the cabin wall. He was struck by the sheer number of ships approaching and leaving the port, unloading or loading their holds with goods before setting off to sea again. And behind the bustling port rose the city of Stromgard itself: a vast, sprawling place that had expanded and grown over the years to become what it was today. He mused how he’d thought the port of Muslvik to be large. In comparison to the capital, it was little more than a village.

Lann was glad to get off the ship. The crew treated the pair with an equal measure of fear and distrust, and while the remainder of the journey had been uneventful, it was clear they were keen to get the witch and her nephew off the vessel as soon as possible.

The pair’s travel sacks were unceremoniously thrown out over the bulwarks on to the wooden planks of the quayside before the ship itself had been fully brought to a halt and secured. Having paid Fariz, Fleya and Lann walked along the gangway and off the ship, feeling the eyes of each and every sailor at their backs.

The pair were soon in the heart of the city, walking up streets lined on each side with dwellings built close enough that they almost touched. They were squarer than any dwellings Lann had come across before, not like the oval or ship-shaped Volken houses he was used to.

Although the day was cool, Lann noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his aunt’s forehead. Despite his ministrations on board the ship, it was evident Fleya was still weak.

‘Do you need to rest?’ he asked her when she paused at the base of a set of steps. ‘We could find an inn and—’

‘No. There is no time for that, Lannigon. Terrible things are already afoot in this place, and I fear we might be too late to stop them.’

Coming to the top of the steps, the pair found themselves looking at a small tree-lined square where a few traders were selling food to passers-by. The smell of the fish cooking on grills made Lann’s mouth water and he realised they had not eaten in some time. The place was busy. People gathered to talk or sit at the small tables outside, some of them playing a game that involved moving stone pieces around on a square wooden board. At the centre of the space was a small fountain, and Lann, as thirsty as he was hungry, hurried towards it. Putting his head into the flowing water, he drank greedily from it. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted. His thirst slaked, he turned and saw his aunt standing beside him, her expression thoughtful.

‘What is it?’ he asked.