The man scowled. ‘Aragan. And here I am only days away from a new posting ...’

‘And that doesn’t have to change, with a little co-operation.’

‘I’ve just done the rounds – everything’s quiet, as far as I can tell. Mind you, that doesn’t mean a thing, does it?’

Minala glanced pointedly up at the pennant flapping from the weathervane above the Hold. ‘And your official guest? No bodyguards?’

Captain Aragan grinned. ‘Oh, the Empress, you mean.’ Something in his tone hinted at great amusement. ‘She’s not aged well, has she?’

Inky blackness billowed in the courtyard. Minala shouted a warning even as the crossbow bucked in her hands. A voice shouted in pain.

Kalam straight-armed the captain, sending him sprawling to one side, then spun, knife flashing in his hand.

Four Hands of the Claw had appeared – twenty killers were converging on them. Throwing stars hissed through the darkness. Minala cried out, the crossbow flying from her grip as she staggered back. A bucking wave of sorcery rolled over the cobbles – and vanished.

Shadows swirled in the midst of the Hands, adding to the confusion. When something huge and ungainly stepped into view, Kalam’s eyes widened with recognition. Apt! The demon lashed out. Bodies flew in all directions. The Hand most distant turned as one to meet this new threat. A rock-sized object flew towards them. The five hunters scattered – but too late, as the sharper struck the flagstones.

The explosion sent shards of iron scything through them.

A lone hunter closed with Kalam. Two thin-bladed knives darted forward in a blur. One struck the assassin in his right shoulder, the other missed his face by inches. Kalam’s knife fell from nerveless fingers and he reeled back. The hunter leapt at him.

The sack of cloth-tacks intercepted the path of the man’s head with a sickening crunch. The hunter dropped to writhe on the ground.

Another sharper detonated nearby. More screams rang through the courtyard.

Hands gripped Kalam’s tattered apron, dragged him into the shadows. The assassin weakly struggled. ‘Minala!’

A familiar voice whispered close to him. ‘We’ve got her – and Crokus has the stallion—’

Kalam blinked. ‘Sorry?’

‘It’s Apsalar these days, Corporal.’

The shadows closed on all sides. Sounds faded.

‘You’re full of holes,’ Apsalar observed. ‘Busy night, I take it.’

He grunted as the knife was slowly withdrawn from his shoulder, and he felt the blood welling in the blade’s wake. A face leaned into his view, a grey-streaked red snarl of beard, a battered soldier’s visage that now grinned.

‘Hood’s breath!’ Kalam muttered. ‘That’s a damned ugly face you’ve got there, Fid.’

The grin broadened. ‘Funny,’ Fiddler said, ‘I was just thinking the same – and that’s what I don’t get, what with you finding this flash lady for company—’

‘Her wounds—’

‘Minor,’ Apsalar said from close by.

‘Did you get her?’ Fiddler asked. ‘Did you kill the Empress?’