“Not so little after all!” said Petronio as he aimed a savage kick with his free leg, connecting with a part of the soldier that caused him to double up in further agony and begin piteously mewing like a kitten. The arm let go and Petronio began pounding down the stairs. The soldier he’d first spotted wasn’t far away. Petronio was in serious danger. Maybe he should have snatched up the man’s weapon, but he didn’t know how it to use it. As far as he was concerned, it was a lump of strange glass that would slow him down.

A few seconds later, he reached the bottom of the stairs with four archways heading in different directions. He peered right, just in time to see the second soldier only yards away, pointing his transparent weapon.

By now, Petronio had figured out that whatever came out of the glass would be fast and lethal. He heard a second, almost silent swoosh and ducked. Part of the archway collapsed, showering him with splinters. Petronio turned and fled, hoping to find refuge among the parasite ferns that covered the route he’d used to get here. He might not be wearing camouflage, but given enough greenery, maybe he stood a chance.

He wished he could stop and talk some sense into the soldiers, tell them that without him, Fenestra would be nowhere. But it was too late for words. Projectiles whizzed past his head like demented swallows. Petronio dived for the first patch of ferns, rolling as he landed in the soft clump. The branchway was wide enough to support a whole colony of these annoying plants. For once, Petronio was glad of Council ineptitude. He crawled left, then right, squeezing his way like a scaffield mole deeper into the foliage.

There were spies here, too: sudden strands of nettles hidden until it was too late. Petronio tried to ignore their attacks. Better a few stings than sudden death. Petronio paused to catch his breath. He touched his stinging ear and his hand came away red. Maybe the ferns would disguise the smell. Otherwise, the ravens would be on him like maggots to a rotting corpse. This was not turning out to be a good day. Fenestra had told him he had done his part. He should have listened.

He picked up the sound of the soldier angrily kicking at the ferns.

“Where are you, you piece of foreign muck? One of my best men’s down and I’m not gonna let you get away with it!”

Petronio felt righteous anger. Who was the foreigner here? Doubts about Fenestra and her promises to Grasp began creeping into his mind. With soldiers like these in her employ, maybe she’d simply massacre every living Dendran? Once they’d given her what she wanted, what use were they?