‘We’ll see about that,’ Krelis said. He grabbed a torch from a warrior behind him and hurled it over the wall. It spiralled through the air, trailing a tail like a shooting star and thumped to the ground, sputtered but stayed lit. Darkness retreated around it, an orange glow illuminating the road and first buildings. Shadows appeared at its edge, figures lurching into the light, the first one silver-haired.

‘It’s Alben,’ Krelis boomed. ‘Ropes,’ he cried.

Men spread along the wall, Fidele pushing her way through them to see.

Alben stopped, pulling the man behind him on – a big man, tall, gangly, his limbs looking oddly stretched and out of proportion, somehow. Alben shoved him on, then turned and faced the darkness. The man he’d helped staggered out of the light, across the street and slammed into the wall, Fidele feeling the vibration of it. A handful of Alben’s men appeared running to the wall, shouting up at the onlookers.

Krelis unfurled a rope over the side and tied it off. It creaked as someone began to climb.

Other figures spilt from the alley, Fidele searching desperately for Maquin. One man staggered and fell to his knees, was grabbed and pulled up and on. Two men, three. A dark shadow blotted out the torch for a moment and Fidele blinked.

What was that? Then it was gone.

Hands appeared over the wall, Krelis grabbing an arm and pulling one of Alben’s warriors up. He was soaked with sweat, breathing hard, clothing torn, blood welling from many cuts, but he did not pause, instead leaned back over the wall, calling to the figure behind him.

A head appeared, a shock of jet hair upon a pale face, all sharp angles, flat planes and small black eyes. Wisps of a straggly beard grew from his chin.

It is a giant.

Men swore around her, swords grating, spearpoints lunging.

‘No!’ Alben’s warrior yelled, stepping before the emerging giant with his arms wide, protective.

‘He is our prisoner. Alben ordered that he is not to be harmed.’ He helped the giant over the wall. I recognize him. Then she remembered where from. The riverbank; Lykos’ prisoner.

‘Where is his mother?’ Fidele said into the shocked silence.

‘Down there,’ the warrior said.

Fidele stared back into the street, then she saw Maquin. He was standing with his back to her, though she recognized his form, the way he moved. He had stopped with Alben on the far side of the street, both of them trading blows with enemies in the shadows. Sparks grated, then Maquin and Alben were retreating, moving deeper into the street, Vin Thalun spilling out of the alley about them. Three, four, five of the enemy, more voices yelling beyond the torchlight. Fidele’s heart lurched in her chest.

Alben’s men were starting to reach the top of the wall, one flopping over, another close behind.

‘Spears,’ Peritus called.