Galen smiled grimly to himself. He hurt, but he’d told them nothing, and he was sure they didn’t know who or what he was. And yet this was only the start. He knew enough tales of the cruelty of the Watch, but he wouldn’t think of them now. That would be foolish. Instead he straightened his back and closed his eyes. Simple chants came to him first, then all the prayers and litanies; he spoke them softly till it seemed to him the darkness was filled with words, as if they hung in the air like spirits. ‘And Kest was in the darkness a hundred years. How slowly sorrow entered him, how he mourned for the evil he had done, all the things of darkness he had brought into the world.’

Galen stopped. The story was not the one for now. And he knew, suddenly, that he would need every ounce of strength and will to stand up to them, not to tell them all the secrets of the Order. Wincing, he dragged his fingers up to touch the awen-beads; the smooth surfaces rolled under his fingers.

‘I am as empty without as within,’ he muttered grimly. Then he nodded. ‘Though maybe I have one chance. One chance Kest never had.’

‘What’s going on here?’ The Watchsergeant pushed his way through the men. ‘What is it? Another prisoner?’

‘She says she’s a spy.’ The men stood back, and the sergeant’s eyes narrowed. He saw a girl of about sixteen, brown-haired, dirty, a crossbow on her back. She fixed him with a straight look. ‘Are you in charge here?’

He grinned. ‘Who wants to know?’

Putting her hand down her neck, she pulled out something on a chain; tugged it over her head and gave it to him without a word.

He held it to the light; she saw his face change.

‘Come inside,’ he said sombrely.

Going in under the main arch, she noticed the defences; armed guards, three metal gates, floor-spikes. If they didn’t let her walk out she’d be here for ever. But she set her shoulders and held her head up. Why should she worry? She was one of them.

They made her wait a few minutes in the courtyard. Then the sergeant came through a small arch and beckoned. He led her down a stone passageway and knocked on a door.

‘Come in.’

The sergeant looked at her. Carys took a deep breath, put her hand on the latch, and went in.

It was a small room with a crackling fire in the hearth, and the Castellan was perched on the edge of the table. ‘You brought this?’ He held the insignia up so that it glinted.

‘Yes,’ she said, coming up to him.

‘What house?’

‘Marn Mountain. 547.’

‘When did you leave?’

‘Three months ago.’

‘Your spymaster?’

‘Jeltok. Old Jellie, we used to call him.’