Fragments of wood billowed through a pulsing cloud of pulverized stone. A ripple seemed to travel through the gatehouse, then with a sudden finality it caved inwards, its pillars shot, the ramparts rumbling downwards into a steaming mass. The severed walls on either side of the churning mire stood proud, blasted but resolute, but within the fog of debris was only chaos. Chel peered past the others and over the barricade, over the device, looking into heaving murk. He could see the shapes that moved within, as the wind’s current pushed the great plume of smoke and matter out over the plateau.

Rennic’s cry went up. ‘Here they come!’

The alchemist was unmoved, uncowed despite the explosion. Her masked eyes were fixed on the void where the gate had stood, the levers fast in her white-knuckled grip. Chel watched the shapes, saw a lumbering form picking its way over rubble, slow, ungainly. It had to be Hurkel.

He heard the creak of the mechanism in Kosh’s grip, saw Rennic put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

‘Not yet.’

She frowned but nodded.

The line of confessors was trudging into view, bobbing shapes riding the debris, others faint behind them. Tall, oblong, chanting something unfamiliar as they came. The lead troops were almost clear of the dust cloud and into the courtyard. He saw some of the surviving house guards poking out from their hiding places, one or two levelling their bows.

Rennic’s voice was clear, calm. ‘Not yet.’

The first of the attackers cleared the shattered gatehouse, not an armoured Pentarch at all, but a bullish figure in dust-streaked lamellar armour, holding a great metal shield most of his height, in front. Another followed, shield likewise high, with others at their flanks. A line of smaller, dusty figures loomed behind them.

‘Oh, shit,’ Rennic whispered. ‘Mawn siege-breakers.’

The Nort flashed him a look of angry concern.

‘Now?’

The Mawn were striding unopposed into the courtyard, spreading, shielding those who came behind. Chel could see their weapons now, see the light-armoured shapes scampering over the smoking ruins behind them. They were picking up speed, assured that their assault had blasted the defenders away, delighted at the lack of resistance.

Chel saw her from the corner of his eye, recognized the pattern of her gait as she descended into the courtyard. He saw her face beneath the helmet, sweeping the ruined defences, picking out the hidden defenders, realizing at last the trap that was set. He saw Grassi’s hand go up, saw Rennic holding himself taut as a bowstring.

‘Now.’

***