CHAPTER 1

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Walls creaked and dust drifted from the ceiling. The babble in the common room ceased as customers stared around fearfully. Ria held her breath, but she wasn’t as stupid as the rest and always sat near a door or window. She never knew when she might need a quick exit. The building settled with a groan, and after a moment, the chatter started again and she exhaled.

     The flux swirled around her like a river of luminous blue lines, closer together this far north, giving her an almost permanent headache, like tinnitus for the eyeballs. Pulling in a thread of power she let it fill her, allowing her to sense the vibrations of the structure and the ground below. They were stable, solid. Safe this time.

     She let the flux go and looked down at the bowl the serving girl had dumped on the table, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the aroma rising from it. The shroom broth had something floating in it, but meat it was not. She took a bite of black acorn bread, her teeth crunched on grit and she spat it out. They hadn't ground it properly. Her own fault for imagining the food would be better near the mountains, but apparently not, she should have realised when she only saw one-story buildings. Now she had to spend another gut-rotting night in this inn. Shoving the meal away she grimaced as broth slopped out in a greasy puddle.

     The surrounding tables at the Cracked Jug were filled with a motley collection of men who stunk of shrooms and dirt, shroomcave workers, with an ingrained, soiled look about them and miserable faces. Still, working in damp, dark caves wasn't her idea of fun either, and for some, it meant a slow death from the creeping Threads.

She tossed a coin to the girl and pushed through the tightly packed bar towards the door leading to the lice-infested rooms. There'd better be a bigger budget for the next mission or Ice could go himself. A hand hooked her waist.

     'Well now, who's this?'

     A belch of foul breath washed over her as the hopeful drunk pulled her towards him, puckering his lips.

She leaned in close, releasing a sprung stiletto into her right hand and holding it against his neck, the razor-sharp Mondorran steel drawing a drop of blood. Her head tilted as she whispered, 'What about it, big boy, want to dance?'

     The man let go, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. 'Just joking. Just a bit of fun.' His eyes rolled for help from his companions.

     Laughter died as her flat gaze swept around the group. She kept the knife under his chin long enough to reinforce her point, and no other offers came as she left. Just as well, she was in a killing mood and she didn't want one more day in this sinker-ridden town. The apothecary better turn up with the package by morning or she would be forced to go to the Keep herself, and that was risky. Pain stabbed behind her eyes, the flux's bright lines overlaying her vision. She needed to sleep.

     Despite her tiredness, she didn't rest well. Dawn came as a relief and she stretched, loosening the muscles in her aching back, the consequence of sleeping on the floor for a few nights. But aches were still preferable to lice. She coughed and hawked up the dust souring her mouth, checked her knives, packed her blanket and went to the common room. Her stomach whined for food, but it stopped whining when the smell from the kitchen hit her. Breakfast here was a bad idea.

     Ria headed to the livery, kicking her way through the chickens scratching in the bare yard. The carthorse she’d been forced to settle for stood quietly in clean straw, so the stable-boy had evidently taken her threat seriously. God’s cursed nag looked more rested than she was. All in all the stable had much to offer, she should have spent the night there herself.

     Horse saddled and ready to go, she mounted and kicked it into sluggish movement. Twenty miles at least to the Keep and on this beast it would take her the whole God’s cursed day. She shivered in the wind that brought hints of winter and pulled her cloak tighter. Dark clouds loomed to the north threatening a deluge. Just what she needed. Her empty belly growled. God's bollocking Iteriar. Her thin Mondorran blood hated the cold.