Madness took hold of the inn.

  Men and women turned in circles where they stood, searching the walls as though some crack might widen into salvation if only they looked hard enough. More than a few rushed first to the windows, only to falter there, hands pressed against cold panes, suddenly aware how pitifully obvious such a thought would be. Outside, in the rain and darkness, demon hunters would already have taken account of every sill and shutter long before any of them conceived of escape.

  Others remained where they were, shouting from behind their tables — sharp, ugly words flung from the safety of wood and distance. The bolder drifted towards the counter instead. They did not dare close the gap entirely, yet they stood within a handful of paces of the inquisitors, glaring, breathing hard. From time to time one stamped forward, heel striking the boards as though testing the boundary of his own courage, arm swinging in a half-formed threat while curses spilled from his mouth.

  Even those who had earlier pressed fist to heart in greeting now shifted in confusion, eyes darting between door and floor, uncertain what loyalty meant when measured against fear.

  Some fled up the stairs, boots thundering, vanishing into the upper corridor, no doubt intending to flee through the upper windows, while others were already hurrying down from the same direction, hoping to find a safer exit below.

  The silver-edged did not stir.

  They stood on either side of the door, hands clasped behind their backs, shoulders set, as motionless as statues.

  The shouting swelled. Insults overlapped, grew coarser, louder, more desperate. The rafters trembled with it.

  Hobb rose onto his toes and craned his neck, calling for Anne above the din.

  “Anne! Anne!”

  He could not see her. Faces blurred together in the turmoil. He left the counter and forced his way past elbows and backs towards the hearth.

  Mest, Omba and Jasu crouched low among the shadows cast by overturned chairs, keeping themselves beneath the sweep of the inquisitors’ gaze. When Hobb finally saw Anne there, tucked between them, a breath left him that he had not known he was holding. He dropped to his knees beside her.

  “My little girl… there you are. I lost sight of you in the press.”

  Anne flung her arms around his neck at once.

  “I’m here. I’m all right. Don’t worry. Mest and the others will figure something out.”

  Jasu had regained consciousness some moments earlier. He wiped blood from beneath his nose with the back of his sleeve. Omba stood over him, gesturing emphatically with his thick hands, trying to calm him — yet despite the warning words, a growl rose suddenly from Jasu’s chest and he sprang to his feet.

  Before he could move towards the door, Mest pulled him back down to the floor.

  “Jasu.”

  “You may not know who I am, but you know this much — I saved your life. In return, curb yourself and heed what I say.”

  His voice remained calm, but beneath it lay a weight that made argument seem foolish.

  “Never strike out in blind rage against a silver-edged inquisitor. What is happening here is not tavern posturing. It is not street brawling. It is deadly.”

  He glanced briefly at the crowd, then back to Jasu.

  “For a little while, let us forget what passed between us — and listen to me. Hobb tells me you know Ben. The old man matters to us both. So does his son. Their village lies close. It will be among the first the hunters turn inside out.”

  Jasu’s jaw still ground with anger, yet he did not rise. He listened.

  “I was there today,” Mest continued more softly. “I understand the child’s illness, and I can cure him. But to do so I left behind a plant they would call unholy. And I know the villagers well enough to say that is not the only thing they keep which the Worldfaith forbids.

  If the hunters try to hang someone for it, no one there will stand idle — and that will be their ruin. Ben is a fine swordsman, but he stands no chance. Even if they cut down many of the common hunters, the silver-edged lead every company. Trained killers. Numerous. And one company numbers thirty hunters. They have ten.”

  Jasu’s face twisted with startled anger.

  “And worse still,” Mest added, glancing at his sack, “my own burden hides enough to provoke slaughter if seen.”

  His eyes locked on Jasu’s.

  “Even if a horn still sounds somewhere, in this storm it will not be heard. And if anyone in the village hears one, they will not know what it means. He will think some thief or forest beast has strayed onto the fields. Instead of hiding what they must not reveal, they will take up pitchforks and wait for danger in plain sight — and in doing so bring certain death upon themselves.”

  “We must leave while leaving is still possible. We must warn them. Ruben may not turn towards that village first. If we are swift, we may yet arrive before he does.”

  Jasu fell silent for several seconds. Then he nodded.

  “I understand,” he said gravely. “If that is what will save the village, I will do as you say.”

  Omba leaned closer, muttering low.

  “I knew there was sense in you, lad. But how in blazes do we get out of here unseen? And together? I am not staying — that much I swear. The likes of me are carved open whether guilty or not.”

  Mest turned towards the entrance where the inquisitors still stood unmoving. The firelight caught sharp in his eyes.

  “I could deal with those two,” he said evenly. “That is not the problem. The town has been taken hostage. The moment steel is drawn, we have already lost. If we do not lay down our weapons at once, they will begin killing. Even if some of the younger hunters hesitate to kill, the silver-edged will not.”

  He spoke without heat.

  “Women. Old men. Children. These fanatics will do anything in the name of their creed. And they have surely not left only these two behind.”

  He inclined his head towards the door.

  “If at least one hunter does not return to Father Ruben with good news, who can say what he will choose to do? We cannot risk the burning of the entire region. We cannot even steal a horse without it ending in blood.”

  A sharp hiss left him.

  “He is no fool. They have secured themselves well. May Twilight take them. We must leave unseen.”

  Outside, blurred sounds filtered in through storm and timber alike. Inside, the turmoil swelled. Now everyone pressed towards the door, even those who had saluted earlier. Some came within three paces of the inquisitors, shouting, fists raised.

  The silver-edged did not stir.

  Mest turned back to Hobb and Jasu.

  “You know this building better than I ever shall. Is there another way out?”

  Jasu wiped sweat from his brow, thinking.

  “The upper windows.”

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  Mest shook his head at once.

  “We might reach the stairs unseen. Perhaps. But the windows look onto the yard and the streets. Ruben said thirty remain. Among them, how many silver-edged? How many archers? At least some will be watching.”

  Omba’s hand drifted to the haft of his axe.

  “As has been so patiently explained,” he muttered, “that remains where it is. Even if we lopped off every blackcoat’s head in sight, the villages would pay.”

  Jasu’s expression brightened suddenly.

  “Those two brutes likely haven’t even realised there’s a back yard.”

  Hobb stroked his beard, thinking aloud.

  “I considered it. The front faces the broad street — too exposed. The side with my rooms, the storeroom, the stable — that looks onto the crossroads. Only the rear wall opens onto the alley. A blackcoat may have wandered there already, but at least there are no lamps.”

  “There are trees,” Jasu added, wagging a finger. “And bushes.”

  Hobb struck his knee.

  “Then that settles it. Go. Quickly.”

  Mest’s gaze sharpened.

  “And you? You’re coming with us.”

  Hobb drew himself up.

  “There is nothing in this house — nor in this town — that they may justly condemn. On that I would swear. We keep strict discipline here. Travellers pass through; tongues loosen. The villages are another matter. They do not bind themselves so tightly to this new Worldfaith. They cling to the older ways.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “And because of that, they may keep things for which these men would hang them. Or worse. As we might for the contents of your sack.”

  Mest’s mouth tightened.

  “Even a leader cannot know every hearth in his town. They might call a carved scrap of wood an idol. And even if you are spotless, why stay?”

  “Because if this turns,” Hobb said, glancing at the shouting mass, “they will slaughter, sacrilege or no. You said it yourself. Tragedy stands a hair’s breadth away. I have no time to argue. I’ll have to cuff a few heads before this gets worse. Do not worry. There’s strength left in me yet. I was carved from hard timber.”

  He looked at Anne.

  “But you will take Anne with you.”

  “No!” Anne rounded on her father, eyes bright with unshed tears. “How can you say that?”

  Hobb’s face went white as plaster. He looked from Mest to Anne and back again, wringing his hands helplessly.

  “My girl… please…”

  “I will not leave you.” Her voice was steady now. “You cannot force me. How could I abandon you? You are all I have.”

  Her lips trembled.

  “I would only slow them — and people would die because of me. They have already delayed too long. In the fields I cannot hide. They will search the copse. They will find me. And then you will not be there.”

  Hobb’s breath faltered. Fear struck him first — naked and helpless. It curdled into despair, and then into a hard, merciless anger. His whole body tightened.

  “Those vile rats…” He turned on Mest. “Go. Now. Before your sack becomes the ruin of us all — and of Ben besides.”

  His voice broke and steadied again.

  “Go. Before I throw you out myself.”

  Mest held his gaze. He knew there would be no persuading him.

  He turned to Anne and embraced her.

  “Take care, Hairpin.”

  She clung to him fiercely.

  “You too, big brother.”

  “Calm your father,” he whispered. “Hide.”

  He released her gently, then he clasped Hobb’s forearm and drew him closer.

  “We shall meet again, my friend…” he said quietly.

  Their hands struck together in a firm grip, but Mest did not release him. He leaned nearer still.

  “I remember the drainage channel,” he murmured. “Hide Anne beneath the counter. She will be safest there.”

  His voice lowered further.

  “I will return for you. And if we do not survive — may it never come to that — and it becomes necessary…”

  He bent so close that no one else could hear the words that followed.

  For a heartbeat Hobb stared at him, startled — almost stricken.

  Then the fear eased from his face. The lines smoothed.

  Slowly, hesitantly, he patted the front of his waistcoat, as though reassuring himself of something hidden there.

  At last, he nodded.

  Mest gathered his belongings. Omba swung his heavy sack onto his back. Using the restless movement of the crowd as cover, they slipped along the wall to the rear.

  The back door opened without sound.

  Mest looked back once. Hobb pressed his hand to his heart. Mest did the same.

  The door closed with a quiet click.

  Hobb stood for a moment staring at the closed door. A deep, heavy breath shook his chest. He rubbed at his eyes, then turned to Anne.

  “There is a drainage channel beneath the counter,” he said quickly. “Where we empty the buckets. Where the rain from the crossroads runs through. It is tight — but you will fit. Do not be afraid. Even in a storm like this, the water only washes the bottom. You can shelter there until this is over.”

  He untied his apron, pulled off his vest, and draped it over her shoulders.

  “May it never come to this — but…” He fumbled in the apron pocket and pressed a purse into her hand. “This — and what you find in the vest — only if there is nothing else left. Only then. You are clever. You’ll find where it leads. The channel opens south into a ditch, a few houses down. From there it is only a stone’s throw to the edge of town — and the forest. We could not all have crept there. We would not have fit. But you are small. Thin. You will manage. No one will look for it who does not already know it exists.”

  “Father, I don’t—”

  “You do.”

  The word cracked like a whip.

  She fell silent at once. Her blue eyes filled slowly with tears. She had never seen him like this.

  Hobb lowered his head. Gently he took the purse back and slipped it securely into the pocket of the vest.

  “Yes,” he repeated, softer now. “Do not fear, my little one. I will quiet this rabble, and then all will be well. But you are young. Beautiful. Different from us. And they… those beasts…”

  His voice failed.

  “If they were to lay a hand on you, I—”

  “All right,” Anne whispered, burying herself against his chest. “Do not be afraid. I will hide. Nothing will happen. I love you.”

  He held her tightly against him for a long moment. He kissed her cheek, then looked once more into her shining eyes.

  A painful smile crossed his face.

  “And I love you, my dear girl. We shall see one another again.”

  He watched her slip silently behind the counter. She paused once, blew him a kiss — then vanished, just as Mest had vanished beyond the door.

  Hobb stood staring at the empty space where they had been. His vision blurred. It felt as though his soul were being torn apart. For a moment he waited for a miracle — or awakening — though he knew neither would come.

  He rose slowly and drew in a long, furious breath. When he released it in a low growl, every muscle in his body hardened to stone.

  He roared over the uproar and waded into the crowd from behind, seizing men one after another in his iron grip and forcing them back into place.

  Anne crawled slowly, silently along the hidden length of the counter until she reached its far end. There she felt carefully along the floor between the barrels.

  In one place, the dark planks had been cut thinly, almost invisibly.

  She eased them upward.

  Beside her, a bottle shattered with a violent crash.

  She gasped — then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  She did not dare look up.

  Her heart pounded faster and faster, each beat hammering in her ears. She felt the floor begin to thrum beneath her knees — rhythmic, heavy steps approaching.

  She saw it in her mind: the silver-edged walking towards her.

  Her face drained of colour.

  It felt as though a vast hand had closed around her throat. Her breath stopped. The roar of the inn dissolved into a shrill ringing. Numbness spread through her limbs. She could not move.

  She waited for the hand that would seize her by the hair and drag her up.

  The seconds thickened.

  The air seemed to vibrate.

  Then she heard her own ragged breathing.

  She realised she had been holding her breath the entire time.

  Summoning what strength she had left, she forced herself to breathe slowly. Gradually the pounding in her ears softened. The noise of the tavern returned.

  She wiped a tear with her sleeve.

  After a long, trembling exhale, she lifted the boards fully. The faint click was swallowed by the uproar.

  Slowly, soundlessly, she slipped into the narrow channel.

  When she had disappeared completely beneath the floor, she reached up and drew the nailed cover down after her.

  As the boards settled into place, her father’s voice outside grew quieter.

  Then fell silent.

  Hobb was raging.

  “Shut your mouths this instant!” he thundered. “Do you want to die, you fools? It will not be the Order that cuts you down — it will be me if you do not sit!”

  “This is my inn! And here you will do as I say!”

  Those nearest him fell silent at once, then began hissing at their neighbours to quiet down. The fury ebbed until every guest stood listening.

  “Stop shouting!” he barked. “I fear for my own loved ones as well — though I know none here has anything to hide!”

  His dark gaze turned towards the inquisitors.

  “If you remain calm and allow this farce to pass, the Order will see that this town is unsullied — and shelters no demon of the Twilight.”

  The young lad who had earlier helped with serving began to pant hysterically. Then he screamed.

  “Why should we sit while those bloody butchers drag our families into the mud? Perhaps my father and mother are already dead! Perhaps your sons have already been beaten to death! Perhaps your daughters are already being raped!”

  He shook his rigid arms violently, sweat flying from his blood-red face.

  “What are you waiting for? What are you afraid of? There are only two of them at that blasted door, and there are dozens of us here!”

  He snatched a bottle, smashed it sharp against a pillar, and lunged forward.

  “You will die!”

  The nearer silver-edged stepped forward.

  A movement too swift to follow.

  The young man stopped.

  For a heartbeat he stared into the inquisitor’s expressionless face.

  Then he collapsed.

  A vast, straight cut ran from shoulder to hip, spilling ruin from within. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. His eyes, flooded with blood and tears, stared upward — until death dimmed them.

  The silver-edged flicked blood from his blade and sheathed it.

  “You would do well to heed the words of your innkeeper,” he said evenly. “Take your seats. Lest further harm befall you. And next time — not only within these walls.”

  The crowd retreated.

  Some trembled.

  Others burned with silent hatred.

  Hobb’s face blanched as he glanced towards the counter.

  Anne was gone.

  His lips moved, but no sound came.

  Forgive me.

  Forgive that this was the life I could give you.

  Forgive that I lied.

  I love you.

  May the gods guard you, my only child.

  A long, broken breath left him.

  Slowly, he returned behind the bar.

  His heavy sword lay at his feet.

  He looked once more at the silver-edged.

  “Please,” he said steadily. “Begin your inspection.”

  His brow tightened.

  “It is in all our interests that you leave this town as swiftly as possible.”

  “Before more are harmed.”