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heavier now, had ponded against a low point at the base of the city wall, and those waiting for their chance to escape the city stood, shivering and miserable, up to their ankles in water. A lone soldier tried to maintain order, but was largely ignored by those trying to get through the gate.
    ‘I see they’ve given you another innocent group of citizens to care for,’ Noetos grated at the man. Let Mustar figure that one out.
    Bregor ignored the comment; perhaps not even hearing it. ‘Noetos, you fool, why are you making young Mustar walk with an injured leg?’
    ‘What are you jabbering about, man?’
    Noetos looked over at the lad, who had sunk to one knee. Bregor knelt beside him, plucking ineffectually at the broken shaft of an arrow embedded in Mustar’s thigh.
    ‘Oh. Mustar, I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice.’
    Bregor snorted. ‘You never do, fisherman; that’s your problem.’
    Noetos discovered his children had left him a reservoir of anger, after all.
    ‘Is that so? I might be blind perhaps, but I’m no betrayer of villages. Young Mustar here was wondering who sold Fossa to the Neherians. Care to tell him?’
    ‘I betrayed no one,’ the Hegeoman said, though surely Mustar had noted the change in tone.
    ‘A technicality: you intended to. Tell the boy!’
    ‘Can’t this wait until Mustar has been treated? Or do you intend him to die, just as Opuntia died, as a result of your blindness?’
    Noetos roared and jumped on Bregor, pummelling him with his fists. The man grabbed him around the neck, reducing his effectiveness; still, he knew he landed at least one satisfying blow on Bregor’s face.
    ‘Enough! Enough!’ a voice cried. Hands pulled Noetos to his feet; other hands assisted Bregor. Some of those trying to get through Suggate had obviously been told to help Bregor; the lone soldier continued to bark commands, his sword drawn, as the two men were pulled apart.
    ‘It’s all right, we know each other,’ Noetos said to the soldier, breathing out his rage.
    ‘I’ll talk to the Fossans myself,’ Bregor said, the words slurring past a thick lip. ‘I don’t need you to complicate things. In the meantime, don’t you think we ought to give some thought to the fate of Raceme?’
    ‘Aye, and as to that, why have we only one soldier guarding the wall’s weakest point?’ Mustar asked, one hand on his thigh, where the shaft had been broken off not far above the skin. ‘What happens if the Neherians sweep around the city and attack this gate? The guard can’t even control the citizens of Raceme. The Neherians could take the gate and be in the city before Captain Cohamma or his men have a chance to resist.’
    ‘What is Cohamma thinking?’ Noetos agreed, frowning. All it would take…’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘Mustar, stay here. Climb the gate and keep watch. Any sign of the Neherians, you run down this street and let Captain Cohamma know.’
    ‘Climb the gate?’ Bregor echoed incredulously. ‘You just don’t see anything but yourself, do you, Noetos? He’s got an arrow in his leg, cry Alkuon. Climb the gate yourself.’
    ‘I’ll do it,’ Mustar said. ‘Just send someone up here to tend it, and not a sawbones. I’ll hear Bregor’s story while I’m waiting.’
    A short time later Noetos walked wearily down Suggate Way towards the Man-o’-War and Captain Cohamma’s command post. The lightning had stopped now, at least.
    As the fisherman approached the Man-o’-War, he thought about Mustar. The boy would be fine back at gatehouse, but his absence felt like a loss. So many people lost. He wanted to gather them all to him, shelter them from the storm breaking all around them. Curling a lip, he recognised his father’s sentiments: protect your own at all costs. Part of the leadership training he’d received as a boy.
    Leadership? According to his daughter, apparently, he was no leader.
    ‘Swordsman.’
    For the second time that afternoon Noetos failed to realise he was being spoken