Advocate Demetos entered his tent ahead of Ilargia. He scanned the stacks of scrolls and artefacts to check again that no samples of the extraordinary powder were visible.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to a cushion on the rug. “Take a seat.”

  As she sat, her absurd costume folded and crinkled. He took his usual place and consciously relaxed his hands in his lap. She raised an eyebrow – her only eyebrow – and smirked.

  “At ease, General.”

  Demetos bristled at her observation of his tension and the amusement she found in his new title. Since she had opened with hostilities, he would tackle her head on.

  “What’s the real purpose of this visit, Ilargia? The deal I proposed is straightforward. It grants you what you've desired for many years. Will you accept, or decline?”

  “Your offer is a good one,” she acknowledged, settling herself more comfortably. “And I'd have accepted by now, but for one question that demands an answer."

  "And that is?"

  "What does this forest really mean to you?" She leaned forward and he saw the horrible, melted flesh of her face more closely. He resisted the urge to back away. "You told the Hall that you were coming here to collect some timber and make a point – to show that we were no longer a nation in hiding. It was obvious to me then what you did it for: popular support. But you have your timber. You've made your point. And you're still out here with an entire command. You have companies heading in and out of that blighted land. What are you doing, Advocate Demetos? Are you here to make a point, or are you doing something more dangerous?"

  Demetos had prepared for this line of questioning. He knew he needed to give her a portion of the truth.

  “What is the Republic for in the world beyond its walls, Ilargia?”

  He drew himself up and looked down at her.

  “Are you going to lecture me on it, as you would your students?” she replied, lifting the corner of her mouth.

  “I'll answer your question, but first I want your answer to mine. Humour me.”

  The half-smile dropped from her face.

  “You know well what I believe. Our city is a beacon and a refuge for all those who dare to defy the gods. Beyond that, it has no role in the world outside.”

  “Ah.” Demetos allowed himself a smile of his own. “A beacon and a refuge. Many advocates would stop at beacon, these days. The Republic is getting crowded. I don’t suppose you’re old enough to remember when the Murrows had enough housing for every family?”

  “My mother remembered it. I knew only the ghetto and the workhouses before I earned my iron badge. But please, enlighten me. What does housing policy in the Murrows have to do with you? Or with your need for my weapons?”

  “Dombarrow is filling up, Ilargia. The poor are squashed together in hastily built homes that fall apart under the first tempest. We’re surrounded by uninhabitable land. The ocean in the North and East rages against our shoreline on the calmest of days. The mountains that block our passage West are frozen and lifeless. That leaves only the barren soil between our gates and this pass... and what lies beyond it.”

  Ilargia’s functioning eye opened wide. That got her thinking.

  “You want settlements! You want people to live in that brutal forest? They’d rather camp in the Bittertops!”

  Demetos relaxed a little. He had her attention now.

  “Why should they live in the forest, and not a new land of green fields and pastures? The tribes here say that when you burn a section of forest the soil underneath becomes rich and fertile, and a host of livestock can be kept on it for years."

  “And you’d listen to them?” she snorted.

  “They know more than you realise, Ilargia," he replied. “If they join us they'll enrich our knowledge, not just their own.”

  She appraised him now with her head cocked to one side.

  “I heard rumours you were growing fond of those savages. I did not imagine they could be true.”

  “I’m not growing fond of them,” he snapped, pulling his head back. “I’m growing to respect them, to the extent they deserve.”

  “And what extent is that?” The ugly smirk reappeared on her lips.

  Demetos hesitated. His hand hovered over the bow drill. He had to tell her something, without talking about the powder. He had to win her over before her informants learned of it. She would never part with her designs if she realised that her monopoly over saltpetre would soon be worthless. Slowly, he unwrapped the wooden tool and passed it to her.

  “Look at this. It’s what they use to start a fire.”

  She took it in her right hand and began toying with it, turning and examining it from all sides. He watched for the moment of understanding. How long will it take her? Her eye lit up as the engineer inside her came to life.

  “I see,” she said with pleasure. “The drill fits in here and you wind the thread around... like this.”

  With her left hand – that hand – she threaded the drill and wound the string of the bow around it. He followed her actions. The fingers moved so naturally. Perhaps it was some wasting disease that had perished the muscle but left it functional. Or perhaps the rumours were true. But how could they be? No, she was making the best of bad luck, manipulating misfortune to add to her legend. She pulled on the string and exclaimed: “Ooh!” as sparks jumped from the base.

  “Clever little thing. I like it.” She tossed it back to him. “But if that’s all they have to offer... Well, we have better.”

  “You can see they’re different though, can’t you? Not like the other Serviles. They think. They innovate. They have survived by their wits in a savage land. That must appeal to you?”

  His question was almost a plea. In truth, he was appealing to her to see things his way, without a fight for once.

  Ilargia opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Sensing her wavering, Demetos pressed on.

  “They become more interesting the deeper you go. These Sullin allies of ours.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They were easy to win over, but they are savages. They run a protection racket among the other tribes.” He grimaced, showing his distaste, but Ilargia’s eye began to wander, uninterested in the politics of foreign peoples. “Go a little further, to the Virunin, and you start finding things. Special ways of counting without writing it down, nice arithmetic tricks for working without paper and a smart way of fishing that they won’t share with me.”

  Demetos shook his head.

  “They’re less cooperative, though, and more dedicated to the gods in their own way. They won’t open up without some incentive... or force. Then you go further, into the heart of the forest. There’s that sorry imitation of a Western city – Scursditch – but the tribes in that area... They make this tool! And there's another tribe, Ilargia, one they are all afraid of even further south. A tribe the Sullin don't dare to extort."

  Demetos’s eyes and hands danced as he spoke. Ilargia remained still and silent.

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  “They have something, or guard something. I don't know what. There are secrets in this forest, Ilargia. There are discoveries waiting for us!”

  Demetos took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he struggled to read Ilargia's expression. Was there a hint of concern, even pity, in her eye?

  “Kostalyn,” she said. “New discoveries come under the heat of the forge, not from running around in the woods with primitives. If you’re looking for something to add to your legacy, some final trophy to stop my creations surpassing yours, you are wasting your time. Go back home and enjoy a quiet retirement. Accept that soon it will be my time, not yours. And for the sake of the rest of us, stop risking a war with the Western king."

  Demetos' face went hot and his cheeks turned red. He had to be careful now, or he'd say something he'd regret. Retirement! She infuriated him, but that was always her strategy. Like a needle poking around in a sore.

  "I have done my research, Advocate." His eyes burned into her as he spoke, "I have more spies in the West than you have at the Institute. I know how the Godsroof rots from within, falling apart around its failed king. I know which of his sons would be willing to fight and which would give us the forest to keep the peace. You have never dealt with anyone more meticulous than I am, so do not presume to tell me what risks I am taking with this army of mine."

  Ilargia held up both hands in conciliation. Was that a glint of metal beneath the bandage?

  "Easy, soldier," she joked. "When an old philosopher suddenly raises an army, it's only right to check he hasn't lost his marbles. I understand though, now. You are preparing for a fight with Giftahl, but you want it on our terms when it comes."

  She leaned back and reached inside the rolls of her furnace clothes with her good hand. Demetos suppressed a tremor of excitement.

  "I like your argument. We do need new land, and you could claim some here while you search like a boy for hidden treasures. But I need more than what you've offered before I share these plans."

  Ilargia placed a sheaf of paper on the ground between them. Demetos kept his eyes on her face.

  "I offered to have my faction vote behind you in the Hall of the Tower, when you move to make your seat a position for life. You'd never have to stuff the ballot boxes again, Ilargia. What more do you want?"

  "Reassurance that this forest is the limit of your plans. You're right: King Brunulf won't defend it, but his son Tancred might. And if you breach its border on the Western side... You'll drag us into battles that could cripple the Republic. We can't fight their priests under the open sky. Not yet."

  Demetos smiled softly. "When I declared that I would come out here with a command, the other advocates cheered me on. The Listener himself stood to applaud as I left the Hall. They are all so sure of our old enemy's weakness. Not you. You wouldn't have clapped if you'd been there that day. You learned from me to fear the gods." Ilargia blinked and her good hand strayed to her bandage. "What can I offer you, as proof that I'll go no further after subduing this forest?"

  Ilargia had a ready response.

  "Give up your petition for Institute control of my saltpetre mines. I'll sell what you need, until the day you break from what we've agreed. Then, however many of these you've made." She waved her hand over the sealed documents. "They'll be nothing more than decoration."

  Demetos restrained himself from showing his relief. I've bested you, this time. Only one piece of the puzzle is left, and then your mines will be worthless. As a dark joy stirred in his heart, he feigned consternation.

  "How do I know you won't leave me stranded in the midst of battle, with no supplies?"

  "You'll have to trust me, if we're going to be allies."

  He breathed in deeply, putting on what he hoped was a believable show of deliberation.

  "I'll accept those terms. And I'll throw in this. If you keep the supply of saltpetre steady, the first of the new settlements will go to the Murrows."

  Ilargia reached down and pushed the papers a fraction of an inch towards him. He touched them and she pulled them back. He added:

  "You'll leave the camp today with a letter from me. My captain will pass it to you. Read it, if you like, and then deliver it to my house. You'll get my support in the Hall of the Tower."

  Ilargia released the papers. Demetos opened them carefully, imitating patience he did not feel. The first sheet was a design of the weapon and underneath it were the measurements and balances of alloys. The long barrel looked like an oversized blowpipe with a mechanism and lever attached to it.

  "The firearm. I like your name for it. How long does it take to produce one?"

  "With my forges it takes a month to make ten. With what you have at the Institute, it could be slower. Don't over-reach yourself yet, General."

  “I never over-reach myself."

  Demetos buried himself in the plans. She was a true inventor, he had to credit her with that. The mechanism of the trigger used to light the chamber and propel the slug was simple and effective, if it worked as she described. This is the weapon that will win the West. He looked up and saw that she was ready to leave. He remembered the other little trick he had in mind. The last small push his forest boy might need.

  "Before you leave, will you grant me a tiny favour? I'll owe you in return."

  "I always like to have you in my debt. What do you want?"

  “There’s a black tent to your right as you leave the command circle. Burn it down on the way past, would you?”

  She paused before replying: “Which of your many schemes will this be serving, you old fox?”

  Demetos shrugged as though it did not really matter and told a partial truth.

  "The scheme of giving bored soldiers something to talk about, and reminding these Sullin why they are allied with me. Besides, it will be good for you. It's been a while since you did anything to make the people call you mad.”

  She scowled. It was a glimpse of genuine emotion. He knew why she had cultivated the reputation she had. With no money and few connections at the start of her career, fear had been the only card in her hand.

  “Start the fire yourself. Use your toy from the forest.”

  She turned and left his tent. When she’d gone, he listened. He heard the hiss, then a loud bang and shouts of alarm. He smiled. She couldn't resist an opportunity to show off her power. Soon, that power would be his.

  Ingo pushed for a view as the soldiers gathered once more around the command circle. The ‘Mad Tyrant’ emerged from the general’s tent and sauntered to her attendants. Soldiers hurried to clear the way, but she did not leave immediately. She mounted her horse and turned to face the largest of the Sullin tents. Black and broad, the circle stood out from the smaller brown pyramids that surrounded it.

  Ingo craned his neck to see. She rummaged at her belt and drew back a metal sphere. Gavan breathed in sharply and pushed past Hesio. The camp fell silent. When she threw the object, hundreds of eyes followed its arc.

  It landed with a thud on the tent and rolled down the sloped roof, emitting a stream of smoke and a high, sharp hiss. Then, the loudest sound Ingo had ever heard rent the air. It was like someone slammed two cooking pans together in front of his head, multiplied a hundred times. He screamed and threw his hands to his face. When he looked back, fire cascaded down the roof like water falling from an overflowing vessel. An intense wave of heat hit his face and the tent was engulfed in flames. In seconds, they had licked across the whole surface and the glowing poles inside collapsed. His stomach lurched.

  The mad woman surveyed the crowd as though waiting for an applause. Her disfigured face leered in enjoyment. Some of the Sullin yelled angrily, and one of them even pushed through the crowd towards her. Two soldiers restrained him.

  Hesio looked almost as stunned as Ingo. Gavan turned and whispered:

  “I told you she hates outsiders.”

  Ingo watched the backs of the retinue as they rode out. Loud arguments sparked up and spread through the ranks. The Sullin men shouted and waved at their tent, and one placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Tristor moved quickly among them. As furious as the Sullin were, they appeared leaderless to Ingo’s eyes, unless Tristor counted as their leader now. Their angry looks gave way to sidelong, doubtful glances at the soldiers that thronged about them.

  Demetos emerged and the shouting stopped. His eyes roved the encampment until, surprisingly fast, they found Ingo. He shook his head as though in apology for the woman's actions, then addressed the crowd:

  “Settle down, men. Nobody was hurt. Captain – see to it that our friends are compensated. At my expense.”

  Ingo passed a sleepless night in the tent. Gavan had re-joined them and sucked hard on his pipe before rolling over and muttering in his sleep.

  "I'll return to the forest one day. Don't worry, I'll return."

  Ingo stared at the sloped ceiling and thought of home. He thought of Adalina's round eyes and innocent smile. He thought of his father, looming over him protectively. In his father's presence, there was never anything to fear. He was the greatest warrior in the forest, everyone said. Then he imagined one of those spheres exploding between them. He saw Adalina's soft cheeks melting, so that half of her face looked like Ilargia's. He saw his father's strength extinguished in flames that no swordsman could defend against. In one moment that terrifying, disfigured woman could wipe out everything he had known and loved. He went to sleep with one question running through his mind:

  What if I must betray them in order to save them?

  He woke late to the sounds of bags being packed. He emerged from the tent and saw two rucksacks on the ground. Hesio threw in belongings and supplies of food.

  "What's happening? Is the army moving already?"

  "Not the army. Just us two. The advocate has ordered me to take you home. He says he regrets bringing you here, after you had to see that."

  Ingo stood in silence while Hesio packed. Gavan watched him, sitting on the ground and sucking his pipe.

  "Hesio," Ingo said. The soldier stopped. "If I told you the things you want to know, would your advocate protect the clans? Would he stop monsters like her from coming to the forest?"

  Hesio took a sharp in-breath and Gavan sidled closer. Hesio gripped Ingo's shoulders and said:

  "Our advocate rewards one thing above all else. Loyalty. Let me speak to him for you. I have no doubt he would look after your family."

  Ingo nodded slowly. In his mind, he'd done it. He'd stepped out of the old world and into a new one. When will I know if I made the right choice? He'd keep the gods close, he promised himself, and navigate a path for his loved ones' survival.

  And he'd learn. He looked at Gavan with excitement.

  "Show me the maps."