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signs of movement. There was nothing except the slow drift of powdered debris in the air. Whoever had been aiming at her had been in the middle of that. She’d wager there was not much left of them now.
    A movement, down the hill at the treeline. She spun to her feet, snatched up her rifle and primed the bolt, raising it to her eye. Two figures burst into the clearing from the south. She sighted and fired.
    ‘No!’ one of them cried, scrambling out of the way. The shot had missed, it seemed. Ignoring the ache and the insidious wetness spreading across her side, she reprimed. ‘No! Libera Dramach! Stop shooting!’
    Kaiku paused, her rifle targeted at the one who had spoken.
    ‘Await the sleeper!’ he cried. It was the phrase by which the spy was to have been identified.
    ‘Who is the sleeper?’ Kaiku returned, as was the code.
    ‘The former Heir-Empress Lucia tu Erinima,’ came the reply. ‘Whom you yourself rescued from the Imperial Keep, Kaiku.’
    She hesitated a few moments longer, more in surprise at being recognised than anything else, and then lowered her rifle. The two figures headed up the hill towards her.
    ‘How do you know who I am?’ she asked, but the words came out strangely weak. She was beginning to feel faint, and her vision was still sparkling.
    ‘I would not be much of a spy if I did not,’ said the one who had spoken, hurrying up towards her. The other followed behind, scanning the trees: a Tkiurathi man with the same strange tattoos as her guide, though in a different pattern.
    ‘You are hurt,’ the spy stated impassively.
    ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
    ‘Saran Ycthys Marul,’ came the reply. ‘And this is Tsata.’ He scanned the treeline before turning his attention back to Kaiku. ‘Your display will have attracted anyone hunting for us within twenty miles. We have to go. Can you walk?’
    ‘I can walk,’ she said, not at all sure whether she could. The arrow had punctured her shirt and she was certainly bleeding; but it had not stuck in her, and she could still breathe well enough, so it had missed her lungs. She wanted to bind herself up here and now, terrified of the moist stain that was creeping along the fabric under her arm; but something in the authority of Saran’s voice got her moving. The three of them hurried into the forest and were swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind the grim sentinels of the Aith Pthakath, the body of Kaiku’s guide and the smouldering crackle of the trees.
    ‘What was it?’ Kaiku asked. ‘What was it out there?’
    ‘Hold still,’ Saran told her, crouching next to her in the firelight. He had slid off one arm of her shirt, exposing her wounded side. Beneath the sweat-dirtied strap of her underwear, her ribs were a wet mess of black and red. Unconsciously, she had clutched the other half of her shirt across her chest. Nudity was not something that most Saramyr were concerned about, but something about this man made her feel defensive.
    She hissed and flinched as he mopped at her wound with a rag and hot water.
    ‘Hold still! ’ he told her irritably.
    She gritted her teeth and endured his ministrations.
    ‘Is it bad?’ she forced herself to ask. There was a silence for a few moments, dread crowding her as she waited for his answer.
    ‘No,’ he said at last. Kaiku exhaled shakily. ‘The arrow ploughed quite a way in, but it only scraped your side. It looks worse than it is.’
    The narrow cave echoed softly with the sussuration of their voices. Tsata was nowhere to be seen, out on some errand of his own. The Tkiurathi had found them this place to hide, a cramped tunnel carved by an ancient waterway in the base of an imposing rock outcropping, concealed by trees and with enough of a bend in it so that they could light a fire without fearing that anyone outside would see. It was uncomfortable and the stone was dank, but it meant rest and safety, at least for a short time.
    Saran set about making a poultice from crushed leaves, a