LITMIR.BIZ

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to us, it would mean so much, a chance at justice and fair dealing. The laws of the land would still hold. The priests of Bel would still be the true arbiters of what is law and what mere tradition. A small thing, truly, is what we ask, and yet Cradoc was willing to die for it! Where is the justice for the likes of us, if a great man dies in vain?’

      Most of the townsfolk were nodding in approval. A few called out, ‘That’s right, lass!’

      A pair of town marshals prised themselves off the guildhall wall and made their slow way toward the front of the crowd. Two of the noble-born students twitched their blue surcoats back and laid hands on their sword hilts. They stepped in front of the marshals and smiled.

      ‘I would mourn Cradoc ap Varyn with tears, but the tears of a woman come too easily to honor a great man.’ Alyssa paused to take a deep breath. ‘A bard deserves the words of a true bard to mark his passing. I would remind you of the words of Gweran Henvardd, that the wild wind of wyrd blows where it wills, cold and bitter at times. A bitter wind has swept away not merely Cradoc, but Lord Grif of the Bear clan, Procyr of Abernaudd, and Scomyr the butcher’s son.’

      At the mention of Scomyr, a woman cried out in a high-pitched wail of grief. Cavan glanced around and saw a stout market-wife who’d thrown her apron over her face. Her shoulders shook with sobs. He found the news of Lord Grif’s death more interesting – oil poured on the fire of feud smouldering up in Northern Eldidd.

      ‘If there was no justice for Cradoc,’ Alyssa continued, ‘if there was no justice for these three good men, what may we expect, should we need the courts for some redress?’ She paused and peered into the crowd as if she looked each and every one of them full in the face. ‘What? Naught! That’s all, nothing at all!’

      This time voices in the crowd called out. ‘That’s the truth, she speaks true!’ Almost everyone else murmured in agreement. The sneering fellow cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, ‘Ah, stop your tongue, you cackling hen! You’re naught yourself, you twopenny whore!’

      Cavan turned and without one thought swung straight for his face. His right fist collided with the fellow’s chin with a painful but satisfying blow. His left darted forward of its own accord and sank itself in the fellow’s stomach. With a grunt and a spew of vomit the heckler folded over himself and fell forward onto the cobbles.

      Yelling for order, the marshals rushed into the crowd, only to be met by a solid block of the blue-coated students. Townsfolk yelled, the crowd swirled, the marshals began swinging their long staves. Up on her pile of wooden crates Alyssa screamed for order, but no one listened. In all the confusion it took Cavan a moment to realize that he was the man the marshals were trying to reach.

      ‘Here!’ a young voice shouted from behind him. ‘We’ve got to get you and Lyss out of here!’

      ‘Cursed right!’ Cavan turned and saw a dark-haired lad who wore an orange surcoat but no sword.

      ‘The men from King’s will handle the marshals,’ the lad went on. ‘Come on!’

      They forced their way through the rapidly thinning crowd. Behind them shouts broke out. Cavan glanced back to see the noble-born men from King’s surrounding the marshals, who could do nothing but swear and threaten with their staffs. Whacking some powerful lord’s son in the head would cost them dear in the long run. As the threat of trouble eased, the stall holders stayed to guard their merchandise. Some of the bolder shoppers paused their flight and stood looking back at the square, as if deciding whether or not to return. There’d be no riot after all.

      By the time her would-be rescuers reached her, Alyssa had already jumped down from her improvised rostrum. Men in orange surcoats surrounded her.

      ‘This is the fellow who felled the gwerbret’s spy,’ the dark-haired lad said to her. ‘The marshals saw him do it.’

      Cavan’s stomach twisted. Gwerbret’s spy? He’d done it, all right, gotten himself into deep trouble without thinking twice.

      ‘We’ll hide you in Wmm’s,’ the lad continued. ‘They won’t dare come into our hive.’

      Alyssa turned and gave Cavan a glowing smile. ‘You felled him good and proper,’ she said. ‘My thanks! I do wish I’d gotten to finish my speech, though.’

      ‘And an excellent beginning it was,’ Cavan said. ‘I wish I’d gotten to hear it all.’

      Cavan started to bow to her, but she reached up, laid her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him. The students around them whooped aloud and laughed. Cavan felt that kiss run through his body, as hot as a sword thrust. He would have taken another, but she stepped back into the safety of her knot of women friends.

      ‘There’s your hire, silver dagger,’ the dark-haired lad said, grinning, ‘but ye gods, we’ve got to get out of here!’

      Cavan glanced over his shoulder and saw more marshals shoving their way into the square from the southeast alley.

      ‘They’ve blocked the cursed way out of the square,’ Cavan said. ‘Where can we—’

      ‘Into the baker’s,’ Alyssa said. ‘There’s a back way out between the ovens.’

      In the midst of a mob of students, Cavan followed Alyssa. She yelled orders, gathered her troops like a captain, and led them on the run to the downhill side of the marketplace. Farmers swore and grabbed hens and produce out of their way. Hogs squealed in excitement as they passed, dodging through the rough wooden stalls. Ahead lay a row of proper shops. Alyssa waved and pointed. Her troop poured into the doorway of a bakery.

      The smell of fresh bread perfumed the warm, moist air. To one side of the dimly lit room stood a long wooden table, piled with loaves. The young baker, draped in a flour-dusted apron over his shirt and breeches, looked so much like Alyssa that Cavan knew he had to be close kin, a brother, most likely, from the way he spoke to her. She was common-born, he realized to his surprise. Somehow he’d thought that a women of her sharp wits must come from a noble clan.

      ‘You’ve done it this time!’ the baker snapped. ‘Don’t you ever learn?’

      ‘Oh, hold your tongue, Alwen! We’re just passing through.’

      ‘Very well, but hurry! I don’t want the wretched marshals in here!’

      She laughed, blew him a kiss, and led the way round the table to an open door. The door led to a short stairway, which in turn led to a huge room, as hot as a blazing summer day. Four big brick ovens stood like beehives on one side, while firewood lay piled up on the other. Between them stood a wooden door, guarded by a lad of perhaps ten years. He too looked much like Alyssa.

      ‘Arwy,’ Alyssa snapped, ‘shut the door after us!’

      ‘I will.’ He scrambled out of the way. ‘But Da’s going to be so mad. He told you last time—’

      ‘That was last time. This is different.’

      Alyssa lifted the bar and shoved the door open to sunlight and the over-ripe stink of Aberwyn’s fishing-boat harbor. The mob of students and one silver dagger rushed out into the sunlight. Cavan could see the stone towers of the Collegium rising over the alleyways and stone houses no more than half a mile away. Distantly from the market square he heard shouts of rage mixed with taunting laughter.

      ‘No sign of the marshals,’ the dark-haired lad said. ‘No doubt the men from King’s are keeping them busy. My name’s Rhys, by the by.’

      ‘And mine’s Cavan. My thanks for your aid.’

      ‘You’d best come back with us. The Collegia have immunity, you see, and they won’t dare follow you inside.’

      ‘Splendid! But I’ve got a horse stabled at my lodgings.’

      ‘We’ll fetch him after dark. Now let’s hurry!’

      Once they reached the safety of the Collegia grounds, Alyssa had a moment to think. Not only had

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