Full Circle by Pamela Freeman Page A

Arvid’s side.
    “We’re going to check on the merchants,” Arvid said. “Stay close.”
    “I’d better come,” Safred said, her eyes wide in the darkness, glinting in the light from the lantern hung on the mainmast.
     “You might have need of me.”
    The guards checked their weapons and settled their uniforms into place, then followed Arvid down the gangplank. “They’ll be
     at the Moot Hall, most likely,” he said.
    Safred went after them, and Martine followed. Arvid glanced back and saw her, and opened his mouth to order her back on board.
     She could see the moment he realised he had no right to give her orders — particularly in a free town! — and closed his mouth
     with some chagrin.
    She smiled grimly. So. He didn’t like that. Serve him right for falling for an outsider.
    His guards had moved into formation around them, hands on swords even though it was illegal in a free town for warlords’ men
     to use weapons. Martine found herself glad of them, and reflected that it didn’t take much for even a Traveller to range herself
     with the stronger party when danger threatened. If danger threatened.
    Her Sight was showing her nothing. But many distressing things happened without Sight warning her. It was only when the gods
     thought that the event was important that Sight intervened.
    Walking through the silent town was unnerving, like a dream that was about to turn into a nightmare.
    It was a relief to hear some noises coming from the centre, near the Moot Hall: voices, singing, shouting. They quickened
     their pace.
    Men’s voices, singing snatches of a drunken song: “Kill ’em all, kill ’em all!” they roared. It was the chorus of one of the
     best-known songs about Acton. She expected to find a mob of burly blonds and red-heads sitting on the steps of the hall, swinging
     their tankards.
    They rounded the corner to the central square. There were no market stalls left here; they’d all been packed away, and the
     eating houses were closed, as was the Moot Hall.
    There were no people, either. The only sign of life was that the lanterns on the walls next to the Moot Hall doors had been
     smashed and were dripping oil down the bricks.
    The singing continued, from a road that led up and out of town.
    Arvid hesitated. “We should ask at the hall,” he said.
    Then the singing stopped and became shouting, and the sounds of crashing and splintering wood.
    They ran, Holly and the other guards taking the lead, but Arvid not far behind. Safred and Martine kept pace. Martine’s heart
     was thudding hard.
    The shouting was getting louder.
    “That’s right, you bastards, hide behind your bars and shutters! We’re going to get you all!”
    “Thass it, you tell ’em, Bass!”
    “Scared of
us
, now, aren’t you? Where’s your bloody Acton now, eh? Our people are comin’ back and you can’t stop us!”
    “Look, Bass, lookee ’ere.”
    “Show ’em how we can fight, Bass!”
    “Take that, blondie!”
    A woman screamed.
    It was only a few more paces. They could see figures struggling, hear them gasping, panting.
    Holly drew her sword as she ran and the others copied her, Arvid included.
    Martine tried to sort it out in the meagre light leaking from between the shutters of the surrounding buildings. Four men,
     five, six… two women. One of them was screeching and trying to pull two fighting men apart. The other hit her attacker
     as he brought both hands down on her head. Was one of them Apple?
    “Break them apart,” Arvid ordered, and Holly leapt into the struggling group and pulled one back, throwing him towards another
     guard, who hit him and pushed him down to sit groggily, holding his head.
    Arvid went in after Holly, ramming one tall figure with his shoulder, using the hilt of his sword under the man’s chin. He
     crumpled on the spot. The other guards were equally efficient, pulling the combatants away one by one until there were six
     separate men instead of a fight, and two women,