Seiren swore, foul enough for Madeleine to gasp in her head, and scrambled to her feet. She was not going to have to deal with a pickpocket when she'd barely set foot in Danaway! The tiny figure skittered away, but she could still see him darting between people. She crashed after him, elbowing those in the way.

"Out of the way!" she yelled, shoving more people aside. They scattered like flies, muttering amongst themselves. A few called after her, but she didn't hear anything they said. The world passed by in a blur. All she could see, tunnel-vision-like, was the fleeing tiny figure. Oh, she was going to beat the hell out of that mite.

Her lungs burned and her heart raced. For a second time in a week, she regretted neglecting her exercises to such a degree. Tutting aloud, she threw down a violet rune and snapped her fingers. A red one flew behind her and she activated that, too. The ground turned into a line of frictionless goo, allowing her boots to slide along almost seamlessly. Wind whistled in her ears.

Next turn to the right.

Seiren leapt off her slide and hit the ground running, skidding on the ground as she made a rapid right turn. The cobbled ground provided such an uneven surface she almost tripped over. Her cloak flapped behind her, trailing like a flag. The guy was maybe ten metres ahead. Her runes had allowed her significant gain. She reached down and grabbed a handful of pebbles, throwing them at him.

They bounced off his head. A larger chunk bounced off his temple, knocking him off kilter. A raised step caught his foot and he went crashing down, sending rubbish and discarded items flying everywhere. Seiren leapt on top of him, slamming both her knees into his back. There was a cry, like a squeezed mouse.

"Eh?"

Seiren flinched – just in time. The glimmer of a blade flashed by her face, almost but not quite touching her skin. Out of instinct, she slammed a yellow rune onto the ground, which exploded into blinding light. The guy yelled out, again in that peculiarly high-pitched voice, and stumbled backwards, dazed. Two violet runes later and he sunk into the ground, modified to become a jelly-like consistency with the density of rock, all the way up to his neck.

"All right, you stinking lowly cretin. Give me back my money or it's your face that gets melted off next."

She knelt down and almost fell over when she heard a whimper.

What the...?

She tore off his hood.

"A kid?"

He looked no more than maybe twelve, thirteen years old, snivelling with dirt streaked over his face. His eyes were swollen with tears. The sobs echoed in the tiny, dirty alleyway piled high with rubbish and streaking with rats, stinking to high heaven.

"I'm not going to let you off 'cos you're a kid, though." She cracked her knuckles. "My name is Seiren Nithercott. I'm a probationary state mage. You do not want to cross me."

Seiren.

The sound of footsteps alerted her to the presence of others. She straightened up, hands poised over the runes on her inside pockets. The path was dim. Small shadows shuffled all around her, surrounding her.

I'm just going to blast another yellow and get my stuff and go. This is ridiculous.

They have knives, Seiren. And I count at least... ten of them. I don't know if you can outrun them. Some look pretty small and fast.

They're kids.

Oh yes, and you're the athlete.

She kept a watchful eye. They encircled her like predators around a prey, hungry eyes locking upon her. The air chilled, even though it was only midday. The pungent scent of rotting rubbish made her eyes water.

"You're a mage, you say?" said a little girl from her left. Seiren's eyes flicked over to her before going back to the group. "Then you're valuable."

"I'm probationary, kid. I don't have my licence yet. Nobody will pay for me, I'll guarantee you that."

"Single people have caused wars before. You won't be the first," said another, older voice. A girl, too.

They swarmed around her. Seiren stiffened. Behind her came the sound of struggle and squelching; they were trying to rescue the boy she'd immobilised.

Don't resist. They'll kill you.

They're kids.

Says a lot about Danaway if even young children are carrying knives in what used to be a nice festive city, huh?

When they took her back onto the dusty road, Seiren began to take in her surroundings. Pathetic metal shelters stood at slanted angles with rust eating away at the edges. Graffiti covered the sooty stone walls. Chunks of slate sat missing on most of the roofs of the rundown houses with their cracked, dusty windows. Nobody walking past them seemed to be remotely interested in a mage being 'escorted' by a group of ruffians. Nobody offered Seiren a hand.

What had happened to Danaway?

Where streaks of colours and light used to dance above their heads, there was now nothing. The poles from where they used to be strung now held only tatters of former banners. The flea market that sold sweets and second-hand goods was merely piles of rotten wood and rubble. Forlorn faces with dead eyes and sallow skin followed the passing group. They even passed the square where the festive dance took place, where burst magic would explode over the goers' heads as they whizzed round and round, surrounded by music and joy. It stood deserted now. The ground had chunks missing as if hit by explosions.

They passed another alleyway, where she caught sight of a man scuffling with two masked people. He uttered a weak cry and Seiren could swear she heard the sickening squelch of a weapon entering his body. He collapsed in a heap. The attackers rummaged through his belongings, stealing anything valuable. Seiren turned away, feeling sick; one of the ruffians behind her poked her in the back, prompting her on.

One flight of moss-covered stone steps down into the ground later, the kids locked the door behind them and fanned out. The dimly-lit single room housed other children, crouching and snivelling in the corner. A few bellies grumbled loudly. Some whimpered, requiring attention. Someone tugged off Seiren's travelling cloak – no doubt it would be rooted through by hungry hands, not that there was any food or valuables in there aside from runes – and tied her hands behind her back. Rowan's snide comment about her needing burst magic one day came back to her at the most inconvenient time.

"I have no valuables," she said, jutting her chin out. "You're wasting your time."

"Someone will come for you," said the one who seemed to be the leader, a waif-like girl with wild bird's nest-like hair. "If we get the word out—"

Seiren laughed. The waif's face grew darker, her teeth gritted. All around, the children watched with wide eyes.

"Do you see us laughing, mage?"

Seiren gave them a deadpan look. "Was that supposed to bother me? If someone does come for me, what on earth makes you think they won't just kill you all to rescue me?"

The waif's eyes flashed. She reached for her knife. They were interrupted with frantic fists pummelling on the holed wooden door.

"Lotta! Open up!"

The children muttered amongst themselves, confused and anxious. One of them flung the door open. Two kids stumbled in, one of them limper than a rag doll.

"Anty!" The waif girl leapt forward and caught the unconscious boy before he hit the floor. The older, taller boy almost collapsed when Lotta lifted the floppy person off him. "Oh god. What happened?"

"He got caught in the middle. The Greys and the Whites were having a showdown in the town square. I think one of them got their hands on some runes... they were being fired left, right, and centre."

"How come they could use rune magic?" said one of the others, looking terrified. The same terror was mirrored across all of the other children's faces.

They could because they probably got their hands on some primed runes already, made by an actual mage, thought Seiren, but she didn't volunteer the information.

Rustles came from all sides and the lights in the corners moved in, held by anxious children, illuminating their pallid faces. Lotta laid the boy down, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing paper-thin skin and prominent ribs. There were no bruises or cuts, no bleeding or broken bones.

"What... what's wrong with him?" Lotta shook him and then snapped her fingers in front of him repeatedly, but Anty didn't respond. His eyes remained glassy and staring at the ceiling. He didn't flinch when she slapped him in the face. Someone next to her lifted Anty's arm and let it flop to the ground.

"I don't know. There was so much light and noise around I couldn't see. He was just running back to me with the food and he got hit by crossfire," the boy gabbled, gesturing wildly. "He just went crashing down."

A murmur of unease swept through the room. The waif bent down, shaking and calling for Anty. He remained glassy-eyed and unresponsive, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"Is he... dead?"

"Lotta, do something!"

"Lotta, we're hungry."

Small voices began to cry in the corner, shushed by some of the older ones. Seiren watched the scene unfold before her, silent and a tad irritated by the whining, trying to wriggle the ropes around her wrists loose. Judging from the way the waif – Lotta, her name was? – bustled about with shaking hands and a tremulous voice, changing her mind about what to give Anty, who looked no more than twelve, every few seconds, Lotta was way out of her depth. Not that Seiren was a healer herself, but at least she knew no amount of cold towels and shouting would wake that boy up, not if his injuries were inflicted by runes.

I wonder if that's an indigo rune.

Oh geez, Madeleine, shouldn't you be more concerned about me? I'm kind of kidnapped and held for ransom.

I looked already when you got shoved in here. The immediate radius is just full of homeless and armed people, nobody from the military. I'm not sure why. There should be personnel patrolling.

So no chance of me getting out any time soon then.

Nope.

"Bennin, can you sort out the little ones?"

Danaway had certainly become more depraved since the last time Seiren had seen it. There weren't as many pickpockets about back then and certainly none of these rune injuries or children running around like wild animals. The one called Bennin, who brought in the stricken Anty, tried to subdue the crying and panic. Those slumped in the corners watched with blank eyes, too unwell or tired to care.

After several more minutes of their yelling and shaking, Seiren snapped, "Just drop it. He's not going to wake up with you doing that."

The waif looked up, tears streaking down her face, to Seiren's immense surprise. She'd expected anger and maybe the knife in her face again.

"Don't you tell me to give up!" Lotta shouted, turning back to the boy. "He's only twelve, for magic's sake! He can't die, not when I promised I'll look after him. I promised Mum. He can't... he can't..."

She dissolved into sobs. The scenario of her bent over the boy's unresponsive body, lit by weak candles, made her heart pang with discomfort. Lotta's shoulders heaved, her fingers dug into his thin shoulders. His head lolled, oblivious to Lotta's grief. It was almost like—

Almost like that night I died.

Seiren chewed the inside of her cheek and then shook her head with a sigh. She snapped her fingers. The red rune she'd sketched glowed, illuminating the room in a crimson glow for several seconds. A small pop severed the rope at her wrists and she sat forward, rubbing the raw skin.

"All right, let me have a look at him."

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