The Diamond Isle

30

The weather in most of Bhealfa was abysmal, and particularly along its eastern coast. High winds, driven snow and freezing sleet. No one should have been travelling, and sensible people weren’t, particularly at night, but Prince Melyobar’s court never stopped under any circumstances. Movement was its rationale, its reason for being. And in theory at least, it was better protected than other forms of transportation and more able to withstand bad weather.

None of that stopped Andar Talgorian cursing the Prince. Gaining entrance to the palace was difficult enough at the best of times. Getting aboard when the elements raged, in the dark, was nightmarish.

The envoy was accompanied by a detachment of hand-picked empire troopers. He had agonised about its size, but in the end decided that Melyobar’s arrest would best be achieved by twenty experienced men. He also brought an approved sorcerer along, naturally. A larger company would have aroused suspicions and possible hostility. This more modest number could be passed off as a bodyguard for troubled times.

In any event, he intended the task to be carried out quickly and efficiently. He even dared to hope that many in the Prince’s court would be relieved to see him removed, and support the empire’s edict. However, despite sending a message beforehand requesting an audience as a matter of urgency, citing major affairs of state, he was kept waiting. The Ambassador chided himself for thinking Melyobar would have responded rationally. He should have insisted on an immediate audience, or even had his men force their way in. Instead he clung to his diplomatic instincts. He had the foolish idea that his mission could be realised civilly, with the Prince giving way to the higher authority Talgorian represented.

Now Talgorian was ensconced in an anteroom bordering the royal quarters while, at his hosts’ insistence, his troopers loitered in the humbler surroundings of a nearby guardroom. He paced the opulent chamber, on the verge of acting. Then something caught his eye and he stopped.

A previously hidden door in a far corner was edging open. Fearing some kind of treachery, Talgorian tensed.

A young man furtively entered. He wore the distinctive robes of a sorcerer, specifically a version that identified him as being in the service of the sovereign. He looked young for a ranking sorcerer, and unlike most of his brethren, he was clean-shaven.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, holding up his hands placatingly, ‘I’m not here to harm you.’

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘My name is Okrael. I’m a one of the palace’s sorcerers. In fact, we’ve met before. I think we even exchanged a few words.’

‘You do look familiar. But why the cloak-and-dagger tactics?’

‘I need to speak with you, Ambassador.’

‘There are official channels. If you’d care to get in touch with-’

‘I have to speak to you now.’

‘This isn’t an ideal time. I’m expecting to be called in to the Prince at any moment.’

‘That’s exactly why I need to talk to you now, before you see His Royal Highness. I have something to tell you.’

‘What?’

The young wizard looked hesitant. ‘I’m taking a hell of a risk here…Can I trust you? Can you be relied on to do something?’

‘About what?’

Okrael nervously scanned the room. ‘The Prince.’

Talgorian wondered if he should explain that that was why he was here. But he thought it best to be cautious. ‘What of him?’ he said; adding, ‘Anything you say will be treated as privileged. You can trust me.’

‘I’ve no choice, I suppose. But then, what’s there to lose? If he goes ahead with his scheme we’ll all be dead anyway.’ Okrael looked pale and sick.

‘I know that his Majesty’s methods can sometimes seem a little draconian, but-’

‘No, no, no. I’m not talking about the small, everyday cruelties; I’m referring to something far more profound.’

Talgorian glanced up at the ceiling and the several objects silently hovering there. ‘Is this the most appropriate time and place for such a discussion?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve temporarily immobilised the spy glamours. We can talk freely. But not for long.’

It occurred to Talgorian that this was all an elaborate plot to trick him into saying something incriminating.

As though he’d read his mind, Okrael said, ‘If you’re worried that this is some kind of ploy, since when did Melyobar bother with trifles like evidence?’

‘Are you implying that His Majesty would employ summary justice in the case of someone like me? I am Gath Tampoor’s Imperial Ambassador, after all.’ He found it hard saying this without a slight swelling of the chest.

‘Do you really think that would sway him in any way if he wanted your throat cut?’

The self-evident truth of that deflated the Envoy somewhat. ‘All right, I’ll listen to what you have to say. But I hope you’re not wasting my time.’

‘Then I’ll keep it brief. The Prince has had us working on a special project for months now. A project with only one objective: mass murder.’

‘But he has no legions under his command, no army to wreak destruction. There’s no more than his palace guard, essentially. How are they to undertake a slaughter?’

‘You’re thinking conventionally. Melyobar has no intention of killing by force of arms.’

‘Then how? Magic?’

‘Magic’s played its part. But you might say that what he’s really employing is nature.’

‘Explain yourself.’

‘A great deal of effort’s been put into making this place even more independent of the outside world than it already is. We’ve not only taken on enough supplies to feed a city, we also have things the Prince wants preserved.’

‘Preserved?’

‘Animals, for example. Beasts of all kinds in mating pairs. The lower levels are crammed with pens and cages. It’s a zoo down there.’

‘They’re just diversions, surely? For His Highness’s entertainment.’

‘No. They’re not there for his edification; he has them because he wants them to survive. To populate a new world.’

‘How could he possibly-’

‘It’s all about his obsession with death, of course. Putting one over on his old adversary. The way Melyobar reasons is, what better way to find a man hiding in a forest than to burn down the trees?’

‘You’re saying he plans destruction, but by what means?’

‘He’s had us collecting corpses, putrefying flesh, all manner of vile, corrupt things. The aim was to identify those humours that breed in filth and bring sickness, and having isolated them, to produce a distillation of pestilences. The plan is a cleansing of the world through the spread of plague. He claims his dead father gave him the idea.’

‘Could it work?’

‘Oh, yes. We’ve arrived at a particularly virulent strain of the malady. We know it works; it’s been tested on live subjects.’

‘It’s Melyobar’s objective to introduce this…essence into the world?’

‘He favours scattering it with the catapults you’d have seen arrayed on the battlements. Though in truth it could just as easily be introduced into wells or rivers, or in any number of other ways. Simply forcing people to drink the distillate and sending them out contaminated would spread the disease.’

‘And the result would be…?’

‘With no known protection against the strain, and no cure, numerous fatalities. Perhaps even the world denuded of human life, as Melyobar dreams. Purged of all, that is, except him, his servants and obsequious courtiers.’

‘All the better to see Death.’

‘Yes. At last, there’d be no hiding place for the Prince’s enemy.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘I didn’t become a sorcerer to have a hand in massacring my own people. It has to be stopped. Few outsiders come here, and you’re the only one of late with any power, Ambassador, and not in his thrall. At least I hope so.’

Talgorian was reeling. Okrael’s story had an awful ring of plausibility. ‘As it happens,’ the Envoy said, ‘our aims regarding the Prince aren’t dissimilar. I’m here to bring about changes.’

‘Then I’m more relieved than I can say. But you have to hurry. The quintessence is almost ready.’

‘You said magic had a part in this. I don’t see where.’

‘The essence is unstable. Extremes of heat or cold can neutralise its virulence. Magic binds it, keeps it sure.’

‘You’re a sorcerer. Can’t you interfere with that binding?’

‘I’m far from being the only one working on this, and certainly not the most senior. One or two of my brotherhood are sympathetic, but most are too frightened to express an opinion. I don’t know who’s against me or with me. I can’t do more than I’m doing, Ambassador. Now it’s down to you.’

‘Very well. Before the day’s out, things are going to be very different, Okrael, I can assure you of that.’

They made their farewells, promising to talk again later, under a new regime. Then the wizard slipped away, leaving Talgorian to mull things over.

A long time seemed to pass before they came to fetch him, though in reality the minutes elapsed were barely into double figures. He was guided by a pair of liveried servants, who true to form remained aloof.

He was surprised to find that he wasn’t taken to the throne room, where audiences usually took place. Instead, he was escorted up flights of stairs to a much higher level. He asked his guides what was going on, but they remained noncommittal. His anxiety built, and he found himself nervously fingering the document he had in his pocket.

Finally they reached what Talgorian thought of as the wheelhouse; the area from which the palace’s movement was controlled. The spacious room was dominated by a large panoramic window that occupied almost all of three sides. Its view was one of nearly complete murk, patterned with swirling snowflakes. The glamour orbs that lit the space had been dimmed to improve visibility.

There were a number of people present, mostly the wizard crew, along with guards and various servants. It was very much the way it had looked the only other time Talgorian had been there.

Melyobar sat on a throne-like chair set higher than any other, not far from the wheel that directed the massive palace’s movements. He was addressing an individual Talgorian recognised as the Captain. The Ambassador caught only the end of their exchange, but apparently the Captain had objected to the route the travelling court was about to take.

‘Enough!’ the Prince exclaimed. ‘I’ve no interest in your snivelling misgivings! We’re following a course through the great lakes area, and that’s an end to it. Unless you want to have your loyalty put to the question.’

The man grovelled, apologised and withdrew crushed. No one else seemed in the least interested in his humiliation, an indication of how common such occurrences were.

Only then did the Prince notice Talgorian. ‘Ah, the Ambassador has arrived,’ he announced loudly. ‘Come, step forward. Let’s not delay the progress of affairs of state.’

The Envoy did as he was bidden, thinking that perhaps the monarch was a little sharper than usual. ‘Greetings, Your Highness. I trust I find you well.’

The Prince ignored the banality. ‘And what brings you to court with such urgency?’

‘These are difficult times, Your Highness. As you’ll be aware, your nation and mine are engaged in a military mission of great importance.’

‘Are we?’ A look of befuddlement fleetingly occupied the Prince’s face.

It was something Talgorian often found when talking to Melyobar about the wider world, and it gave him brief comfort. ‘Indeed. A Gath Tampoor fleet, including representatives of our Bhealfan allies, is dealing with an enclave of rebels as we speak.’

‘And what do you expect me to do about it?’

‘As such, Highness, nothing at all. I merely draw your attention to events in order to give my succeeding statements a relevant context.’

‘We’re at war again. What’s so different about it this time?’

Was his attitude a mite more aggressive than usual? Incisive, even?

‘It’s not so much a matter of difference, sire. I mention it only in order to illustrate the great burden our dear Empress shoulders at such times, and to underline the difficulty of the decision she has had to make.’

‘Decision?’

Talgorian slipped out the document he’d been harbouring, and unfurled it. ‘I think it would be best, Highness, if I were to read you the edict drafted by Her Imperial Majesty’s advisers.’ He looked about and saw that furtive eyes were on them. ‘Bearing in mind that this refers to matters of a delicate constitutional nature, perhaps Your Highness would prefer to be informed of its contents in private?’

‘No,’ Melyobar responded bluntly.

‘Very well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In accordance with the powers invested in me by the relevant authorities, I, Andar Talgorian, Imperial Ambassador to the Royal Bhealfan Court, do hereby submit an official proclamation relieving Prince Melyobar of his position as-’

‘As I suspected!’ the Prince roared. ‘Treachery!’

‘This is a situation I’m sure we can reasonably discuss and-’

‘Guards!’ Melyobar yelled. ‘Guards!’

Men rushed forward with swords drawn and seized the Envoy.

‘Unhand me!’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

‘Their loyalty lies with me,’ Melyobar told him. ‘Though I wish I could say the same for all my subjects.’ He raised an arm and clicked his fingers.

The signal brought in a group of guardsmen shoving a bound prisoner, and Talgorian’s heart sank.

Okrael could barely walk. His face was bruised and bloody.

‘Your co-conspirator,’ Melyobar announced.

‘No,’ Talgorian replied. ‘There’s no plot, only the writ of higher authority. I act under orders, Your Highness. I’m just the deliverer of my superior’s wishes.’

‘You must think I’m very stupid,’ the Prince snorted.

‘I’m not here alone. I have an escort of-’

‘Your cohorts are in no position to help you. Did you really think I’d allow a band of assassins to wander loose in my palace?’

‘Assassins? Your Highness, if those troopers have come to any harm, Her Imperial Majesty will be extremely displeased. Likewise this man.’ He nodded towards Okrael, who blinked back through unfocused eyes. ‘He may have evidence germane to my mission, and as such should be afforded the empire’s protection.’

‘So you do admit you’re in this together.’

With an icy fist clutching at his innards, Talgorian could see that he was getting nowhere. ‘Please be aware, Highness,’ he said, playing his last card, ‘that I have the backing of the Empress herself.’

‘The backing of my enemy, more likely! Death’s agent!’

‘This is absurd, sire! You’re making a terrible mistake!’

The Prince glared at him malignly. ‘We’ll see how much of a mistake I’m making when torture extracts the truth. Take them to the cells!’

It was still snowing on the Diamond Isle, too, albeit less fiercely.

Vivid eruptions and the flicker of magical beams lit up the night. On the redoubt’s parapet, Serrah and Caldason gazed towards the sea. They could just make out a multitude of masts, shrouded in white canvas.

‘I don’t care what your parentage is, Reeth,’ Serrah said. ‘It’s you I love. Everything else is background chatter.’

‘Look at it from my point of view.’ He gestured in frustration. ‘I’m proud of being a Qalochian, but ashamed of my Founder blood. That Founder heritage has effected me in all sorts of disturbing ways. My rages are obviously due to it; the two opposing sides of my nature are at war, I see that now. And maybe there are other little gifts I don’t even know about yet.’

‘But if it hadn’t been for the life extension the blood gave you, you’d be an old man now. Or quite possibly dead. We would never have met.’

‘I’ve thought about the irony of that a lot, Serrah, believe me. I’ve also worried about the great age difference between us.’

‘Oh, don’t start that again, Reeth. It’s not a problem for me; it shouldn’t be for you either. Let’s just be grateful that fate brought us together, shall we?’

‘You’re right. But that’s kind of ironic too, isn’t it? Finding each other at a time when future prospects hardly look bright. Assuming we have any future prospects.’

Serrah looked at him meaningfully. ‘We have each other and we have the moment. That’s more than a lot of people get. Look, forget us for a minute and think about the bigger picture. What did you make of what Praltor said about the Founders surviving?’

‘It occurred to me to wonder if it was some kind of mistake, or if he was imagining it all.’

‘Reeth. I know it’s hard to take, but don’t go into denial over this. It wasn’t Praltor’s opinion, it was from the Source. He couldn’t fake that.’

‘I know. As you said, it’s not easy discovering certain things about yourself.’

‘Look on the bright side. It’s not every day you find out you’ve got such influential relatives.’

Caldason had to smile.

They kissed.

A chorus of shouts went up. The lookouts stationed on the battlements were sounding an alarm.

‘What is it?’ Serrah said.

‘Look.’ He pointed.

A wagon was heading for the redoubt, accompanied by a handful of riders. The group rode hell for leather.

Serrah had a spy tube. ‘Reeth! It’s Dulian and Quinn.’

They were being pursued. Several dozen mounted soldiers were after them, their horses huffing white clouds in the chill air.

One or two of the redoubt’s sentries began unleashing arrows. Serrah and Caldason ran for the stairs, and went down them in a breakneck clatter.

When they reached ground level they found the gates had already been opened. Defenders were roaring encouragement at the approaching wagon, and adding to the rain of arrows zeroing in on its pursuers. The latter had already slowed, cautious enough not to get too close to the fortress.

As the wagon and its smattering of outriders neared safety, there was another development. A body of soldiers emerged from the treeline, their uniforms grey against the night’s blackness.

‘How many, do you think?’ Caldason asked.

‘Forty or fifty, maybe more. Shit, Reeth, they’ve got to us already. The island must be overrun.’

‘Not necessarily. It’s a basic tactic to send in advance groups of shock troopers. These are probably pathfinders. Small in number but veterans.’

The wagon and riders thundered into the redoubt, to cheers. A mass of defenders put their shoulders to the gates and got them rapidly closed.

Karr and Disgleirio looked shaken but were unharmed. Several of the men with them had minor wounds.

‘We were lucky,’ Karr explained as they helped him down. ‘Which is more than can be said for some of our comrades, I’m afraid.’

‘What happened?’ Caldason asked.

‘We were simply overwhelmed,’ Disgleirio replied. ‘It was all we could do to get out.’

‘What about the fortress?’

‘Holding, and quite well, I’m pleased to say. But they only have to wait it out, of course.’

‘It’s a chaotic situation out there,’ Karr added. ‘Defenders are holding some parts of the island and invaders others. We’ve got pockets of our people cut off all over the place. It’s anarchy.’

‘Any idea where Darrok is?’

‘No.’

‘Is there any good news at all?’ Serrah wondered.

Before anyone could speak, the lookouts were in full voice again, bellowing warning.

‘And that’s unlikely to be any,’ Caldason reckoned, making for the wall.

Serrah and Disgleirio followed, along with scores of others. They crowded the grilles and arrow slits. What they saw was a lone rider heading their way, with a mob of invaders on its heels.

‘Looks like a straggler,’ Disgleirio said.

Serrah had her glamour tube. ‘Gods. It’s Pallidea.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘There’s no mistaking that red mane. Here, look for yourself.’ She handed him the tube.

The rider’s pure white horse swerved to avoid a line of invaders blocking the way, then took off in the direction of the half ruined fairground.

Serrah clutched Caldason’s arm. ‘We’ve got to help her, Reeth.’

‘Come on.’

They hurried back across the courtyard, to find that Phoenix and Goyter had joined Karr. Swiftly, they told him what they’d seen.

‘We can’t spare a sizeable number to go after her,’ Karr told them. ‘In fact, I can’t see that we’re in a position to send anybody, whoever needs rescuing.’ He looked genuinely pained. ‘I’m sorry, but defending this place has to come first.’

‘Of course,’ Serrah replied. ‘But you’ve no objection to us going?’

‘I have, actually. I don’t want to risk losing you both. But I know that what I say won’t make the slightest difference. Just promise me that if things look too hopeless you’ll abandon the idea and get back here.’

‘We will.’

Goyter waved in a groom leading a pair of horses. Across the saddle of each was a breastplate and helm.

‘I’m not wearing those,’ Caldason stated.

‘You need all the help you can get,’ Goyter insisted. ‘Both of you. And the armour’s surprisingly lightweight. Now hurry up and get into it.’

Caldason surrendered and hefted the breastplate. Serrah was already in hers. Several people clustered around to help tie their stays.

‘I’ve something else that might be useful,’ Phoenix said, showing them a small black cube on his palm.

‘What is it?’ Caldason asked.

‘A personal deflection shield. It’s got enough of a range to cover both of you, providing you stay together, and it’ll protect against most edged weapons or projectiles. Have either of you used one before?’

‘Never,’ Caldason said.

‘A few times,’ Serrah acknowledged. She was fastening the strap on her helmet.

‘Then it can be in your care,’ the magician decided, handing it to her. ‘But don’t forget that it’s short-lived.’

‘How short?’

‘About ten minutes.’

‘Can we get a move on?’ Caldason pleaded.

They mounted their horses and the gates were opened.

‘Gods speed!’ Karr shouted.

Caldason and Serrah galloped out. The gates closed behind them with a mellow thud.

The enemy foot soldiers kept their distance, contenting themselves with jeers and threatening gestures.

‘Looks like there isn’t too much in the way of cavalry about yet,’ Serrah said.

‘The few we saw seemed more interested in catching Pallidea. Come on, she went this way.’ He spurred his horse.

They rode further inland, towards a cluster of abandoned amusement houses and pleasure domes, remnants from the days when the Diamond Isle was at its height as a resort for the rich. At first, they saw nothing but semi-ruined buildings overgrown with weeds and creepers. Then there was movement in the clutter.

Serrah and Reeth spotted riders milling amongst the ruins, swords drawn, slashing at the undergrowth. As yet, they hadn’t been seen themselves.

‘What shall we do?’ Serrah mouthed.

Before he could answer, the decision was taken for them. There was a commotion ahead. A figure broke cover and dashed their way, her flowing red hair unmistakable.

‘Hang on, Reeth!’ Serrah yelled. She slapped the tiny black cube against her thigh, cracking it like a raw egg and casting the spell. As the near invisible glamour spread to cloak them, a tingle ran through their flesh. ‘Remember, stay close!’

They took off towards Pallidea, and found themselves riding into a barrage of arrows. The bolts ricocheted off the protective shield, some snapping in two with the force of impact, as Caldason and Serrah raced on.

Pallidea’s horse had been downed and she was limping from the fall, yet she moved like an athlete. A pack of riders were behind her, and gaining fast.

Serrah and Caldason pounded in. He leaned from his saddle, arm outstretched. Pallidea grasped it, and with a mighty effort, Caldason heaved her up and onto his mount. All the while, both horses were describing an arc, so that as Pallidea was anchoring down, the two beasts had already turned and were heading back in the direction they’d come.

The manoeuvre gave the enemy a chance to narrow the gap. Now it was a chase, pure and simple, with arrows continuing to glance off the protective cloak. Serrah and Reeth spurred on their mounts, and started to gain a lead.

Then the glamour shield ran out.

They only knew because an arrow plunged into the back leg of Serrah’s horse. The animal whinnied, stumbled and went down. Serrah was pitched headlong and bounced across the frozen ground.

Caldason pulled up and slid from his horse, signalling Pallidea to stay put. Taking in Serrah, the injured horse and the charging pursuers, he made an instant decision.

‘Go!’ he yelled.

Pallidea was shocked. ‘No, Reeth! I couldn’t poss-’

‘Get to the redoubt! We’ll be fine! Go, go, go!’ He slapped her horse and it bolted away.

Serrah was on hands and knees, shaking her head to clear it.

‘You all right, love?’

‘I…yes.’

He hauled her to her feet. ‘Then get ready to move.’

The first of the empire riders were bearing down on them. Caldason plucked a snub-bladed knife from his belt and flung it. The blade struck the foremost cavalryman square in the chest. His fall caused a moment of chaos for those following. A rider was unhorsed. Several others had to swerve sharply.

Caldason’s gaze flicked towards the redoubt. Pallidea was well on her way to reaching its gates, and horsemen were charging out to defend her.

But Pallidea had been lucky. A number of enemy troopers were moving across the plain, cutting off Reeth and Serrah’s way to the redoubt.

‘This way!’ he bellowed, snatching her arm.

They headed for another cluster of ruins, dominated by a tower, weaving as they ran. At their rear, hooves thundered, and arrows, spears and even a hatchet were lobbed. A shaft clipped the side of Serrah’s breastplate and she felt the blow like a punch. Reeth tugged at her, keeping her moving.

The tower seemed to be the only halfway substantial building in their path. They made for it, praying its door would prove unfastened. Long moments later, gasping from the effort, they arrived at the tower’s base, and were relieved beyond measure to find the door ajar. They slammed it behind them practically in their pursuers’ faces, quickly securing it with an iron bar.

The place was a watchtower, part stone, part timber, but it hadn’t been built as a defence, or even for any overtly practical purpose. Like so much on the island, it was ornamental; a prop to enhance someone’s fantasy vacation. As such, it wouldn’t withstand a determined assault for long. Even now the door shook under a battering, and was unlikely to hold.

They looked around. There was nothing but rickety wooden stairs leading to the tower’s summit, and Serrah and Caldason began running up them. The stairs creaked and swayed, while below, the pounding at the door grew more violent.

As they reached the second flight, the door’s restraining bar buckled and splinters flew. They kept climbing, and by the time they clambered up the last flight, they were breathing heavily.

At the top of the tower was a belfry, where a frame supported an iron bell large enough for a buffalo to wallow in. It hung above an open trap. Waist-high stone walls enclosed the belfry’s four sides, and there was a wooden crown above, but otherwise it was open to the elements. A bitter wind cut through, bringing a smattering of snowflakes.

‘They’re going to have that door down any second,’ Serrah said.

‘I’ve been in worse defensive positions.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, not by much.’

The door was holed. Looking down, they could see the tips of spears, and probing hands searching for the bar.

‘What do we do?’

‘Stand well back,’ he told her.

One hand against the bell frame, he scaled the wobbly banister. Then he drew his broadsword. At a stretch, he swiped at the stout rope holding up the bell. The blow bit into the rope, but didn’t sever it, and he struck again, gouging deeper. Strands popped as the fibres grew taut.

There was a rise in the level of noise from downstairs. The last remnants of the door were kicked in.

Caldason was about to deliver a third stroke, but there was no need. The rope snapped and gravity took the bell, sucking it neatly through the open trap. From that point it fell less tidily. It hit a balustrade, shattering it, and crashed into the wall, dislodging masonry and emitting a sour note. Then it dropped true.

The bell struck with a tremendous, almost melodic crash, sending clouds of dust billowing. It came down at an angle, one edge of its lip driven into the ground, its dome wedged against the entrance.

The staircase shook violently. Barely keeping his balance, Caldason hopped lightly to the belfry floor and froze. He and Serrah stood motionless, listening to the bell’s echoing death knell and waiting for the stairs to collapse. After what seemed a very long time, Serrah whispered, ‘I think they’re staying up for now.’

Caldason crept to the edge and looked down. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw limbs sticking out from underneath the bell.

Serrah edged over to join him. ‘Seems awfully quiet down there.’

‘This was just a hitch. Don’t run away with the idea that we stopped them or anything.’

‘Let’s see.’ Moving low, she led him to the belfry wall.

For the first time, she noticed that an elaborately carved gargoyle stood at each corner, looking out across the island. She and Reeth huddled beneath one, then they took a peek. Almost immediately a roar went up from below, and arrows quickly followed. One hit the gargoyle’s head, chipping an unsightly ear. Reeth and Serrah ducked back down.

‘I made it twenty or more,’ she reported.

‘Me too. Add the ones we couldn’t see and-’

‘And we have a lot of murderous bastards who want to get in here.’

‘Of course, we’re just two people. They must have better things to do. Perhaps they’ll give up.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Not really.’

He removed his helmet, then began unlacing the breastplate. ‘I hate wearing this stuff.’

‘I’m grateful for it.’ Nevertheless, she was taking hers off, too, revealing a spreading bruise from the arrow strike. At the bruise’s core, the skin was broken.

‘You’re getting a good black eye as well,’ he told her. ‘But don’t worry, I like dark-eyed women.’

‘Ha, ha.’ She dabbed at the bruise with a cloth, and winced.

‘Give it here,’ he said. He produced a hip flask and dampened the cloth.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Brandy. Good stuff, too. Darrok gave it to me.’

‘Trust him to have the best. Ouch.’

‘That should stop any infection,’ he said, pressing the cloth to her wound.

‘Which might not be our greatest worry at the moment. I mean, infections need time to take hold, don’t they? And that could be something we haven’t got a lot of.’

Neither spoke for a moment. Then she added, ‘Do you think Pallidea got through?’

‘It looked like it. About that. I meant to say…’

‘What?’

‘Did I do the right thing? I kind of took the decision for you, didn’t I? Maybe you’re the one who should have had my horse.’

‘There was hardly time for a debate, Reeth. And yes, what you did was right. You usually do. It’s one of the things I like about you.’

‘Here’s some more irony for you. For decades I wanted nothing but to die. Now I’ve found you and I want to live, just when-’

She placed her fingers on his lips, quietening him. ‘Who said the gods haven’t got a sense of humour?’

‘The joke’s on us this time.’

‘No, Reeth. As long as we’re drawing breath, and as long as we’re together, there’s hope.’

‘And the longer we stay here, the larger their numbers are going to get.’

It was nearing dawn, and the snow had all but stopped, though it was colder than ever. They heard noises from below, and dared another peep over the wall’s edge. This time there were no jeers or streams of arrows; the invaders were too busy lugging wooden props, buckets, shovels and bundles of faggots towards the tower.

‘What’s the betting those buckets are full of oil and pig fat?’ Caldason said. ‘They’re going to undermine the walls with fire.’

‘I don’t much fancy the idea of being on top of a funeral pyre.’

‘You won’t be. The tower’s going to collapse long before that.’

‘Great. What are we going to do, Reeth?’

He hesitated, looking hard into her face. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small grey pouch.

‘What’s that?’ Serrah asked. ‘A glamour? Some charm that’s going to blast us out of here or-?’

‘No.’ His expression was deadly serious. ‘It’s something else Darrok gave me.’

He spread the pouch’s neck and showed her the contents.

‘What the hell?’ she whispered, actually taking a step back. The colour was bleeding from her face.

‘Listen to me.’

‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’

‘It’s the only way we stand a chance of getting out of here.’

‘You want me to take that shit? When you know what it did to Eithne?’

‘I’m not suggesting this lightly, Serrah.’

‘Why the fuck are you suggesting it at all?’ she hissed.

‘Because I can’t think of anything else that might get us out of here alive,’ he replied calmly.

‘Oh, yes, taking a dangerous drug’s really going to help in this situation, isn’t it?’

‘Think. When you were in the CIS you faced gangs who used this stuff. Remember how greatly their stamina was increased? How aggressive they were?’

‘They were bandits. Scum.’

‘That’s not the point. Ramp can give you an edge that just might make the difference.’

‘The damn stuff took so much from me.’

‘Then let it give you something back.’

‘I notice you’re talking about me taking it. What about you?’

‘Which one of us has a form of near immortality? Which of us gets berserk rages? Who needs ramp most to get us out of here?’

‘I’m scared,’ she confessed, eyes misting.

He embraced her. ‘Of course you are. But did you think I’d ask you to do this if there was any other way?’

‘It’s dangerous.’

‘No more so than facing what’s outside without it.’

She pulled away. ‘All right, I’ll do it. But right now, and don’t say anything more, Reeth. I don’t want any reason to change my mind.’

‘Give me your hand.’ She was shaking slightly. ‘I’m with you,’ he assured her. He poured a quantity of the crystalline substance into her open hand.

She stared at it.

‘Here, wash it down with this.’ He passed her the canteen. ‘You know how it goes, don’t you? You’ll roar for a couple of hours before it wears off. After that you’ll feel pretty washed out, but otherwise you should be all right.’

‘I may never forgive you for this, Caldason.’ She lifted her hand to her mouth and lapped the crystals, then she pulled a face. A swig from the flask gave her a brief coughing fit. ‘What now?’ she said huskily.

‘We wait. It should take effect soon.’

‘How will I know?’

‘You’ll know.’