The Road to Underfall

 

MIKE JEFFERIES

 

 

The Bondbreaking

 

 

'I will teach you,' whispered a voice in the darkness. 'I will tell you

what it is forbidden to know; of how the Granite Kings arose out

of the great darkness.'

 

'Lord, there is a curse on stories about time before the

darkness came,' answered a shy nervous voice. 'It is forbidden to

meddle in magic.'

 

Laughter crackled, almost seeming to split the blackness in

two.

 

'Listen, child, and I shall tell you of a time before night was ever

thought of and how it came to a world of perpetual light, in a time

when the sun endlessly circled Elundium.'

 

The voice paused, and in its place a tiny speck of light began to

glow.

 

'It was the age of the Mason Kings, the architects of all that is

beautiful across the length and breadth of Elundium. City after

city, each one more intricate and delicate; each one mirroring the

beauty of a perfect world, rose up, glittering in the soft changeless

light, until . . .'

 

'Until?' pressed the younger voice, eager to hear the story, yet

terrified that the Nightbeasts might be listening in the darkness.

 

'Until King Mantern took up his mason's chisel. He was driven

by strange dreams to fear the sunlight, and all he built shadowed

what the other kings had built. On the outside in hard bleak lines

he used only dark stone, rough hewn and quarry raw, while within

there was black marble, traced in silver; it lined every room. He

built the Granite City, sheer and windowless, a dark place of inner

courtyards and secrets, and in its midst, rising in brittle points,

stood the Towers of Granite.

 

'He sought tirelessly for the purest black marble, and his quest

led him deeper and deeper into the marble valleys until,

amongst the blackest shadows, he found a pure seam of the

richest marble ever known. It was etched in veins of silver.'

 

The point of light had grown stronger as the story unfolded

and it reflected fine feathery veins around it. ~

 

'Mantern raised his hammer and swung a mighty blow at his

chisel and that hammer blow broke through the surface of ~:

Elundium, and from that tiny hole night burst out.'

 

The young voice gasped in the darkness.

 

'Night roared and screamed around King Mantern, tearing

the hole into a great split. Earthquakes shook the marble valleys

and black storms tore at its surface. Mantern tried to stop the

earth splitting but the more he held on to each side the more

violent the earthquakes became until a great mountain had

formed beneath the struggling King and he stood in total

darkness beside a black entrance. Wise men say it was the first

moment that the world turned, but among the Masters of Magic

it is known that this was the moment of Krulshards' birth.'

 

The voice paused and the point of light grew smaller and

smaller until it became lost in the blackness.

 

'Without the sun, King Mantern was blind. He reached out

shaking hands against the raging storms but all around him the

winds began to laugh, cruel shrieking sounds of torment, and

his hand touched the Master of Night.'

 

'Krulshards!' gasped the young listener, huddling against

the floor.

 

'The one whose eyes are the black holes of despair and

whose breath will overshadow the moon or blot out the stars.

He had arisen to destroy Elundium.'

 

'Did he make all the darkness?' asked the younger voice.

 

Again the laughter rekindled the point of light.

 

'There were, before that hammer blow, two worlds in

perfect parallel. One above the ground, at peace with nature, in

harmony with the sunlight. While in the darkness beneath the

surface in the other world unnatural things had grown, nightmare

images that hated the light. The Mason Kings had

stripped the surface of Elundium in their search for the purest

stone, weakening and drawing the two worlds together, and in

their ignorance they had awaken Krulshards, the Master of the

Darkness.'

 

'Which world have I come from?' asked the listener in

confusion.

 

'Patience!' hissed the other voice. 'Listen. The storms of

night gradually receded, leaving King Mantern face to face

with the one he had touched and he cried out, clutching at his

withering hand. Before him stood a mirror image of himself,

the black inner self of his nightmares that had driven him to

make that hammer blow. Krulshards. Before him stood a

figure more powerful than any being that had ever walked in

Elundium. Shadowy and terrible to look upon. Wrapped in a

black malice which covered corrupted rotten flesh that hated

the sunlight.

 

'He sneered at the King, gripping him with bone black

fingers, laughing in his face. "I have summoned you, Sun King,

to set me free and now I shall take everything and cover

Elundium with darkness."

 

'King Mantern struggled helplessly as Krulshards lifted him

high above his head and cast him down the mountainside.

Night winds screamed and tormented him and savage storms

lashed at his body as he fell, but eventually battered and

bruised he reached the lower slopes and came to rest on the

edge of a steep slope of living granite. It sparkled and glowed in

the dark and as the King slid across its surface, searching for a

way down, he saw within the rock face a sleeping form.'

 

'What form?' urged the young voice.

 

'Shush!' hissed the voice of wisdom, feeling a slight change

in the flow of air, 'Nightbeasts are near.

 

'It was the sleeping form of the first Granite King. The

terrible storms had eaten away at the granite cliff and as King

Mantern reached out to touch the surface of the rock it

crumbled away and the first Granite King arose. Mantern

offered up the handle of his hammer fearing a greater magic

than the nightmare of Krulshards and the winds of night that

screamed about his ears, but the Granite King refused the

hammer and, drawing his sword, split night in half, and a little

light shone in that dreadful place. Just enough light for Mantern

to see the ruin he had caused to the gardens of Elundium,

for the storms had broken the branches of the trees and

smashed down the beautiful stone buildings, and night had

robbed all the colours from the flowers and they had shut their

petal cases against the darkness. Mantern threw himself down

at the feet of the Granite King but strong hands lifted him up

and a gentle voice soothed him in the twilight.

 

"'I am Holgranos, the first Granite King. I shall win back

what you have lost. I shall win back the light."

 

'With that he swept his sword against the granite cliff and it

shattered into a thousand crystals of light, each one brighter

than the sun. Krulshards fled back into his black hole beneath

 

the mountain.'

 

'But the darkness? Who brought back the darkness?' asked

the young voice.

 

'Crystals are not suns. Nor is their magic powerful enough to

keep out the night. Mantern saw the ruin he had caused and

fled back to the Granite City, where he spent the last remaining

days of sunlight fortifying the granite towers against the night

he knew must come and always his eyes were drawn towards

the horizon that hid the raw black mountain that had grown up out

of the marble valleys.

 

'Holgranos, the first Granite King, climbed to the top of

Mantern's Mountain, the darkest and most feared place in all

Elundium, and, lifting huge slabs of black marble, he blocked

up the mouth of night, trapping Krulshards in the darkness.

But each time the seal was almost complete the Master of

nightbeasts broke out, hurling rocks and stones at the Granite

King. It was a time of giants, when the two mightiest forces in

Elundium stood face to face before the gates of night. Each

time they fought upon the boulder strewn ledge before that

dark hole, Krulshards shadowed the sun, hiding his one

weakness from the Granite King; bringing with the darkness

bitter winters that changed the marble valleys into a bleak

desolate place that the ordinary people of Elundium dared not

go near, and in time the marble valleys lost their true name and

became known as World's End and a place to dread.'

 

'Weakness?' asked the younger voice, 'There is nothing but

fear and terror here in the darkness.'

 

Pure laughter blazed in the darkness showing a glimpse of

the older voice, splashes of colour dazzled the listener.

 

'Strong magic! Beware! Krulshards will destroy anything

that knows of his weakness, for he has the strength of ten

Granite Kings, yet children could render him helpless and

ready for the killing stroke.'

 

'How so?' gasped the other voice, searching the darkness for

the beautiful colours.

 

'Know me now, and I shall tell you, for I am Nevian, the

Master of Magic, the Lord of the Daylight and the Keeper of

the Sun.'

 

The light blazed again, and there in the darkness stood a

figure wrapped in a rainbow cloak of many colours.

 

'Tread on his shadow, if you can get close enough, for that is

his weakness. Here in the darkness he is shadowless and

terrible, but in the daylight if you can step upon that nightmare

shape he is yours to destroy, for he cannot turn to fight or

escape into the City of Night. It took my greatest magic to make

that part of him real, and jump as high as he likes or run faster

than the wind he cannot get away from it. Holgranos saw the

secret of the shadow but it was too late, he had fought for many

 

winters on Mantern's Mountain and his bones had grown

brittle from the cold. He had grown old and too weak to chase

the Master of Nightbeasts and by then Krulshards was not

alone or so vulnerable, for he had spawned the Nightbeasts

deep inside the City of night and formed them into a shadow

circle that protected him, and who could tell which was the

 

master's shadow amongst so many hideous shapes?'

 

'Are the nightbeasts afraid of the daylight?' asked the young

Voice.

 

Nevian laughed, casting back the rainbow cloak. 'Nightbeasts

are afraid of the daylight, they are weak and blinded by

the light yet their fear of Krulshards will drive them out to form

a shadow circle wherever he commands it. They wear the skins

of those they kill, fashioned into hideous armour and that

protects them a little in the light. Holgranos could no longer

find the strength to climb the mountain and in despair he sent

for King Mantern and asked as payment for the light that the

last Mason King should build him a shelter at the foot of the

mountain, somewhere strong and fortified where he could rest

from the battles with Krulshards. Somewhere the Master of

Night could not enter.'

 

'Did he build such a place?' asked the young voice.

 

'Yes,' whispered Nevian, drawing closer, 'It is but one

daylight from here, clinging on to the mountain's lower slopes.'

 

The young voice interrupted, 'What is a daylight?'

 

Nevian laughed, 'You have so much to learn. A daylight is

the measure of time between the moment the sun appears in

the morning at World's Edge until it sinks from sight behind

Worlds End in the evening, four hundred daylights add up to

one sun.'

 

'But how long is a daylight?' pressed the young voice, full of

curiosity.

 

The magician sighed, 'A daylight has many lengths, for

those who toil unwillingly at a task it can seem to take forever,

while in what seems no time at all a fast horse can travel a great

distance in one daylight.'

 

'horse?' queried the young voice.

 

Nevian laughed again. 'The horse is a living being. People

ride on them; they are strong yet gentle; quiet, yet brave. But I

was telling you of the fortress King Mantern built at the~foot of

this mountain. Holgranos named it Underfall, the palace of

Kings. Sheer and terrible it rises, granite grey against the

mountain slopes. It is set with many galleries each one shadowing

the one below and they are cleverly edged with iron spikes that no

nightbeast could ever pass or force an entry through. It is a bare

place of many Granite Kings.'

 

'Were there more than one?' asked the voice, finding his mind

muddled and crowded with all this wisdom.

 

'There were many,' replied the magician, 'stepping proudly out

of that granite cliff to win back the daylight and they all grew old,

like weathered stone, before the task was even half finished, and

came to the final resting place at Underfall. It is in truth the palace

of the Kings.'

 

'Are there no more Granite Kings?' asked the young voice.

'Has darkness finally covered everything?'

 

'King Holbian is a Granite King,' whispered Nevian, 'and he is

on the road, marching towards this nightmare place and he may

carry your freedom in his sword arm.'

 

'If he comes, who shall I say I am, and where shall I tell him I

come from?'

 

'You are no-one, my child. Born without a name in the darkness,

a tragedy of Krulshards greed. Your forefathers were stolen by the

black monsters from a place long forgotten by the world that lives

within the light. You have been condemned by the accident of

birth to live in the darkness, a slave to the Master of nightbeasts, to

labour wherever he wields the lash, hollowing out the City of

Night, spreading his darkness under the world of the sunlight.'

 

Nevian sadly sighed, and reached out comforting hands in the

darkness, saying, 'But I have not forgotten you. I have travelled

through great danger searching in all the dark holes beneath the

grim mountain to give you back the memories and the knowledge

Krulshards stole when he firstwalked in the light. Watch with me,

watch the point of light and it will show you all the wonders of the

world above the ground.'

 

Together they stood, hand in hand, and watched the speck of

light grow and change from a million stars in the dark above

their heads into soft flowers swaying in a summer wind. And

then it changed into a tall forest that marched beyond the edge

of sight until each and every wonder, no matter how large or

 

how small, had passed before their eyes.

 

'Choose a name,' whispered the magician. 'Choose one part

of all the wonders you have seen and keep it as your own.'

 

After a moment's hesitation the voice cried out, 'Leaf. I

choose a leaf. They are so beautiful, so delicate, as they dance

in the wind.'

 

'Then you shall be called Leaf, the first Elder, and those you

find in this black place shall be your family, and you will teach

them of all you have seen and you shall name them, each one,

after the leaves on the trees; oak, elder, apple. Name them well

and forget nothing I have shown you.'

 

'Lord, Master of Magic,' Leaf cried out, feeling the hand he

held begin to melt away. 'Do not leave me here in the darkness.

Do not take away the light!'

 

Nevian smiled and the rainbow coat glowed with warm

colours. 'I must return. I can hear the tramp of marching feet

and the shouts of the great army. King Holbian grows impatient

and runs hard on Krulshards' heels. I hear the scream of

the Battle Owls and the neighing of the Warhorses, bridled and

ready for war. The light is yours now to keep, and share

amongst your people. Tell them of its beauty, for it will burn

ever bright in your heart. Look inward and see the green fields,

remember the colours and follow them as quick as butterflies

from hedge to hedgerow. You have a great power in the

darkness now for you have a name and a purpose, Leaf the

Elder.'

 

'Wait, wait,' cried Leaf, turning in every direction.

 

'Look for the sign,' called out the vanishingvoice of Nevian.

'If this King fails, look out for the sign of the great black

Warhorse and the boy who risks all for love.'

 

As Nevian hurried back towards the light he stumbled on a snag

of black marble and fell heavily, driving the point of his sword into

the dusty floor. It snapped, leaving a splinter of bright metal on the

floor of the City of night. Nevian cursed, and searched blindly but

he dare not wait too long, for he could hear the nightbeasts in the

lower levels, roaring and screaming as they rushed up towards the

black gate, driving a foul wind before them that buffetted and

jostled the Master of Magic. Rising from his knees he fled on to the

high plateau, and the steep descent on to the Causeway Fields, for

the great battle of Underfall was about to begin.

 

'Lord, Underfall is yours! World's End lies beneath your feet!'

 

Nevian's voice penetrated the dying sounds of bathe. He

paused for a moment, surveying the slaughter, weighing the

balance of night in the one hand and day in the other before he

whispered, 'Do not look back lest the payment for this final victory

breaks your heart.'

 

Slowly King Holbian turned away from the bleak fortress that

rose before him, searching for the rainbow cloak. 'What place is

this?' he cried, striking his sword impatiently against the rough

granite walls, casting sparks into the shadows.

 

'This, my Lord,' answered Nevian, arriving breathlessly at the

King's side, 'is the palace of Kings. It is yours by right, just as it

was your father's and his father's before him, as far back into

legends as the people of Elundium can remember.'

 

'To Mantern, the last Mason King,' whispered Holbian, the

colour draining out of his face. 'Is dais a part of Mantern's curse

that you have taught me of? Is this the place where he set night

free?'

 

'Yes, my Lord, it is the place all Granite Kings must seek, for it

is here that night is made.'

 

King Holbian shivered, drawing his cloak tightly about his

 

shoulders and touched the spark he kept well hidden in the inner

folds before he asked the magician, 'Have we reached Battle's

End, is this enough slaughter to keep back the night.?'

 

'It is not enough,' whispered Nevian fiercely, 'It is not the

darkness you have fought to destroy but Krulshards, the

Master of the Nightbeasts that he spawns in the City of Night.

Look, look, there on the lower mountain slopes where the

shadow circle follows the sun, that is what you have crossed

Elundium to destroy, for Krulshards is at its centre. Would

you leave him free to spread more terror throughout this land

and leave him free to creep back under the cover of darkness

across the causeway fields and feed upon the dead flesh of

your great army, feasting on the ones you love?'

 

'No, Lord,' hissed King Holbian, raising his sword to catch

the last dying rays of sunlight, 'I shall follow the Maker of

night beyond World's End and seal this victory before the

sun sets.'

 

Nevian stretched his hands towards the setting sun and the

rainbow cloak he wore cast a thousand threads of light across

the Causeway as he called to the Lord of Horses, Equestrius,

and to the Lord of Owls, Orundus. 'These shall be our

witnesses,, he whispered as Equestrius answered his call and

galloped into the shadows of Underfall. Grannog the great

Border Runner ran at his heels, fearing nothing that moved in

the shadows.

 

'Now let us ride upon the edge of the wind,' cried Nevian,

'before the night gives more power to the shadows' circle.'

 

King Holbian felt the rush of cold evening air against his

face and the smell of pine resin filled his nose as they galloped

up through the forest that grew on the steep mountain slopes

 

'Mantern's Gate!' cried Nevian, as they halted on the edge

of a wide heather plateau. Before them stood a black gate

filled with darkness and in the centre, surrounded by the

shadow circle, walked Krulshards.

 

What is this place?' cried Holbian, clinging on to Nevian's

Sleeve. Orundus- spread his wings and shrieked at the dark

shapes in the shadow ~circle. Equestrius struck his hoof

against the heather plateau and crouched ready to spring

forwards. Grannog growled, baring sharp white fangs as the

hackles rose along his back.

 

'This is a place of dark legends, my Lord,' whispered

Nevian, 'a place where giants stand, their heads touching the

sky while they battle over the fate of things to come. You, great

King, stand at the entrance to Night, on the threshold of all

men's fears.'

 

King Holbian dismounted and crept forwards, nearer to the

gates of night, lifting the heavy double hilled sword with both

hands. Orundus stooped on to his right shoulder, wings

outstretched ready to strike, Grannog the Lord of Dogs stalked

one pace ahead of the King, his yellow eyes fixed on the black

shape of Krulshards where he stood in the centre of the shadow

circle.

 

'Granite Kings!' mocked Krulshards, spitting the words

with black hatred across the centre of the circle. 'There are no

Kings here in the blackness of the night,' he hissed, pushing

the circle forwards, 'Only I hold power here!'

 

Krulshards snarled exposing rage-ragged teeth. The

shadow circle began to move as the Nightbeasts interlocked

their spears and swayed backwards and forwards until the

circle had become a glittering wheel of black spear points

protecting the Maker of Night.

 

'Kill this King,' screamed Krulshards, 'and bring everlasting

night to Elundium.'

 

'Kill the King!' chanted the Nightbeasts in the circle as it

swept forwards to engulf King Holbian.

 

'Now!' urged Nevian. 'Before the sun sets. Now is the

moment!'

 

Holbian swung the great sword above his head and with all

his strength brought it down into the circle, crying aloud his

forefathers' names as he shattered the Nightbeasts' spear

 

shafts with the force of his stroke. Orundus lifted from the

King's shoulder into a bright evening sky and for a second

hovered high above the shadow circle waiting for the moment

to stoop, waiting for the moment when Krulshards would look

out towards the setting sun.

 

'Now great bird of war!' cried the Master of Magic, lifting

his arms, and spreading the rainbow cloak to catch the dying

sunlight.

 

Orundus plunged to earth, the shadow of his talons crossing

Krulshards' face as he struck at his eyes. The force of the owl's

strike sent Krulshards staggering backwards, - the circle was

broken. Grannog leapt upwards at the Nightbeasts' unprotected

throats. Equestrius charged into the circle killing with

each hoof-fall all the Nightbeasts that stood in his path.

 

'Curse the daylight!' screamed Krulshards, raising his arms

against the evening light that had entered the broken shadow

circle. 'I will destroy your daylight, Granite King,' he cried,

'and lay a curse of ruin on all Elundium. You shall rule in

shadows and sit in fear of the darkness each night. None shall

be free of this fear and you, Granite King, shall fear it the

most!'

 

'Nevian, help me!' shouted King Holbian, as he stood at the

circle's edge, 'Guide my hand against these evil shadows. Help

me make the killing stroke.'

 

Krulshards laughed harshly as he wove more shadows into a

tighter circle, this time keeping the King with him beyond the

evening light. Only Orundus, the Lord of Owls, could rise high

above the shadows and see King Holbian's peril, for

Krulshards was drawing the circle towards the Gates of Night

and with each step he took more Nightbeasts to strengthen the

circle.

 

Face to face within the circle they fought spear against sword

in the growing darkness. Grannog flattened himself into the

heather and slipped unnoticed between the Nightbeasts'

armoured legs until he had found a place to fight beside the

King. Orundus stopped tearing at the Nightbeasts, trying to

break the circle. Krulshards raised his spear and with all his

force lunged at the King's heart, Grannog saw the danger and

leapt at Krulshard's throat, breaking the spear shaft with one

snap of his jaws, turning the blade harmlessly against the

sword. The force of the thrust knocked the sword out of the

King's hands, taking it beyond the circle. Orundus stooped

into the heather collecting the fallen sword and delivered it

back into King Holbian's hands.

 

'I shall break your curse,' cried Holbian, lifting the sword

above his head for the killing stroke, but as he brought it down

fear made him hesitate. The centre of the circle was empty, the

Nightbeasts had gone. Before him, as close as the hilt of his

sword, stood the Gates of Night.

 

'Follow me, Great King of the Daylight,' mocked a voice

from the darkness, 'Follow me, if you dare, and lift my curse of

night.'

 

A sharp hot wind blew against King Holbian's face and from

far below laughing, shrieking cries rose up.

 

'My Lord,' whispered Nevian coming to the King's side, You

must follow Krulshards into the City of Night and finish this

day's work.'

 

'I cannot do it!' hissed Holbian, turning to face the Master of

Magic. 'Even if I wished otherwise, I cannot enter that place.'

 

Nevian took the King's arm, gently turning him back to face

the entrance to night. 'My Lord, you must follow Krulshards.

You are a Granite King, pledged to protect the daylight. You

cannot stand here and let him escape. All Elundium will fall

under his curse and all you have won will fall into ruin.'

 

'I cannot enter that place!' cried the King, falling on to his

knees and clenching his hands in despair. 'Nothing,' he

whispered, 'nothing in all Elundium could make me walk into

that dark hole beneath the earth.'

 

'Lord,' cried Nevian, resting his hands on Holbian's

shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes, 'your line was born for

 

this moment. Remember how your forefathers sprang from the

living rock to battle with the powers of the night. Remember

how through the ages, league by league, they brought the

daylight to all Elundium. Now you, my Lord, the mightiest

Granite King, stand here at journey's end at the mouth of night,

with Krulshards' sword a thrust away yet you hesitate? Step

forward, Great King Holbian,' urged Nevian, 'and snatch the

richest victory that could ever rest across a sword's blade. Strike

the balance between night and day.'

 

'I cannot,' cried Holbian, catching hold of the rainbow cloak in

both hands and burying his head in its folds. 'I fear the dark and I

fear the very blackness of night. I cannot follow Krulshards for

one step into that darkness no matter what it cost me in defeat.'

 

'Lord,' answered Nevian harshly, drawing himself away and

wrapping the rainbow cloak tightly about his shoulders, 'Kings

are more than mere men. They carry the future in their swords.

There is no room for doubt or fear. Fail now to kill Krulshards

and you squander every hour of precious daylight you have won!'

 

'Do you think I want to fail?' cried Holbian in despair.

 

'Everything you have won will be loss,' whispered the Master of

Magic turning his back on the King and walking towards the

plateau's edge.

 

'Do not leave me,' implored Holbian, stretching his hands

towards Nevian.

 

Nevian halted and turned, casting a long sunshadow across the

King 'You are still a great King, my Lord, but you shall be the last

Granite King to rule Elundium and you shall stand alone in a

world of growing darkness.'

 

'Nevian, Master of Magic,' Holbian cried, an edge of anger

creeping into-his voice. 'This is a cruel payment for all I have

striven to win. Elundium would still be in the twilight if I had not

built the great Greenways and chased Krulshards to this forsaken

place at the end of the world.'

 

'You are a great King,' Nevian repeated quietly 'and you have

won all your heart sought after. If only I had known of your secret

fear of the dark we could have trod a different path and trapped

the Maker of Night in the daylight'

 

were you blind to the candles I lit;' asked Holbian bitterly,

'did you think Candlebane Hall a hollow mockery of the

daylight?'

 

'I thought that Candlebane Hall was for those that followed

you,' answered Nevian, seeing for the first time past the

King's weakness into a flaw in his own judgement and the

councils he had cast to win a balance between night and day.

 

'Lord,' he whispered, returning to the King's side, 'Without

Krulshards the Nightbeasts cannot rise again, and only

you have the power to destroy him. But since you cannot enter

the gates of night, new Nightbeasts will rise in the shadow of

your victory on the Causeway below and they will turn it into

defeat, bringing a new terror to all Elundium.'

 

'Is there any way that I can defeat him?' cried Holbian in

despair.

 

Nevian turned his face towards the dying sun and thought

hard, searching for an answer. 'Too long have the Granite

Kings tried to win the light and failed within sight of victory.

Elundium must now wait for a new King who can step into

the darkness.'

 

'No!' shrieked Holbian, snatching up his sword. 'Nobody

shall rob me of the crown. Nobody shall take my place. I am

the rightful King of Elundium.'

 

'Then enter the darkness, Lord, claim what is yours,' answered

Nevian.

 

Holbian strode forwards, slashing at the blackness between

the gates, but he could not enter. He turned, red-faced with

rage, and raised his sword to strike the magician. Orundus

stooped and snatched the sword from his hands, Grannog

leapt between them, fangs bared, Equestrius reared up,

 

thrashing the air above the King's head with razor sharp

hooves.

 

'Do not harm him,' shouted Nevian, 'his weakness is my

doing, his faults are my haste. I have driven this King too

hard. If he raises his sword against me in anger I am to

blame.'

 

Equestrius stood undecided, Orundus hovered, talons

spread, while Grannog stood his ground, saliva glistening on

exposed white fangs.

 

'You shall stand alone, the bonds between us are broken,'

neighed Equestrius, the Lord of Horses.

 

'Alone!' shrieked Orundus,-stooping to Nevian's shoulder.

'You shall be alone and blind in the dark without my sharp eyes

to guide you.'

 

'Alone,' growled Grannog, lying down in front of Nevian, his

head across the magician's feet.

 

'What treachery is this to ruin an empty victory?' shouted

Holbian, crouching, empty-handed. 'What magic twists have

you ensnared me with now?'

 

'None, my Lord, that were not of your own doing,' replied

the magician. 'You have broken the bonds that bound the

Warhorses, the Battle Owls and the dogs beneath your

standard. It was you who raised your sword against me.'

 

King Holbian glared darkly across the plateau and

whispered. 'And now you will abandon me here alone on the

edge of night for the Nightbeasts to destroy, and give my throne

to a new King. Is this the final reward for the last Granite King,

battle-pressed at the end of a desperate road?'

 

Nevian stepped forwards, taking the King's hand and led

him to stand on the edge of the blackness. 'Lord,' he said,

pointing out the black nightshapes that hurried past across the

twilight, 'there are the carriers of darkness, mere shadows that

hold no menace. Far and wide they carry night across all

Elundium, bringing sleep to the weary and rest to the just.

Why, even to Candlebane Hall they will come, to weave

amongst the flickering flames, casting soft shadows of beauty in

the light.' Nevian paused seeking for words of comfort that

could help the King.

 

'Lord, I did not foresee this sad end to the road; nor can I

change or mend what has taken place. Return now to the

Causeway below and gather together all those that survived

today's slaughter, for we shall meet before the doors of Underfall

as the new sun rises.'

 

'To name a new king,' hissed Holbian, remembering the

magician's words. 'Lead me back and I shall slaughter every

man . . .'

 

'No! None shall sit in your place without your leave.'

 

'Never! Show him to me now and I will finish this day's work

with his death.'

 

Nevian laughed, casting the rainbow cloak back across his

shoulders. 'Would you cut down the oak tree before it has split

the acorn seed, or spread its first infant root? He is not here,

brave lord, but this place where we stand will be his making and

you shall know him long before he wears your shoes. Enough of

this squabbling, we talk of days so far away that even you will

have forgotten my words. But remember, Lord, he will grow to

manhood despite all the treachery that surrounds him and he

will love you more dearly than his own life.'

 

'How shall I know him, this King?' asked Holbian, 'if his

coming is so far away that I shall have forgotten your counsels?'

 

'He will bring to life old memories, my Lord, and you will see

in him an image of things long lost. Remember, his coming will

drive the Nightbeasts out of Elundium.'

 

'How can I keep this land worthy of Kingship if I stand alone

against Krulshards' nightmares?' Holbian asked bitterly.

 

Nevian sighed, watching for a moment as the Nightshapes

filled the heather plateau, bringing the soft evening with them.

'Strong men will help you keep this kingdom safe and be at

your side in the dark years ahead.'

 

'Dark years! Empty thrones! Where can I find these men

 

that will help me to keep back the darkness?' cried Holbian, full

of despair.

 

'Lord, I can only tell you what I see, not where you should

look for the answers to your fate. Go now and search amongst

the wreckage of this day's battle. Look below upon the

Causeway. Go quickly before night draws its mande of darkness

over those you must find. Ride back to the Causeway Fields,

for with the rising of the new sun the bonds will be broken and

Equestrius, the Lord of Horses, will be free.'

 

Holbian sank on to his knees, weeping, 'I am lost and truly

alone.'

 

Equestrius moved to Holbian's side and brushed his soft

muzzle against the King's arm. 'Rise, Lord,' he whinnied

softly, 'and spend the last moments of magic in the saddle. Ride

once more upon the edge of the wind before we part.'

 

It was twilight now upon the causeway field and griefseemed

woven amongst the nightshapes that crowded there. Ghostly

echoes and cries of pain filled King Holbian's ears as he

walked, uncandled, through the shadows of his great army.

Everywhere he looked blind, lifeless eyes stared back and

everything he touched had the feel of cold dead flesh, but

somewhere close at hand little more than a whispered sob

broke through the cries of death, and the King remembered

Nevian's words, 'Gather all the men that still live.'

 

King Holbian took the spark from his pocket and in its feeble

light searched amongst the twisted bodies of the dead

warhorses that blocked the Causeway road. At last he saw where

the voice came from. 'Here, boy, give me your hand,' he cried,

settling his armoured boot against the flanks of the Warhorse

that had fallen across the boy. 'Who are you, child?' he

questioned, casting his eyes over the lad's battle clothes.

 

'Thunderstone, Sire,' answered the youth, kneeling beside

the dead Warhorse, stroking his cold muzzle.

 

Holbian lifted the spark above his head and looked quietly

from left to right before asking harshly, 'Who sent you here,

child, to fight amongst the Nightbeasts?'

 

'The Captains, Sire, they sent all of us, apprentice Gallopers

and Marchers, to face the Gates of Underfall. We were to draw

the nightbeasts out, Sire.'

 

'And the Warhorses?' asked the King looking down at the

lifeless bodies.

 

'The leader found me,' whispered Thunderstone, his lip

trembling as tears filled his eyes. 'I was all alone, surrounded by

Nightbeasts, blackness had covered the causeway, Lord. Then

he came, when all hope had fled, and using his great strength

he drove the shadows back, rising up in the clear morning light

to take the spears they thrust at me. He was so beautiful.'

 

Holbian looked down at the broken, bloodstained spear

shafts driven deep into the horse's side and gently lifted

Thunderstone to stand beside him. 'He was a Lord amongst

the Warhorses, child, it should fill your heart with pride that he

spent his strength to save your life. Here, lad, take my sword

and gently cut some strands from his tail, keep them all your

days to remember his sacrifice and his beauty.'

 

As Thunderstone bent, blinking back his tears and cutting at

the Warhorse's tail, Holbian heard other voices crying out in

the darkness across the battlefield.

 

'Come, lad,' he commanded the boy. 'Help me gather those

that still live beneath our ragged standard.'

 

King Holbian lifted the spark high above his head and

walked amongst the dead, pretending that he was not afraid of

the coming of the dark.

 

Nevian walked quietly amongst the slain, searching for those

not called by Death, laying his healing hands on any with a

beating heart, calling to them in a soft voice, freeing them of

their pledges to the Granite Kings, but mixed with his words of

freedom he took new promises, that if any man should win their

trust through love or care, they must rise again and offer help,

even with their lives.

 

Up flew the remnants of the Battle Birds, to scatter in the

winds that tugged at Mantern's slopes, but Silverwing and his

brother, Eagle Owl, settled for a moment on Nevian's

shoulders. He laughed, reaching up to stroke their chest

feathers.

 

'You two, great birds of war, will have much to do with the

keeping of Elundium, yet many nestlings will grow old before

you fly to war again. You shall have a great gift, the power to

see in the dark, and you will fear nothing that moves by night

but . . .' lowering his voice, he whispered, ' . . . already I fear

for King Holbian; but he must rule alone even if fear drives

him to light a thousand candles to hold back the night.'

 

Moving amongst the Warhorses Nevian brought his gentle

touch, but for many life had fled forever. All night he walked

the causeway road searching for a thread of life, a whisper,

twitch or movement that would heal beneath his hands. Long

before dawn broke, he had gathered all those that he could

mend, but they were few, for his magic could not bring any

back from the dead. He bade them to return in peace into the

wild forest, beyond the call of man, 'No more shall you feel

the saddle on your backs, or the touch of spur upon your

silken skins . unless in time, through love, you wish it

otherwise.'

 

There was one though who stayed when all others turned

to go. She loved the youth who had ridden on her back to war

and wished to stay with him. Nevian stood before her,

troubled in his wisdom. 'Why should you labour in harness

when you have been given your freedom?'

 

'Thoronhand, the child Galloper, found me after wolves

had killed my mother. Even as they turned to kill me, a

helpless foal, he jumped into their closing circle, slashing at

their blood red eyes with his knife. Afterwards with gentle

hands he built a mound of stones over my mother's body,

setting many sharp pointed sticks around it to keep Nightbeasts

away. I cannot leave him; love binds us.'

 

Nevian called Equestrius to his side saying, 'You must

stand in judgement with me. I have broken the bonds but I

cannot break what love has built.'

 

'Your name?' commanded Equestrius, turning his gaze on

to the Warhorse.

 

'Thoron named me Amarch, near the place where my

mother's body lies.'

 

'Which would you choose?' snorted Equestrius. 'To be free

to live or bound, as Amarch, to this Hand child, the Galloper?'

 

'A-life-time of toil, pain and hardship,' added Nevian

seriously, glancing through the high window on many

tomorrows.

 

'I am Amarch,' the grey mare snorted; Nevian smiled,

wondering at the power of love.

 

'We must find this child Galloper called Thoronhand if he

lives. One pledge, it seems, shall not be broken. Show me where

he fell.'

 

Thoron sat in grief. He thought Amarch had been killed and

lay somewhere amongst the heaps of dead. He had searched

and searched but he could not find her. Softwas the hand upon

his shoulder, softer still the velvet muzzle that brushed against

his cheek.

 

'Amarch, you are alive!' he cried. Nevian stepped back as

Thoron threw his arms about Amarch's neck, and he spoke

these words as a seer for he saw much that they would achieve.

'Great is the power of love, for it will be with you all your days.

Both joy and tragedy are woven into your lives; men will know

you by your deeds upon the roads of Elundium. Much of your

real greatness will pass them by, Thoronhand, and now join

the King beneath his standard, for I have much yet to do before

the new sun rises.'

 

'What of Silverwing the owl who came with me to war?'

shouted Thoron after the receding figure of Nevian.

 

'You will have many meetings on the roads to Underfall.'

called Nevian as he drew the rainbow cloak tightly about his

shoulders, vanishing into the mist. At last he stood before

Grannog and as he ran his fingers through the War Dog's hairy

coat he whispered, 'Lord of Dogs, I can give you nothing, for

you already have loyalty beyond the bondbreaking, and courage

beyond the understanding of Man. You are already free and

shall always be so.' Grannog barked, wagging his tail and licked

the old magician's hand before turning and bounding into the

darkness.

 

Dawn had broken, pushing the grey hours before it. King

Holbian stood before the doors of Underfall, waiting for Nevian,

the Master of Magic. About him were the remnants of his great

army. None of his captains had survived the battle for World's

End. He was surrounded by a shadow of the greatness of

yesterday, by mere lads, apprentice Gallopers and Marchers.

 

His heart was heavy, he doubted the Ward's words. How

could these children keep Elundium safe from his enemies and

hold a kingdom where better men had perished, and who

amongst them held the seed of greatness that would spawn a king?

His eyes studied them in the half light and his heart darkened.

 

'Great King!' echoed Nevian's voice from the highest gallery.

Sunlight caught the patterns of his rainbow cloak.

 

'I bring you gifts to bind your victory and wise counsels for

tomorrow. If Underfall should fall or come to nothing, the powers

of night will rise again at World's End. nightbeasts and the

shades of shadows will overrun Elundium and all that you have

won. Guard it well.'

 

'How, Lord?' shouted Holbian. 'With nothing but underlings

and boys? I cannot call this an army.'

 

'Look not on what you see, look rather on what they will

become. Mighty trees grow from small seeds.'

 

Nevian descended to stand before Holbian.

 

'Underfall, and each Wayhouse upon the Greenways' edge

must have a keeper chosen from amongst these gathered here.

Let the deeds of yesterday set the measure of each house.'

 

'But they are children!'

 

'Think not of them as children. The skill of their arms kept

them alive to stand with you at this place; the courage in their

hearts defeated the shadows they fought against. Your captains, in

their wisdom, put them first into battle, yet they survived. Now

choose.'

 

Holbian looked from face to face and saw nothing but halftraned

awkward youth and knew that he dare not choose. He

would not be a Kingmaker, nor throw his throne at a child's

feet.

 

'I cannot,' he replied bitterly, turning away. 'Pick whom you

will, for you see deeper than the last Granite King.'

 

Nevian laughed, taking Marcher Tombel's hand, he said,

'Child, you shall be the Keeper of Woodsedge. Guard it well,

but I will pledge to you yet another important task.'

 

'Lord, I am your servant. Ask and it shall be done,' cried

Tombel, falling on to his knees.

 

Nevian cast back the rainbow cloak and gently lifted Duclos,

the Swordsman, from within its folds and put him into

Tombel's arms. Dried blood had filled his ears and as his head

slumped forwards it stained Tombel's collar.

 

'This is the greatest Swordsman Elundium has ever known.

He shall have the mark of the Kingsman on his arm and yet he

will not seine you, Lord. Such was the skill of his arms that

alone he broke the shadow circle and stood before the Master

of nightbeasts, daring to lift a blade against him. Krulshards

has shouted him into deafness and destroyed his balance.

Tombel shall take him and watch over him within the boundaries

of Woodsedge, and there in time a little of the greatness

may return.'

 

With the middle finger of his right hand he traced a tattoo on

both boys' arms, an owl in blue and gold, holding a sword in its

talons.

 

'This mark binds you to the King. If it should ever fade

Elundium will fall into darkness.'

 

Strange magic passed before Holbian's eyes as the morning

wore away, for as Nevian traced each tattoo he saw the bearers

of the mark as they would be in the fullness of time, proud men

with steady eyes and hearts that feared nothing in the dark. Yet

not one hint or clue did Nevian give as to who would take the

throne of the King.

 

'Trueflight Orm!'called Nevian in a clear voice, 'step

forward, child. Many that stand here today owe their lives to

your steady eye. Give me your hand, child, and kneel before

your King.'

 

Trueflight knelt shyly, blushing at being called forward.

Nevian continued in a loud voice, full of majesty, 'Yesterday,

when these doors burst open and blackest shadows filled the

road, when brave men fled in terror, casting their bows and

quivers on to the ground, you put fear behind the light that

shone in your eyes; you held a whisper of victory and made

every arrow you shot find its mark until your quiver was empty

and the Bow of Orm lay still in your hand. As the measure of

your courage I name you Archerorm and place into your care

the tower Wayhouse on Stumble Hill. Guard it well, for it rises

above the black lands of Notley Marsh and holds the road to

World's End and this fastness of Underfall.'

 

Holbian looked past the bowed head of the young Archer,

and saw only two the Master of Magic had not called forward.

Nevian followed his eye, smiling before beckoning

Thunderstone to his side.

 

'Great deeds have set the measure yet the greatest deed has

so far gone unrewarded, for this child, beyond hope, held the

Causeway when all those around him fell. With only a broken

blade, and a shattered helm, he fought against a wall of

shadows. Thus it was Equion, Lord amongst the Warhorses,

found him and gave his life that you, my child, should rise up in

the morning and keep the light forever bright at World's End.'

 

'Lord,' stammered Thunderstone, falling on to his knees,

tears of shame coursing down his cheeks, 'I let that beautiful

horse die. I am not worthy.'

 

Nevian reached out his arms and cast the rainbow cloak

about the lad's shoulders calling softly, 'Be calm, be calm;

listen to the music of his hooves; see the sunlight on his silken

skin; be calm and wise, for you are the Keeper of Underfall, the

last Lampmaster in a troubled land.'

'It must be him,' muttered King Holbian, under his breath,

'the Keeper of Underfall.'

 

Such was the power of the cloak that all those gathered about

the doors saw nothing of Thunderstone's grief but saw a

mighty warrior, grown to cast a giant shadow, who feared

nothing. He had in his hand a sword, with a silver horse tail

woven into its hilt, that glistened in the sunlight. Beneath the

magic mantle, Thunderstone heard again the thunder of

hooves heralding the morning, and he saw the black wall of

shadows crumble to nothing as Equion rose up to break their

power, taking the bitter shafts of death aimed at his heart, and

he saw the purpose of the sacrifice.

 

'Lord,' he whispered, 'although I am not worthy of the task, I

will keep back the darkness at World's End all my days and live

near the place where Equion fell, so I may see such beauty once

again.'

 

'Keeper, take your sword!' cried Nevian. 'It has great power,

for I have bound within the hilt those strands of hair you cut

from Equion's tail. Keep it all your days as some small comfort

in the dark.' His voice became a whisper as he guided

Thunderstone to stand with the company. 'As much will fall to

ruin, so amongst the chaos you must stand alone and keep a

light burning in the troubled times to come. Let courage keep

the tattoo bright upon your arm, my children.'

 

'Thoron. Thoronhand! Come forward, lad, last but by no

means least. You are called before your King.' There was

laughter in Nevian's voice and his eyes twinkled with delight.

'King Holbian,' Nevian continued, 'there stands before you

one that will have no house to call his own. I could not break the

pledges between this boy and the great Warhorse, Amarch.

Love still binds them together. It is no small matter to be

passed off lightly, my King, for through their love you have the

last errant rider to serve the Granite Kings. Thoron shall now

be his name, though no Wayhouse shall bear this title above its

door. Every place from this great fortress at World's End to the

most lowly woodman's hut will welcome his presence, for he

will bring hope in the morning and chase fears away at night.'

 

Holbian moved forward to take Amarch's bridle but she

reared, striking at the air above the King's head. 'No, Lord,'

shouted Nevian, pulling the King clear of the glittering,

razorsharp hooves.

 

'The bonds are broken, you cannot touch the Warhorses or

ever again ask an owl to perch on your shoulder. Amarch chose

to remain with the lad, Thoron, and take the name that he gave

her. Remember my Lord that it is only Thoron who serves you,

the bond of love between these two is theirs alone to share.'

 

'Thoron,' Nevian spoke sharply as he led the lad and Amarch

beyond the great doors, 'beware, child, that your bond of love

does not spread a web of jealousy across Elundium, for you are

blessed with love and you will make much happen in a long life.

Others will hate you for it. Tread carefully and do not step

beyond World's End; that much I will tell you. Now go, and

Kingspeed on whatever road should press beneath your great

steed's hooves. Kingspeed!'

 

With the speed of a silver arrow Amarch leapt down upon

the Causeway road, sparks scattering from the rings of steel

upon her feet, and raced for Mantern's Forest.

 

'Great King,' Nevian said quietly, taking the King into the

shadows of the inner courtyard, 'I have laboured hard to keep

Elundium safe beyond today.'

 

'Is it the boy, Thunderstone? Will he take my place and steal

my throne?' interrupted the King.

 

'Enough!' snapped the Master of Magic, his patience at an

end. 'Yesterday you raised your sword against me and today

your greed for power tramples on the safety of Elundium. You

try my patience too far!'

 

Moving closer to the King, his eyes glittering with anger,

Nevian continued, 'Yesterday Orundus would have torn out

your eyes, but I stayed his talons. Grannog was ready crouched

to spring at your throat, but I bade him sit and wait. Even

Equestrius pulled hard at the bridle to defend me. I did not spare

your life on the heather plateau before the Gates of Night to

haggle over thrones. I spared your life and all its weaknesses to

seine the people of this land, to keep Krulshards and the terror

of the shadow circle out of Elundium.'

 

Nevian paused, holding the King with his eyes.

 

'You have seen all those who survived yesterday's battle

pledged to serve you with a binding mark upon their arms;

study it well, my Lord, for as the owl protected me before the

gates of night so shall they help you to protect this kingdom

and keep safe the throne you sit upon.'

 

Nevian paused, glancing from the King's face to the steep

mountain slopes that shadowed the fortress of Underfall.

 

'Remember,' he whispered, drawing closer to the King, 'I know

your secret fear of the darkness. It is not my place to betray

your weakness to lesser men. You alone must carry that

knowledge. For only we know that Krulshards hides in the City

of Night. You must labour to hold back his black terror until a

greater King can face the darkness!'

 

'All your talk of-Kings and tomorrows,' replied Holbian

bitterly, 'but what of today, what of the empty world you have

fashioned through the bondbreaking? How shall I cope with

that, knowing that the Warhorses and the Battle Owls have

returned into the wilderness? Will they return? Will they come

with the new King and help him to step into my shoes?'

 

Nevian wrung his hands in despair. 'Lord, Lord, nobody shall

steal it. The one who will be King is as yet unborn, and fate

must travel many twists before he stands before you and even

then you may not see him for the looking.'

 

King Holbian looked away sadly, seeing in the cold

afternoon light all that his fear of the darkness had cost. 'Tell

me,' he cried, 'who will spawn the King? Tell me and I shall

guard him faithfully, as a son, as the most precious jewel in all

Elundium. You have my word as the last Granite King!'

 

Nevian sighed, seeing beyond the words into the pain of the

King's sorrow and regret that yesterday had loaded on to his

shoulders. Reaching beneath his rainbow cloake he lifted up a

heavy bundle of cloth that sparkled and flashed in the shadowy

courtyard.

 

'I cannot tell you, Lord, no matter how you ask me, who this

new King will be. He must be allowed to grow to manhood alone,

for that will be his making.'

 

'Then he will be as alone as I am,' whispered the King,

shivering as the 'thought of the coming night came to him.

 

'No, Lord,' replied the Master of Magic, shaking out the

bundle of cloth into the shape of a cloak sewn with a thousand

- jewels. Each gem had been cleverly cut to catch and hold the light.

 

'You need never face the darkness alone, my King. This cloak

will catch the candlelight and give you comfort in the dark.'

 

'This is treasure indeed!' cried Holbian.

 

'It is all you could desire; and probably more,' answered

Nevian. 'But hidden in the threads are snags that only wise men

need not fear. Your saddle days are over. Government will send

you back to keep Elundium safe. This gift will lie heavily on your

shoulders if not used with caution. Keep it well, for it was woven

with a speeding shuttle on a secret loom before the grey hours fled

in the face of a new sun.'

 

'How shall I use it.?' asked Holbian, forgetting about new Kings

as he caressed the jewels, screwing up his eyes against the

blinding light.

 

Nevian shaded his eyes against their light and began instructing

the King. 'Each day, as the sunlight fades, put on the

cloak. It will give you strength in the darkness no matter how

long the night may last. Use the comfort it brings to grow wise;

rebuild and garden the wilderness that war has left throughout

Elundium.'

 

'Riches beyond desire,' laughed the King, lifting his arms and

spiralling until he became giddy with the wealth that flashed

before his eyes.

 

Nevian frowned at the dancing King. He stretched out a hand

 

and stilled him. 'Riches, my Lord,' he said sternly, 'are a snare

if you hoard them for their own value. Each jewel in the cloak is

worth a kingdom, that is plain to see, but its real value is to

guard you in the dark. Compare the cloak against a new sunrise

and it is nothing but glittering stones, hold it up against a black

night of howling winds and it is a treasure beyond measure.

The cloak is but a part of the new world you will rule. Before

the sun climbed above the horizon's rim I reset the secret door

locks of this Wayhouse and every Wayhouse on the roads of

Elundium. They will open at the first hint of sunlight and slam

shut before night falls. Let no man step beyond the doors if he

fears the dark. Now you must rule alone, for you are a great

King who stands on the threshold of wisdom.'

 

'I can enter the City of Night,' laughed the King, lifting his

spark high above his head, 'and destroy the creatures of

darkness wearing this cloak.'

 

'No, Lord,' answered Nevian, forcefully, 'there is no light to

reflect in that dark place and your spark would be swallowed up

one pace beyond the gates. Do not enter the City of Night

unless you overcome your fear of the dark. Be warned. Tread

carefully, my King, and trust only those who hold the tattoo

mark.'

 

Distracted by the wealth about his shoulders King Holbian

was deaf to reason, and he missed Nevian's final words of

counsel for the dark years ahead. Looking up he saw the

rainbow cloak fading into nothing, and for a moment felt the

emptiness of despair as he reached out a hand and touched the

cold granite walls of the grim fastness of Underfall that clung to

the black mountain at World's End. He shivered, drawing the

cloak of jewels tightly about him.

 

'Now we shall see,' he muttered, through tight lips. 'What

secrets are there in this fortress? Secrets that the Master of

Magic has hidden from the last of the Granite Kings!

Nothing?' he cried, drawing his sword.

 

'No, Lord,' whispered Thunderstone, retreating out of the

sword's reach. 'We have searched every chamber, every

gallery, there is nothing but shadows.'

 

'Shadows!' screamed the King. 'We fought to win shadows?'

 

'Lord,' a young voice called out, interrupting the King's

anger, 'legend says that this place is the tomb of Kings. Perhaps

that is why there are only shadows.'

 

'Tombs?' shouted the King, his face black with anger. 'I see

no value in tombs.'

 

'There are steps that lead down beneath the earth. Perhaps

they will show us.' The voice tapered off nervously.

 

'Take me to this place,' commanded the King, beckoning

the lad and asking his name.

 

'Tombel, Sire,' he replied, 'the Keeper of Woodsedge.'

 

'Well, Keeper of Woodsedge, lead the way. And be quick,

night is but an hour away.'

 

Tombel led the King through a maze of empty courtyards

and passages, each one narrower than the last, darker and more

foreboding, until they reached the cold walls of Mantern's

Mountain and there in deepest shadows they found the granite

steps that led down into the darkness. Tombel shrank back

away from the steps; his fear of the dark would not let him go

forwards. King Holbian lit the spark, and laughed harshly as

the jewelled cloak burst into brilliant blinding light, driving the

shadows out of the tiny courtyard.

 

'Stay here, Keeper,' the King hissed. 'You fear the dark and

I can tread where others dare not go.'

 

Holding the spark carefully King Holbian descended the

stairs. He wore a cloak that would drive the shadows out, he

need not fear the dark, yet his hands trembled and his footsteps

slowed. He remembered Nevian's words of caution and

hesitated. What if the spark failed? What if night should

overtake him here alone, beneath the ground? A cold draught

of air touched his cheek, the fingers of death seemed to be

caressing his face. He screamed, stumbling backwards against

the steps. The spark blazed pure white as it flew from his hand

and in the moment before it fell, extinguished, he saw them in

the cloak's reflecting light. Blind-eyed they stood amongst the

fleeing shadows, petrified and ageless, beckoning to him to

come forwards and take his place. Stumbling and scrambling in

the darkness King Holbian fled up the ancient stone stairway,

his heart pounding as he raced for the small square of light

above. With each step he took upwards the cloak grew brighter

until on the last few steps he slowed, gathered his faltering

courage and stepped back into the courtyard, a brave and

powerful Granite King.

 

'Guard it well,' he commanded Thunderstone as he hurried

to leave Underfall, shivering under his cloak at the thought of

what waited beneath the cold grey fortress at World's End.

 

'Build a great lamp, a beacon on the highest galleries to drive

back the darkness. Do it quickly, before the night comes.'

 

'Lord, I will,' cried Thunderstone, but his words were lost in

the bitter winds that blew down from Mantern's Mountain.

 

Seasons came, blossomed into fullness, mellowed and decayed.

Leafmould thickened the forest floor, muffling the

hootbeats of the great Warhorses as they roamed in secret

freedom. The owls kept their own counsel, blending into the

wildness that grew about them, but little escaped their unblinking

eyes of how badly things stood for King Holbian, for

he soon forgot Nevian's words amongst the shouts of those who

sought the treasure that he wore.

 

Thoron saw ruin spreading close on the heels of neglect but

he was powerless to stop the shadows gathering and as the

years passed, even the King refused him an audience, for those

that stalked the cloak of jewels let no man with the tattoo mark

 

into the towers of granite. Small comfort came to him in the

dark and gave him courage to keep his pledges to the last

Granite King. Owls flew to his shoulders and the Border

Runners ran at his heels for they knew much of his deeds that

never reached the King's ear and loved him, for as Nevian had

foretold, he brought hope with the morning and feared nothing

in the dark.

 

As swiftly as Amarch ran, Thoron became a part of legends

while he lived, keeping the great Greenways open that led

towards World's End, but time and wildness overtangled all his

efforts and gradually Underfall fell once more into dark

whispers, besieged by the growing shadows of Mantern's

Mountain.

 

Thunderstone kept his pledge, growing through need to cast

a giant's shadow between the doors of Underfall. Nightbeasts

hammered on the doors and tore at the sheer granite walls, but

none could enter without the Keeper's leave. He stood alone

amongst a world of nightmares, abandoned through the

treachery of those close to the King. Even the wretches sent to

help him guard the fastness of Underfall arrived in chains,

bound and branded, to end their days in the darkness of

World's End. It became a place of fear and exile where

Thunderstone drove the condemned at the point of his sword

to overcome the terrors of the night, and though they hated him

and cursed his name, he made them into new men who, in time,

walked with pride in the half light, and little by little Underfall

rose above the shadows and the lamp set above its highest

galleries burned with a blinding light through the darkest years

of King Holbian's reign.

 

Without Nevian's presence King Holbian soon forgot the

wisdom of his final counsel and quickly turned his back on all

the Master -of Magic had ever said. He cursed the

bondbreaking and all dabblers in magic but most of all he

cursed his own fear of the dark, knowing that it would one day

lose him the throne. Sending for his stonemasons and architects

he ordered them to rebuild Candlebane Hall, and fortify it

against the night.

 

'Polish the walls,' he commanded the masons. 'Rub them so

smooth that even the tiniest flicker of light will endlessly

reflect. Carve new candle stems and set them in concentric

circles, some raised, some lower, but each must have a fluted

channel for the melted wax,' here the King paused, gathering

his architects into a tight circle. 'Build me a throne, a

centrepiece raised above the tallest candle stem that I might see

the truth in men's eyes.'

 

'And the channel for the molten wax, my Lord,' asked an

anxious voice, 'Where do we direct it? What is it for?'

 

The King laughed, a cruel empty sound that froze the blood.

'To test the truth in men's hearts.'

 

Turning, the King overturned two huge candles, pouring

the molten wax that had collected around their wicks into a

stone vessel. Into this he plunged his hand and kept it there

until the wax had cooled and solidified. Raising the wax

encrusted fist he brought it down against an edge of white

marble, smashing the wax into a thousand pieces. 'Kings do not

melt in the wax. Kings do not melt in the fire,' he snarled.

'Build the channel for the molten wax in a curve before my

throne. There I shall find him, there in the heart of the fire I

shall find the one who will steal my throne!'

 

The cloak of jewels became a terrible beacon in those dark

nights of judgement as the King sought to find the one he

feared. 'Bring him to me!' he raged, and any poor wretch found

beyond the safety of his house after dark was dragged into

Candlebane Hall, to face the rising tide of flickering candle

light and the last Granite King, high-throned and terrible.

 

'Can you see in the dark?' he would hiss, bending forwards

across the channels of molten wax. 'Only Kings can see in the

dark and only Kings are brave enough to risk the fire and feel

no pain.'

 

'No, Lord, no,' cried the accused, throwing themselves on to

the King's mercy, but the Chancellors pushed and pulled them

towards the channels of wax, deaf to their pleading and blind to

their pain, for there was no mercy in Candlebane Hall, only the

screams of the innocent as their limbs melted in the wax, rising

up to be lost amongst the high, smoking rafters. There the

nightshapes wept tears of pity to see such cruelty in the candle

flames.

 

Only in the evening of his days did the King for a moment

hesitate and see the horror of what he had done, and come to

know the true meaning of despair. For he saw from the high

windows in the granite towers a river of wax woven with the

webs of his treachery and lies that he had spun to find the

throne stealer, and they choked Elundium's beauty. He called

his Chancellors to Candlebane Hall, standing them amongst

the inner circle of candles and he cursed them, daring any man

amongst them to step forwards and tell him why. Why had they

let him cause such misery and pain to the people of Elundium?

 

'Were you blind?' he screamed, smashing frail candle stems

with his clenched fists. 'Were you deaf to the suffering? Who

would want this throne now that I have kept it so jealously?'

 

'You commanded us, Lord,' whispered Chancellor Proud

purse, 'It is your laws we obey to keep this rich kingdom safe

from throne stealers.'

 

'Rich?' shouted the King. 'Rich?'

 

'Lord,' answered Proudpurse, kneeling before Holbian, 'the

cloak of jewels is the richest prize in all Elundium. We only

sought to protect it from the throne stealer.'

 

Holbian laughed, bitterly, looking from face to face. 'This

piece of cloth and coloured stones you value so much is

worthless. Its onlypurpose is to reflect the light. Is this what we

have plundered the people of Elundium for? A cloak of

worthless jewels?'

 

~Worthless?' gasped Proudpurse. 'Worthless?' echoed the

Chancellors, stepping backwards, shaking their heads in dismay.

 

'Lord, greatest of Kings,' Proudpurse called out, growing

bold and snatching at the moment, 'you cannot say that the

cloak of jewels is worthless. Why, each stone is worth a

kingdom, and men would kill each other just to touch it. Lord,

you must not abandon the search for the throne stealer, that

would render all our work amongst the people pointless.

Lord, we know the secrets within the secrets and we have

almost found the one who will take your throne.'

 

Holbian stood for long moments, surveying his Chancellors

while wax dripped from the burning wicks and Nightshapes

moved silently in the high dark corners beyond the candles'

light. He shivered, wondering just how powerful these

Chancellors had become. Clearly he could see the greed and

envy reflecting in their eyes as they watched the cloak of

jewels but beneath the greed he could sense a terrible lust for

power.

 

'Fools!' he shouted, tearing off a handful of the precious

stones and casting them at the Chancellors' feet. 'These will

not save you when the Nightbeasts come, nor will they buy

you a kingdom in the darkness. If everlasting rlight should fall

again who amongst you will take up my sword and face the

terrors of the dark? Who?'

 

'Nightbeasts?' whispered the Chancellors, hesitating in

their scramble for the jewels.

 

'Yes,' replied Holbian, stepping up on to the throne's dais

and wrapping the cloak about his shoulders. 'I have heard

them, echoes of the terror that I fought and defeated at

World's End. They have spawned again and are loose once

more in Elundium. They are the ones who will snatch this

throne and spread the blackness throughout the land. We

have been blind in our purpose. You!' Holbian paused,

pointing a shaking finger at the Chancellors, 'You have turned

your backs on the safety and the welfare of Elundium in your

quest for power and I...' again the King paused, looking

inwards at his weaknesses and for the first time spoke of his

dread, 'and I have failed the people of this beautiful land

through my fear of the dark, leaving only ruin and chaos as

the inheritance of the one who will take my throne.'

 

Proudpurse could wait no longer, his fingers ached to

touch the jewels that lay at his feet. 'Nightbeasts,' he laughed,

'are a phantom for those with tattoos on their arms. I fear

nothing. I am a Chancellor.'

 

'Then you are a fool,' replied Holbian, 'for every bearer of

the tattoo mark knows something of the truth of what could one

day return to plague this land, and they would willingly have

shared that knowledge with you if you had not driven them

away in your thirst for power. You laughed in ignorance and

you jest in the shadow of real terror. You do not understand.

Now take the jewels and in their light see a little sense.'

 

The Chancellors rushed forwards, pushing and barging to

snatch up the precious stones, but the more they fought the less

they took and stone after stone slipped through their fingers

and fell into the channels of hot molten wax.

 

'Fools,' whispered Holbian, seeing clearly how they would

destroy Elundium by squabbling and fighting among themselves

while the Nightbeasts would rise to power. Only one

figure did not chase the glittering stones. He stood quite still,

hot wax from a spluttering taper splashing unnoticed on to his

hand.

 

'Candleman!' the King called, softly motioning the figure to

come forward. 'When the Chancellors have gone, set the

candles straight and give me light that I might see a way into the

darkness.'

 

The Chancellors stopped fighting and each one, it seemed

now, had something he wished to hide, and they all begged

King Holbian to let them leave Candlebane Hall as soon as

possible. He dismissed them in disgust, turning his mind back

to the battle for World's End and Nevian's last words of

wisdom.

 

'Where are they, Ironhand?' he asked, turning his gaze

towards the candlelighter, 'Where are the bearers of the tattoo

mark?'

 

Ironhand looked towards the King with vacant, childlike

eyes, his left hand immersed in the channel of molten wax.

'Who, Lord,' he sang, 'calls on the Candleman to send him to

bed. WhO  Lord, calls on the Candleman to pour hot wax on his

head?'

 

'Ironhand!' the King hissed, leaping from the high throne,

'Your hand, can you not feel the hot wax?'

 

Ironhand laughed, withdrawing his hand and opening it,

palm upwards towards the King, 'Lord, I am only here to

please, and to keep for you what you have won. Here, my Lord,

are the stones from your cloak.'

 

'Throw them back into the wax,' Holbian replied, 'and come

and sit at the foot of my throne, for there is much I must learn

before the sun rises.'

 

Ironhand smiled as he knelt at the King's feet, 'Lord, Lord, I

am nothing but the Candleman. In the tallow hall where the

candles are made the Master cursed me as an idle child and

plunged my hands into the hot wax as a punishment. The

molten wax burned the skin from my hands leaving them raw

and bleeding. I was cast out into the darkness to die.'

 

'And? Tell me how you grew new hands that~have no feeling.

For that is a strange and powerful magic.'

 

'Lord, you will kill me if I tell you the truth, for you have

cursed meddlers in magic.'

 

The King laughed, searching with his eyes amongst the

candle flames for eavesdroppers before he pressed the rest of

Ironhand's story from him. 'The Nightbeasts are growing

strong, Candleman, I have heard them roaring in the night.

Now is the time for magic, tell me!'

 

Ironhand swallowed and searched back into his muddled

memory to find the pieces. 'My father, Thoron, had come to

see you, my Lord, with grave news, I think, but the Chancellors

drove him out of the city and he found me in the shadows of the

Great Gate, bleeding and raw from the molten wax. He took

 

me by strange and dangerous paths into a place of tall trees and

there I saw a tall man wearing a rainbow cloak. It was put across

my hands and I wept as the pain left me.'

 

'And Thoron brought you here to Candlebane Hall,' interrupted

the King, 'and he begged me to take you in as a fool and a

witless simpleton, into service as a candlelighter.'

 

'Lord, the price for my hands was my wits. I am a simple man

who knows nothing.'

 

'Yet the Master of Magic touched you with the rainbow cloak,'

muttered the King, darkly, 'and I took you in out of love for your

father for he served me well until the Chancellors drove him out.

There is more to this than simple magic. Have you a son,

Candleman? Have you?'

 

The candlelighter shook with fear, 'Do not kill him, my Lord,

he is dull-witted like his father and a baby amongst the wicks and

snuffers of this great hall.'

 

King Holbian laughed and drew the Candleman up until their

faces were almost touching. 'It is the Chancellors you must fear

for they will kill you both if you so much as dip a finger into the hot

wax. Be warned, Ironhand, the Chancellors have grown into a

terrible power in this city. We must hide your son somewhere,

somewhere the Chancellors will never think of looking for him,

just as Nevian hid you here in Candlebane Hall.'

 

'Lord, I am nothing,' protested Ironhand.

 

'Quiet! Play the fool for the Chancellors, not for me! Now

listen. Nevian once predicted that the one who would take this

throne must grow to manhood alone, and yet if I leave your son

unhelped he will grow to be ignorant and ill-prepared to face the

Chancellors and they will find him easy meat to kill.'

 

King Holbian left the throne and descended to the inner circle

of candles and there trod a shadow on the smooth polished floor

as he paced the night away, going over and over in his head those

words of Nevian's that he could remember. 'I have it!' he cried at

last just as the grey hours were filling the sky. 'Tomorrow I shall

pass a law that all the children of Candlebane Hall must attend

the Loremaster in the Learning Halls. He will not grow up in

ignorance but he will become well-prepared to face the

Chancellors and they will never think to look amongst their own

for the throne stealer.'

 

'Lord, shall I bring him to you before the new sun rises?'

 

'No! no!' cried Holbian, remembering clearly now the wizard's

words. 'I must remain ignorant of him. Even his name you must

not utter and if he comes into this hall to sene you I must not see

him. So go now in peace, Candleman, and guard our secret well,

for we shall have to be clever and cunning to outwit the

Chancellors.'

 

'Who, Lord, calls the Candleman . . .' sang Ironhand, as he

moved amongst the candles extinguishing the bright flames with

his snuffer. 'Who calls on the Candleman to pour wax on his

head . . .'

 

'Who indeed?' muttered the King, retreating into the Granite

Towers. Wearily he climbed the circling steps until he reached

the highest window that would face the new sunrise, and there he

paused to look across the Granite City and think of all the changes

he must make. Below, the city had awakened to the hint of the

new daylight. Cooking fires hazed the air with thin spirals of blue

smoke and criers moved amongst the crowded houses shouting

the people out. King Holbian swept his gaze across a forest of

weather-bleached slate roofs, followed the ribbon-winding lanes

and dark alleyways until they were lost in the shadows of the outer

walls, and there, built in rough grey granite, stood the stables and

the breaking yards. Once the first line of defence against the

world outside, now the King trembled to see them fallen into such

neglect, weed-choked and desolate in the early dawn light.

 

'My Chancellors are fools to think that stone walls and strong

doors will keep the Nightbeasts out. Where are the Gallopers and

their proud mounts? Who can help me?' he wept, resting his head

in his hand. 'There is so much I cannot change alone.'

 

As if in answer to the King, the clear singing voice of the

Candleman rose up out of the narrow streets that lay in the

shadows of the Granite Towers. 'Who calls on the Candleman to

put him to bed? Who calls on the Candleman to light him to bed?'

 

 

 

Within the muth of Night

 

Hidden from the sun beneath a million tons of rock the City of

nFight brooded in silence.

 

'Leaves,' a voice whispered, gathering the tunnellers into a

tight circle.

 

'Yesterday was full of pain and today will be as bleak when the

Nightbeasts drive us to work, but while they sleep we will share

the light.'

 

Leaf bowed his head and brought his hands together as if

holding a delicate cup. Then he began, as the Master of Magic

had taught him, to build the point of light. He used the tree

picture, the one with all the leaves in golden colours, bending in

the wind. The point of light grew, warming his hands. He passed

it on to the next tunneller who took up the story and so it went the

rounds of the circle.

 

'Tell us the story of the great black Warhorse,' whispered

Willow Leaf, interrupting the Elder who had taken up the story of

the bending tree. 'The one who haunts the tunnels. Is he real?'

 

'He is real, Willow,' replied Leaf the Elder, smiling in the

darkness at the young boy, 'and he is a great blessing to us, for he

hunts the Nightbeasts and they walk in fear of him.'

 

'Have you seen him?' questioned Willow, his heart beating

faster.

 

'Hush, child, the Nightbeasts are near!'

 

'Why does he come here?' persisted the child. 'If I were free I

would . . .'

 

'Hush, hush, Willow,' snapped Leaf the Elder, taking back the

point of light and holding it against his chest in his cupped hands.

'I will tell you when he first appeared if that will silence your

questions.'

 

Willow grinned, knowing how much the Elder loved to talk

about the Warhorse.

 

'It was after the noise of the Great Battle had died away.

Krulshards returned, surrounded by the Nightbeasts in the

shadow circle. It seemed from their talk that the Granite King

had won the battle but he was afraid to follow the Master of

Nightmares into the darkness. It was a time of great despair for

us, as new Nightbeasts were spawned in the lower levels of the

darkness and we wept, waiting patiently for the signs the

magician had spoken of.'

 

'But what about the Warhorse? What of him?' asked Willow,

impatiently. The Elder had never spent this long telling how he

had arrived.

 

'He comes to protect the horses that the Nightbeasts steal

from the land of Elundium and to put to work pulling the

rubble sledges here in the City of Night. But you must be

careful not to get in his way.'

 

'Has he ever harmed a tunneller?' asked Willow.

 

'Never! Not a single hair has he ever touched amongst us.

Why, long ago, just after he first appeared, I saw him and felt

the wind he stirred up as he galloped past.' Lowering his voice,

almost as if speaking to himself, the elder added, 'he could have

crushed me to death, but he left me crouching against the

tunnel wall, unharmed.'

 

A slight noise distracted Willow from the Elder's tale and

broke the pictures in his mind. There was a scuffle beyond the

arch where the sledging horses stood. Willow started to rise,

pushing a hand into the deep heavy dust; he froze, half

standing, as a great black shape moved silently through the

arch. It paused, and soft eyes surveyed him, searching his soul

and held him still. Willow's heart was pounding and the sound

of his own blood thundered in his ears. To see such beauty, to

see the Warhorse, it was beyond any words the Elder could

whisper. The great arched neck and rippling sheets of muscle,

the power and the majesty - all this was standing so close to

him. Drips of water splashed into the pools and the group

huddled around the Elder, listened to his whispering, oblivious

that the horse stood almost close enough to touch them. A

voice within Willow's head commanded him to be still and

silent. It was not a threat, just a command. Willow felt his fear

melt away and a great excitement bubbled up inside him.

Nothing like this had ever happened in any of the Elders'

stories. He blinked his large round eyes and the Warhorse

disappeared. He searched the shadows, wondering if it had

been a dream. Quietly he struggled to his feet and crept to

where he had seen the horse; gingerly he felt the ground,

spreading his fingers and there, pressed into the dust, were

hoofprints, far larger than any left by the shackled horses. It

had not been a dream after all. Quietly Willow took his place

amongst the circle of tunnellers, but he felt somehow different,

changed from the scrawny youth who had started the Elder

whispering the story of the Warhorse. To those about him he

still looked the same person, Willow Leaf, the rubble sledge

boy, but he had seen the Warhorse and had heard him whisper

his name. The edges of a great adventure were at his fingertips.

 

With cracking whips and roaring voices the Nightbeasts

appeared to drive the tunnellers to work, and as the group split

up to scurry to the rock face Leaf the Elder clung on to

Willow's sleeve, for he had seen the change in the boy's eyes.

 

'One day our people will be free again. You have a part to

play. I see your fate spun in choices, and the right choice will set

us free. Remember, boy, if you ever come face to face with the

Master of Nightbeasts, tread on his shadow.'

 

'What choices? What shadow?' cried Willow, grabbing the

Elder's frail arm. 'I know nothing but the black tunnel and the

grating sledge.'

 

A lash cracked across the Elder's back and sent him reeling

in the dust, a clawed foot crushed his rib cage hard against the

ground and, as life fluttered out of his broken chest he

whispered to the boy, 'Follow your heart, child; let it make any

choice you have. And tread on the nightbeast's shadow, it

renders him helpless.'

 

Gritty tears blurred the sledge as Willow grieved the Elder's

death but the old mare he looked after pulled hard against the

traces and often rubbed her face against his in the dark winding

tunnels, and through his loss a great bond grew between them.

Her velvet-soft muzzle brushed away his tears and both of

them sensed Equestrius near at hand.

 

Willow worked the sledge during the months that followed

the Elder's death. His back grew raw from the lash and he took

many beatings meant for the old mare to ease her plight. He

had named her Evening Star, for she had a splash of white on

her forehead and he imagined that was what a star looked like.

During the short rest periods he would lie beside her and touch

the star and dream of a thousand white points of light across the

tunnel roof, just like the night sky in the Elder's stories, dark

and yet full of light. And then he wept.

 

Willow sank into himself and spent all his time with the old

horse. He kept his distance from the other members of the

group and a bitter resolve grew in him to avenge the Elder's

death, but how? The Nightbeasts were giants against him.

Their armour made of strips of other beings' skins was tough

and it rattled when they moved, and could not be cut by any

metal he knew of. Their scythes or whips or spears were always

in their hands and they were rough and very quick for all their

size. But he would avenge somehow.

 

Willow, in his anger, developed the habit of clenching and

unclenching his hands deep in the dust and sifting it through

his fingers. Sitting by the mare one freezing night, sifting in the

dust, a sharp pain made him cry aloud, and gingerly with

drawing his hand he found, sticking in his middle finger, a

treasure beyond belief. Hanging from a bleeding puncture

wound, gleaming dully in the dark, he saw a long broken

splinter of steel from an ancient blade. A hand's span long, still

razor sharp along its cutting edge, jagged on the fractured side,

it ran down to a needle point. No King or wizard could have

granted a better gift to little Willow. The tunnellers had only

the rags they stood in, even the meagre scraps of food they ate

were thrown down to them to eat off the floor. No tools to eat

with, or bowls to eat from. But chance, or fate, or magic moves,

had armed young Willow with a deadly blade which he quickly

hid inside his ragged shirt and the touch of cold metal against

his dirty skin made him feel strong, and his hands itched to use

it. He snuggled in tight to his horse's side and closed his eyes to

sleep. Dreams tumbled through his mind. Dreams of swords

flashing high in the sun that he had never seen, of galloping

horsemen on rolling hills with a forest of gleaming spears above

their heads. He stumbled in his dream and came awake, the

jolting that had woken him was a small convulsion in the old

mare's side. He put his hand gently on her and felt a kick

against his hand. Puzzled, he felt her ears and her neck. She

did not seem distressed. So much had happened since the

Warhorse had first appeared; he shrugged and drifted back to

sleep, eager once again to ride with the spearmen.

 

Near him a horse nickered softly as Equestrius, the great

black Warhorse, moved closer to Star, blowing her a gentle

greeting and smelling her side just above Willow's head. His

lips and nostrils brushed over Willow's sleeping face and he

saw in a vision the boy ride to war with him. Nightbeasts fell

beneath his galloping hooves and the sun streamed through his

flying mane. Willow tightly held the jagged blade which

glittered and flashed in the sunlight.

 

 

The Passing of Thoronhand

 

'Late again, Candlebrat Hand!' snarled the Loremaster,

advancing on the ill dressed youth hovering in the doorway.

'Get to your place before I thrash the daylight out of you. Move

boy, move!'

 

Pinchface, the Loremaster, struck out with the lash, cutting

across the back of Thane's knees, felling him with one stinging

stroke. 'Boy, it was a black day that our King smiled upon the

rabble who serve at Candlebane Hall letting them loose to steal

a little learning, for it is a dangerous thing among the ignorant.

Is that the truth my boy!'

 

'Yes, Sire,' ThAne replied, feeling the blood heating his

cheeks.

 

'Yes, Sire,' mimicked the Loremaster, winking at the other

boys seated in the Learning Hall, 'What else, boy?'

 

'Sire, I am a Candlebrat from . . .' Thane hesitated, looking

down at the rough string shoes and ragged leggings he wore.

He could see without looking and hear without listening, the

cruelty in the Chancellors' sons who filled the hall. They were

waiting until the Loremaster had dealt with him then they,

without mercy, would torment him. It was the Lore of the

Learning Hall just as it was the Lore of the Granite City.

'Chancellors are the power of Elundium and their wishes are

the will of the people.'

 

'What else, boy?' prompted the Loremaster, an edge of

impatience in his voice. Thane lifted his head and brushing

back untidy straw coloured hair from his pale blue eyes faced

the assembled class. 'Lord, I am a Candlebrat from

Candlebane Hall. I am ignorant, ill-mannered, unlearned and

untaught.'

'Unclean,' sniggered Silverpurse, Chancellor Proudpurse's

son.

 

'Uncouth!' laughed another.

 

'Boys! Boys!' called out the Loremaster, finding it difficult to

suppress his delight at mocking the children of Candlebane

Hall, for he hated them and their low beginnings. 'That is

enough, my children,' he chided gently.

 

Turning cold eyes back to Thane he instructed him to go to

his place below the other learners and sit on the broken stool

that had only two legs. 'And pay attention, Candlebrat,' he

roared, 'for today I shall teach you of the Galloper who won the

battle for World's End.'

 

Thane forgot the pain behind his knees and carefully

balancing on the stool waited on every word the Loremaster

uttered, eagerly longing to hear how his grandfather, Thoronhand,

had fought his way through the black mass of Nightbeasts,

urging Amarch, the beautiful grey Warhorse, towards

the fortress of Underfall.

 

'Morning was breaking into a glorious new daylight and the

ranks of Nightbeasts covered their eyes against the light before

the gates of Underfall.' The Loremaster paused and looked

into each upturned face and saw the picture he had begun to

paint. 'Bravepurse, the Mighty,' he continued, letting his voice

fall to little more than a whisper, 'drove Amarch forwards,

slashing-at her sweating flanks with the flat of his sword. Fear

was in her eyes but he forced her on at spur point, for he was

the strongest and most feared Galloper in all Elundium, always

first into battle and always lifting men's hearts with the skill of

his sword.'

 

'It is a lie!' Thane cried, jumping to his feet and interrupting

the Loremaster. Anger boiled in his heart and his fingers

clenched and unclenched at his sides as he fought to control his

voice. For fifteen whole suns he had done his father's bidding

and kept a bridle on his tongue while the Loremaster told lie

after lie and the Chancellors' children bullied and beat him,

but they would not call Amarch a coward or say that a

Chancellor had sat on her back. 'There were none! None in all

Elundium, be he Chancellor or King, who dared to put a hand

on Amarch. Only my grandfather, Thoronhand, was allowed

to ride upon her, for there was a bond of love between them.'

 

The white-lipped rage in the Loremaster's face and the grim

stares of hatred from the Chancellors' sons should have halted

Thane, but he ran on, defending the great Warhorse without

pausing for breath. 'When my grandfather died somewhere in

the wilderness beyond this city Amarch came to us, wounded,

and asked for help but your fathers were deaf to her cries and

locked the city against her. For three whole daylights she

screamed and neighed, pawing at the Great Gates before she

turned away and vanished into the wild lands. How can you say

that a Chancellor ever rode upon her back!'

 

Thane's voice fell away to nothing. He stood defiantly in the

silence knowing that he had said more than enough to be

thrown into a vat of molten candle wax in Candlebane Hall. All

that remained now was for the Loremaster to call for the

Learning Hall guard, but he did not move. The silence

continued; bees hummed beneath the window sill and sunlight

streamed through the vaulted windows. Dust eddied in gentle

draughts and caught by the sunlight formed patterns that

shifted, broke and reformed, almost imperceptibly, as the

Loremaster rose and turned towards the door. The patterns

changed again and re-arranged themselves into the shape of a

man, old beyond time, heavy with wisdom, who had about his

shoulders a rainbow cloak.

 

'Stop!' commanded the ancient figure, pointing his finger at

the Loremaster. 'For too long you have twisted the truth and

whispered lies in the pictures you paint. Come forward now

and tell us the truth of this great kingdom.'

 

'Lord,' cried Pinchface, falling on to his knees, 'I only do as

the Chancellors command. It is the law to obey.'

 

Nevian laughed and shook the rainbow cloak, filling the

Learning Hall with blinding colours. 'Am I not stronger than a

thousand Chancellors?'

 

The Loremaster cried, burying his head in the folds of his

cloak. 'Lord, Lord, I am but a servant.'

 

'Then serve me and all of this great city by telling the truth,

for without it you are lost, stumbling on the edge of everlasting

darkness. Come to me, Loremaster, and teach these children

the truth.'

 

With that the voice faded and the rainbow cloak changed

into many pictures that matched the droning Loremaster's

voice as he told the learners the truth of the great battle for

World's End and the fortress of Underfall. 'Nightbeasts issued

out of Mantern's Mountain in black waves of terror, hideously

spreading the shadows of death across the Causeway Fields.

The men of Elundium could not look upon them and turned to

flee but Duclos, the Swordsman, gathered all those that could

hear his voice above the Nightbeasts' screams and on to each

one he tied a blindfold of white silk. "Look into the cloth," he

whispered to each man, "and listen only to my singing. Follow

my voice."'

 

'And the Gallopers,' prompted Nevian.

 

'Thoronhand, my Lord, he galloped on to the causeway

upon the Warhorse, Amarch, and found all the Gallopers

milling about in disorder. Terror had made the common

horses shy and their riders were seized with panic. He

marshalled them into quiet ranks and led them towards

Underfall and always Amarch was a length ahead, rearing and

plunging, where the Nightbeasts were thickest.'

 

'And the Archers? How did they fare in this battle?'

questioned Nevian.

 

'Lord, Tombel, the Marcher, had rallied the Marchers time

and again but the black waves of Nightbeasts drove him

backwards until they fought in the shadows of the great dyke

beside the causeway road. Trueflightorm, the Archer, saw

Tombel's plight and formed those Archers he could find into a

strike, and he led them deep into the Nightbeasts' black

shadows and the song of the Great Bow of Orm lifted the

Marchers' hearts and they swept up out of the dyke across the

causeway fields, bright swords flashing in the sunlight.'

 

Nevian laughed, 'Truth has such beauty. But what of our

King and his Chancellors?'

 

Pinchface looked nervously at the Master of Magic and saw

beyond the coloured cloak and the twinkling eyes a terrible

power, far greater than anything he had ever seen before. 'King

Holbian feared nothing, my Lord, tirelessly he fought upon the

raised Causeway sending crescent after crescent of the riderless

Warhorses galloping against the Nightbeasts' spears. He called

upon the owls and they honoured their pledge, plunging in

countless stoops from a clear sky to tear at the Nightbeasts'

eyes.'

 

'But the Chancellors, what of the Chancellors?' insisted

Nevian.

 

'They, my Lord, could not face the black terror of the

Nightbeasts and stayed here in the Granite City, governing the

people and keeping everything in order for the King's return.'

 

Nevian turned towards Thane and his ancient face softened

into a smile that the other learners did not see, and he spoke in

gentle tones that only Thane could hear. 'You cried out for

justice, Thane, a dangerous thing to do amongst the

Chancellors' sons, for now they know the truth and will hate

you all the more for it. Prudence should have stopped your

tongue.'

 

'lord,' whispered Thane, stepping backwards and tripping

over the broken stool, 'I did not mean to incur your rage, only

my grandfather brought Amarch into the Granite City before

he died. He let me sit on her back and he called owls down out

of the sky to perch on the pommel and the cantle of the saddle

while he told me all about the world beyond the city walls. And

 

- and, the Loremaster always seems to lie about what really

happened.'

 

'Be at peace, child, the Loremaster must tell the truth while I

am here. Listen and watch for the tale he is about to tell you. It

is of the Lord of the Warhorses, Equestrius, but as the pictures

fade run for your life, for I cannot undo your foolishness here in

the Learning Hall. Take the secret alleyways and dark lanes

that lead down to your father's house that shelters in the

shadows of the great wall. Tell him what has happened here

today. Remember! Go by the dark alleyways, the Chancellors'

sons will not follow you into the shadows.'

 

'Legends tell us that Equestrius is the Lord of Horses. He is

as black as night's shadows and as fast as the Eastwind. He first

appeared in Elundium at the beginning of King Holbian's

struggle against the Nightbeasts and he helped him to drive the

nightmares towards World's End. Great herds of Warhorses

galloped besides the men of Elundium and they feared nothing

in the shadows. Equestrius gave all the Warhorses their

freedom after the battle for World's End and they now roam

wherever they please. It is a foolish man who goes anywhere

near the Warhorses for Nature armed them with rings of steel

upon their feet and they mistrust us.'

 

The voice of the Loremaster receded as Thane watched the

picture change into a desolate place of sheer cliffs, broken

paths, thorns and tangled undergrowth. Amidst this wreck of

Nature, hard against a black mountain, stood a grim fortress.

On its uppermost iron edged galleries one light burned. It

looked to Thane as he had imagined Underfall would look, it

matched the place in his grandfather's stories of World's End,

but there was movement in the picture. Horses came and went,

hard-pressed with fear on their heels. Sparks scattered from

their hooves in the dark and gloomy cobbled yards. There was a

flash of mail shirts and swords beneath the Gallopers' cloaks.

The rainbow cloak swirled, scattering the picture, and as it

faded into nothing a grey Warhorse reared up, pierced with

many Nightbeasts' spears.

 

'Amarch!'Thane cried, recognising the Warhorse. The sun

had moved behind a mighty buttress and the Learning Hall was

full of shadows. Nevian had vanished. Thane was alone amongst

the Chancellors' sons.

 

'Stone him!' voices cried out.

 

'Melt him in the wax, the filthy Candlebrat!' joined in others.

 

'Tear out his tongue,' hissed Silverpurse, rising to his feet.

 

Thane moved quickly, dodging and ducking amongst the

hands that reached out to stop him and reached the doorway

ahead of the mob. For a moment he turned and stood his ground,

'Truth! Know the truth!' he shouted. Then, laughing, he turned

and fled for his life, running as hard as he could through the maze

of corridors towards a little used entrance at the back of the

Learning Hall. Behind him he could hear the clamour of pursuit

as others joined in the chase but always above their angry shouts

he could hear the Loremaster's curse -'Kill the Candlebrat and

curse the name of Hand!'

 

Thane leapt through the doorway out into the afternoon

sunlight and ran down the stone steps, four at a time, left and right

he turned, jostling and pushing his way through the crowded

streets. Quickly he dived into the first dark alleyway that would

lead him home and stopped for breath, listening for the sounds of

pursuit.

 

'Kill the Candlebrat!' echoed through the busy streets, but

nobody turned aside into the dark alleyways that led down to the

Great Wall. Thane smiled in the half-light, and carefully worked

his way home, thankful that the high city dwellers feared the

alleyways or what they thought dwelt in their shadows.

 

Ironhand could hear the Loremaster's curse as the mob

combed the well-lit upper streets of the city and he feared for his

son's life. Just after darkness fell he heard the outer door softly

open and waited for the closing click of the latch before he lit his

Candleman's spark and looked into his son's face.

 

'Fool!' he whispered harshly, unstrapping his leather belt and

raising it to beat the boy. 'All these years I have kept you safe and

well hidden in the Learning Hall, all for this!'

 

He pointed with a dirty tallow-stained finger towards the upper

circles of the city where the chant of the Chancellors' sons could

still be heard, 'Kill the Candlebrat, Kill the Candlebrat!'

 

'They will sack the city, boy, mark my words! Whatever you

have done today many poor souls will have to pay for it.'

 

'Father!' Thane cried, falling to his knees, 'I called the

Loremaster a liar and Nevian, the Master of Magic, the one

whose name we are forbidden to say, came and made the

Loremaster tell the truth. Father, the rainbow cloak was so

beautiful!'

 

Ironhand smiled in the soft light of the spark, remembering

when he had seen the cloak so many suns ago. 'Tell me about it,

child,' and Thane told him all that had happened in the Learning

Hall.

 

After Thane had finished Ironhand whispered to him as he

extinguished the spark, 'I must go to Candlebane Hall for I am the

Candlelighter.'

 

'No!' The Chancellors will kill you for what I have done. Let

me go in your place. I am not afraid.'

 

Ironhand smiled and then laughed in the darkness, a dry sound

without any joy in it. 'Thane, you could not take my place any

more than I could take yours. A million candles will not melt away

what happened today in the Learning Hall just as all that light will

not stop the nightshapes entering Candlebane Hall. The

Chancellors will not melt you nor would the Bondsman be

waiting to take you away in chains. If you step into that place the

Chancellors will kill you two paces from the door. You have made

them see the truth, or even worse, you have made their sons see

the truth!'

 

'But if what happened goes unpunished, the night will grow

angry. That is the Lore, isn't it?' Thane asked.

 

'I am the simpleton! You are the one who has had the learning.

Listen to me, boy, for even I know a little of the truth. Night pays

no heed to Candlebane Hall but comes no matter how many

candles I light.'

 

'But what of the Nightshapes? I have seen them in

Candlebane Hall. They will take me if . . .'

 

'No!' shouted Ironhand, his patience at an end. 'They are

the harmless carriers of the darkness. It is not against them I

light the candles. Forget what the Loremaster told you. The

real fear in Candlebane Hall is the King's fear of the dark, and

the greatest danger there is the Chancellors' power. Now go to

your room and wait on my return.'

 

Thane climbed the narrow stairway and crept into his

grandfather's empty room. It was musty and damp from the

lack of use yet here he did not feel alone or afraid. He

whispered to Thoron in the darkness, touching the bit rings

Amarch used to wear and setting them jingling with the music

of the Greenway turf. 'I bet there are plenty of people out there

in the wild world who can remember you without seeing a

rainbow cloak or can speak your name without a pack of

blood-hungry Chancellors on their heels.' Thane put his head

against the cantle of Amarch's saddle and wept, remembering

the last part of the vision in the Learning Hall.

 

'What shall I do?' muttered Ironhand over and over as he

walked towards Candlebane Hall.

 

'Go not into Candlebane Hall tonight without a body to cast

into the molten wax.'

 

'Who is that?' asked Ironhand, searching the shadows, 'Who

calls on the Candleman like a thief, afraid to show his face?'

 

'Who indeed? Who else would waste his time on Candlemen

and their brats but I, Nevian, the mover of small things. I have

come to warn you and to direct you down into the Breaking

Yards outside the city wall. There you will find the body of a

young lad who died today in the sand school beneath the

hooves of the wild horse nobody can tame. The body is yours to

take if you are brave enough to go beyond the safety of the city

 

and claim it.'

 

'How can I enter the breaking yards? The city is closed

against the night,' asked the Candleman.

 

'Follow the death bell and it Will show you a little used tunnel

that buriers travel to collect the dead from the breaking yards. But

hurry, the Chancellors are growing impatient with every flicker of

the candle's flame.'

 

Ironhand hurried down into the shadows of the outer wall and

waited for the buriers' cart. He shivered with dread and listened

for the toll of the single bronze bell that would herald its arrival.

He thought of his father, Thoron, and the trouble he had caused

the family with his talk of Warhorses and Kings. Close by he

heard the rumble of iron-hooped wheels across the cobbles and

saw the Buryman's cart piled high with the day's deaths.

 

'Buryman,' he called softly, reaching out and muffling the

bronze bell with his hand, 'my son was killed in the breaking yards

today. Let me buy the honour of bringing his body home to rest

for a daylight with us. Here in payment are two pure tallow

candles.'

 

The Buryman snatched the candles and peered closely into

Ironhand's face. 'Fetch him, carry him, do as you please. There,

through that hole, that's the way to carry the dead.'

 

'Where? I cannot see an entrance?'

 

'There!' laughed the Buryman, pointing down to a low archway

close to the ground.

 

Ironhand thanked the Buryman and crawled into the darkness.

Black echoes ran past him, unseen nightmares touched his hands

and face. 'I am the Candleman!' he shouted at the darkness, 'I do

not fear the dark!' and his tormentors faded into silence. Starlight

suddenly blazed above his head and a deep voice called out his

name.

 

'Ironhand! What are you doing in the Buryman's tunnel?'

 

Ironhand straightened his back and breathed a sigh of relief,

'Breakmaster! I have come for the boywho died beneath the wild

horse's hooves. I have great need of a body to throw into the

molten wax.'

 

'I have heard ugly rumours that the Chancellors hunt a

Candlebrat. What is he to you?'

 

'They hunt my son,' answered Ironhand, spilling out his

heart before the Breakmaster, 'and I must save him if I can.'

 

Breakmaster laughed, putting his arm around Ironhand's

shoulder, 'I will save him for you, old friend. We will hide him

here in the breaking yards. It will be a hard life, full of danger,

but at least he will be beyond the Chancellors' reach. He can

take the place of the boy who died today, few saw the death and

less will care who pushes the broom or carries the bucket

tomorrow. Send him by the Buryman's tunnel before the new

sun rises. He will be safe with me.'

 

Humbly thanking the Breakmaster, Ironhand dragged the

young corpse through the tunnel into the Granite City. The

Buryman's cart had moved on, and far away on the opposite

side of the city he could hear the mournful toll of the bronze

death bell. The street was silent and empty. Ironhand

shouldered the cold lifeless body and hurried up through the

darkened city towards Candlebane Hall and the Chancellors'

wrath.

 

Ironhand paused to catch his breath beside the outer wall of

the Candle Hall and, putting his body into the shadows of a

rising buttress, he could hear the muffled shouts of the

Chancellors inside and, moving closer, pressed his ear against

the smooth stone wall to listen. Unknowingly he had chosen a

place where the channel for the molten wax left Candlebane

Hall and passed into the tallow house. Clearly he could hear

each word and secret whisper from inside the hall.

 

'How many more will you kill?' he heard the King shout,

defensively, from the high throne.

 

'Every Candleman, and all their children. The Candleman's

boy, he must be cast into the channel of wax. He brought the

magician into the Learning Hall to tell a pack of lies to our

children. He must be punished.'

 

'Chancellors! He is dead!' Ironhand burst through the inner

circle of candlestems and flung the body he had carried

through the city across the polished marble floor towards the

channel of molten wax. It turned once, bruised arms and legs

splaying out in the shape of a star. The head twisted, staring

blindlyinto the Chancellors' faces showing broken teeth and torn

cheeks as it slid past and fellwith a splash into the channel of wax.

 

Proudpurse sprung forwards and grabbed one of the dead

boy's feet and pulled the body out of the wax. Turning it over he

examined the face, 'Is this your son, Candleman? Come forward

and answer me!'

 

Ironhand reluctantly came forwards, wringing his hands. 'He

shamed me today in the Learning Hall with all his talk of his

grandfather and battle Horses. I beat him for his lies, my Lords,

and I beat and beat and beat the truth into him until he lay dead at

my feet. Forgive him, my Lords.'

 

Ironhand caught his breath as he looked into the face of the

dead boy. The hot wax had burned and smoothed the features

beyond recognition. The nose had been melted away, fine

threads of cold petrified tallow hung from the open mouth and

one eye stared out through a film of dried wax straight into the

Candleman's heart.

 

'Thane! Forgive me,' called out Ironhand, falling on to his

knees. King Holbian leaned forwards in his high throne.

 

'Are you satisfied now? You have the boy, let that be the end of

the matter. Cast his body into the channels.'

 

'But tomorrow, my Lord, in the Learning Hall, how shall the

Loremaster treat the other children from Candlebane Hall?'

asked Proudpurse.

 

Despair weighed heavily on the King's heart. He could not

bring himself to look at the body beside the channel of wax, he felt

alone and defeated amongst his enemies. 'Send them to the tallow

house,' he answered in a broken voice, 'let them learn the craft of

the Candlehall as their fathers did. Now go and leave me in peace

and you, Candleman, push the body of your son into the channel

and be gone forever from this hall.'

 

'Lord, let me serve you in penance for my son's crimes. Let me

clean the "guttered wicks or polish the candle stems.'

 

King Holbian sat unmoved, staring blindly at the

flickering flames below the throne. The Chancellors had

departed, only the Candleman remained, kneeling beside the

body of his son. 'Everything I touch has the feel of death

about it. Are you next, Candleman? Your son died because I

thought he might be King. Look at his face, half burnned and

hideous, and I am powerless to stop them. Even the Lore

they change to suit their purpose. This is no longer my Hall

of Judgement, it has become their hollow whispering house.

I here the Chancellors plot and scheme. Soon I will be like

your son, of little use to them and ready for the hot wax.'

 

Ironhand rose to his feet and pushed the body into the

channel of wax, where in moments it had dissolved away.

The King and the Candleman stood side by side. Eventually

the King broke the silence, 'I have hurt you, Candleman,

and I know that there is not a jewel in this cloak that could

pay for your loss. I am sorry for your sorrow.'

 

Ironhand turned to the King and, pressing a single finger

on to his lips, led him out into the dark and stood him near

the hot wax channel. 'Wait,' he whispered and ran back into

the Candle Hall.

 

A voice suddenly filled the darkness where the King stood,

making him jump. 'Lord, the greatest of Kings,' the voice

boomed, 'there was a purpose in my son's death. Through the

danger and chances I took bringing his body here tonight I

found the secret listening hole. It is near where you stand, and

will unmask all the Chancellors' schemes.'

 

Ironhand laughed as he returned to the King's side. 'Lord,

forgive me my haste and give me leave to return home. The

night is going too fast for all I have to do before the new sun

rises.'

 

With a puzzled expression on his face the King re-entered

Candlebane Hall and paced away the dark hours. There was

 

something about the Candleman that had the smell of wizards

about it, but the King could not place it.

 

Before dawn chased the grey hours away Ironhand called

Thane down into the cubbyhole beneath the stairs and there

whispered out his fate. 'Thanehand is dead. The dreamer of

Warhorses and Battlebirds is gone forever. With the breaking

of a new daylight you will be apprenticed to the Breakmaster

beyond the city walls in the stableyards.'

 

'Dead?' asked Thane in bewilderment.

 

'Yes, my boy. You can never again enter the Granite City,

even your mother will think you dead when she returns home

tomorrow from her father's deathbed. You will take the place

of the boy I threw into the channel of molten wax, wear his

clothes and think his thoughts. You will be him forever.'

 

'Did you kill him?' asked Thane. Ironhand was silent for a

moment, going over the events of the night in his simple

mind.

 

'I would have, child, if need had been that hard a master,

but no, I stole him and now you must take his place. Quickly,

follow me.'

 

Through mean, narrow and dirty alleys Ironhand led his

son to stand in the black shadows of the city wall. The great

doors were closed and heavily guarded but where they stood a

low arch, barely high enough to crawl into, echoed with drips

of water and the light movements of the rodents that lived

within the buriers' tunnel.

 

'Follow that tunnel,' whispered his father, 'It leads into the

breaking yards, beyond this arch only fate can keep you safe.'

 

He gripped his son's hand, and darkness robbed Thane of

the tears his father shed at their parting.

 

'Keep safe, my child, tell no one of your name, only the

Breakmaster knows who you are, and he has pledged to keep

your name a secret. He knew and loved old Thoron and has

agreed to take you in. Remember, tell no one your name. The

grey hours are upon us; hurry boy!' Ironhand hissed in the

darkness, pushing his only son and firstborn into the blackness

of the tunnel.

 

'Father,' whispered Thane, 'I love you.'

 

'I know, child, but sometimes we are not the masters of our

own fate. Remember how much we risk that you still live.'

 

Thane crawled into the tunnel, his elbows scraped the

sides, his knees soaked up the slimy wetness of the floor, fear

made his teeth rattle and rats ran across his hands as he felt

his way forward. The tunnel seemed endless and full of

Nightshapes, he cried out for courage, screwing his eyes

tightly shut. He could not go back, there was no room to turn

around, he knew he must go on.

 

A rough leathery hand grabbed him by the scruff of his

neck, broken nails dug into his skin and pulled him clear of

the tunnel, Thane hung dangling from a strong arm.

 

'Welcome, Thane, to a new beginning,' whispered a rich,

deep voice, showing a hint of disappointment as its owner

inspected him. 'You hardly seem worth all the fuss, but if you

are the one they hound to death, follow me; be quick, child,

dawn breaks.'

 

Thane followed in the Master's shadow, shivering as much

with the fear of what lay before him as from the foul-smelling

dampness that clung to him from the tunnel.

 

'Walk beside me, boy, hold your head up and pretend to be

a part of this place. I shall call you Boy; that is now your name.

If anyone asks about your past, tell them you came with the

last batch of wild horses gathered beyond sight. You are an

orphan.'

 

'Master,' called Thane, 'will I ever see my mother again?'

The rich voice laughed in the darkness, the Master stopped

and turned to Thane. 'Child, I am Master here because I have

lived the longest amongst the wild horses we break to serve

the King. Who knows how long you will live amidst their

crashing hooves, or how many men I will bury before another

sun sets, but,' continued the Master, lowering his voice to a

whisper, 'You are Thoron's grandson, and I shall protect you,

if I can.'

 

Thane was shown where he was to sleep and given brooms

and buckets to sweep and scrub the stable floors. As the Master

turned to leave, he held up his left hand. 'Sleep with your hands

inside your clothes for the rats will eat you alive if they get the

chance, and stay clear of the main sand school at noon, for we

have a rogue to break who has killed many bigger and braver

than you.'

 

'What is his name?' Thane asked in innocence.

 

'Name? Name? He has no name yet, but many have cursed

him and died for their trouble. Keep away, boy, if you value

your life.'

 

As the days passed by Thane lost all sense of time and he

soon found the rough and tumble of the breaking yards a place

to escape his shame and forget the learning hall. It was a brutal

place, full of cursing, shouting and the crack of rawhide lashes

as the breakers fought to overcome the wild horses. Thane saw,

to his horror, many proud beasts brought to their knees, bloody

and injured before defeat stole their pride and they were ready

to serve the King. Whole trees were piled shoulder high

around the yards to take the crash on breaking days and only

brave men stood amidst the dust and lived. Often, during the

busiest times, Thane would catch the Master looking up

towards the window far above their heads, set into the tower

wall, but it was beyond his courage to ask whom he looked for.

 

With the noon bell tolling out the hour a single barred door

was opened on to the main arena. Silence lay as heavy as the

settling dust; inside the darkened stable a horse snorted,

kicking violently at the walls. Curiosity drew Thane daily to

step closer and closer so that he could see the horse that

nobody could break. It was rumoured that even the King left

his chair to watch from a high window, for this horse was, the

breakers whispered, a mirror image of the great Warhorses of

long ago.

 

Thane held his breath, peering over the wooden wall. Before

him, pawing the sand, a full seventeen hands high, was the

most beautiful horse he had ever seen, just like the horses his

grandfather wove into his tales of long ago, before the battle to

win World's End had broken the pledges. Yet there was

something about him that made him different, a hardness in his

eye, the way he flattened his ears and bared his teeth at the

slightest movement beyond the wall. Sheets of muscle rippled

as he moved across the sand; his mane shone like threads of silk

as he shook his head.

 

He knelt to roll in the hot sand. This was the moment the

horse breakers had waited for, crouching in the shadows. Now

they would master him with hobbles, ropes and chain halters.

Perhaps as many as twenty strong men swarmed noiselessly

over the high barricade and disappeared into the cloud of dust

the horse had churned up. Fear stalked amongst them - the

horse had killed before and was highly dangerous. Neighing

fiercely the wild horse fought them, rearing and plunging,

scattering the breakers. Kicking and biting he drove them back

against the barricades.

 

'Clear the sand school. Get out before he kills you!' shouted

the assistant Breakmaster, urging the scattering horsemen

back to safety. One by one they scrambled out, cursing their

luck, knowing that they must try again in the next daylight to

tame this wild horse.

 

'Look,' cried Thane, pointing at the last horseman trying to

leave the sand school, 'he is injured and cannot climb the

barricade. Aren't you going to help him?'

 

Cruel laughter shut Thane's mouth as two coarse-faced

horsemen grabbed him by the arms and lifted him on to the top

of the barricade. 'you can help him, boy, and die for your

trouble,' sneered a voice, and a strong hand pushed him

forwards until he was toppling on the edge of the wall.

 

The horse was cantering in circles around the injured man,

sending up small puffs of sand with each footfall. Tighter and

tighter closed the circle, ears flattened and eyes glittering with

hatred, ready for the kill.

 

'Breakmaster!' the fallen man screamed, the horse's hot

breath on his face. 'Save me!' he cried without hope.

 

'Go on! Save him,' sneered the cruel voice behind Thane,

and the hand pushed him stumbling on to his knees in the

sandschool.

 

From where Thane landed in the sand he saw it all too

clearly. The muscles bunched and tightened along the horse's

back, a moment's pause and then the hindleg lashed out,

cutting short the horseman's screams. With that one blow he

snapped his neck and crushed his skull into the sand.

 

'That will teach you, boy, to hold your tongue,' laughed a

voice behind the barricades.

 

Far above the breaking yards King Holbian watched from a

window in the Towers of Granite. At his side, trembling lest

what went on below displeased his Lord, stood the

Breakmaster.

 

'Lord, he is wild to the point of being dangerous. Shall we

kill him?'

 

'And put an end to such pride?' replied the King, raising his

eyebrows at the Breakmaster. 'Is that what you would do? Kill

what you cannot tame? Should I put to death every man that

displeases me? Have I done that during my long reign? Have I

edged the metal spikes along the city wall with those that would

not bend to my demands?'

 

'No, Lord,' answered the Breakmaster, weakly, knowing that

he dare not speak his mind. 'I have failed to tame the best, the

most beautiful horse to ever stand in the Granite City. Daily my

most skilled breakers and horsemen fall beneath his hooves.

Lord, none can touch him.'

 

King Holbian interrupted the Breakmaster, holding up a

hand for silence and beckoned him to come closer to the

casement. 'Who is that boy kneeling in the sand?'

 

'Who, Sire?' asked the Breakmaster, craning his neck and

seeing Thane's imminent death below. The horse had finished

crushing the breaker's skull and was advancing across the sand

towards the boy. Deceiving the King was treason and led to a

slow death and the Breakmaster hesitated, searching for the

right words to perhaps blunt his punishment for hiding the

Candleman's son. King Holbian felt a stir of movement behind

him and turning quickly found the Chancellors on tiptoe,

trying to look over his shoulder.

 

'Leave me in peace to watch my sport. Another horseman

has died beneath the wild horse's hooves. It is nothing more

than that. Leave me!'

 

Reluctantly the Chancellors retired, leaving the King alone

with the Breakmaster. 'Who is that boy in the sandschool?' the

King asked again.

 

The Breakmaster felt his hands growing damp with sweat.

'He is Thanehand, the Candlelighter's son. The boy the

Chancellors' sons chased through the city after the Master of

Magic appeared in the Learning Hall.'

 

A smile touched King Holbian's lips. 'And you would risk

your life hiding this boy from the Chancellors?'

 

'The Chancellors never venture beyond the great gates of

the city. Even the bondsmen fear to step into the breakingyards

for they fear the horses, Sire.'

 

'Enough!' interrupted the King, speaking as he watched the

sandschool below, 'If that boy lives beyond the first chime of

the afternoon bell then you shall also live. Now watch with me,

since your life hangs on such a slender thread.'

 

Thane knelt in the sand, pushing his hands against the

ground to rise but the shadow of the horse was almost upon

him, the dull thudding of his hooves drowning out all other

sounds. He opened his mouth to cry out but nothing came.

From a dark corner, high in the stable wall, an owl hooted and

was silent. The great horse stopped, his hooves almost

touching Thane's fingers; another step and he would have

crushed them beyond any healer's art to mend. Stretching his

neck he sniffed the terror-stricken boy, snorting in his face.

 

The horse was so close that Thane could feel his breath.

Flattening his ears, he struck Thane hard in the face, the blow

sent him crashing backwards into the wooden barrier where he

lay, trapped in dark dreams, unable to move.

 

'He will kill him now,' whispered one of the breakers behind

the barrier, watching through a space between the boards. 'He

will smash his skull with one kick. I've seen him do it to others.'

 

A hoof pawed the sand beside Thane's head, almost

touching his forehead, grains of sand fell into his hair. The

hoof was raised, muscles in the horse's shoulder flexed and

tensed to strike, his ears were now completely flattened and his

lips curled back exposing fearsome teeth. He had charged to

kill, only the owl had bade him stop.

 

With gentle ease he placed the hoof upon Thane's head

pressing just hard enough to leave a sand-filled print across the

boy's cheek. The breakers waited, breath held, for the skull to

crack. The Master saw clearly his own death, the moment the

horse put his whole weight on that foot. King Holbian smiled,

glancing at the Master. 'What say you now, Master?'

 

'I hid him out of love for Thoron, Lord,' whispered the

Master, his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands.

 

The owl hooted again. The horse removed his hoof, and

lifting his head roared out a challenge that made the blood

course hotly through King Holbian's veins. He grasped the

Master's arm, shouting with excitement. 'Not since the battle

for World's End have I heard that call. If you cannot tame him,

then set him free for he must be a Lord amongst the horses.

Although I know not why he has no rings of steel upon his feet;

was he not foaled in the lower pastures within sight of this

window?'

 

'Yes, Lord, he cannot be a true Warhorse,' replied the

Master.

 

The horse moved, placing a foot across Thane's body,

pulling and rolling him until he stood once more in the centre

of the arena, the unconscious boy lying in front of his forelegs.

A single bell tolled, Thane groaned, regaining his senses and,

looking up, saw how close death stood. He could see clearly the

skin of the coronet where it met the hooves and tiny grains of

sand clinging to the silky hairs on the fetlocks.

 

'Grandfather,'he whispered, 'give me courage to stand and

not be afraid.' But his hands shook and his legs felt as if they

were filled with liquid as he struggled to rise. The horse stood

perfectly still watching him. The afternoon sun burned the

back of Thane's neck, dizziness made him stagger as he moved

forward, a hand outstretched, calling out the name of the

greatest Warhorse in all his grandfather's stories.

 

'Equestrius, Equestrius, Lord of Horses. Protect me.' But

the horse crouched on his hocks, rearing up and his shadow

blotted out the sunlight. His hooves hovered just above

Thane's head, striking the empty air. Grains of sand fell into

his eyes as he sank on to his knees in despair calling out his

grandfather's name. 'Thoron!' Again the owl shrieked, flying

low across the sand, and the horse neighed with rage, lowering

his forelegs, striking Thane hard on the shoulder, sending him

sprawling on to his back. Snorting in anger the horse turned

and trotted into the dark stable.

 

King Holbian stood deep in thought, looking down into the

sandschool. Breakmaster hardly dared to breathe as he awaited

judgement on his fate. Nobody climbed over the barrier to help

Thane to his feet, whispers of dark magic went the rounds

amongst the breakers. 'Did you hear the name he cried as the

horse reared? Send word to the Chancellors, this boy is not

what he seems,' they muttered, gripping the hilts of their

daggers.

 

'Breakmaster!' commanded the King. 'Stand by my chair

and put the jewelled cloak about my shoulders while we talk on

this matter. Be careful with it for it has grown a little each time I

have plucked a jewel.'

 

'Lord, it is so beautiful,' gasped the Breakmaster, afraid to

touch it with his calloused hands.

 

King Holbian laughed, 'It is only coloured stones,

Breakmaster! Fear not to touch it, it is the wolves of the

government it keeps at bay. The Chancellors have schemed

and plotted to take it from me, but now it is too heavy for one

ordinary man to carry and they cannot find the trust among

themselves to steal it together!'

 

'But, Lord, how do you carry it?' asked the Breakmaster,

struggling to arrange the cloak to the King's satisfaction.

 

'Nevian, the magician, fashioned the cloak for me to wear.

He said there were secrets woven into the cloth. Once, in

anger, I tore off a handful of the jewels and threw them at the

Chancellors' feet and the cloak grew a little. At that moment I

saw the power Nevian warned me of, the power of greed. So I

use the jewels to divide them by throwing them one by one at

the Chancellors' feet. They fight over them, some growing

richer while others think themselves poorer. But with each

squabble their power fades. I have brought many daylights for

the one who will eventually take my place. Breakmaster, I

thought I had lost everything to the Chancellors but little by

little, through the cloak, I have kept the throne and now I have

ways of finding out the Chancellors' secrets and thwarting each

move they make. Why, two handfuls of jewels saved the

breaking yards from ruin. But we must talk about the boy.

Thane? Is that the name you called him?'

 

'Yes, Lord,' answered the Breakmaster, hanging his head

'The Candlelighter's father taught me to ride and break horses

and it was in memory of him that I took the boy in.'

 

'Whom did the Candleman throw into the channel of wax?'

 

'Lord, it was the body of a young boy the wild horse had

killed earlier that day. Why, sire, you watched his death from

the window over there. The Candleman came to me after dark

by the Buryman's tunnel asking for help.'

 

'Did he light his way through the tunnel?'

 

'No, Lord, I heard him cry out as he crawled towards me that

he did not fear the dark.'

 

King Holbian laughed quietly, repeating to himself, 'He did

not fear the dark.' Turning to Breakmaster, Holbian motioned

him closer. 'The Chancellors will kill Thane, even if they do

not do it themselves they will find those who can. But I will not

have him hurt. Today we saw some of his magic and we must

keep him safe until he grows in power.'

 

'What power, Lord?' asked Breakmaster, puzzled by the

whole affair. By rights he should have been tortured and put to

death for deceiving the Chancellors but here he was listening

to the King's secrets.

 

'Breakmaster, if you had been a Chancellors' man Thane

would be dead. Your love for the boy's grandfather and the act

of hiding the boy is proof enough that I can trust you. Do not

ask why you must guard him, it is my command. Each day he

shall face the wild horse.'

 

'Lord, he will die. I cannot guarantee his safety in the

sandschool.'

 

'Perhaps,' mused the King, remembering the horse's

neighing challenge and the owl's shrieking hoot.

 

The King called after the Breakmaster as he reached the

chamber door. 'The boy shall name the horse as custom

demands. It must be a simple name that hides the truth for

there is much about them both that we do not understand.'

 

'Name him?' mumbled Thane, rubbing gingerly at the bruises

on his head, 'Me? Name him?'

 

'Yes, boy, you are to name him tomorrow when you enter the

sand arena and stand before him, now think on a suitable name

and keep it simple.'

 

Without another word the Master turned and disappeared

into the night before Thane could tell him how the breakers

had turned their backs on him, spitting on the ground, as he left

the sand school. Thane sat long into the night listening to the

rats gnawing at the wooden boards of his cot. Yesterday he

would have feared them, and driven them out with a broken

broom handle he kept hidden for that purpose, but now they

were nothing compared with facing the wild horse in the

morning. He wondered what he should call him, trying to

remember all the names his grandfather had used when he

spoke of the great Warhorses at the battle for World's End.

'Well, one thing is for sure,' he whispered to himself in the

darkness, 'Grandfather wouldn't have done tomorrow what he

could do today.' He arose, quietly left his bed and crept across

the sand school to meet his fate head on. Fate has many twists,

for as Thane left his bed and ventured across the darkened

sand school, grim figures moved in the shadows, making

towards the bed he had slept upon.

 

The stable door creaked on its hinges as Thane pulled it

open; the startled horse snorted, striking the ground with his

hoof. 'Quiet, great Lord,' whispered Thane, as he gathered his

courage and stepped into the dark stable.

 

He pulled the door behind him until it stood just off the

latch. 'I come in peace,' he began to say; the door snapped shut

behind him and cruel voices laughed in the darkness outside.

'Die, boy, and rid us of your magic.' Something was jammed

across the latch. Thane was trapped alone with the most

dangerous horse ever to stand in the breakers' yard.

 

An owl hooted high up in the rafters, the horse moved

towards him. He felt the horse's presence rather than saw him,

and almost jumped out of his skin as a velvet-soft muzzle

touched his cheek. At that moment a quiet voice called out in

the darkness above his head, 'I am Mulcade, Chief Loftmaster

Owl, the son of Silverwing, the Lord of Battle Owls. You came

to name the horse; your King commands it but you cannot

think of a name for him. Perhaps that is because he already has

a name handed down from father to son, a name carried on the

wild wind from where his father roams in freedom.'

 

'What is that name?' whispered Thane into the darkness.

 

'Esteron, Esteron,' chanted the owl Thane tried the name,

reaching out a shaking hand, feeling for the horse's shoulder to

caress. 'It is just the name Grandfather would have chosen for

you,' he whispered, waiting for the horse to strike, but

Esteron gently nudged him, pushing and pushing until Thane

lost his balance and fell on to the soft warmth of the bed.

Esteron stood close to Thane, listening to the night sounds

beyond his stable door, alert and ready lest any should try and

kill the boy who had given him his name, for above his head

Mulcade, Loft-master Owl, chanted out the Lay of

Thoronhand, whose grandson now lay at his feet. 'Harm him

not, for he is but a child driven by fate to your door, worn out

with worry, trembling with fear, his hand may touch you in

love even as his grandfather's hand gently closed your great

grandfather's eyes upon the battle field at World's End, at the

bondbreaking.'

 

The owl tilted his head, searching for the slightest hint of

listeners beyond the door, and continued with his story. 'You

are a Lord among Horses, in the line of Equestrius, none shall

tame you or sit upon your back unless you wish it.'

 

'What of the boy?' Esteron asked in soft whinnies. 'He has to

tame me when the sun burns overhead. If I am a Lord among

the Warhorses, how can I let him use me, even to save his life?'

 

Mulcade, wisest of owls, sat in silence for a long time before

answering, 'Thoron, his grandfather, was considered a Lord

amongst the free; thus in love for him all free beings will in time

come to the aid of his grandson, bringing hope in the morning

to chase fears away. Fate has called you to be first, Esteron, son

of Equestrius, to treat him as you will. But remember, he came

alone tonight, putting fear behind him, with nothing but the

love of his grandfather to give him courage.'

 

Esteron snorted, peering closely at Thane; Mulcade

swooped to perch on the manger.

 

'I cannot stop you killing the boy even now as he lies there if

that is your wish. Yesterday you held his life beneath your hoof

but you spared him.' Esteron looked up at the owl, 'You bid me

spare his life; he carried no whip, nor any anger in his heart,

and he cried aloud Equestrius's name.'

'The grey hours are upon us,' hooted the owl. 'Before a new

sun drives the shadows back, you must decide if he will live or

die. Think hard Esteron, Lord of Horses.'

 

Pandemonium and rage erupted in the breaking yards over

shadowing the birth of a new day.

 

'Where is the boy?' shouted the Master Breaker, wielding a

rawhide whip at his men. 'If that boy dies I'll nail all your hides

to that wall. Where is he?'

 

Somewhere at the back of the throng of men beneath the

sand school barricade a voice answered, 'Perhaps he ran away,

Master, we're best rid of him and his magic.'

 

'Magic?' screamed the Master. 'Who said anything of magic?

The King has commanded me to put the boy in the sand school

at noon. Who among you will take his place?'

 

Fear held an uneasy silence as the breakers looked from one

to another.

 

'Alone in the sand school,' was the King's command, and I

shall choose who shall stand in his place. Before the noon bell

tolls, I shall find the guilty. Now! Search for that boy - your

lives depend upon it.'

 

The Master turned towards the winding stair, dread of

reaching the Kings chamber in every step. A shout from the

sand school made him hesitate and look down.

 

'Master! The latch is jammed shut on the wild horse's

stable.'

 

'Then the boy is dead,' muttered the Master to himself, 'and

my death will come before this sun sets.'

 

Esteron

 

'Send word below,' ordered King Holbian, 'to open the stable

door at noon, and you, Master, shall wait with me to see how

your fate has turned.'

 

'Lord, if I am to die, let me face the wild horse and meet a

death with some small honour.'

 

Holbian laughed, dismissing his Chancellors and holding a

finger against his lips until they were alone, and said, 'You have

little faith in the boy, and yet you gambled your life on his.'

 

'Great King,' answered the Master quietly, 'Thoron

brought hope in the morning and soothed away our troubles at

night. Thane is but a boy, raw and awkward, who has much to

learn.'

 

The morning hours dragged by slowly; uneasy eyes were

turned towards the sand school and fear moved through the

breakers like a shadow crossing the sun. Who would the

Master choose to stand alone, when the noon bell rang?

 

'It is time, my Lord,' whispered the Master, watching the

striker lift his hammer beside the bell. Light flooded into the

open stable; Esteron snorted, flattening his ears and curling his

lips back before he charged the door, bucking and kicking to

stand in the centre of the school, pawing the ground. Total

silence surrounded Esteron; not a man dared move lest he

caught the Master's eye. Sweat trickled down their backs; tight

hands held their rawhide whips.

 

'Esteron. I name you Esteron,' Thane called from the stable

door. He was still slightly dizzy from sleeping so late, and the

light made him blink.

 

'Lord, he lives!' shouted the Master, forgetting where he

stood.

 

'There is more to this boy than most men see,' muttered the

King, leaning on the casement to watch what was about to

happen in the sand school.

 

Thane advanced across the sand, his eyes growing

accustomed to the sun's glare, calling again, in a softer voice, 'I

name you Esteron, a Lord amongst Horses.' Lowering his

voice to a whisper, he thanked the horse for sparing his life,

adding scarcely audibly, 'I have to tame you, but I don't know

how.'

 

Esteron turned his head, whinnying, and pushed Thane

hard in the chest; then he reared up, thrashing the empty air

with his forelegs and thundered, cantering and plunging,

across the school. Thane had watched the breakers pull

smaller horses down, sit across them and hang on until they

became quiet through exhaustion, he had seen them hobble

and cast the bigger ones, only reaching down to cut the blood

soaked ropes after the horses' spirit had been broken. He had

no whip or hobble ropes nor did he wish to have them, for he

remembered Thoron's hatred of the breakers' cruelty, hearing

the old man's words echoing in his head. 'How can the proud

be expected to serve when their pride is broken?'

 

Esteron charged towards him, churning the sand into a

cloud of stinging dust; Thane reached out, springing up to lock

his arms around the horse's neck. Esteron stopped abruptly,

pirouetting violently away from the boy's arms, sending him

crashing against the barrier. 'Gently,' hooted the owl, Esteron

trotted to where Thane lay, and pulled him away from the

barrier with his head and gripped the boy's collar between his

teeth. Thane's battered senses cleared and he stood up slowly.

'Keep him safe,' hooted Mulcade. 'Many beyond the barrier

wish him dead; keep him at your side.' Esteron nudged and

pushed Thane towards his stable, herding him into the safest

place in the Granite City, where none dared enter for fear of

the wild horse.

 

'Well, Master,' mused the King, 'it seems you have done me

 

a great service hiding young Thane from the mob. Perhaps,

just perhaps, his fate is bound by many invisible threads to

mine, just as Thoron's was. Set food and drink outside the

stable, and we shall watch each day the taming of this horse.'

 

Thus through high summer and a glorious mellow autumn

Thane strove to tame Esteron. In blissful ignorance his hand

touched the silken skin of Equestrius's son. Had he known with

whom he wrestled in the sand, he would have fled, for the

bonds were broken at World's End and none could ride the

wild Warhorses. Choking dust ground between his teeth;

gritty-eyed and bruised he hung on to the lunging line as,

bucking and plunging, Esteron dragged him helpless around

the breaking yard. Raw, bleeding hands and broken nails made

dressing and eating an agonising feat but with each day Thane

drew a little closer to understanding the horse that no one

could tame. Yet, for a time, he was confused by Esteron's

contradictory behaviour. His gentle, biddable softness and

sensitive obedience in the stable was replaced with determined,

untameable pride before the eyes of men and the boy

could scarcely approach him.

 

First winter's snow was in the air, frost bit deeply into the

sand school, breaking Esteron still seemed no more than a

far-off dream. Thane blew on to his numb fingers as he

adjusted the tack and tried for what seemed the thousandth

time to ride the horse that he had grown to love and admire.

 

'Don't hurt me today,' he whispered. 'The ground is bone

hard, much too hard to fall upon.'

 

Galloping hoof beats interrupted Thane's whisperings;

 

along the Greenway below the city wall, through the great gate

and up the steeply sloping cobbled streets, thundered the

sound of hooves, bringing back to Thane's memory his

grandfather's races along that same path to the King's door;

bringing grave news of far away disasters upon the road to

World's End. He sighed, leading Esteron out to collect the

day's bruises.

Mulcade, too, heard the running horse and rose on silent

wings to perch high in the King's chamber.

 

'Let me past,' a strong voice called out as the chamber door

burst open. 'None but the King may hear Thunderstone's

message.'

 

A travel-stained warrior filled the open doorway, pushing

the Chancellors before him.

 

'Guards! Guards!' shouted the Chancellor, waving his fists

at the messenger, 'seize this intruder. Seize him!'

 

The Warrior laughed, drawing back the sleeve of his mail

shirt to show the bonding brand of Candlebane Hall. 'You sent

me away in chains to die at World's End, Chancellor, but

Thunderstone gave me back my pride. I do not fear you or your

guards.'

 

'Chancellors, stand aside!' commanded the King.

 

'Lord!' called out the Warrior, falling on to his knees, 'I am

Errant of Underfall. Thunderstone pledged me to bring you

news of World's End and the black shadows that live out there.'

 

'Is your message a warning of the Nightbeasts?' asked the

King, looking past the bowed head of Errant into the

Chancellors' eyes.

 

'Yes, Lord,' whispered Errant, trembling as he remembered

all he had seen at Underfall.

 

'Then let the Chancellors hear it, for they govern this land

and they should know what might one day come, even to the

gates of the Granite City.'

 

Errant reached into a sack tied across his shoulder and

pulled out a dispatch pouch, engraved upon it was an emblem

of an owl in blue and gold. 'This is the bondsman's pouch, my

Lord, that and the chains that bound the prisoners was all that

was left of the poor wretches you sent to us during the last sun.

Before the winter set in we found their bones in Meremire

Forest strewn along the crown of the road, still chained

together. Nightbeast footprints had burned the ground all

around them.'

 

As the King listened to Errant he watched the Chancellors and

saw their fear rise, draining their faces white.

 

'Who now wants this cloak of jewels? Now that the Nightbeasts

have come again, who will wear it and stand before the gates of the

Granite City? Proudpurse, you are always the boldest, come

forward and take the cloak.'

 

'No, Lord, it is too great an honour. I could not be so bold.'

 

Holbian laughed, putting his hand upon Errant's shoulder to

stop him leaving and dismissed the Chancellors, telling them to

find strong holes to hide in. When they were alone the King bade

Errant to fetch himself a chair. He offered him meat and drink

and asked him how Underfall would stand now that the Night

beasts had arisen again.

 

'Lord, the Nightbeasts have plagued Underfall for suns

beyond counting, but it is a mighty fortress manned by strong men

who fear little if Thunderstone, the Keeper, is amongst them.

Thunderstone sent me, Sire, to ride through great danger and

warn you that the terrors of the night are spreading beyond

Mantern's Forest. Soon, he fears, they will be strong enough to

spread across all Elundium unless you can marshal an army to

fight against them.'

 

'Strong enough to travel in the daylight?' whispered the King.

 

'They have travelled as far as Meremire Forest, my Lord, and

that is only two daylights from Underfall.'

 

'The Greenways and the Wayhouses along the edge, how did

they seem to you? Howwill they stand against the Nightbeasts?'

 

Errant spread his hands, 'Lord, the Greenways are overgrown

and tangled with wildness. In some places the trees have seeded

 

and grown up, rendering the wood impassable. Only near each

Wayhouse was there any order, but the Wayhouses are in good

repair and will fight bravely against the nightbeasts.'

 

'The bearers of the tattoo mark, are they still the Keepers of the

Wayhouses or have the Chancellors driven them out?'

 

Errant laughed, 'Lord, they are old and wrinkled but their eyes

still shine and their swords are quick and sharp. The Chancellors

have tried to starve them and kept them short of men but they

are true men, pledged to serve you.'

 

'True men, but not enough to marshal into an army. What am

I to do, messenger, send you back to Underfall with the news

that Elundium totters on the brink of disaster, waiting for ruin?'

 

'Lord, forgive me, but Thunderstone said I was to offer you

the hilt of my sword. He is a fearless Keeper who sees much that

other men miss. Bit by bit from the stories the prisoners told us

each year he has seen your peril and he warned me of the

Chancellors. Lord, take my sword.'

 

Holbian laughed, 'Errant, Errant, I have a Captain at last, well

mounted on a brave horse. I heard you galloping up through

the city, footsure and strong, what is the name of your horse?'

 

'He is named Dawnrise, Lord. He is the first stallion amongst

the Nighthorses and he is the bravest horse at Underfall.'

 

'Nighthorses?' questioned the King, leaning forwards in his

chair.

 

'They are half--wild, proud beasts that Thunderstone has

gathered from all the wild places near World's End, my Lord. He

has tamed them and they stand ready each night, battledressed

to face the Nightbeasts.'

 

'Will you ride for me, Errant? Now, without rest, and find as

many true men as you can, Gallopers, Marchers and Archers,

and bring them into the Breaking Yards?'

 

Errant looked out at the cold frosty landscape and shivered.

Snow had followed him across Elundium, deep winter was settting

in. Kneeling before the King he offered up the hilt of his sword

saying, 'I will, my Lord.'

 

'Tell no one! Here in the city there are too many Chancellors'

men,' insisted the King as Errant rose to leave.

 

'My lips are sealed,' whispered Errant, quietly closing the

chamber door.

 

King Holbian shifted restlessly in his chair, the joy of the

moment had ebbed away. He was alone again.

 

'Where are these warriors I have sent Errant to find?' he

muttered, plucking absently with age-worn fingers at one of the

jewels of the cloak. 'Who will be brave enough to stand at my

side when one shout from a Nightbeast can extinguish every

candle in Candlebane Hall. Thunderstone should be warned of

how things stand here in Granite City but there is no one I could

send. Errant must stay here and seek out every true-hearted

man. I dare not send him back.'

 

'Thoronhand,' he mumbled, speaking his thoughts out loud,

'the roads are bleak and empty since your death. Who can

take your place; who?'

 

Movement high above his head caught his eye, soft hooting

broke into his thoughts as Mulcade strutted on the king post

beam. Looking up at the owl he spoke aloud, 'If only the

pledges had not been broken, the roads would be full of

Warhorses and many sharp eyes to search out the way. Whom

can I send, great bird; who in your wisdom would you choose?'

 

Holbian did not expect an answer from the owl - the bonds

had been broken so long ago - but his presence filled the

chamber with beauty.

 

'On whose shoulder would you perch, great bird of war, if

you could help a tired King in the evening of his life?'

 

Mulcade spread his wings and stooped to perch on the

casement, turning his head towards King Holbian. 'Follow,

King, follow my wisdom,' he hooted and Holbian rose from his

chair, hearing a call that took him back beyond the pledge

breaking, a clear note in the morning bidding him to look and

follow sharper eyes.

 

Standing beside the owl, Holbian looked down into the sand

school where Thane was about to try mounting Esteron. Frosty

 

sand clung to his clothes and his knees were wet from kneeling

while he gathered his wits to remount.

 

Holbian laughed, 'I cannot send a child. How would he arrive,

on foot? Leading the horse he cannot tame?'

 

The owl's hoot rose to shrill, piercing notes, Esteron looked

up, listening, for he had heard his father's name and word of

the darkness on the roads to World's End. He snorted, pawed

the ground and bent his front legs to kneel in the sand. Pride

arched his neck, fire sparkled in his eyes as Thane placed his

feet in the stirrups.

 

'Rise, great Esteron,' he whispered, waiting for Esteron to

rear and plunge him back on to the sand but Esteron only

straightened his front legs and stood perfectly still. Mulcade

stooped and settled gently on Thane's shoulder. Looking up

towards the King he spread his wings and commanded Esteron

to show for the first time that he was indeed a Lord amongst the

horses, who feared nothing that hid where the shadows

gathered, who could, if he chose, protect the child upon his

back and keep him safe through the blackest night. Esteron

lifted his head, roaring out a challenge that rattled Thane's

bones in the saddle, and moved lightly forwards over the frozen

sand.

 

The King gripped the casement still, the Master dropped his

whip, and frightened whispers went round among the breakers

gathered beyond the barrier. None had seen the Warhorse

paces since the battle at World's End, the easy power and

elastic grace as each hoof touched the ground. Mulcade flew

back to perch on the casement, hooting softly as he held the

King's gaze.

 

'Wisdom asked for has been given. That is sufficient, even

for a King.'

 

As early darkness gathered beneath heavy snowfilled clouds

Thane was led by Breakmaster through secret passages into

the King's chamber.

 

'Go now, Breakmaster, and guard the door. What passes

between this young man and myself must remain a secret,'

commanded Holbian quietly. 'Breakmaster,' added Holbian,

closing his fingers around one of the jewels on the cloak, 'Your

loyalty shall be rewarded.'

 

'No, Lord, do not try to buy me as you do the Chancellors. I

love you as Thoron did or any of the bearers of the tattoo mark.

To serve you, Lord, is enough.'

 

'Breakmaster, in time we shall make this kingdom strong and

worthy of the one who will take my place.'

 

Smiling, the King released Breakmaster's hand and turned

his gaze towards Thane.

 

Mulcade, unseen, perched beyond the torch light. Thane

knelt, hardly daring to lift his eyes, the gems set in the cloak that

wrapped the King almost beyond sight were more wonderful

than any of the stories he had ever heard.

 

'Thoronhand's grandson. Just a boy,' he mused, as if

speaking to himself. 'Stand, child, that I may see all of you.'

 

Thane rose, blushing, but still keeping his eyes downcast.

 

'Look at me, boy! You stand in the prints of a great man,

whom I badly wronged. Let me see your eyes, for they will tell

me what is in your heart.'

 

Thane slowly raised his eyes and almost forgot where he

stood as he gasped in astonishment at the sight of the wrinkled

old man encompassed by the cloak. 'Even Kings grow old,

child; worry wears them away quicker than most with the rub of

time. Come, sit by my side and tell me of the pictures you saw in

the Learning Hall, for rumours are a bad cloak for the truth,

and give me guidance in the grave decisions I must make. You

were feared in the city. The Chancellors plot your death. Bad

magic was mixed with your name and now the breakers fear

you, for with the breaking of Esteron they realize who you are.

The owl upon your shoulder frightened them so that they will

kill you if you stay within the Granite City.'

 

'Lord,' whispered Thane, 'I meant no harm. I did as the

Master bid. Why do they hate me so? I did not call the owl to my

shoulder.'

 

Holbian looked at the boy with sadness in his eyes, 'We live

in brittle times, child, and the people fear anything that might

upset the balance of their lives. The watchmakers check each

second of daylight and weigh it against the night before they

light one candle. For they know that one too many will enrage

the Nightshapes just as one candle too few may make night last

forever. Envy follows the great, child, and fear treads in all the

shadows, even on small beginnings.'

 

'How can I stop it, my Lord?' asked Thane, fighting back his

tears. 'For all I have done is to love my grandfather who, while

he lived, loved me.'

 

King Holbian reached across to a small table where a

hundred candles burned and picked one up, tilting it until the

hot wax had run on to the floor, 'Now child, can you remake

this candle?'

 

'No, Lord, it is impossible,' said Thane, staring at the

solidifying wax.

 

'Then neither can you stop what you have started,' said King

Holbian, adding bitterly: 'Fate cares little for those who try and

swim against the tide but remember this, child, Thoronhand

planted a seed that men would trample on and destroy before it

bears fruit.' The King's voice rose, growing stronger, as he

lifted his hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder. It was so

brittle and frail with age that Thane hardly felt its weight, yet

his heart beat faster to be touched by the King.

 

'I will not have your blood stain this cloak. I thought that the

Chancellors' plots and schemes were made to find the throne

stealer. Now I see more clearly that all they have done is to

destroy my name, and now they use me as an empty puppet.

But you, child, they shall not have. You must grow strong, as

strong as Thoron, your grandfather, far, far away from this

place.' He paused, watching the boy's eyes, searching for a

weakness before he whispered, 'Underfall, the fortress at

World's End, where shadows hammer on the doors and the

days are full of darkness; where quick men die for want of being

quicker. Would you travel that road in your grandfather's

footsteps and dwell amongst his memories? Would you gather

up my standard and carry it into the shadows as he did?'

 

'Lord,' stammered Thane, his eyes shining with tears, but

the King held up his hand for silence.

 

'Your eyes are but windows to your heart and I see all your

answers clearly without words.'

 

Reaching deep inside his cloak King Holbian pulled out a

letter, heavy with the royal seal.

 

'This is for the hand of Thunderstone, the Keeper of

Underfall. Show it to no one else, child, and tell him...'

Holbian hesitated a moment, remembering Nevian's words,

'Tell him that I doubted the hearts of the most loyal friends a

man could ever wish for, and that I would give away this throne

of thorns to stand once more by their sides in the light of the

great lamp at World's End. I dare not write that in the letter.

Beware, child, of those you meet upon the road. Beware, but

you are not sent in punishment, remember that. Nor will you go

alone into darkness, as a beggar, cast out, for I give you a great

gift for the road, perhaps a gift as great as life itself. I give you

Esteron.'

 

'Lord,' gasped Thane, blushing scarlet, 'I could not take him

as mine. I am not worthy.'

 

Holbian's laughter cut into Thane's words, 'Child, I think he

is not a horse to be bartered in the market place or measured by

your worth, but by some freak of nature his blood lines are tied

to those of the Warhorses. He will never belong to any man,

even a King such as I could not claim him, but you are

Thoron's grandson and he has let you sit upon his back, that is

claim enough for the moment. You shall leave tonight. Beneath

the cloak of darkness vanish; the Master Breaker will see to

that. Few will mourn you here.'

 

'But where is Underfall?' queried Thane. Holbian laughed

again.

 

'Follow the Greenway to World's End, my lad. No more

questions. The road is black enough to strike terror into brave

Warriors' hearts. One road and all roads lead to World's End.

Put your courage before you and do not look back, lest the

shadows swallow you up.'

 

Thane rose to go, hesitating and fidgeting. 'What is it, boy?'

asked Holbian gruffly, anxious to rest.

 

'May I see my mother before I go?' he asked. 'For I love her,

and I would like to say goodbye.' The wrinkles around the old

King's eyes softened and he saw before him the child he had

just commanded to ride perhaps to his death, or worse, on the

road to Underfall, and he was smitten with guilt, enough to

make him, a Granite King, look away. A voice in his head

mocked, 'How great is the man who sends a child to do a man's

work, a child who goes in ignorance and trust where brave men

fear to tread?'

 

The owl hooted, making the old King look up and the hard

cold eyes held his and he shook with fear knowing that the owl

had seen into his heart, right through his plots and schemes to

send a messenger to Underfall and cheat the Chancellors out

of a child's death. Small power in a faded King which made

him want to look away. Mulcade turned his head, releasing the

King from his stare and the old man, ashamed at his deceit,

said softly, 'You shall see your mother tonight and take anyone

you wish to make the road safer. A squadron of Gallopers, a

strike of Archers; command it and it will be done.'

 

Thane looked from the King up to the owl and paused for

only a second before answering, 'Lord, it is enough to follow in

my grandfather's footsteps; he rode alone, thus shall I re-trace

his steps.'

 

'Then Kingspeed, child, on a desperate road,' whispered the

King. 'Kingspeed, little heart.' .

 

 

                                   The Summer Scarf

 

The first step of the journey was the greatest and most severe.

Thane was but a boy to be rudely thrust into an unknown

world. He had been his mother's favourite and she had often

had to shield him with untruths and half-told lies to save him

from his father's wrath. Now, to hide her grief, she talked fast

of trivial matters while she packed enough to clothe an army.

She seemed so small and frail now, those twinkling eyes wet

with tears, her knotted hands tight upon a crying cloth, keeping

back those sunlit memories lest they break her heart.

 

He looked long into those gentle eyes, saw all his youth and

his folly and wished it all undone, took her hands into his own

and held them tight.

 

'I love you, mother, and now feel shame for this great hurt.

Forgive me, please, and ease my pain upon the road. For in the

darkness of the night I shall need your love.' With that he gently

pulled a summer scarf, carelessly hanging forgotten from her

apron pocket, which had upon it a picture of the sun. He held

her tight,

 

'This shall be my banner, to light the dark and twisted paths I

am about to tread.' He turned and left quickly, for he could

only tell her of his exile, nothing of the letter in his inner

pocket, nor how closely on his heels the shadows of death trod.

 

'Son!' called his father beside the outer door. 'Forgive my

wrath, we cannot undo what has been done, so let us part with

love. You will be lost from sight, perhaps for ever, so let us part

as friends. A foolish man I have been, perhaps, to think and

scheme for you, but take this gear to keep you safe upon the

road.'

 

With that he pulled into sight some ancient riding gear that

had belonged to Thoron. A battered helm and mail coat that,

when Thane put it on, made him stoop. It was wrought of the

finest steel, as yet overlarge - it reached below his knees - but

was cunning in the forging, and would turn a blade or blunt a

blow. 'And take this, his cloak, which, also large, will keep you

warm upon the road. Finally take his saddle, bridle and the

girths. Legend has it that your grandfather ran the Greenways

in this gear and never fell or was unseated. There are many

tales and songs still told, I hear, in the borderlands, of the

making of this saddle and the forging of the bit, and perhaps

one day in a long forgotten place you may meet someone who

can translate the tale carved over the cantle and along the reins.

The language is long-forgotten here; all we know is that the

saddle and bridle must be used together but what power or

charms it holds no one knows.'

 

Ironhand's voice fell silent, tears touched the corners of his

eyes. Thane grasped his father's arm, lost for words. He

collected up his gear and walked down the spiral steps to the

breaking yards, pausing now and then to listen for the footsteps

of pursuit; but he was alone amongst the empty shadows, alone

and afraid of what might stand or creep beyond the last lamp's

light.

 

'We leave tonight,' Thane whispered, setting the saddle and

bridle on the floor of Esteron's stable and lighting a torch from

the spark he kept hidden in his pocket. For a moment he stood

admiring the horse he was to ride to World's End. 'I know all

about your mother, Esteron,' Thane said, remembering his

own sad parting a short while ago. 'She was an errant horse at

World's End, the Master told me her story. Her name was

Beacon Light and her rider was killed in an ambush, she fled in

panic into the darkness of Mantern's Forest, tearing off her

saddle and bridle against the trees that blocked her path. A year

later she arrived here at the gates of the Granite City, alone and

heavily in foal. I'll bet your father was a great Lord among

Horses.'

 

Mulcade hooted, for he knew the rest of the story, but Thane

could not understand the owl's hoots and missed the beauty of

the mating between Beacon Light and Equestrius. Thane

sighed, listening to the music in the owl's voice.

 

'We had better be on our way, before the grey hours herald

another dawn. This was my grandfather's saddle, Amarch

wore it on their great Greenway rides and she was the last

Warhorse to serve the Granite Kings,' and he lifted it reverently

on to Esteron's back.

 

The ancient saddle, though strangely made, sat well upon

his back, and for all its age was soft and supple. Thane ran his

fingers lightly over the legend carved about the cantle, felt the

finesse of the work and wondered about the deeds of which it

spoke. Perhaps it told of saddlers' halls where trees were

shaped and patterns cut, leather tooled, and the whole put

together with long, cubed needles. Perhaps it told of charms or

spells that kept the rider safe within the seat upon a dangerous

road. He pressed his fingers on the leather skirts and laid his

head upon the seat, his other hand upon Esteron's neck and

slipped into dreaming of the road; saw sweeps of hills, blinding

snow and frozen ponds and fords, black spiky trees pressing on

the road; saw lights below the track, villages shut up tight, and

shadows move across the path. Esteron moved, his hand

slipped, the cream was broken. Perhaps the magic of the saddle

lay in the things it told when touched. Esteron, tacked, began to

fidget for the road. A last look round, a whispered quick

goodbye to the empty stable. The girths were tight, keepers,

buckles, straps were all in place, he led him to the door,

mounted and set off on the road to Underfall.

 

First winter's snow was swirling through the narrow streets

leading down to the city's gate and soon smoothed out the

prints they left. Wrapped tight in the cloak and mail he passed

the silent watcher at the stable gate who had had orders to let

him pass. The Master Breaker stood beside the guard, sword

drawn, lest treachery end the journey before it began, and

watched Thane and Esteron disappear, mere shadowy forms in

the snowy night. 'Keep safe, child,' he whispered.

 

Thane rode until the dawn, late to break, with heavy snow

filled clouds, cast enough light to take stock of his bearings.

Reluctantly he dismounted from his warm-wrapped seat, icy

moaning draughts set his mail shirt rattling and his cloak

flapping at his heels. He had heard the dispatch riders talk of

how they spelled their horses on long journeys, when haste did

not press too hard, and how they walked or jogged at their

horses' heads to ease the weight upon their backs and save their

strength to run the further. He soon realised what men of steel

these riders were, for after one hundred paces in the uneven

snow, burdened with his shirt's weight, he remounted Esteron,

a little disgraced with his lack of strength. 'Some Rider I'll

make! A hopeless boy to fill a man's shoes,' he thought, but

worse was to come. In youthful haste Thane had set out with

little thought of what to take on such a journey, he had followed

blindly the road down from the city and had made his way from

lamp to lamp as each one rose out of the swirling snow until he

passed the last, and in the blackness wrapped up tight within

his grandfather's cloak, felt the snow bite against his face and

sting his eyes and dreamt of dragons and great deeds upon the

road. Riding for the King, paying little attention to where

Esteron took him in the snowy dark.

 

Now he was lost, without a landmark, damp, soaked through

his breeches where snow had settled on his saddle. White, he

walked at Esteron's head, his hands were numb with cold and

slipped upon the reins and icy draughts found hidden ways

beneath the cloak. No sign of life moved upon the grey-white

landscape. Bending clumps of trees tugged in the wind, moved

slowly past Esteron's measured pace. No bird or animal moved

and emptiness stretched in each direction. The only signs on

the road were the way-posts set to keep a traveller safe from

straying and they vanished in perspective before and behind.

, _

Esteron seemed no better off, head down into the snowy wind,

his flowing mane had become a tangle of wet hair, lying limp

upon his neck, and snow had settled on his quarters.

 

All day they walked, and all day they grew colder and

hungrier; towards dusk Thane's spirits were at their lowest.

Wet through and frozenly fumbling in his inner pockets he

touched his mother's scarf and through the numbness in his

fingers felt the smoothness of the silk, wound the scarf about

his hand and crushed it tight. Perhaps the movement of his

hand made the blood begin flowing, for first it tingled, then

burned and felt warm. He transferred the scarf from hand to

hand, rubbed Esteron's neck with it and tried hard to keep back

the darkness that was growing about them. He told Esteron

tales he had heard of great adventures from the past, but much

of what he said was pulled away by the wind, and his tales and

stories faded into silence as he slumped forward, worn out with

tiredness and despair. With one hand clutching tightly to the

scarf, he slipped from consciousness into dark dreams.

 

Lost to feeling from the numbing cold, he did not notice the

weight settle on his shoulder, or the talons press into his mail

coat, see the sharp cruel beaks or large unblinking eyes, or see

or feel the ones that followed - black silent shapes descending

from the night to settle on his back, or hear the soft hoots that

were used to guide the older ones, less sharp-eyed than the

rest, until his back was covered with a feather blanket from his

shoulders to the high cantle of the saddle. Still they sat,

unblinking watchers through the night, turning a head this way

and that for these were dangerous roads with many hunting in

the dark where winter food was hard to find, and Thane,

unarmed, unconscious, made an easy prey.

 

He had seen them often, but paid little heed, except to

admire their beauty and silent dignity in the tall barns, stable

lofts and sometimes in the trees about the court. Watching in

silence, unblinking, all the comings and goings of the King.

Royal proclamation protected them from being hunted and

 

103

 

their presence was considered a good omen, for many stories

from the past told of how they fought side by side with the

horses, using beak and claw to defeat their common enemies,

or acted as messengers, for little missed their blinkless eyes.

Mulcade, Chief Loftmaster Owl, watched all the comings and

goings about the breaking yards and marked Esteron's high

breeding from the first day of his arrival. He saw through the

gangling of youth and his awkwardness to the directness of his

line and traced with his eye where great sheets of muscle would

replace the summer grazing fat. He saw that trace of common

blood that made him tough enough to outstay by far the other

horses in the yards; he saw his father's temper and knew from

whom he came. Mulcade, wisest of all the owls, with only the

merest turning of his head, had seen and heard it all. In silent

flight he had settled on the twisted beam that spanned the king

post where Esteron stood, racked short to eat, and in quiet

hoots and whispers had told him what fate had befallen Thane.

In the time left while Thane held his mother close and took his

father's hand he had told Esteron all he knew of the secret

paths that led towards World's End, of little used Greenways,

overgrown and broken Causeways, now fallen into neglect. He

said he would follow and give what help he could and counsel

for the roads ahead. He would fly in danger in the daylight,

however, for owls had many enemies outside the power of the

King.

 

The stable guards had let Mulcade pass invisible; high above

the gate he flew, buffeted by the storm. All day he flew

searching in a great circle about the city, flying through the

falling snow over a vanishing landscape where everything

blended in tones of grey and white except for the black hedges

and clumps of trees, bent by the wind. Angry at the snow that

weighed him down and forced frequent stops to shake his

feathers dry, and fear that death might wait in a trap behind the

first hedgerow Esteron passed. At length he saw them as last

light faded; he saw Thane slumped forward lifeless in the

 

104

 

saddle. Flying high he cast a wide circle, calling to his kind for

help and looked for a warm safe place to guide Esteron to; but

there was none that even the swiftest horse could reach before

morning; the road was empty of enemies, but also empty of

friends. The owls with great care covered all they could and

kept him warm throughout the watches of the night. They kept

Esteron to the snowy path and he took comfort from his extra

burden, for without the owls he would not have known his way.

By morning light their feathers' warmth had dried Thane's

cloak and warmed right through his mail shirt; now conscious,

he slept and dreamed of feather beds, soft quilts and sunshine

in his hair.

 

 

:

 

Woodsedge

 

 

 

Brave Esteron, uncomplaining, had now walked two nights and

one day, his limbs were aching and tiredness pulled at his

frozen eyelashes and a rim of frozen snow had set a coronet

about the headpiece of the bridle, but still he forged ahead,

now breasting drifts that touched his shoulder. Mulcade would

whisper out the way lest he waken Thane and urged him on, for

now just in sight between two hills, hard against a jet black

wood, a spiral of smoke rose up to meet the winter sky.

 <%o:p>

Stretching their wings, looking round with tireless eyes, the

owls lifted lightly into the icy air and, swooping over hedge and

tree, roosted in the wood to keep a silent watch, except

Mulcade who clung to Thane's shoulder, beak and claws

tensed, ready lest the lonely house be unfriendly. Esteron took

them to the door and pushel it with his heid; but to no avail.

The door xemained fast anf he merely dislodged some of thg

snow that co~ered his brow. @e turned impatiently and,<-o:p>

 
hunc`ing up his quaxters, punched o}t the door. One*blow>/span>

from those iron-hard hoo~es shattered the door, post and jamb,

and senv splintered tim`ers flying into"the air. Turning,

Esteron stezped through the*broken entrance to face a ring mf

bright sharx swords held in(unsteady hands,"for huge he 

looked, blocking mut the light, s|eam rising from the melting 

snmw upon his baca, his ears flat|ened back and hks teeth bared. 

<-o:p>

dresqed as he was il errant riders' gear and lying difeless on the 

opef wide upon his shoulder, shrieked, ready to stoop to the

attack.

 

What apparition stood before them from beyond World's

End? What hideous beast, wrapped in vaporous steam? What

carrion of the darkness sat upon those lifeless shoulders?

Tombel, master of the house, moved fearfully forwards, flexing

his arms to swing the double-handed marching sword, but

Esteron reared, thrashing at the air with his hooves, driving

Tombel back towards the wide staircase.

 

The crashing of Esteron's hooves upon the stone floor

snapped Thane awake and rising tall in the stirrups he grabbed

in vain for the sword he had forgotten to take. Instead, in his

haste, he dropped the crumpled scarf upon the floor. Unarmed

amidst a world of foes he felt a fool. In that moment, while he

saw his folly and looked at his scarf, Tombel saw Thane for

what he was; a half-frozen boy, an owl, and a horse, lost and

alone upon the winter's road.

 

'Easy, lad,' he called softly, putting the marching sword upon

the ground and motioning his sons and his Wayhouse men to

lay their blades next to his

 

'We mean you no harm, lad, but we live in dangerous times

and we were battle-ready at the first sound you made beyond

our door.' Tombel's eyes softened as he recognized the cloak

and helm that Thane wore, but he looked uneasy at Mulcade

and Esteron.

 

Thane followed his gaze from Esteron to the owl upon his

shoulder and recognised him as the one who had flown on to

his shoulder in the sand school and he laughed, blushing

scarlet and jumped to the ground.

 

'Forgive me, sir. I did not know we had reached a house. I

must have fallen to sleep in the saddle.'

 

Looking behind him at the broken door he turned a deeper

red and whispered,'Oh dear, did I do that?'

 

Tombel stood staring at Thane, 'House? Did you call this a

house?'

 

The Wayhouse men smiled, nudging one another and

Tombel's sons laughed.

 

'Yes,' replied Thane, looking from face to face.

 

This is more than just a house, my lad, this is the Wayhouse

at Woodsedge. The last refuge, or the first, whichever way you

travel. It is here that travellers rest their tired mounts. Mind

you, we don't keep the horses in here, come, let me show you

where the stables are. Bring your horse, and we shall feed and

bed him down.'

 

Esteron, unsaddled and rugged with the best blankets that

Tombel could find, rolled in the golden straw, snorted, shook

himself from head to tail and threw himself on to his food. He

had one foreleg lifted, ready to attack. Tombel paused at the

stable door, lost in thought, watching Esteron eat.

 

'You have the makings of a great horse there, my boy. Even

better than the one that rested here three, or even four,

daylights ago. Mind you, he was leaner and run up as light as a

Border Hound at the end of a hard road. Did you pass him?'

 

'Pass who, sir? The road was dark and empty when I left the

Granite City, and all I saw during the last daylightwas blizzards

and driving snowflakes.'

 

'Come, we will talk some more on this matter,' Tombel said,

leading Thane back into the Wayhouse to stand before his

sons, Rubel and Arbel, and the Wayhouse Marchers that lived

at Woodsedge.

 

'Now, lad, I want an explanation of why you journey alone in

such dangerous times. There is clearly a lot to tell us. Come,

out with it before my Marchers grow edgy with their swords.'

 

Thane told all he could without betraying the confidence of

the King, but he soon began to stammer and stumble over

every word to keep the purpose of his journey vague.

 

'And what of that owl perched on your shoulder? Where

does he fit in the scheme of things? An ill-dressed, half

starved, half-frozen lad, who rides on a horse too good to be a

casual gift, with an owl on his shoulder. With the black troubles

we have now you had better give me a more solid story of why

you use this road, or you will kick your heels locked up in my

cellar. I will send word to the Chancellors and await a better

explanation. perhaps they will tell me more or maybe they will

even know Who you stole the horse from.'

 

Mulcade could see how badly it was going for Thane and

hooted, spreading his wings to stoop. Tombel reached for his

bow, Arrah, the Marcher, drew his sword. Rubel and Arbel leapt

behind Thane and suddenly the Wayhouse Marchers had encircled

him in a ring of drawn swords.

 

'Enough of this nonsense,' snapped Tombel, steppinginto the

circle, nocking an arrow on to the string and taking aim at the owl.

 

'Stop! Stop! I have a letter from King Holbian. I am to deliver it

to the Master of Underfall. That is the purpose of my journey.

The letter is inside my shirt.' Ashamed at giving his secret up so

easily, yet relieved to see the bow put down, Thane breathed a

sigh of relief. He did not understand the owl's part or where it had

joined him, Or why, but he did recognize him as Loftmaster

Mulcade, who had often perched near Esteron's manger, and had

flown to his shoulder in the sand school. Perhaps the old legends

were true about owls and horses having a common bond. He had

always liked Mulcade's silent presence in the yard and now he

hoped that he would stay with him.

 

'Keeper,' E;thric, the Marcher, called, tugging at Tombel's

sleeve as he turned the letter over and over in his hands, 'the

morning wears away, Lord, we must start searching or the daylight

will fade before we reach the deeperparts of the forest.'

 

Tombel looked up from the letter's seal, his features softening

into a smile; he took Thane's arm. 'Come, lad, and sit by the fire.

Open your heart to my Marchers and tell them truthfully, did you

cross Nightbeasts' tracks on the road?'

 

'Lord, the road was deep in untrodden snow. I was alone upon

Esteron's back. But why do you ask about Nightbeasts' tracks?'

 

Tombel rubbed a hand across his tired eyes and for a moment

looked very old.

 

'During the night, after Errant had left us to finish the last part

of his journey toø the Granite City, Nightbeasts attacked us, here at

Woodsedge. They almost overran the Wayhouse, taking us

completely by surprise.' Tombel paused, drawing his eyebrows

together. 'I think now it was Errant they were after, they must

have followed him here. But he had gone, hardriding Dawnrise

with whip and spur. Something, perhaps second sight, had

warned him to flee. The Nightbeasts seemed to be searching

for something or someone and finding only us they killed two of

my Marchers and stole my greatest treasure before we drove

them out of the house.'

 

Ethric gripped Thane's arms in his huge hands, 'They stole

the Keeper's daughter, boy, they stole Elionbel, the beautiful

Elionbel.'

 

Tombel sighed, burying his head in his hands, 'Where in all

the wild woods shall we search today?'

 

'Gansyl died at the stair head trying to defend her,' broke in

Rubel, honing the blade of his sword impatiently with a

whetstone. 'Let us start now, father, and leave the talking until

supper time.'

 

'Impatience will not find her! But you are right. We shall talk

of Kings and the great fortress at World's End at evening time.

Today, search towards Gildersleeves and while you are that

way warn the Fencing Master, Duclos, of the Nightbeasts. He

may have seen signs of them.'

 

Tombel watched Ethric and Arrah lead the Wayhouse

Marchers out on to the Greenway, 'Keep safe and beware the

shadows!' he called after them as they spread out and disappeared

beneath the eaves of the black forest.

 

'Each daylight we have searched without reward,' Tombel

said, returning to stand with his back to the fire. Elionbel had

not gone easily and he knew she would pay a high price for

putting up such a fight. Thane had slipped forwards in his

chair, his head falling on to his chest. Tombel smiled down at

him and pulled the cloak across him like a blanket.

 

'Sleep, child,' he whispered, motioning to Martbel his wife,

who stood in the doorway, to tread quietly around the young

man.

 

On silent wings Mulcade rose and left Woodsedge.He flew

over the black forest calling in shrill hoots, summoning all who

could hear him to a council in an ancient tree beside the

Greenway.

 

'Nightbeasts are about. Tell me all you have seen while hunting

in the dark.'

 

Mulcade sat upon the highest branch and listened to the quiet

noises that filled the gloomy forest. Tombel had guessed right, a

band of Nightbeasts had followed the messenger across

Elundium but Woodsedge was the only house they had attacked,

so far. Mulcade turned his ear this way and that but there was no

news of the fair Elionbel. The Nightbeasts had vanished, it

seemed, into the heart of the forest with her.

 

'Who will help me?' he hooted against the cold afternoon wind.

'Who will hunt the nightbeasts with me and fly at my wing tip to

find Elionbel?'

 

In the silence that followed Mulcade held them with his eye,

unblinking for long moments. Some could hold his gaze and

those he knew were true Battle (owls, but there were some who

shifted on the branch and looked away. Mulcade, with the

wisdom of a Loftmaster, softened his stance and hooting quietly

bid them to fly home and raise the alarm. Fly, and spread the word

throughout Elundium that the Nightbeasts were once more at

large.

 

Gathering the owls that had proudly held his gaze into a stoop

in the highest branches Mulcade told them what they must do.

 

'We must stoop here and fold our wings upon the tree before

the night grows dark. nightbeasts must rest by day so we must fly

high above the forest and look for signs. They have little thought

for tree or branch and wreck much as they march, so look in this

dark and tangled wood for damage that Nature would not cause.

Do not be seen or give alarm but mark the place and come swiftly

back.'

 

The sky darkened to their wings. Heads low, eyes sharp, they

flew off in all directions over a mass of black winter trees.

 

Thane slept all day, oblivious to the bustle of preparation going

on all around him. Sparks flew round the grinding wheel as

notched swords were honed to sharp new points and nicks and

chips hacked off by iron collars were ground out. The doors and

windows were barred with wooden beams. Fresh logs were

carefully stacked up high about the hearth and dry sticks, tar

dipped and tied in bundles, had been heaped behind his chair.

 

Giggling amongst the serving girls woke him. The early setting

sun was sinking behind the black forest, casting long shadows to

the door. Thane stretched and rose stiffly to his feet, and saw the

room transformed as if for war.

 

'Come, lad,' laughed Tombel, seeing the young man standing

by the fireplace, 'Come and choose a sword before supper, just in

case the nightbeasts return.'

 

'Will they come back?' asked Thane with an anxious note in his

voice.

 

'I doubt it, lad, not tonight anyway. They already have the

greatest treasure in my house. But one day they will sweep across

all Elundium, mark my words!'

 

Thane shivered, drawing his grandfather's cloak tightly about

his shoulders. Tombel saw the fear in Thane's eyes and stretched

 

out a reassuring hand to him. 'Soon my Marchers will return.

This is a strong house, but I have yet to have a name from our

guest. Who are you, lad?'

 

As Thane was about to answer he heard running footsteps on

the snow-cleared path. Tombel spun round, drawing his sword.

 

Arbel burst through the newly repaired door. 'Father, father!

We have found Nightbeasts' tracks leading into the heart of the

black forest. I have left the others guarding the place. What shall

we do?'

 

Tombel quickly gathered up his longbow, two double-edged

swords and a close-work cutting knife.

 

'Lord,' cried Thane, 'let me come with you and repay your

hospitality.'

 

'No, lad, you owe us nothing!'

Tombel turned away and took two paces towards the open

doorway then abruptly stopped. Mulcade was silently hovering

in the opening with a scrap of torn fabric in his talons, beside

him another owl hovered with a bloody eye in his claws.

 

'Elionbel,' Tombel whispered, reaching up to the torn scrap

of fabric, seeing again the laughing girl on the stairs, feeling her

goodnight kisses on his cheek and the touch of her golden locks

brush against his face.

 

Mulcade alighted on Tombel's arm and placed the scrap of

fabric in his hand. The other owl let the hideous eye fall from

its talons. It bounced upon the floor and rolled against

Tombel's foot.

 

'Nightbeasts!' Tombel cried, pointing towards the eye.

Bending his arm Tombel gently brought Mulcade so close that

their heads were almost touching, 'You know of the mark upon

my arm, you saw right through the cloth, even though I reached

for my bow in temper. You understood my grief and you have

searched in the wild wood outside and found Elionbel. You

know where she is!'

 

Mulcade hooted softly and pressed his talons into Tombel's

arm, then he flew to the doorway and hovered as if waiting.

Rockspray, the other owl, flew towards Arbel, circled him

once, and then also flew to the doorway.

 

'Run back to the others, tell them to follow the owl. He will

lead you to your sister,' Tombel cried as he raced after

Mulcade.

 

Thane ran out into the early darkness and quietly found the

stables and saddled Esteron. He had remembered to bring the

sword he had earlier chosen and clumsily gripping the hilt in

one hand he wound the reins around the other. 'Gallop!

Gallop!' he urged, pointing Esteron towards the edges of the

black forest, following Tombel's footprints in the snow. As they

galloped a stoop of owls descended out of the darkness and led

them through the trees.

 

Thane gave up trying to direct Esteron and leaned forwards,

hugging his neck. He drew his knees up as high as he could in

the saddle as they cantered through tight gaps, barely wide

enough for Esteron. Black and scratched they came to wider

glades and yet, galloping hard and silent on the snow, they

could not match Tombel's Marcher's strides. Always just

ahead his shadow or moon-reflected mail showed between

the trees. Up steep slopes of tall pine trees or down into tight

valleys where the trees grew in close dark tangles, on they ran,

through the night, horses following the owls who flew in a

straight line towards the Nightbeasts' camp.

 

Kerzolde had thought it secure. A hollow ringed with

hawthorn trees and broken granite blocks. Kerzolde, their

captain, had chosen it, a place to rest and torment the girl they

had stolen.

 

They had lost the messenger, somehow he had vanished,

but the girl's death would make up a little for that. They were

well forward with their torture, now they were to draw her

nails one by one. Kerzolde gripped her hands in his claws,

sneering and dribbling, pressing his foul face against hers.

Mulcade, high above the forest, drifting on an icy current,

caught within his tufted ear a scream, torn out in pain, faint

upon the wind. He might have missed them in all that dark

wild forest, but now he had a beacon and far below, a mere

speck amongst those gnarled and spiky trees, he saw Elionbel,

hung up, stretched tight by bleeding wrists between two trees.

In that split second before Kerzolde bit at her finger tips

Rockspray, the gentle owl flying at Mulcade's wingtip,

plunged to earth and as he stooped, wings stripping feathers

wide the speed, he unhooked his talons and spread them wide

to rip and tear. Down he fell, dizzy with the speed. The shock

of his stoop flung Kerzolde backwards and, hooking his talons

around one of the monster's eyes, he ripped it out, tHen

swooped off between the hawthorn trees, shrieking with

victory. Mulcade had stooped silently into the Nightbeasts'

camp and plucked the torn strip of nightdress from a hawthorn

spike and together the owls had carried their news to the

meeting tree, and then into the Wayhouse at Woodsedge.

 

Mulcade tightened his talons on Tombel's arm, indicating

that they were close to the Nightbeasts' secret camp. Stealthily

Tombel crept to the hollow's rim and hid between the

hawthorns. Dawn was in the tree tops and soon the

Nightbeasts would be at their weakest. There, suspended as

Mulcade had seen her, hung Elionbel, with fresh tears running

down her face. Tombel forced his knuckles into his mouth and

bit hard to stop himself crying out as he saw Elionbel's bleeding

hands.

 

The Nightbeasts were milling about prodding at her with their

spears, cruelly laughing and mocking her as she looked up

towards the dawn.

 

'You cannot steal the sunrise, or stop the daylight painting

winter colours in the trees,' she cried out, letting her head fall

forwards in despair. Blinding light flashed across the hollow.

Tombel could wait no longer, up he jumped between the trees,

sweeping two broad swords aloft to catch the early morning

sunlight.

 

Esteron in that instant sprang from beyond the hollow's rim,

clearing the lowest spiky hawthorns to land beside Tombel.

 

'Elionbel! Elionbel!' Tombel shouted, plunging the great

marching swords into the nearest Nightbeasts. Esteron lifted his

head and neighed until an answer came that darkened the sky.

Thane looked up, expecting the shadow of death, but instead,

just like a part of one of his grandfather's stories, the sky was

full of owls; stoop upon stoop falling out of a clear blue

morning sky to attack the Nightbeasts.

 

Thane hung on tightly to the saddle as Esteron reared and

plunged his way deeper and deeper into the hollow, matching

Tombel stride for stride. 'Run! Run!' a voice shouted in Thane's

head. The Nightbeasts' foul shadows were swallowing them up,

his sword arm felt heavy and paralysed. Fear made him gasp for

breath as huge claws reached out to pull him down.

 

'Lord, I cannot,' he cried, trying to turn Esteron away.

 

'Father! Father!' a voice called out across the hollow.

 

Thane heard her cry as clear as silver bells on a candle night

and, lifting his head, he turned in the saddle and saw her,

Elionbel of Woodsedge, surrounded by Nightbeasts ready to

plunge in their spears.

 

Mulcade and Rockspray were defending her, both leading a

stoop of owls at the Nightbeasts' eyes, but for each beast they

destroyed another loomed up to shadow the sunlight. Thane let

go of the saddle and, inexpertly, swung the borrowed sword in a

glittering arc. 'Thoron!' he shouted to give himself courage as

Esteron plunged forwards towards Elionbel. Thane slashed the

blade wildly from left to right, feeling it shudder as it struck the

Nightbeasts' armour. Twice it was almost torn out of his hands

as it pierced through into their black hearts.

 

The owls were being driven backwards into a tight circle

around Elionbel. Soon the Nightbeasts' spears would be able to

reach her. Esteron saw her peril and fought his way on to the

steep rim of the hollow, below where she hung. They were

surrounded now by hideous Nightbeasts. Thane leapt to the

ground and thrust his sword into the swarming mass of terror,

while his arms grew numb and tired, the hilt of his sword

became slippery in his hands from Nightbeast blood and he

stumbled over their fallen carcasses as he strove beside Esteron

to hold that piece of ground.

 

'Death!' screamed a black shape, rising above the other

nightmare forms. 'Death!' it screamed again, advancing on

Thane, blotting out the sunlight. One-eyed Kerzolde had heard

the other Marchers. They were rapidly closing in on the hollow,

now was the time to run but first he would kill the girl and

perhaps the boy who stood defending her. He drove his spear

up towards her heart, throwing all his hatred of the people of

Elundium behind the thrust. Thane saw the flash of sunlight

 

from the blade and, spinning round, he struck desperately at the

spear shaft. He shattered it, catching Kerzolde's

claw with the flat of the blade. The force of the blow knocked

the sword out of Thane's hands and he stood defenceless

before Kerzolde.

 

'I will kill you one day!' hissed the black shape, its raw eye

socket oozed pus and its damaged claw twitched helpless at his

side. He stepped menacingly towards Thane and then, looking

back into the hollow at the advancing Wayhouse Marchers, he

turned and fled over the hollow's rim into the black forest.

 

The tide of battle quickly turned and silence descended

across the hollow. The Nightbeasts fled, following their

captain into the forest.

 

Tombel rested aching hands upon the hilts of his notched

and splintered swords and quietly directed Ethric to take the

Marchers and hunt the Nightbeasts beyond Gildersleeves. He

then loosed the cutting knife from his belt and climbing the

steep rim of the hollow cut the bonds above Elionbel's wrists.

 

Tombel gathered Elionbel into his arms and held her close.

There were tears in his eyes as he turned towards home. A soft

muzzle pressed against his arm. He turned his head and smiled

at Esteron. 'Thank you, great warrior,' he whispered. Esteron

pressed his arm a little more forcefully and bent his forelegs,

offering the empty saddle. 'You are a true Lord among Horses,'

he said, setting Elionbel gently in the saddle. Such was

Tombel's relief at finding Elionbel alive and his concern over

her mutilated hands that he forgot all about Thane as he

walked beside Esteron, his hand on Elionbel's knee to steady

her.

 

Thane stood for a moment on the hollow's rim, casting his

eye over the Nightmare shapes that lay scattered before him.

'Nightbeasts!' he whispered, knowing now the full horror of

the monsters his grandfather had told him of. Quickly he

turned and followed in Esteron's hoofprints, light in heart to

have helped Tombel a little and proud that Esteron had offered

his saddle to Elionbel. He remembered their battles in the

sandschool and laughed to see him now in gentle majesty, neck

arched, seeking out the safest way between the tangled tree

roots, hidden under first winter's snow.

 

Thane soon fell far behind, but he was not alone or lost,

Esteron's hoof prints were clear to follow and Rockspray kept

pace with him flying from branch to branch. Now he had time

to look about and he saw the beauty of the world beyond the

Granite City. Tall trees, mightier than castle columns, with

branches that seemed to touch the sky; shafts of sunlight more

beautiful than a thousand candle flames, that fell upon the

forest floor. Distant pigeons cooed and wild white doves flew in

the misty light. All about him the forest was alive. Squirrels

searched the ground for winter food, or leapt from trunk to

trunk, sometimes keeping pace with him, sometimes in their

haste letting fall a hard-sought autumn fruit. Startled deer

moved through the shadows and rabbits dived for cover. Far

ahead he caught a glimpse of Esteron's tail swishing as he

walked or a flash of sunlight reflecting from Tombel's

marching swords where they rested across his shoulder.

 

Hot and damp beneath his mail shirt, Thane sat a while

resting his back against a tall, smooth chestnut tree whose

trunk patterns twisted round and spiralled up to disappear

amongst many forking branches. He drifted into sleep and he

would have let the sun slip out of sight had not Rockspray

pulled him back awake by tugging hard on his sleeve, for

though they had won a great fight the forest was no place yet for

Thane to wander alone after dark. There perched on his knee,

Rockspray in all his feathery beauty sat with blackened,

bloodstained talons spread to keep his balance and with eyes

half hooded he looked long, unblinking into Thane's eyes and

made soft noises deep inside his throat. Soft enough to make

Thane reach out and stroke his feathery chest and run his hand

over the horny skin on his talons. What joy to be so close to such

wild beauty.

 

'Come, brave owl, or the Keeper of Woodsedge will have

bolted the door!' Thane said, struggling to his feet. Rockspray

flew to perch on his shoulder and they walked together as the

afternoon wore on, pulling their shadows long, making giants

of them; mighty warriors striding through the woods that none

would dare go near. So they came to Woodsedge and Tombel's

home with early lights in the windows casting crystal patterns

 

on the snow as the last light faded.  :

 

'Stables first to see Esteron set fair for the night,' Thane said

to Rockspray, turning away from the house towards the stable

yard. But the stable door hung open. Esteron was nowhere to

be seen. He called his name, near to tears and ran back towards

the darkened tree line. 'Esteron! Esteron!' he called, in desper

ation. A muffled answer came, soft at first but climbing through

the scales to reach a roaring neigh that shook the window

frames and set the candles dancing on the tables. It came from

inside the Wayhouse, pouring through the open door, ending

in a clear high note of joy that finished in soft whinnying and

blowing through velvet smooth nostrils.

 

Thane ran, crunching through the snow, to stop and stare.

Upon the threshold stone he paused for there before him,

mighty in the firelight, stood Esteron. The scarf Thane had

taken from his mother hung from the pommel of the saddle as a

banner.

 

'I wish the King could see you now,' Thane whispered.

 

Tombel crossed the stone flagged floor and gripped Thane's

arms in welcome.

 

'Come, great warrior. For what you did today this house is

forever open to you. My swords and the bow of black forest yew

I humbly lay at your feet.' With that Tombel laid his bloody

notched swords and the bow at Thane's feet.

 

Thane stammered, blushing, 'It was Esteron that pulled me

into that dreadful place. In faith, I would have fled to hide

but . . .'

 

Tombel with a steady hand lifted Thane's chin and looked

with softness into his eyes. 'I felt your fear and I heard you cry

out, but you mastered the fear my boy. Why, I saw you defend

my fair Elionbel. I know what courage it takes to face the

nightbeasts. It is true your horse brought you to my side and you

could have clung there like a babe, cradle fresh, whining and

dribbling until the fight was done but your blade and the scarf tied

to the saddle brought hope in the morning and won us a great

victory! Come, brave warrior, and no more talk of hiding, for your

help was much needed and will be long remembered. Come,

unsaddle your horse.'

 

Tombel led Thane over to Esteron and helped him remove the

saddle and bridle. Running his hands across Esteron's shoulder

Tombel exclaimed, 'You know, I haven't seen the like of him

since my youth in the great battle for World's End. Yet he will ask

nothing for today's labour save we keep our faith in friendship

with him, a bowl of food, clean bed, or the freedom to go where

ever he chooses. Today he helped to win back this house's

greatest treasure and from this moment this Great Hall shall be

his stable, and my best crystal bowl his manger.'

 

'Lord,' ventured Thane timidly, 'just before the owls brought

news of your daughter you had asked me to give my name.'

 

Tombel laughed, his eyes full of mischief, 'I knew you, lad,

even as I put my marching sword on the floor when you burst

through that door. That cloak, that helm, even the saddle told me.

You have his ways, his manner and the same straight look in the

eyes. Welcome amongst friends, Thanehand, welcome.'

 

Thane looked up, startled, at Tombel's speech and dropped

the scarf he had just removed from the saddle.

 

'You knew my grandfather and the Warhorse, Amarch?'

 

Tombel smiled, bending to pick up the scarf, but he quickly

dropped it again as the colours burst into life.

 

'That scarf has magic in it!' he gasped, bending forwards to

take a closer look.

 

'No, it is just my mother's scarf that I took in parting to light my

lonely path. It gave me courage on the road and it seems to catch

and hold the sunlight. It has her warmth, her strength and love

somehow woven in amongst the threads.'

Thane's eyes brimmed with tears as he remembered her in

that dark little room in the shadow of the great wall.

 

'Mother! Martbel, come quickly,' Tombel cried. Turning

back to Thane he gripped his arm. 'Forgive me, Thane, I have

been a rough host. Martbel, come, come show Thane the best

room this Wayhouse can offer. Up, boy, for there will be a

grand feast tonight and you must attend. Go now, follow

Martbel, she will show you the way.'

 

later that evening Thane tiptoed to the head of the stairs

and peered down at the throng of people gathered in the Great

Hall. He had been at a loss to know what to do with the jug of

water and the bowl set on a stand beside his bed and the mirror

had startled him, making him jump backwards. He had

laughed at his reflection and brushed his fingers through his

hair.

 

'Warrior!' he had whispered, puffing his chest and frowning.

'nightbeast slayer!' he had cried sweeping his cloak across his

shoulders and lungeing at the reflection. Then he had noticed

the dirt on his face and, wetting his fingers, wiped what he

could away. Now he stood there in the shadows, more terrified

and alone than ever before. The murmur of battle talk rose up

the stairway. The noise of laughter and the clink of pewter, the

ring of the crystal cups froze Thane, his mouth felt dry and his

heart pounded in his chest. Something moved in the darkness

and noiselessly settled on his right shoulder, then another on

his left.

 

'Mulcade, Rockspray!' he whispered, looking at each of the

owls. Softly they hooted, flying up to perch on a beam and the

talk in the Great Hall fell away to nothing.

 

'Thane!' Tombel called, climbing the stairway to find him

hiding in the shadows, 'My Marchers, my sons, Martbel and all

my house await you. Come!'

 

'I cannot. I was born to Candlebane Hall, Lord, I could not go

amongst your high born folk. My place is with the tallow taper,

lighting the candles.'

 

124

 

Tombel smiled, putting his arm around Thane's shoulder

and was about to bring him down the stairs when he noticed

the dirt still on his hands and face and his untidy hair.

Turning he took Thane back into his room and bid him sit on

the bed.

 

'Being highborn does not make you better, lad. It does not

make you more worthy to stand with other people. You talk of

lighting candles with a taper, yet today you lit a light far greater

than all the candles in this Wayhouse when you fought beside

me in that dreadful hollow. Come now, wash your face, here,

let me show you.'

 

Tombel poured the water from the jug into the bowl and

splashed it on his face, laughing, then dried it on a towel.

 

'You have stepped beyond Candlebane Hall, now, but never

be ashamed of your humble beginnings, or ever forget them.

Now do as I have done and wash your face and use a comb upon

that tangle of hair, it looks worse than a cornfield after a

thunderstorm.'

 

Tombel waited while Thane washed and combed his hair,

and he smiled inwardly as Thane hesitated before the mirror,

seeing himself for the first time.

 

'Marchers! Warriors of the Greenway! Friends and family, I

welcome to this Wayhouse Thanehand, the Candlelighter's

son, who lit today a torch that will shine forever bright in my

heart.'

 

Silver goblets, pewter mugs and crystal cups were raised and

shouts of welcome filled the hall.

 

Tombel spread his hands and the company fell silent.

'There are others we shall welcome, for without them it would

be a black night of weeping. Esteron, the bravest horse in all

Elundium, who will be known as Elionbel's champion. And,'

Tombel smiled, looking up at the Kingpost beam, 'Mulcade,

Loftmaster Owl, and Rockspray, a Lord amongst Battle Owls.

 

I pledge you safety in this small corner of Elundium for as long

as I can lift a hand to make it so, for we owe Elionbel's life to you.'

Again shouts of welcome filled the Great Hall and toasts

were drunk to Esteron and the Battle Owls.

 

'Father,' a soft voice called from the far side of the Hall, 'let

me thank the greatest warrior in all Elundium for my life!'

 

Thane looked across the hall and caught his breath, hot

blushes touched his cheeks. Elionbel smiled up at him from

where she stood in an open doorway. She was dressed in a

simple long silk gown that reached her feet. Her golden hair

fell on to her graceful shoulders in waves of tumbling light but

her hands and wrists were covered in many bandages that hid

the Nightbeasts' wounds.

 

'Lord,' she said, kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, 'I saw

you jump the ring of trees, the bright banner on your saddle

catching the morning sunlight. I saw your sword sweep through

blackest nightmares as you fought your way to my side. Let me

serve you at table as small payment. Great Warrior! I thank you

for my life.'

 

Elionbel turned, keeping her eyes on Thane, and led the

grand company through two open doors at the far end of the

hall into a feasting room set with long tables in a three sided

square surrounded by high-backed chairs. Thane looked in

wonder at the feast and marvelled that the tables, for all their

sturdy looks, held the weight without bending.

 

'This is a great feast, fit for a King,' he said, hesitating in the

doorway, not knowing which way to turn or which chair was his.

 

'Indeed, it is set for a Kingsman,' whispered a soft voice at

his side. 'Come, follow me, Kingsman, and eat your fill.'

 

Thane turned his head and looked into the beautiful eyes of

Elionbel who stood there beckoning him to follow her. She

showed him the Honour Seat, set above all the other chairs,

raised on a dais at the centre of the main table. To his right sat

Tombel, Martbel and the Marcher, Ethric. On his left sat

Rubel and Arbel, Tombel's sons, and beyond them sat Arrah,

the second Marcher. The lower tables, set at each end of the

main table, were hosted by Marcher Holgym and his family on

the right and Arfon the Marcher and his family on the left.

Servers waited on the lower tables and hovered at either end of

the main table. Elionbel stood just behind Thane's chair.

Everybody was looking at him as if waiting for him to do

something. He had to start the feast. Thane looked at the array

of eating tools laid out before him. Each one looked to be a

little different from the rest and set beyond them were three

empty drinking vessels, a silver goblet, a pewter mug and a

crystal cup, all of them finely engraved with the emblem of an

owl in blue and gold. On Thane's right was a small bowl filled

with a scented drink. He breathed deeply, carefully picked up

the bowl and sipped at it. In the deathly silence that followed a

serving girl giggled, Elionbel spun round towards her and let

slip the china plate she had been balancing on her bandaged

hands. Tombel coughed to hide a laugh and Ethric turned

nearly blue behind his sleeve hiding his face. Thane bent down

to help Elionbel with the broken china and found her crying

with laughter on the floor.

 

'Thane,' she whispered, pulling his head so close to hers that

he could smell her fragrance, 'Do it again, please.'

 

'Do what?' he asked, feeling his cheeks burning with

embarrassment.

 

'Drink from the finger bowl,' she replied, 'You are the "test

of honour. Everybody must copy you, it is tradition. Please! Do

it for me.'

 

Thane looked down at his blackened finger nails and could

have died of shame seeing how his ignorance had already made

him look such a fool and they had not even started eating yet.

Swallowing the lump in his throat he looked from left to right

along the tables, each face seemed to be laughing at him, yet

each right hand had reached out towards the finger bowls. His

mind raced forwards, imagining the nightmare meal to come.

What if he used the wrong tools for each course, or drank from

the wrong cups? Lowering his head again he whispered to

Elionbel.

'I will trade with you. For every sip from the finger bowl you

will lead me and tell what I should do, what tools to use and

cups to drink from. Just as in the hollow each thrust of my

sword brought your rescue closer.'

 

She stopped laughing and looked seriously at the young man

before her. Here was someone very different from her brothers

or the Marchers' sons who lived at Woodsedge. She touched

his arm with her bandaged hand and pointed secretly to the

silver goblet. 'Place your hand on the goblet and say, "Let us

begin."'

 

Thane lifted the finger bowl to his lips and took a long slow

sip. Tombel followed suit and all the Marchers and their

families likewise. 'Let us begin,' Thane called, in an uncertain

voice, touching the goblet.

 

Drink was then poured and trays of tiny slivers of a bright red

fish were laid before him. Each sliver had been rolled and

spiked on to a waxy yellow fruit that Thane had never seen

before.

 

'Remove the spike and squeeze the forest apple over the

fish,' Elionbel whispered. 'Use the two-pronged fork to eat the

fish and do not eat the apple, that is for the servers.'

 

- The feast was a seemingly endless procession of culinary

delights all new and wonderful to Thane. Between each course

he sipped from the scented bowl, and this became the signal, as

the others drank, for entertainers to sing or recite or juggle in

the centre of the Eating Hall. Under cover of these entertainers

Elionbel revealed what next he should do or what tools to eat

with; laughing, they looked into one another's eyes and the

secret of the finger bowl spun the first threads of a bond

between them. Throughout the feast Tombel and the

Marchers seated either side of the Honour Chair laughed and

told stories of the great marching men who had fought upon

the Greenways of Elundium and never once did they leave a

gap of awkward silence or let the talk turn to why Thane

journeyed or of its purpose.

Gradually the talk died away and even Tombel began to

hesitate, his eyes drawn towards the doors that led in from

the Great Hall. Elionbel bent down close to Thane and

pointed with her bandaged hand at a long thin dagger to the

right of a large plate she had laid before him.

 

'Now is the moment,' she whispered, 'when you must

leap up and plunge the carver into the beast's heart. Remember,

it is the tradition for the one in the Honour Chair

to make the first cut, but more than that remember as you

move forwards: think of the Nightbeasts between us in the

hollow and make such a leap that none will ever forget!'

 

Something heavy banged into the doors. Marchers

reached for their swords, Thane sat tense, watching the

doorway. Then the doors suddenly burst apart and all the

feasters jumped in their chairs. Tombel half-rose, gripping

his sword in his hand but Thane sprang nimbly across the

table to land, sure-footed, the carver held firmly in his hand.

He stood before the beast as it crackled and hissed, staring

into his eyes, lips curled back in a snarl, exposing long,

yellow fangs.

 

'Kill the beast! Kill the beast!' chanted the feasters.

Thane, on tip-toe, raised the carver high above his head and

plunged the blade into the animal a hand's span behind the

shoulder. Down, down it sank until the hilt pressed against

the prickly skin. Hot fat spluttered over his knuckles and the

smell of delicious roast meat filled his nostrils. Elionbel led

him back to the Honour Chair amidst shouts of praise,

tradition had been fulfilled to the letter.

 

'What beast is that?' Thane asked, staring at the huge

animal he had just stabbed.

 

Elionbel laughed softly and whispered, 'Nightboar. The

most ferocious animal in the black forest. Legends say that

one winter just after the battle for World's End a savage

Nightboar attacked this house, charging through the Great

 

Hall into this room.'

'And your father killed it thus founding this tradition?'

interrupted Thane.

 

Elionbel smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder, 'No,

Thane, it was your grandfather, Thoron, who had the Honour

Chair that night He killed the beast and fed the

Marchers of Woodsedge for a whole winter on the carcass.

He was the one who started the Nightboar tradition.'

 

Thane smiled back at Elionbel and thought of his

grandfather sitting in the same chair all those years before and

he shuddered knowing that if a real live Nightboar had broken

in tonight he would not have had the courage to stand and

face it.

 

'Eat some of the meat, Thane,' Elionbel's voice whispered

across his thoughts. 'The feasters are waiting for you to start.'

 

Thane loosened his belt and attacked the meat. He had

never eaten so well or from so many strange plates before. As

a Candleman's son he had been lucky to eat one meal three

daylights out of seven, and then only a tasteless gruel from a

wooden bowl. He had truly eaten himself to a standstill. The

servers carved at the flank of the Nightboar generously filling

every plate but Thane declined the offer of a second helping

and the beast was lifted on two strong staves beneath the

carving table and pushed out of the Eating Hall.

 

'How did it appear to rush in upon us?' he asked Elionbel

as she moved the last fork and spoon into place ready for him

to use.

 

'The carving table has small wheels set into the legs, and

the servers have developed a great skill at making the Night

boar look real and frightening as they push it through the

doors.'

 

Thane laughed with her as she recounted how one honoured

guest had fled the Honour Chair in screams of terror as

the Nightboar rushed in.

 

'Were you serving him?'

 

Elionbel's smile faded, 'I am not a server, Thane,' she

replied, offended by his question. 'It is not the place of

Wayhouse Keepers' daughters to serve at tables.'

 

Thane blushed and stumbled for words but Elionbel's

face softened when she saw the ignorance in his question

and laughed, brushing the error aside. Two of the servers

who had removed the Nightboar now returned carrying a

large golden pastry between them. They set it down on a

table beside the Honour Chair. Elionbel cut and laid a piece

on Thane's plate explaining that it was wild forest pie. A

mixture of rare berries and fruits, found only in the heart of

the forest and picked before the leaves turned to autumn

colours and then pickled in honey. It had a spicy smell and

tasted delicious, especially the bottom layer of pastry that

had soaked up the sweet syrup from the fruit.

 

'Wonderful, the best food I have ever eaten,' said Thane

to Elionbel, finishing up the last mouthful and wiping the

plate clean of crumbs.

 

Elionbel frowned. 'Surely in the Granite City the King

and his warriors must have feasts like this or better every

day?'

 

'I am not a Kingsman,' Thane replied, looking down at

the table. 'These clothes are my grandfather's. I am only the

Candleman's son.'

 

He wanted to tell her more but he was too shy and

ashamed of his humble beginnings.

 

A gentle bandaged hand lifted his chin until their eyes

met, 'Candleman. You are the greatest warrior in all

Elundium, and I honour you.'

 

Turning with tears in her eyes Elionbel lifted Thane's

finger bowl in both hands, and put it to her lips and called

the servers' toast.

 

'Thanehand! Who brought hope in the morning and

chased my fears away.'

 

'Thanehand!' the feasters shouted, draining their

fingerbowls.

 

131

 

a'Thanehand, the Doorbreaker!' laughed Tombel, draining his

crystal glass. 'May he always be welcome in this house.'

 

Late next morning with the frosted patterns melting on the

windows Thane, refreshed from a dreamless sleep, made his way

down into the Great Hall. Now with time to look about he saw

the beauty of the room. The dark oak panels each set with a

finely sculptured lamp and the fireplace, big enough to seat a

dozen people. A huge log, glowing red, lay in the hearth

between two fine dogs that were made of twisted and hammered

brass. The polished stone-flagged floor showed some scuffs

and scrapes that looked to match Esteron's hooves and in a

corner by the hearth, broken stalks of straw from the horse's bed

lay scattered in disorder. Thane blushed to think of Esteron

sleeping in such a beautiful room and hurried towards the door

to find a broom to clean up the mess. He stopped in the

doorway and looked out at the brilliant landscape of smooth

white rolling hills falling to a frozen sea against the black forest

edge. There Esteron ran free, head tossing in the sunshine.

Thane raised his hand to wave but behind him he heard a door

unlatch. Turning he stared in foolish youthfulness at a world of

beauty caught in the streaming sunlight. Elionbel's appearance

left him breathless and blushing.

 

'My father bids you attend him in the Trophy room.' Elionbel

seemed cool towards him, yet her eyes were full of laughter as

she led him to the Trophy room door.

 

While they waited for an answer to Elionbel's knock on the

door Thane thought of a thousand things he wanted to say to

her but his tongue seemed tied in knots. He only managed to

call her name before Tombel summoned him to enter. Thane

hesitated on the threshold but Tombel's voice drew him in.

 

'Enter, Thane, the day wears on and we have much to talk

about.'

 

He crossed the threshold and gazed in wonder at the secrets

spread about the room. The banners hanging from the beams,

pictures on the walls, mail shirts and swords propped and

heaped in disorder, tiny coins, trinkets, spurs and ornaments

between rows and rows of books.

 

'Come. Be seated,' commanded Tombel as he threw a log on

the fire to set it crackling and sending sparks shooting up the

chimney.

 

Tombel settled back in his chair, resting his long boots on

the fender. He sighed, smiling gently at Thane.

 

'Now to these grave matters we must discuss. The letter you

carry and its secrets would be a great prize for the Chancellors

to seize, but you are beyond their power for the moment, at

least until the snows clear. But you have a greater enemy now

that the Nightbeasts have awaken, for itwould give them a clear

picture of how weak the King has become and how near to the

brink of disaster Elundium totters.'

 

'You have opened the letter!' cried Thane, leaping out of his

chair. 'That was for the Keeper of World's End. I pledged my life

to deliver it.'

 

Tombel laughed and handed the letter back to Thane. He had

resealed it with the emblem of the owl carrying the sword,

drawing back his sleeve he showed Thane the tattoo on his

arm. 'I am also pledged to serve the King. Who would you have

trusted, Thane, if you were wearing my shoes? A half-starved

boy on a wild errand, or the careful hand of the King? After all it

might have been a Chancellors' trick.'

 

Thane hid the letter in his shirt and angrily sat down.

 

Tombel continued. 'You tread a dangerous road, my lad. Far

more dangerous than the King could have dreamed of. Why

even I cannot guarantee your safety further than one day's ride

 

from here.'

 

'Why is it more dangerous now?' asked Thane.

 

Tombel thought for a moment putting the pieces together in

his mind. 'When you first arrived I asked you if you had passed

a rider on the road. From the letter I learned that he had arrived

before you left. Clearly neither the King nor Errant knew the

Nightbeasts had the power to reach this Wayhouse at

Woodsedge, who knows how many are hiding out there in the

black forest or lie waiting in the grasslands to attack any

traveller using the Greenways. All I can tell you for sure is that

the nightbeast with only one eye escaped, my Marchers chased

him far beyond Gildersleeves but they lost his tracks in the

blizzards.'

 

'Then, Lord, I am lost and I shall never reach Underfall!'

 

'If you don't, Thane, then all Elundium may falter as night

closes in upon these twilight years covering the labours of

honest men.'

 

'Lord?' whispered Thane, looking in bewilderment at

Tombel, 'What does the fate of this beautiful land have to do

with my journey to Underfall?'

 

'Beautiful? It was once, Thane, more beautiful than a fairy

tale. The morning sunlight had the touch and sparkle of pure

crystal, shadows were velvet black and held no more menace

than gentle shade for a traveller. Yes, itwas beautiful once, long

ago, before the bondbreaking. A land of gardens, with the great

Greenways neatly trimmed and stretching away as far as the

eye could see. People laughed and travelled in safety, birds

sang in the hedgerows . . .'

 

'But,' interrupted Thane, 'those trees in the woods, the birds,

the squirrels? Yesterday. . .'

 

Tombel laughed, 'Only shadows, lad. If you had seen it

many suns ago.' He paused, a frown creasing his age-worn

face. 'Listen, Thane, we stand on the edge of the blackest

night, with swords in our hands against a terror we cannot

master. The Marchers are scattered, the Gallopers have

vanished and who, who could form a strike of Archers? Have

you read the letter, Thane? Did the King tell you what you

carry?'

 

'No,' answered Thane, his eyes widening as he leaned closer

to Tombel.

 

'Then you know nothing of King Holbian's purpose?'

 

'No. Only that I was to give the letter to Thunderstone, the

Keeper of Underfall, Lord. From what I overheard the King

has been buying daylights from the Chancellors with the jewels

and he seeks true men, but he sent me out of the Granite City

because he didn't want my blood on the cloak of jewels. I think I

am to warn the Keeper in some way.'

 

'Nothing more?'

 

'Well, he did ask me if I would raise his standard in the

darkness at World's End following in my grandfather's

footsteps.'

 

Tombel smiled, stretched out his hand and gripped Thane's

arm, 'And so you must, my boy, for Nevian foretold your

journey long ago beneath the walls of Underfall.'

 

Thane shuddered, whispering, 'Why me? What have I done

to be hounded and cursed by the Chancellors and cast out to

start a journey I cannot finish?'

 

'Because you shine, lad. You carry the light.'

 

'Light? What light?'

 

Tombel laughed,'You followed me into the black forest; did

you for one moment hesitate or gather a bundle of candles to

light your way? Can you see in the dark?' asked Tombel quietly.

 

Thane thought for a moment before answering. 'Darkness

holds no fear, my Lord: but I grew up in Candlebane Hall,

where my father kept back the darkness, he told me at our

parting that night didn't care how many candles we lit.'

 

Tombel laughed again, striking the table with his hand,

'Then your father is a fool, my boy, to tell you such things. He

knows nothing of real night where the Nightbeasts crawl.'

 

Tombel paused to look closely at Thane before drawing the

boy to him. 'Didn't you learn anything in the Learning Hall?

Anything about the light or the balance between light and

darkness? Anything about the beautiful light before the

bondbreaking?'

 

'No, Lord, King Holbian threw a curse on stories about the

time before the bondbreaking.'

 

Tombel sighed, resting his head on his hands for a moment

before asking, 'Then you know nothing of time before King

Holbian won the battle for World's End?'

 

'Only what my grandfather told me in his stories,' answered

Thane.

 

Tombel smiled, wistfully, looking past Thane's head to

where storm clouds were gathering over the winter trees, 'I will

teach you, Thane, how the world began long ago before the

Granite Kings arose. Long, long ago before night was ever

begun.'

 

Tombel built the fire and lit every candle in his Trophy

Room and drew Thane's chair as close as he possibly could to

his own before he told him all he knew of time before the

Granite Kings.

 

After Tombel had finished the story Thane sat for a long

time in silence, watching the flames rise and fall between the

logs. Eventually he turned to Tombel and asked in a puzzled

voice, 'Where did you learn all this knowledge? It is more than

all the Loremasters together know.'

 

Tombel smiled at Thane, spreading his hands, 'When I was

young Nevian came to me and taught me all I have just told you.

He charged me to collect the history of Elundium and piece by

piece keep it here in the Wayhouse of Woodsedge. Look

around you, Thane, look.'

 

The old man paused, watching the confusion cross Thane's

face as he struggled to try and understand and to find his place

in the story.

 

'But why me?' he cried, 'I am only the Candlelighter's son!'

 

Tombel took Thane's hand and soothed him into silence,

'You are more than that, lad. Nevian came to you in the

Learning Hall. He passed by the last Granite King and all the

Chancellors to stand before you. Not since the bondbreaking

has his presence been seen in the Granite City and

because . . .' Tombel lowered his voice and went on, 'the owl

flew to your shoulder and you tamed the wild horse that none

could touch.'

 

'But I did not ask the owl,' cried Thane, his eyes filling with

tears.

 

'Nor did you ask to be born,' whispered Tombel, leaning

even closer. 'The bonds were broken, child, and we have stood

alone all these years growing old amongst our fears, regretting

what we lost at the Battle of World's End.'

 

'But I was forced to tame Esteron. The breakers spat at me

and locked me in his stable.'

 

'Easy, child, we do not choose our fate, nor are we born with

the shoulders to carry it. Now, listen carefully. Long ago,

Nevian broke the bond and loosed the greatWarhorses to roam

in freedom; he released the owls and the dogs from servitude to

the Granite Kings, because a balance had been won. Night

would follow day, each having its place and allotted time. That is

what King Holbian won at the Battle for World's End. Magic

was no longer needed to make the sun come up or stars to come

out at night. We stood alone, Thane, in a beautiful land and

laughed at the Master of Magic. But we were fools for we only

knew half of the truth. Even now I stumble in the darkness of

ignorance to know what really happened between the King and

Krulshards, the Master of Nightmares, before the Gates of

Night.'

 

'History in the Learning Halls said that the King destroyed

Krulshards, and we are forbidden to even mention his name.'

 

Tombel laughed at Thane's reply.

 

'Your grandfather found a little of the truth, Thane, high up

above the shoulders of Mantern's Mountain on a bleak plateau

of rocks and heather. He had been chasing Nightbeasts, hard

riding them into a cloudless dawn, when Amarch caught her

hoof on a black ridge of rock. Her stumble threw your

grandfather and the Nightbeasts escaped into a dark gully.

Thoron decided to wait for the sun to rise before descending

 

back to Underfall.'

 

'What did he find?' interrupted Thane.

 

'He found a shadow circle, burned into the ground. How it

got there is a mystery, but at its centre was one shadow more

hideous than the rest and outside the circle was the shadow of

King Holbian. Thoron followed the shadows for they were clear

to see in the dawn sunlight, weatherworn and slightly raised

above the plateau they led him towards a black gate full of

wailing and torment. There the circle disappeared. Only the

King's shadow remained.'

 

'What did the shadows mean?' asked Thane.

 

'What indeed? My fear is that the King did not kill the Master

of Darkness, Thane. My fear is that somewhere beneath this

land new Nightbeasts are being spawned; but even to say that

is to speak treason, let alone to believe it.'

 

'Do you believe it?' asked Thane, shrinking back into his

chair.

 

'Many things have pointed to it, Thane. Nevian's gift to the

King at the end of the battle, the bondbreaking, the rise of the

Chancellors and their thirst for power, Errant's news of

Underfall. Perhaps the truth shouts at me, yet I must believe the

King, for I am pledged to it.'

 

'And you think that my journey to Underfall is in some way a

part of it?'

 

Tombel shrugged his shoulders, 'Sometimes, Thane, it is

difficult to know what is happening to us, or why it happens at

all. Mixed up in all the things I have gathered are rumours and

prophecies; which ones we are supposed to follow is a mystery

to me. The King saw you mount and tame the wild horse, the

owl flew to your shoulder, yet where are the Border Runners

that are supposed to run at your heels? I suppose we must

follow fate and chase circumstance and do the best we can.'

 

'Border Runners? Who are they?' asked Thane.

 

'Wild dogs!'laughed Tombel. 'Savage hounds. Some are as

tall as a pony but beware of them, Thane, if they are your

enemies. Treat them with great respect if they be your friends,

for they were at the bondbreaking and roam in freedom,

belonging to no man, not even the King. Nevian foretold that

the new King would ride a wild Warhorse with the Lord of Owls

upon his shoulder and at his feet would run a savage hound. He

would carry a standard that blazed with light and he would fear

nothing in the darkness of night.'

 

Thane thought for a moment then burst out laughing,

'Esteron is not a Warhorse and I am not a King.'

 

Mulcade, who had been sitting quietly on the chimney beam,

shrieked, hooted and stooped to perch on Thane's shoulder.

 

'Well, that part of the story's true,' chuckled Tombel,

stretching a hand towards Mulcade, but the owl screeched,

stabbing his beak into Tombel's middle finger. Thane stared in

horror at the bleeding finger, expecting Tombel to strike the owl

 

in rage, but he merely let the hand fall, forgotten, to his side,

saying, 'You see, Thane, Mulcade protects you, even if the

legend is not the truth, rumour is enough to get you killed.

Deliver the letter as the King asked.'

 

Thane rose to his feet and looked out of the window at the

blizzard that had started while they talked.

 

'Do I leave tonight?' he asked.

 

Tombel joined him at the window and for a moment watched

the swirling snowflakes.

 

'No, Thane. Winter darkness is a dangerous time to travel and

you do not need its cloak to hide beneath. From now on you

will take the crown of the road, using every precious hour of

sunlight to reach Underfall. You shall winter here at

Woodsedge and learn the history of Elundium, and I shall send

you to Gildersleeves as soon as it stops snowing. Duclos, the

Swordsman, lives there with his wife, Morolda, in a house full of

cats. He will teach you to use your sword better than any

fencing master in all Elundium. Now see your horse to bed and

join us in the Eating Hall for supper.'

 

'Do you eat every daylight?' Thane asked as he moved

towards the door.

 

Tombel smiled, 'I will answer your question truthfully, young

man, and then ask you a question in return. Marchers

eat when they can upon the road, using their daggers as

knives and their fingers as forks, but when at home we eat

every daylight, we break the fast in early daylight, noon food

in the middle of the day and feast or supper before we go to

bed depending on the occasion. How do you eat and toast

your guests in the Granite City? Surely it is the same, or

perhaps customs have changed with the passing suns?'

 

Thane blushed, seeing clearly the reference to the

fingerbowl.

 

'Lord,' he replied, gathering his courage and looking

Tombel squarely in the eye, 'At home in my father's house

there is only one tool to eat with, that is a spoon carved from

a broken saddle tree that grandfather had thrown away.

There is only one wooden bowl, we shared it, passing it from

mouth to mouth, drinking the watery gruel and toasting our

luck to have even that. I have never seen such things to eat,

or felt so many different tastes as those put before me last

night. Yet in all the joy and honour of the feast I was

ashamed of my lack of manners. But Elionbel rescued me,

and helped me, whispering what tools to use and which plate

to eat from.'

 

'And the fingerbowl?' asked Tombel, 'was that her idea to

make a fool of you, or maybe to make fools out of all of us?'

 

'Lord, I drank without prompting, out of ignorance.'

 

'Perhaps,' sighed Tombel, still a little suspicious, not of

Thane but of Elionbel's part in it. He knew how she loved to

tease his Marchers.

 

Later that evening, towards the end of suppertime, talk

turned to Thane's grandfather and his adventures on the

Greenways.

 

'Oh, he pledged me to secrecy,' laughed Tombel, 'but that

was before he passed into the shadows, now I shall bring

him back to be amongst us here tonight.'

 

'How will you do that?' asked Thane leaning forwards in

surprise.

'A person only dies when there is nobody left to remember

them. That is the moment of true death. All the

while we talk of Thoron he is here in the pictures we make

in our hearts, here in this room or anywhere amongst a

group of Marchers who are, perhaps, gathered around a

camp fire, or wherever his name is called. There he still

lives. We will all see him differently, but he will be amongst

us, striding across the room, laughing, his iron jacket

a-glitter in the candle-light.'

 

Thane saw him as he listened to Tombel's voice, dusty

and tired at the end of a long road and his eyes filled with

tears as he saw how roughly he had treated him on his rare

visits to the Granite City. How, unthinking, he had begged

him to take him to the top of the Granite Towers or down

the countless winding steps to fish in the Great ilundium

river, and all the other thousand places he had insisted on

seeing. Silently he wept, hiding his head in his hands.

Tombel touched his shoulder and broke the dream.

 

'I cannot control what you see, Thane, that power only the

Soothsayers have.'

 

'I saw how thoughtlessly I treated him,' Thane whispered.

'I would have loved him just as much if we had sat in a quiet

courtyard, while he rested.'

 

'No, Thane, you did not hard press him in selfishness, he

wanted you to see and feel and touch everything in the

innocence of childhood. He foresaw the Chancellors' rise to

power and used what little time you had together, filling

each moment with precious memories. Rejoice and laugh for

that is how he would wish it now.'

 

Through short days winter deepened beneath a heavy snowy

blanket and harsh winds pushed powdery snow flakes into

deep, impassable drifts that blocked all the roads and would

overtake any foolish traveller with a white and frozen death.

This Thane, through luck, circumstance and gentle tugs on

the strings of fate, dodged, avoiding Nature's bitter test and

weathered out the worst of the winter at Woodsedge, within the

circle of Tombel's care, and learned much that would help him

on the road to Underfall. He discovered his first feelings of love

for Elionbel and felt confused by the way it made him feel both

strong and weak and filled his head with dizzy thoughts that

made Underfall seem far away and unimportant.

 

Tombel saw how Thane and Elionbel were drawn together,

saw Thane tangle-tongued, awkward and shy whenever

Elionbel turned her eyes upon him, and he saw a shining,

laughing light in her that chased any doubts away that he might

have. Tombel called Elionbel to his trophy room and faced her

with his fears.

 

'He is the Candleman's son, born in the lower circles of the

city. You are a Marcher's daughter, high-born to this

Wayhouse. Elionbel, oh Elionbel, how could you think of him as

more than just your rescuer?'

 

Elionbel's face flushed with anger, 'He was good enough to

save my life, and you gave him the Honour Chair. And what of

his grandfather? Isn't that high-born enough?'

 

Tombel laughed harshly, 'Thoron was not high-born, girl, fate

or chance plucked him out of the lower circle of the city when he

rescued Amarch as a foal from a pack of wolves. He was not

born a Galloper. Why, if the bond between them had been

broken he would have returned after that battle at World's End

into the shadows of the Granite City to become a Server,

Candleman, Buryman or perhaps, if he had been lucky, a

Breaker.'

 

'I thought he was your friend, so close he was to you that

you almost shared the same shadow. I thought you loved him,'

Elionbel whispered, close to tears.

 

'Love!' replied Tombel, fiercely, gripping Elionbel's arm. 'I

loved him, child, like a brother and matched him blade for blade

against the nightbeasts. High or low-born, it did not

matter, we were warriors together and fought a common enemy,

but you are of my blood and I forbid you to look on Thane as

an equal.'

 

'How shall I look upon him then?' she cried. 'As our

Candleman, and snap my fingers when the sun sinks out of

sight and then throw scraps to him at supper time?'

 

'Child, child, treat him as a warrior, with much respect, even

as a friend. But I beg you, turn your heart away, turn it towards

Ethric's son, or either of Arfon's boys, they are Marchers, born

of this Wayhouse, and worthy of you.'

 

'Worthy!' she laughed bitterly, turning towards the door. 'You

have always taught me to measure a person by their heart, not

by the cut of their cloak or the treasure they hoard. Now I see

the truth in your heart here in your treasure room!'

 

Tombel angrily lifted his hand to strike Elionbel, but a shrill

screech from the chimney beam stopped him. Looking up he

saw Mulcade's unblinking stare and uneasily looked away.

Elionbel smiled up at Mulcade and he softened his stance,

blinking in the firelight.

 

'I will do as you bid, father, and treat Thane as my rescuer

and show him the honour that he deserves, but I will not

change the way I value others or look upon the Servers, or

anyone else in this Wayhouse, any differently. I shall still

measure by the heart and the straight look in their eyes just as

Thane's grandfather did, and I know that he loved us both

without weighing out or measuring our worth.'

 

Before Tombel could answer his daughter she had crossed

the threshold, slammed the door and run, sobbing, to her room.

During the darkest hour of the night Elionbel gathered the

courage to creep down into the Great Hall and remove the scarf

from Thane's saddle. The next morning, in greatest secrecy, she

began to thread her needle, but her bandaged hands made it

impossible. She dropped the thread, and burying her head in

 

the scarf she wept.

'Elionbel!' a soft voice whispered, 'Elionbel, greatheart,

look on the bed beside you and you will find two needles

already threaded, one with silver and one with gold. Use

them well and needlepoint all your love upon the scarf.?

 

Elionbel looked up and saw for a fleeting moment a

rainbow cloak dissolving in the sunlight that streamed

through her window.

 

'Use them well!' the fading voice called out.

 

'Nevian!' Elionbel whispered, reaching out to pick up the

golden thread. An old face smiled at her, full of gentle care,

the sun disappeared behind black snow clouds, throwing her

room into deepest shadow. The thread glittered and shone,

seeming to catch and hold any speck of light in the darkened

room. 'Magic!' she laughed, working the needle through the

weave of the scarf.

 

Tombel was deeply troubled by Elionbel's answers and

paced the trophy room for two daylights, thinking on all she

had said. On the third daylight, his mind made up, he sent

for Thane and sat him by the fire.

 

'I set great value on you, Thane,' he said, 'and I would be

a selfish fool to keep you from Duclos the Swordsman a

moment longer. The weather has eased a little, you shall

journey to Gildersleeves today, without further delay. Go,

and saddle your horse!'

 

Thane rose, and glanced out of the window into a darkening

snowstorm.

 

'Lord, have I displeased you in some way?'

 

Tombel gave a short laugh, 'Nothing displeases me,

Thane, except the fear that you will not be ready and well

prepared to continue your journey when the snow melts.

This snow storm will clear within the hour, follow the

Greenway as it skirts the edge of the black forest, after

travelling for half a daylight a small track will appear between

the trees, follow it until you reach Gildersleeves.'

 

Thane felt the change in Tombel's manner and saw

beneath the smiles and the laughter a coldness he could not

understand. He felt pushed and hurried as he saddled Esteron

and led him out on to the Greenway.

 

'Remember, Thane, keep to the Greenway,' Tombel

shouted against the rising wind.

 

 

:

 

Gildersleeves

 

Thane shivered and drew the cloak tightly around his shoulders,

bowing his head and screwing up his eyes against the storm. After

travelling for many hours he felt with numb fingers for the scarf,

searching in all his pockets before realising he must have set out

without it. He remembered leaving it tied on to the saddle in the

Great Hall and now regretted being so careless. He almost turned

back towards Woodsedge but a clear picture formed in his mind

of the cold look in Tombel's eyes and he pressed on miserably for

Gildersleeves. The snow storm gradually lessened, Mulcade and

Rockspray shook their feathers, dislodging the settled snow flakes

and lifted into the grey afternoon air to search out the way. They

smelled and heard the distant danger long before they saw it.

Rising on an icy wind they saw far below the shadow of a man

fighting for his life, long thin blade whirling in his hand,

surrounded by many foes. He danced a graceful circle in the snow

as he cut and thrust, his left hand on his hip but he could not for

long outfence so many ugly looking brutes. Mulcade swooped low

and fast, just above the ground, the quickest way back to Esteron.

 

'Come, Equestrius' son, we have work to do,' he screeched.

Esteron flattened back his ears and lengthened his stride.

 

Thane sensed trouble from the owl's call and forgot the

numbing cold as Esteron forged forwards through the deep snow

drifts. Clumsily he drew his borrowed sword and grabbed the

mane, his reins falling in a tangled knot.

 

'I'm not cut out for this sort of thing,' he thought. Behind heavy

snow-covered trees he heard the ring of steel and cursing shouts.

Esteron roared out a challenge that shook Thane in the saddle

and set his teeth rattling in his head.

 

Duclos was fighting for his life against so many coarser blades

that a few more cuts or blows and he would be theirs. The

snowy ground silenced Esteron's footfalls as he galloped in

towards the robber band, charging straight at their leader.

Suddenly his ear-splitting neighing roar made their captain

spin round as Esteron rode him down, a brief glimpse of the

galloping horse and the flash of bright metal and he was dead

and trampled in the snow. Esteron checked his pace, wheeled

and reared to strike again. Thane swung his sword and almost

sliced off Esteron's ear, but the sword found its mark upon a

robber's neck.

 

'Kingsman!' the shout went up and panic spread amongst

the evil band. Mulcade stooped and tore off a nose, Rockspray

removed an eye. Esteron kicked and bit, while Thane held on

tightly to the saddle. But the day was won. Some wounded

villains made the safety of the woods but many lay dead upon

the bloodstained snow.

 

'Kingsman, I thank you!' rang out an oddly musical voice.

The intonation and emphasis seemed out of key but the owner

of the voice looked even odder. Thin, of medium height, a

wrinkled, happy face set either side with large,-jug-handled

ears, full of tufted hair. Heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles

balanced near the tip of a dented nose behind which twinkled

quick honest eyes. The Swordsman bowed his nose until it

almost touched the snow to show a shiny dome, without a single

hair. Straightening up he took a graceful step, turned his rapier

blade faster than a wink and laid the hilt upon Thane's knee.

 

Again the voice began to rise and fall, 'Duclos, the

Swordsman, once Fencing Master of the King, now at your

service, young warrior of the roads!' Duclos laughed, sheathing

his rapier. He inspected the young horsemen from head to foot,

casting his expert eye over him. He judged that the lad must be

the one that Arbel was telling him about, there could never be

two such well-mounted riders at Woodsedge.

 

'Come, Sir, follow and learn a little of how to swing that

blade you carry.' Duclos paused a moment, looking hard at

Thane's sword arm before turning to disappear between the

trees. He did not wait to hear or answer any of Thane's

questions for deafness had cruelly shut him out of Elundium

long ago. He had grown too impatient with the rudeness and

the mistakes he made to waste time trying to read other

people's lips. Deafness had driven him from the Granite City

to seek safety within the circle of Tombel's care less than a

day's march from Woodsedge.

 

Esteron traced the nimble swordsman's steps into the

undergrowth and followed a neat and well-trimmed path.

Thane sat nervous and alert in the saddle, the owls dug their

talons into the metal shirt and watched the path ahead. It

widened into a lawn-filled clearing, ringed with well-pruned

snow covered trees; box hedges made an inner ring, each

hedge sculptured to the figure of a fencing man, and in the

clearing's centre stood a fairy tale house made up of turrets,

balconies and windowed galleries, a jumble of the most

amazing styles of architecture that Thane had ever seen.

Hanging baskets filled with winter flowers, vines and creepers

twisted up the walls and along winding stone-flagged paths.

 

A booming voice made Esteron jump, the owls flapped their

wings and hung on tight, 'Ah ha! Duclos! The boy is here . . .

with some birds on his shoulders. Where is that confounded

man? Dancing about fencing with the cats again I shouldn't

wonder, I'll have to tie his toes together. Come on, boy, you'll

 

frighten the cats away with the horse and the birds, whatever

next?'

 

Morolda, Duclos' sole companion, except for his collection

of tail-less cats, arrived breathless in front of Esteron. It was

difficult to see her shape, wrapped as she was in so many

flowing silks that she billowed as she moved. A hand appeared,

heavily ringed with glittering stones, and waited impatiently to

be kissed. 'Cat got your manners, boy?' All this talk of cats

disturbed the owls who, as Thane nervously dismounted, flew

to perch in the trees that ringed the snowy lawn.

Thane did not manage to kiss the hand; one foot touched the

ground and he tripped over his sword and fell in a heap. Soft

hands pulled him to his feet, firmly jamming his helmet back to

front down past his ears.

 

'Silly, clumsy boy. Come, let us find Duclos before another

cat loses its tail!'

 

Thane now stood in total darkness, unable to see through

the helmet's rim that covered his eyes, stuck fast, and foolishly

he tugged at the metal hat.

 

Esteron snorted behind him. Something rubbed and wound

itself between his legs, pushing at his boots. Visions of serpents

coiling in a death lock made him panic. 'Blast this confounded

helmet,' he shouted, kicking out in fear and anger. There was a

hissing shriek, but his boot found nothing but empty air. He

toppled with a crash that rattled his skull from side to side. The

final thump dislodged the iron cap which rolled away across the

lawn, sunlight made him blink and then stare, gaping foolishly

around -himself for dozens of sleek black cats stalked or sat

around him on the lawn. Their purring shook the ground,

curiosity drew them ever closer. Never had Thane seen so

many cats, each with a silver collar, most of them without a tail.

Esteron arched his neck, snorted and stamped his feet, but the

cats stood their ground. As one, their heads turned, the purring

reached a roar.

 

Duclos danced across the lawn, 'My boy! My brave knight!

Don't just sit there talking to the cats, come, bring your horse,

come!'

 

Thane rose, feeling foolish, and followed in procession a line

of gleaming cats; Esteron reluctantly brought up the rear,

pulling hard against the reins. Shadows fell across the lawn

thrown there by a setting sun, all too soon the day had fled

away.

 

'Well, at least we have reached Gildersleeves before night

fall!' After all Tombel's tutoring, the last thing Thane wanted

was a night in the open; but who was this Duclos, retired

fencing-master and keeper of so many cats? How many spells

had he woven to make such an enchanting house? And who was

Morolda? Was she Duclos' keeper, or was she a wicked witch?

He wished the weight of the owls were on his shoulders, they

would know what to do.

 

As if in answer to his thoughts, a long low hoot broke the

early evening stillness. It seemed to say, 'Fear not a man with an

owl upon his arm.' Tombel carried the mark, but Thane had

not seen one on Duclos' arm - but then he hadn't looked.

 

If Thane thought the outside of the house enchanting, the

interior took his breath away. A living garden grew up every

wall and overflowed in creeping vines of many colours across

the ceilings, pots of every shape and size filled every corner and

overflowed across the floors. Such perfume and colour over

came Thane's senses. Duclos and the cats nimbly negotiated

the flowers and plants, but Esteron and Thane overturned

three heavy tubs in the entrance. Thane hesitated to take a

further step, Esteron pulled back, broke free and stood well

outside the door. 'No Woodsedge welcome here,' thought

Thane, missing Tombel's friendly face.

 

'Silly clumsy boy!' Morolda's voice was softer now, all smiles

and mothering charm, 'Duclos thinks I frightened you! Silly

man. He thinks I frighten the cats, but who can frighten cats?'

There seemed to be no end to the flow of Morolda's chatter.

When Thane knew her better, he understood the relief of

having an ear to listen to all she had to say. Morolda, through

love for Duclos, shared his silence, spoke over-loudly, carefully

forming the words with her lips, and with quick fingers drew

the letters that made up the words that passed between them.

 

She had not allowed Duclos' exile to drive him mad through

idleness and isolation, she had kept him busy breeding cats,

fencing with their shadows and building extravagant new follies

to practise his sword play in. Morolda was the mother of

invention, the power behind the rapier blade. Love had moved

the forest back and chased away the bitterness that had nearly

overwhelmed the greatest swordsman in all Elundium when

deafness had stopped both his ears, and, for a long while,

destroyed his balance too. Her energy engulfed Thane and

Esteron. She organised an outbuilding for Esteron which had a

neat well-trimmed lawn for a bed, and hanging baskets full of

the sweetest lucerne grass. 'Now mind you don't spoil the lawn

with too many nasty hoof prints.'

 

Much to Thane's surprise, Esteron seemed to like Moralda,

and let her pull his ears. Thane was propelled back into the

house, this time through an open window, scattering cats in all

directions. 'Quicker than the door, and fewer plants for you to

kick over! I'm going to tie Duclos' leg to the table and you can

tell me all about yourself, your birds and where you are going.

He cannot hear you so I will tell him everything you have to say;

but if he asks you anything, have patience, look directly at him

and speak slowly, forming the words with your lips. Do not be

shy!'

 

With his spectacles perched on the tip of his nose and

munching a bowl of cress, Duclos did not look up until Thane

was seated opposite him. 'Welcome, little knight; a name, my

hero must have a name!'

 

'Thane.'

 

'Plane? That's a strange name for such a handsome lad.'

 

Moralda gently took control of the conversation and prompted

Thane to answer slowly, and, with her fingertalk,

unfolded all Thane's adventures thus far along the road to

Underfall. Never once did she lose patience with Duclos'

muddled understanding of the tale, and as the evening wore

away, she cleverly edged Thane to answer without her help.

Just like old times Duclos talked, laughed and sang, it didn't

seem to matter how much he really understood, he had

someone to talk to who had the patience to listen and to answer

all his questions.

 

Thane was enthralled with Duclos' tales and hardly noticed

his disability. Candles melted, overflowing on to the table in

frozen streams of wax. Thane sleepily yawned. Morolda had

long been asleep, her head resting on a fat black cat. Duclos,

tireless in his quest for company, had forgotten how late it was

and suddenly noticed his guest falling fast asleep where he sat.

He leapt up, dragging the table with him. Crashing plates and

spilling cups tumbled down the table top, washing in a mucky

tide around Morolda's snoring head.

 

She rose, startled and raging, from her sleep, tangled locks

of hair stuck to her face, fists clenched. 'Block the doors! Pull

up the bridge! Arm the cats!' she shouted. She took much

shaking before she was full awake, and what a sight they both

made. There was bedraggled Morolda sticking to her silks, and

Duclos still tied to the table, towing it around as he grabbed at

towels to dry his loved one.

 

Thane laughed aloud, remembered his manners and put a

hand across his face. Morolda regained her self control,

gathered up her dignity amidst a tangle of half-eaten food.

'Silly man! Even if you tie him down, havoc dances with him.'

But the twinkle was back in her eyes so great a love flowed

between them.

 

None of the dignity of a great Marcher Captain existed at

Gildersleeves; it was all theatre and chaotic fun. Even putting

Thane to bed smacked of the pantomime. Morolda ran from

gallery to gallery, gathering linen and sleeping rugs, singing

and shouting as she dashed about. Cats used up many lives as

she danced past. Sleep came easier than Thane expected in the

Fencing Master's house. Owls hooted in the woods and lulled

him safe to sleep and all night long the green eyed cats

patrolled. Fear of this silent feline army kept many foes away

and gave the fairy-tale house a little peace to sleep secure in a

troubled land.

 

Bright sunlight broke through the leaves that crowded

around Thane's window. Warm and sleepy, stretching in the

 

feather bed, he disturbed a dozen cats, who jumped to the floor

hissing and spitting. He had not realized he had so many

guardians through the night. Duclos, keen for company,

hurried Thane through a hasty breakfast, eaten on the move.

Today he had a pupil and itched to teach the mastering of the

glittering blade. 'Take off that metal shirt, top boots and cloak.

Here, lad, put on this padded suit and metal face guard worn by

the masters of this art.'

 

Changed and ready to learn he found the new clothes fitted

him well, and he soon forgot how foolish he looked as the sweat

dripped and the muscles ached as he began to dance the

Master's steps. With knuckles raw and nicked through

clumsiness he trod the piste, for Duclos was quicker than a

shadow and harder to catch. Before the morning ran to noon

Morolda re-appeared with long kid gloves for Thane to wear

that reached almost to his elbows, they took the rapier's needle

point but nothing could ease the cuts he took to learn the

Master's skills. The hours blurred together as repetition taught

Thane the fencing moves, neat, small and accurate he became

in flesche or parry to match Duclos' blade. He learned to

riposte, reprise and disengage, but in the early hours and days

'touche' became the common call and many bruises and bumps

showed where he had been caught offguard. But learn he did,

and with new fighting skills, grace and balance became second

nature. The counter moves became a game, as Gildersleeves

echoed to the clash of steel and shouts of 'advance, quarte,

sixte, counter, parry,' up and down the stairs, along the

galleries and the quiet, flowered walkways. Laughter filled all

the corners where the cats had crept to hide, but sport became

hard work and kept Duclos on his toes, for Thane had a natural

aptitude and already showed the makings of a great

swordsman.

 

Early afternoons saw Thane back in the saddle, and peace

and safety flourished wherever Esteron strode, but exercise

was foremost in Thane's mind to ease the aching thighs and

tired wrists, and feel the bitingwinterwind upon his face. Little

by little, he became aware how much his new found skills

helped his balance in the saddle. Esteron felt lighter between

his knees and responded to the merest touch, and now that

lightness showed how much the horseman he had become. He

took the bit and ran with joy through deep snowdrifts in the

woods and along the tangled tracks near the fencing master's

house. But all too soon night pushed the winter sun to bed and

Thane was called to supper beneath the hanging lamps of

 

                      Gildersleeves.

Mealtimes were a riot of fun, Morolda saw to that. Tiredness

 

turned aside, as dance or song, or serious talking, moved within

the candle's flame, for she had once been a great soothsayer,

and still held the enchantress' gift for weaving magic in the

mind and building castles in the air for those who hung upon

her words. Even Duclos, through her finger talk, could visit the

places of their dreams. Drowsiness would catch Thane unawares

amongst the purring cats that rubbed around his tired

legs or dangling hands, for there was music in the voices that

lulled away the early hours before the: dawn came. First light

had Thane on the fighting floor, rapier or sabre in his hand.

Quickly he had grasped the moves and counter-moves beneath

the watchful Fencing Master's eye. Now daring attacks pushed

Thane into jumping the stairs and landing lightly on his feet;

parry fast and clean, leap through windows, beat wide a path

with flashing steel, or plunge from a chandelier, blade between

his teeth, then escape to fight again. And fight he did, whenever

Duclos crossed his blade.

 

Soon Thane would be ready for the road again, and better

matched to continue his journey. In sadness Morolda knew he

had to go. Fate had pulled him to Gildersleeves, now fate must

set the steps he was to follow on that dreadful road to Underfall.

The very name had her shivering in her silks and reaching

for a woolly shawl. 'Duclos will miss him when he has gone,'

she whispered to the cats, and as an afterthought added, 'So

shall I.'

 

But neither Duclos nor Morolda showed sorrow as the last

fencing lesson began, and both knew that there was no more to

learn when Thane's blade touched the embroidered silk heart

on Duclos' padded jacket. Both blades disengaged; 'My dear

boy, you are now the Master.' For the first time since Thane's

arrival, he noticed again the odd musical intonation in Duclos'

voice, he dropped his sword and embraced his teacher.

 

'No, Master, you will always be the greater,' he said slowly,

forming the words carefully with his lips, 'For you taught me. If

I draw the blade it will always be your hand that guides it.'

 

The last supper at Gildersleeves was the merriest, the

noisiest and the longest. Duclos hid the grief he felt at Thane's

departure in laughing, fun-filled stories from his youth, and no

mention touched his lips of Underfall. Tucked into the sleeve

of his flowing shirt he had a gift for Thane that in his youth had

kept him safe upon the Causeway road and had helped him win

the tattoo upon his arm. It was a simple dagger made of steel,

forged with cunning, tempered hard, forever sharp, it never

spoiled or showed a spot of rust. When thrust, it had pierced

the Nightbeasts' armoured skins where other blades had

snapped, and for a moment, long ago, it had held the balance of

a King's battle beneath the walls of Underfall.

 

Morning cast shadows across the snow covered lawns of

Gildersleeves as heavy-hearted goodbyes were said. Duclos

took Thane's hand and placed the hilt of the dagger in it.

'When hope has fled, and Nightbeasts press on every side,

push back despair, unsheath this little blade, for it knows

nothing of defeat and will inspire the hand that holds it. Legend

says that Duronal, the Master Armourer, hammered out its

edge upon an oaken anvil, long before the Granite Kings arose.

Use it well, my lad!'

 

Duclos turned and with him stalked the cats of Gildersleeves

back into a silent world of sorrow, but Morolda stayed a

moment, stirrup cup in hand, for she saw the pain- of parting

touch them both. 'Fret not, young Thane, spring came again

for Duclos while he taught you the swordsman's strokes, and

you gave him an even greater gift, for now the Fencing Master

walks again with dignity. His gift to you was his greatest

treasure, and the only tool of war I dared not use to trim or

weed the garden. Fencing shadows may again fill Duclos'

daylight hours, but during supper times the power in my words

will paint you in his mind. Now ride back to Woodsedge, tread

carefully on this dangerous turf, for soon the snows will melt.'

 

As an afterthought she added, almost to herself, 'Stay safe,

my little knight.'

 

Thane heard Morolda's final words since her voice rang

clear across the lawns of Gildersleeves and echoed back from

the trees that pressed all around that beautiful garden. He

knelt, gently took her bejewelled hand and, this time with easy

grace, kissed it.

 

Esteron had stood quietly waiting while goodbyes were said;

now he stepped forwards, and blew gently through his nostrils

against Morolda's cheek. She pulled his ears a final time:

'Birds, boy and horse, whatever next. Begone, before I cry!'

 

Thane checked Esteron's stride at the lawn's edge, Mulcade

and Rockspray were back on their shoulder perches, and he

looked back just in time to see Morolda, silks billowing,

striding back into that elfin castle. 'Well, my Battle Birds, there

seems more magic on the roads than ever I dreamed of.'

 

Leaving Gildersleeves with a heavy heart Thane trudged

through the melting snow towards Woodsedge. The trees on

the forest edge looked pinched and blackened as if they had

shrunk against the winter weather but at the tips of all their

branches new buds were swelling in readiness for the spring.

Cold and shivering, Thane hammered on the Wayhouse door

and readily took the seat nearest to the fire and warmed his

fingers while he told Tombel of the fencing lessons and the

fairy-tale house of Gildersleeves.

 

'Did he really break the shadow circle?' Thane asked,

watching Tombel's eyes, searching for that coldness that had

been there the day he had left for the Swordsman's house.

Tombel smiled at Thane, his eyes softening, full of gentle

humour.

 

'it was wonderful to watch, Thane, the way he jumped and

leapt between the shadows, his blades flashing in the sunlight

and his clear voice leading the warriors of Elundium. Yes, he

broke the circle, and for a moment held Krulshards at sword's

point but the Master of Darkness dodged the blade and

cupping his foul hands to his black mouth he shouted in

Duclos' face. We heard the shout a league away. The sky

darkened and the Nightbeast army swayed like hideous stalks of

corn before a storm and the noise shattered Duclos' eardrums,

destroying his balance. Nevian found him as dawn was breaking

and pledged me to watch after him all his days. Yes, Thane, he

did break the circle.'

 

Servers then announced the evening meal. 'Come, young

man,' smiled Tombel, 'come and eat with us for soon you must

take the road and travel past Gildersleeves, through the black

forest and the grasslands beyond to the tower on the summit of

Stumble Hill, and then . . .'

 

'Father . . .' the clear voice of Elionbel called from the stair

head, 'Let me take the arm of my rescuer and lead the way in to

supper.'

 

Anger flashed clearly in Tombel's eyes and he moved to step

between Thane and the stairway. Elionbel laughed, descending

to face her father.

 

'Surely you must keep the bargain and treat Thane with all

the honour of my rescuer? That is what you bid me to do!'

 

Turning to face Thane, but keeping her eyes fixed on her

father, she took Thane's arm and secretly squeezed it. Supper

was less formal than the grand affair of the Honour Chair. The

Chair had been removed and the two lower tables had been

drawn together. Thane had watched carefully at each mealtime

and had quickly learned the customs and manners of the

Wayhouse Marchers and now he felt much more at ease with

the array of eating tools, plates and cups put before him.

Elionbel smiled, and talked freely to those about her and gave

Thane all the honour he deserved, while Tombel sat quietly

avoiding all conversation, intent, it seemed, upon his meat.

 

'Marchers!' he said at length, waiting for the table talk to die

away. 'The thaw has set in, within seven daylights our guest,

Thanehand, will take the road to Underfall. Use that time to

check the way is safe for him. Scour the forest and teach him

what woodcraft you can.'

 

Pewter cups were raised to toast the start of the journey and

Elionbel turned and, smiling, raised her cup, 'To my rescuer's

return.'

 

Thane was kept busy throughout the remaining days of his

stay at Woodsedge, learning to build a fire ring against attack,

to track or follow scent, or find a path through unbroken forest,

and in the evening times Tombel kept him in the trophy room

eating with him while he told him tales by the firelight of far off

places, and showed him fragile flowers, blades of strange

grasses or chips of wood or stone suspended in pieces of clear

crystal, some so small that Tombel had to pass the eye lens for

Thane to see more clearly the beauty trapped within the glass.

 

'How are they put into the crystal?' Thane asked, turning a

crystal flower between his finger and thumb and watching the

colour change in the firelight.

 

'Fairday is the Crystal Maker,' replied Tombel, 'but setting

trinkets and trophies in glass shows nothing of his skills,

Thane. Fairday is the Master of many secrets. Look at this,' he

cried, unlocking a dark cupboard in the corner of the room and

bringing forth a heavy chunk of crystal that required all his

strength to move.

 

Thane stared in horror at the crystal. A gasp choked his

throat and rapid heartbeats drummed in his ears. Darkness

overcame the firelight as he tried to look away. A steady strong

 

hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

 

'Look long, Thane, on this freak of nature that once again

plagues the world. Do not touch the glass, none know if any

power remains trapped within the crystal or what will be the

consequences if the glass is cracked!'

 

Thane gathered up his courage to raise his eyes back to the

glass.

 

'Easy boy, hold your courage. Steady, here, grip the hilt of

the sword that slew him. The eyes that hold your gaze once

held the power to freeze you paralysed or drove men mad

enough to kill themselves. But now it holds only a malice to

search out weakness in those that dare to look into the glass; it

keeps the hatred, despite being frozen in the crystal. I buried all

its spoils of human flesh that hung about its belt after I had slain

the beast. Look now upon his face, and know your enemy. For

many have gone before you without the privilege of knowing

what they fought, and in the press of battle come face to face

with a fear that they could not master. Those you fought within

the hollow were brothers to this beast.'

 

As Tombel tutored Thane the head in the glass began to lose

some of its menace and dead-eyed stared out from its prison.

Hairy skin was drawn tight across its formless face, two

blackened, dribbling nostrils overhung a snarling mouth whose

lips stretched back to expose needle sharp yellow teeth. The

eyes, red-veined and huge, glistened in the firelight and

seemed to follow Thane wherever he moved.

 

'Nightbeasts!' Thane whispered, his voice dry, crackling in

his throat.

 

'Know your enemy!' repeated Tombel, removing the crystal

to its resting place and returning to his chair beside the fire.

 

'In the days and suns that followed the bondbreaking and the

battle for World's End your grandfather and I and all those

with the tattoo mark scoured Elundium for the Nightbeasts.

We looked in every dark hole, underneath each stone. It was a

time of terrible slaughter for we slew every Nightbeast we

found until we had rid the world of them. But in all our care we

feared we may have missed some and we sat many long

watches, waiting, but each night was empty and passed

peacefully. The sun rose clear and bright in the morning and

we grew forgetful. Thane, beware! These creatures are once

more loose in Elundium and the bearers of the tattoo mark are

scattered and cannot help you. You must ride alone!'

 

'Lord, with your blessing I must start the journey soon,

before fear makes me seek a safe hole to hide in.'

 

Tombel laughed, and gripped Thane's arm. 'Holes are the

last place to hide, my boy, Nightbeasts love the dark. No, no,

take the high ground with the sun at your back, there you will

stand a chance. Off to bed with you now, at first daylight your

journey begins!'

 

Thane descended the great stairway for the last time, sad to

leave yet anxious for the road. Esteron waited, saddled, by the

door, and at his head stood Elionbel.

 

Nearby Tombel, Martbel and their sons waited in a group,

the men had dressed for battle as a mark of honour, for today

Thane would ride beyond their safety and they feared for him

on that dark road.

 

Thane crossed the hall, Martbel wiped away a tear and

reminded him of his mother. Rubel and Arbel teased him

lightly to stay awake and keep to the road, but Tombel held him

in a last minute counsel of the road and lastly pressed into his

hands the hilt of the sword he had used in the hollow saying,

'Our gift and blessing be always at your side to blaze aloft and

make your courage strong, Keeper of the Hollow. Your blade!'

 

'What a beautiful, beautiful gift,' whispered Thane, gripping

the hilt.

 

'Use it well, young man,' laughed Tombel, the Keeper of

Woodsedge, 'for you earned the right to carry such a blade

when you rescued Elionbel. It is yours now to use against the

Nightbeasts on the road ahead.'

 

Thane drew the sword from its scabbard and found engraved

along the blade his name and the legend of the sword,

'Thanehand, the Shadow Breaker, who brought sunlight in the

morning and drove the Nightbeasts out.'

 

'Make haste, Thane,' Tombel urged, 'cover every league

you can while daylight lasts, and speed back to us if you can one

day. Kingspeed upon the Greenway turf.'

 

Thane turned and stepped through the doorway as shafts of

early sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a shining halo

in Elionbel's golden hair. She smiled softly and put into his

hands the summer scarf she had secretly taken from his saddle.

 

'Read it,' she whispered, helping him to carefully spread out

the scarf. Thane blushed redder than the sun and guessed the

hours of love and pain the embroidery must have taken, for

lovingly worked in threads of gold and silver along the borders

and around the picture of the sun, ran the tale of Elionbel's

rescue. It spoke of her love for the great warrior who had

jumped the ring of trees and fought his way to her side and of

how Esteron, a lord amongst horses, had stood between her

and the Nightbeasts' spears and who had carefully carried her

home when the battle was won.

 

'Candleman it said in silver letters. I am pledged to silence,

yet my heart will shout with joy to hear your footsteps on the

Greenway's edge. Come swiftly back to me when your task is

done.'

 

Thane felt her love, and saw it in her eyes. He tied the

summer scarf to his armoured arm and quickly mounted

 

Esteron, and from his high seat looked down into those

beautiful eyes, a smile crossed his face and he leaned down and

whispered, 'I shall return, though all the world's darkness

stands between us. I love you, Elionbel.'

 

Esteron pawed the ground and snorted, snatching at the

bridle.

 

'I will return,' he shouted. The owls stooped to settle on his

shoulders. A roaring neigh, a flash of sun sparkling the mail

beneath his cloak, his banner, rippling with the speed, floating

out behind and then Thane was gone, pacing out the leagues to

 

Underfall.

 

Tombel looked darkly at the forest edge where it pressed

 

hard upon the Greenway. 'Trouble stirs everywhere, mark my

words. There are dark times ahead for all of us.'

 

 

The Border Runners

 

Thus far the road had been easy to follow for Tombel's

Marchers had mowed the turf and pruned the edge but as

Gildersleeves diminished with each measured hoof-beat, the

trees pressed harder on to the road and in places arched high

above Thane's head. Dull clouds hid the sun, gloom

dampened a spring afternoon and made him pull his cloak

tightly about his shoulders. Mulcade and Rockspray flew ahead

on silent wings, pausing often to search either side of the

narrow road. Esteron turned his ears in every direction,

listening for the slightest noise of danger in the tangled

undergrowth. Afternoon wore on, and with it Thane's uneasiness

grew stronger, they were not alone, that much he

could feel, but what stalked him on either side was well hidden

and he could not guess at their shapes. Esteron seemed

suddenly to relax and pricked his ears, the owls returned to his

shoulders and began a fussy preening. Mulcade even slept a

little. Chill breezes heralded evening, and with the falling

darkness, silence held its breath.

 

Snap! Crack! Thane's ears picked out the noises made by

the pursuing beasts from just beyond the edge of his sight.

 

'Esteron, run! Pick us a space to stand and fight, there is no

room to swing a sword in this narrow track. Run!'

 

Esteron did not change his pace. Thane searched his

pockets for a spark, 'Light a ring of fire and stand within it'

echoed Tombel's words. So far away from the safety of his

friends, the woods about him seemed crowded and dark with a

thousand foes. Dark shapes broke cover either side, amber and

brown eyes caught the fading light. Hairy coats in sable, black

and tan filled the narrow track. Sword drawn, Thane hesitated;

Esteron and the Battle Birds made no move to run or fight. The

road widened into a large grass-covered clearing. Thane's fingers

tingled from the tightness of his grip upon his sword's hilt but still

he made no move. Something Tombel had said beside the fire in

the trophy room came tumbling into his terror-stricken mind.

 

'The Border Runners,' Tombel had called them. 'Show no

fear,' he had said. Sitting high as he did on Esteron's back some of

those mighty Border Runners could brush against his boots.

Thane felt more than fear, he felt total terror. There must be at

least a hundred dogs crowding around his horse's legs, most of

them looking directly up at Thane, tongues showing between

rows of huge white teeth, their panting breath sending clouds of

vapour up to mingle with the branches high above their heads.

 

Esteron reached the centre of a clearing and halted; before him

stood three of the biggest dogs he had ever seen. They seemed

Lords among the pack, and they stood as if waiting for Thane to

do something or make some sort of move. He contemplated

sitting the night out in the saddle, that seemed to be the only

sensible choice apart from dismounting and risking being torn to

pieces before his boots had touched the ground. But he need not

have feared the Border Runners, for rumour of his coming had

travelled fast from Woodsedge, and watchers on the roads had

been set, for he would need many friends if he was to make

Underfall intact.

 

The three great Border Runners moved aside and revealed a

pile of broken sticks and twigs and with a hidden signal

summoned others from the pack to carry kindling sticks in their

jaws and place them upon the rapidly growing pile. The nearest

dogs to Esteron lay or sat upon the ground, some with paws as

large as Thane's hands, and stretched as if a long wait was over.

 

'I can't sit here all night,' whispered Thane. 'Grandfather

would never forgive such rudeness, for he told me many tales of

the courage of the Border Runners, and Tombel said that they

were friends upon the road. I must dismount.'

 

With a lump in his throat and a thumping heart, Thane

dismounted and the Battle Birds stayed perched on his

shoulders, for they knew the Border Runners as allies and did

not fear them. The three great Border Runners waited until

Thane stood before them; then they sniffed him, licked his face

and hands and lifted their heads high and howled. Louder and

louder grew the howling as all the dogs joined their voices and

called to the clear patch of evening sky above the trees. Thane

would have blushed with pride had he known the tale passing

amongst the host for it spoke of Thoronhand, the greatest

horseman, who nurtured and cared for all natural things who

had fallen into the shadows, and of the boy now standing in

their midst, who was the old warrior's grandson. 'Mark this

well; we give honour to Thane, for he steps in the prints of

Thoronhand and shall have comfort in the dark wherever the

Border Runners gather.'

 

Long would have been the story, for Thoron was well known

amongst the Border Runners and longer still with the added

verses of Thane's journey thus far along the road to Underfall,

but the howling stopped abruptly, hackles rose, the dogs' voices

changed to snarls, lips curled back to expose rows of sharp,

white teeth. Mulcade snatched at the spark, forgotten in

Thane's hand, swooped and dropped it amongst the heap of

sticks. The drier kindling twigs burst into flames, light danced

within the clearing and reflected back from evil looking red

eyes crowding in on every side as wicked scythes and spears

shone in the firelight.

 

'Nightbeasts!' Thane shouted, drawing the Hollow

Keeper's blade from its scabbard; in the other hand he gripped

Duclos' dagger. Bright blazed the fire as the flames raced from

branch to branch turning night into day, and long were the

leaping shadows as the Border Runners fell on to the Nightbeasts,

ripping and tearing at their hideous faces. The Warhorse

challenge rang loud as Esteron reared and plunged amongst

their armoured skins, crushing and killing all that fell beneath

his hooves. Steely rang Thane's hammer blows upon their iron

caps, sparks danced along his blades as tHey bit into the

nightbeasts' armour. Close beneath the jagged scythes he

jumped, lunging, defrosting, using all the skills that he had

learned. Mulcade and Rockspray blinded many, hooking eyes

out with tHeir bloody talons, but victory belonged to the Border

Runners, for they drove the Nightbeasts back into the darkness

of the woods and hunted them to death beyond the safety of the

fire. Many did not return until the grey hours had lit the sky

with ghostly light and they withdrew exhausted and bloody to

lick their wounds.

 

Only the firelight danced in the clearing. Heaps of dead or

dying Nightbeasts seemed to be everywhere Thane looked.

Not all the dogs had pursued the fleeing Nightbeasts; many

had stayed and now padded softly amongst the fallen, sniffing

out the wounded. A snarl and then quick snapping or ripping

teeth upon the monsters' necks dispatched them quickly. 'No

prisoners' thought Thane, keeping his eyes on the fire. A giddy

sickness swept over him, words from the past echoed in his

mind about the Border Runners, 'The Nightwalkers cook

them alive, torment them slowly over open fires.'

 

Still feeling a little sick, Thane busied himself collecting

wood, and had a roaring bonfire of almost his own height

before he remembered Esteron or the owls. Looking round he

saw them a few paces away, Esteron pulling mouthfuls of grass,

about to step on the reins, and Mulcade and Rockspray

perched, one on the cantle and one on the pommel of tHe

saddle. They seemed quite unperturbed by the final slaughter

going on all around tHem.

 

'Well, my friends, I am glad we didn't meet those hideous

beasts on our own!' Esteron snorted, Mulcade hooted and

Rockspray transferred himself to Thane's shoulder, and

rubbed his bloodied beak against Thane's cheek. Esteron did

not seem harmed during the fight; untacked he continued to

graze; the only blood spilled on the owls looked like that of the

Nightbeasts, only a few feathers appeared ruffled. Tiredness

sat heavily on Thane's eyelids as he sat near the fire. He had

intended to stay awake, watchful in case tHere were further

attacks, but sleep crept up in gentle waves. The three great

Border Runners moved close to him, one either side, and lay

down to keep him warm, and the third became a pillow as

Thane's head nodded back in dreamless sleep. What a story he

would have had to tell if sleep had not robbed him of half the

night. How as the hunters crept back into the clearing tHey had

formed a great ring of sentinels about his sleeping body, each

dog staring out into the black trees, for none would step near

Thoron's grandson without tHeir leave.

 

Morning sunlight cast leafy shadows across Thane's

sleeping face. Mulcade pulled at a lock of hair. Waking with a

start, Thane sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes, stretching stiff,

numb limbs, for the road was no feather mattress.

 

'They have gone!' he called, not a single dog remained, even

the carcasses of the Nightbeasts had been removed. Thane

jumped up and searched the clearing; had he dreamed a night

full of adventures? He rubbed his eyes again, felt for the hilt of

his sword and found an empty space; the dagger was also

missing from his belt. Looking near the fire where he had slept,

he found them lying in the grass. When sleep had pulled him

down tHey had slipped unnoticed from his hands. Dew

sparkled on the steel, but sticky, drying blood spoiled both the

blades. It was no dream in which the Nightbeasts overran the

clearing, and he remembered clearly his first meeting with the

Border Runners. Grandfather's stories had not exaggerated

tHeir power, or tHeir dignity. Tombel had spoken of tHeir

unselfishness; in victory tHey had gone as magically as they had

appeared. Sadness filled Thane, he wished he could have

thanked his rescuers, rubbed his hands in their thick silky

coats. He felt ashamed that sleep had made him seem discourteous,

and most of all he knew that the Nightbeasts would

have cut him down if he had been alone.

 

With Esteron ready for the road, Thane mounted; the battle

Birds settled on his shoulders ready for the journey, but thirst

tubbed at Thane's throat.

 

'We must find a brook or a stream, I feel dirtier than a

chimney sweep after a week in the castle chimneys.'

 

Esteron followed the track out of the clearing. The forest

looked more friendly, less oppressive, perhaps the sunlight

pushed the trees back from the track, or filtering shafts of light

broke up the gloom. Birds flew amongst the trees, insects

hovered in the air and danced in the shafts of light. Today the

jingle of the bridle bit rings blended with the forest sounds,

where yesterday they had sounded out of key in the heavy

silence before night closed in. Perhaps, thought Thane, terror

drives the animals to hide when Nightbeasts are abroad.

Sometimes far from the road between the trees Thane thought

he caught a glimpse of the Border Runners, but he could not be

sure. A flash of sable coat would cross the forest floor, or

tangled brambles move without a breath of wind. The birds

kept singing, and nowhere was there the fear of yesterday.

 

A different sound gradually caught Thane's ear as it rose in

volume above the other forest voices. For some time Esteron

had increased his stride, he had smelt what they badly needed,

long before Thane recognised the sound. Cool sweet water,

tumbling over stones and racing through the gravel beds of

Bordern River. Down the bank they slid, knee deep; Thane

laughed and splashed the clear water everywhere before

drinking. Esteron sucked up the water with loud gulping

sounds and the owls flew off to hunt the forest rodents.

Thane's metal helm became a drinking bowl, and he drained it

twice before his thirst was quenched.

 

Then as he stripped off his armour and washed off the

journey's dirt, relaxed and happy, for an instant his concentratiOn

slipped. He was about to pull a tuft of grass to wash

the Nightbeasts' blood from his sword and dagger, when

something hit the bank beside his hand. A whining noise, angry

like a wasp, gave just a second's warning of the deadly arrow.

Esteron charged across the brook, water spraying high above

the saddle; he could have died, pierced by a storm of arrows

already strung, for the robbers of Gildersleeves had laid a

deadly trap. They had crept up to the silver brook, drawn by the

midday laughter, as they had done many times before to catch

unsuspecting travellers while they drank. They had waited,

well hidden, while the owls flew away to hunt and Thane

disarmed to wash. The first arrow had missed its mark. The big

horse spoiled their plans by charging towards them across the

water. Arrows were strung, strings pulled, but their aim was

never taken. The Border Runners attacked. In one rush of

leaping, canine might, the robbers fell beneath the snarling,

ripping jaws. It was over in an instant, so quickly that Thane's

hand did not reach the hilt of his sword, nor Esteron reach the

other bank.

 

Thane waded across, shamefaced at being so careless as to

need a second rescue. But it was a lesson well learned, for he

would never kneel again to drink without a hand upon his

sword or an eye upon the undergrowth. Mulcade and

Rockspray swooped all too late and never again hunted

together unless Thane and Esteron had the safety of a

Wayhouse. Theirs was the gift of sight to search out safety on

the roads and they sulked for days with each other over their

carelessness.

 

The dogs were easy in victory, licking Thane's hands and

face for they welcomed a chance to repay the old man of the

roads. Much was still owed to Thoronhand for deeds performed

along the Greenways. Curiosity drew Thane to look at

his ambushers, wondering what type of man would kill an

unarmed traveller on the road. The torn out windpipes

sickened him, but they were hardly as gruesome or hideous as

 

the Nightbeasts dead. He recognised two from the road near

Gildersleeves; one wore an eye patch that covered Mulcade's

talon mark, an empty socket still raw and wet with poison. It

was doubtful that any would mourn their death.

'You have rid the world of much evil,' Thane said to the

dogs as he turned to wade across the river and collect his

clothes.

 

Thane dressed and re-armed, watched by the Border Runners;

he tightened the girths and mounted Esteron. The way ahead

was easy to follow, the forest soon came to an abrupt end. Open

rolling country spread before them, clumps of dense trees stood

sentry still, like forgotten chess pieces, knee deep in the wild

grasslands. Nothing moved except the slender stalks of grass,

bending before a light spring breeze. Silence stretched to the

horizon's edge, broken only by skylarks singing far above them,

mere specks in a limitless sky, and the swish of padded paws

along the grassy track. The dogs spread out either side of the

road, the owls flew ahead checking each tree-filled copse long

before Esteron drew near them.

 

Thane broke the silence, it seemed quite natural to talk out

loud to Esteron, the owls or even the dogs, if any broke cover

long enough to listen, but those held by his voice tried not to be

discourteous and break away too quickly for they were busy

searching out the way. 'The Warhorses of yesteryear must have

been great creatures to have run the gap between the

Wayhouses in the space of just one day. I'll bet you could run

that fast, Esteron,' Thane said, and added after a moment's

reflection, 'Let us hope we are never put to the test.'

 

League after league passed beneath Esteron's hooves. The

landscape did not seem to change, the grasslands marched to

meet the setting sun which rested for a moment, angry red,

upon the horizon's rim.

 

'Another night in the open,' thought Thane. Suddenly

snarling barks had all the dogs leaping high above the stalky

grass somewhere to the right in the shadows of a rambling

copse. Thane wheeled Esteron round, drawing his sword which

shone red, reflecting the glorious setting sun. Thane's heels

drove Esteron forwards into the chest-high grass, galloping as

hard as the tangled grass allowed. Giant Nightbeasts reared up,

hacking wildly at the Border Runners, but the

dogs were badly hampered by the tangled grass. Thane

counted three, one on the left, two on the right, his blade sung

through the air as he swept it down upon the nearest scaly

neck. He turned and galloped on to cut the next Nightbeast

down but the third was more prepared and rushed at Thane.

Cruel scythes swept in a bitter arch, but it was burdened by the

dogs hanging with their jaws locked into its neck, Thane could

not risk the sweeping stroke he had so carefully learned at

Gildersleeves, the dogs were in the way. Low along Esteron's

side he leaned, rein hand gripping tightly on to the pommel; his

sword hand just above the pounding hooves, he drove his

long sharp blade up through the monster's heart. Armour

sparks burned his face as Esteron galloped past, tHe sword

pierced right to the hilt and was wrenched from his hand with

the force behind the thrust. Rockspray and Mulcade swooped

down, and by the time Esteron had turned the fight was over

and the day belonged to Thane.

 

Wagging tails and joyful barking greeted him as he retrieved

the Hollow Keeper's blade and wiped it clean upon the grass.

Victory eased his shame of the incident beside tHe brook earlier

in the day.

 

A search for safety drove them on, cantering half the night

away, but tHey had to rest or fall asleep as they travelled. The

dogs ran, panting hard at Esteron's heels but the owls flew far

ahead, for tHey knew rumours of a place if tHeir sharp eyes could

find it in the dark. Their tired wings beat beneath a silver moon

and at last they found the place where Nightbeasts dare not

tread. A rocky hill, weather worn and bare of life above the

inky landscape. Esteron followed the owls' hoots, his weary

head swinging from side to side; Thane, numb with exhaustion,

stayed awake just long enough to whisper his thanks to

Esteron as he untacked him. He stood for just a moment, sword

in hand, upon the summit rim looking out over a hostile world,

so like an ancient warrior in a mighty fortress. About the rugged

slopes, tHe Border Runners stood guard and on the

highest rocks the Battle Owls sat. Dogs and owls soon nodded

into sleep, for they knew the legends of the rock. It was not

chance upon the wing that brought the birds to Battle Hill. No

beast of the night dare put a foot upon the hallowed mound for

legends whispered of a ghostly Warhorse squadron that kept

Battle Hill secure for any Kingsman, horse, bird or dog to rest

the watches of one night beyond all fear.

 

Morning light revealed the grasses trampled flat all around

Battle Hill as if besieged by many in the night, but not a sound

had broken the dreams of those who slept on the oldest and

safest Wayhouse in the land. A pool of crystal water, fed by a

secret spring, gave the host a morning drink and hunting in the

grasslands provided a hasty breakfast, though Thane thought

little of raw rabbit or hedgehog and closed his eyes to swallow

the slippery meat.

 

Thane climbed, refreshed, back into the saddle, the owls

alighted on his shoulders, swiftly the dogs fanned out along the

Greenway's edge and started running. Time was their enemy,

dawn had revealed the Nightbeasts' tramplings beneath their

temporary refuge. The dogs knew that evil tidings would have

gone before them faster than the bending wind in the grass,

even Thane could see that the Nightbeasts' tracks were all

going in the same direction.

 

'The Nightbeasts will be setting an ambush, Esteron. Come,

we must find shelter before dark.'

 

Thane tightened the girths as they moved off and each

bounding stride took them nearer to Stumble Hill. But they

must make the doors before night fell, or perish in the dark.

Esteron high-blew with each stride, sweat lathered white upon

his sides, but he was Equestrius' son, and he had the heart to

outrun the wind if the need arose, and from the dogs he learned

that they had that need, to run and run and run, for the sun

went down all too quickly and shadows fell long across the

track.

 

All day the landscape changed, rolling grasslands became

empty downs, rising with the sun into ragged distant peaks.

Dense oak forest passed on either side, rotting leaf mould

squelched beneath their flying feet, resin-scented pine woods

pressed hard against the road. Pine needles laid a whispering

carpet, and the roar of waterfalls drowned all other noises as

they passed through shadowy gorges and leapt the angry

boiling streams. All about them wildness ruled. Burned out

hamlets stood forlorn beside the road, but who knew what now

lurked behind the doors or what crouched waiting for the dark

beneath the broken window sills? 'Run! Run!' barked the dogs.

 

Need jostled the desperate company on a long, unforgiving

road; twilight gave no hint of journey's end. The sun was it's

own master, the Lord of Daylight, that none could ask to wait;

not even Equestrius, Lord of Horses, nor magic in the rainbow

cloak could stop one tick of the clock. Butwoven in the summer

scarf that Thane carried was a picture of the sun, and all about

the hem a legend of love and sacrifice in precious needlepoint.

Mulcade tugged at the cords that bound the banner to Thane's

armoured arm and as cord after cord snapped the banner

spread, rippling taut behind them. For Esteron was galloping

faster than the wind towards the last uphill league of Stumble

Hill and a dying sun paused at the world's edge, reflecting all its

glory in the banner, so that a new sun dashed the gap on

Stumble Hill, and for a little while turned deepest shadows

back into daylight where Nightbeasts waited in a deadly trap.

 

'Run! Run!' barked the dogs. 'The doors are closing. Night

pulls them shut.' In a last mighty effort Esteron stretched his

neck, the doors stood before them, a closing crack to safety, but

still the banner blazed, catching the last rays of the sunlight.

Nightbeasts filled the road's edge and swarmed between the

trees. Mulcade hooted in defiance and spread his talons. This

time they were far outnumbered, death within sight of safety

seemed a cruel defeat after such a great race, for he knew that

the dogs would stand to the last, tired and without hope. But his

call was answered, no hollow echo to be pulled away upon night

breezes but from a thousand Battle Owls the call came back.

Word had spread from Woodsedge - Thoron's grandson is on

the roads, all those that loved the old man must spread a wing to

help. The sky was black beneath the talons of death, sharp the

beaks between those blinkless eyes that in the very nick of time

stooped on Stumble Hill. But the owls and the dogs were not

alone, the Archers of Orm had made ready in the Wayhouse

Tower. Fear took their hearts as the banner shone brighter than

the sun but Archerorm, the Keeper, held them at the casement

slits. 'Magic!' hissed a voice behind the bows of Orm, forearms

bulged as fingers locked to pull the strings so tight that the oiled

wooden bows began to groan and feathered flights lightly

touched the archers' cheeks. In patience they would wait until

the Nightbeasts blocked the road, and every arrow knew its

mark, for they had great skill with the feathered shafts of death.

 

The owls and the dogs fought to hold the road, drawing into

a tight pack around Esteron, but the Nightbeasts' trap was

sprung and they swarmed in waves of black terror out of the

trees and dykes on either side. Thane, twisting in the saddle,

looked quickly back and saw the road behind choked with

hideous NightbeaSt forms. Before them towered a forest of

black spears, reflecting the last rays of dying sunlight.

 

'When hope has fled and Nightbeasts press on every side . .

.' echoed the musical voice of Duclos in Thane's head. The

banner was fading, overwhelmed by the nightmare shadows all

around them, and their dash to the Wayhouse Tower had

slowed to little more than a walk.

 

Thane slipped the reins and drew both blades. 'Run,

Esteron,'he shouted.

 

'Give us room, he cried out to the Border Runners leaping at

the NightbeaStS before them. The dogs fell back and Thane

spurred esteron' sweeping both blades in a glittering, humming

arC, smashing Nightbeasts' spear shafts and slicing through

their grasping hands and claws that reached out to pull

him down. Esteron reared and plunged, striking out with his

forelegs.

 

'Give us room,' Thane shouted again as Esteron began to

surge forwards.

 

'Thanehand!' a Nightbeast voice screamed out, 'I know you,

Thanehand - Thoron's spawn - I shall kill you and your owls.'

 

One-eyed Kerzolde burst through the Nightbeasts, pointing

a claw at his empty eye-socket.

 

'Kerzolde!'Thane gasped, swinging both blades towards the

towering nightmare.

 

Kerzolde laughed cruelly, wading through the dogs and

grabbed Esteron's bridle. Esteron reared,~the whites of his eyes

flashing in the darkness, turned his head and bit at the claw,

pulling backwards as his teeth closed on the smooth brittle

horn. The claw snapped in two, Kerzolde screamed, thrusting

wildly at Thane with his spear. Neither of them heard the angry

whine of the arrows or saw the careful archers draw again to

shoot, but the solid wall of Nightbeasts between Esteron and

safety wavered, stumbled and collapsed. Kerzolde jerked

backwards, throwing his spear high into the air, looked briefly

at the gleaming arrow heads aimed at him and fled into the trees

beside the road. Esteron let the broken claw fall to the ground

and, leaping over the heaps of dead Nightbeasts, galloped

through the doors of Stumble Hill.

 

Stumble Hill

 

With the noise of a thunderclap the doors slammed shut. Bolts

and beams were shot. Thane pirouetted Esteron and made to

charge back on to the road, for his friends were still beyond the

safety of the doors and he would not desert them in the dark, but

the barriers were shut. Esteron stood trembling with exhaustion,

steam rising from his lathered sides, pools of dripping sweat

forming on the cobbles. He would have run again had Thane

wished it, but in his heart he knew that the fight was over. It was

Thane that the Nightbeasts wanted to destroy. Evening's chill

made him shiver, all was silence beyond the doors of Stumble

Hill, far off an owl hooted and distant barking drifted on the wind.

The Border Runners were hunting in the dark.

 

Thane dismounted, eased the girths and whispered many

thanks, for now he knew how great a mount he rode to Underfall.

A hand upon his shoulder made him jump, and raise the Hollow

Keeper's blade.

 

'Rest, Kingsman, the race is done, victory is yours, but much is

owed to those who ran with you.' The man standing before him

looked too small to be a warrior, sturdy with massive arms but

gentle-eyed and softly spoken. He held out a night rug with his

right hand. In the other he held a wooden bow that dwarfed him.

'You have a great horse, Kingsman, keep him well and rug him

warm, for I have seen few to match him in a long life.'

 

Thane unsaddled Esteron and spread the rug across his back

while the archer's careful eye studied him, confusion pulling his

eyebrows into a deep furrow. The horse seemed to have stepped

out of a fairy tale. The rider was a mere boy dressed in clothes he

recognised' the Border Runners ran at his heels and Battle Owls

sat on his shoulders.

'Young man, custom bids us to give refuge to travellers on

the road, but in return we take the name and a little history from

those we help.'

 

There was an edge of hardness in the quiet voice and silence

filled the courtyard of Stumble Hill. A ring of bowmen fidgeted

in the shadows, Thane's life rested on his answer. Mulcade and

Rockspray squeezed Thane's shoulders, needle talons kept him

still to retain a place so dearly won.

 

'Thanehand, Thoronhand's grandson. I ride upon King

Holbian's bidding, and while within your house offer you my

sword for I come in peace and friendship.'

 

Using the skill of Gildersleeves, before an eye could blink, he

turned the Hollow Keeper's blade and offered it, hilt first, to the

man standing before him, the point against his own throat, and

as he knelt saw for the first time the mark that Tombel had

tutored him to seek, an owl in blue and gold upon the arm that

reached for the hilt of his sword.

 

'Rise, come lad, stand again! No Kingsman, young or old, has

ever bent a knee before old Archerorm. Thoron would have my

life for treating you so roughly. Forgive my harshness but magic

seemed in the air with legends beating on my door. Come,

Thane, and see your horse to bed for he looks gaunt and tired

out. And then the news of all you saw upon the road, if you had

the time to look.' Archer laughed as he steered Thane towards

the stable yard. All day they had watched Esteron and the

Border Runners, a dust cloud passing across the grasslands,

racing the road towards them. Through the Great Glass of Orm,

set high in the Wayhouse Tower they had urged them on. New

arrow heads had glowed white in the forge, bows had been

restrung, for all who looked through the glass saw the helm and

the cloak of Thoronhand racing the sun to bed, and they would

be ready should he make the door before night fell.

 

Thane hesitated, turning to Archer; so much had happened,

so quickly, he had almost forgotten. 'What of my friends, the

dogs and the owls? Without them I would have been lost upon

the road. How will they stand in the darkness without our

help?'

 

Archer saw in the anxious young face so much of his old

friend, Thoron, always a champion of others' troubles, more

often than not nursing a lame dog or a broken bird, always in

haste but never without time.

 

'Come, Thane, and ease your heart, climb the winding tower

stair, and look on what you won, disturb not the watchers at

each twist of the stair for they keep us safe.'

 

Following in Archer's footsteps Thane ascended the great

tower. The steps wound in a continuous spiral; soon they must

pass Through the clouds. On his right, at each twist, he passed

the watchers standing in the casements, arrows ready on the

strings, facing the night outside. He gave up counting the

steps for fear of falling asleep as the numbers became muddled

in his head, but at last he reached the top and stood beside the

Glass of Stumble Hill. Windows looked in every direction, the

moon rode brightly in the sky casting black shadows over a

silver road far below. Archer took his arm, and gently guided

him.

 

'There below, look and fret no more, youngwarrior, the road

is still. Nothing moves amongst the Nightwalking dead. Not a

single dog nor owl lies amongst them. Here, use the glass and

take a closer look.' Archer swung the slender cylinder of

polished brass, gliding on its well-oiled wooden wheels so that

it pointed directly towards the heaps of dead blocking the road.

Thane almost jumped backwards, falling against Archer, he

rubbed his eyes and cautiously looked through the glass again.

 

'It brings them so close, it is almost as if they were here

with us in the tower; Here is magic on the roads.'

 

'No, lad, skill and knowledge ground the glass, now look

and tell me what you see.'

 

'Heaps of Nightbeast dead. Broken armour full of arrow

shafts, scythes and iron caps lie where they fell. But

 

something moves amongst the dead.'

 

'Where? Let me look!' Archer grabbed the glass and strung

an arrow as he looked but let it fall forgotten on to the platform,

sadness filled his face.

 

'Look again, Thane, with much pity in your heart upon the

rewards of age and the bitterness of fate, for there, picking at

the spoils of war, perches Silverwing. He was once a great

captain amongst the owls, he rode to war upon your

grandfather's shoulder. None feared the dark with Silverwing

near at hand, now age has pulled at his feathers, cataracts have

blurred his sight, and begging on the Greenway's edge has

stripped all the dignity away to leave a ragged shadow that the

otherbirds shun or chase away. They feel a great shame for one

who steals what others kill.'

 

Mulcade hooted angrily, digging his talons deep into

Thane's shoulder and seemed almost to hiss at the shape on

the road below, 'The Lord of Owls, my father, a beggar!'

Mulcade turned his head away then hooted softly, 'Father,

father,' but the old bird was deaf to his cry, caught in the act of

stealing he flew hesitantly into the trees, bumping blindly into

branches he did not see, dropping a strip of Nightbeast flesh in

his haste.

 

Archer sighed sadly, picking up the arrow, 'We leave meat

for the old bird near the doors and would gladly take him in and

care for him but somewhere deep in the feathered chest a spark

of pride still glows. Since your grandfather disappeared,

Silverwing's stealing and bad ways have increased twenty fold,

he did have a brother but none have seen him since the

Causeway wars long ago Come, see your horse to bed, and then

sleep, for you are tired. Tomorrow we eagerly await all your

stories of the road.'

 

The stables were opposite the great doors, set back on the far

side of the main courtyard. Whitewashed walls and polished

wood beneath a gabled roof of oiled cedar, all the rings, chains

and catches were WrøUKht from solid brass and shone warmly

in the torchlight. Deep bracken beds were laid in all the stalls,

fresh hay in the mangers that gave out a smell of new mown

grass. Three horses stood saddled and bridled as if ready for

the road, swords in scabbards were fitted on to the saddles and

hanging by each stall were long oiled bows and quivers full of

arrows.

 

'We were ready to clear a way to your side if the archers

failed,' Archer said rubbing the neck of the horse nearest to the

entrance.

 

Esteron whinnied to the horses as Thane led him in, he

dwarfed the three half-breeds, but in no way outshone them for

they were the last of the relay horses left alive on Stumble Hill

and wore the scars of battle with great pride, much snorting

and talking passed between the relay horses and Esteron as

Thane trod wearily to bed, for Esteron was Equestrius' son and

sought news of his father. The owls roosted near the horses,

Thane was safe enough in Archer's care and their sharp ears

were eager for any gossip of the roads to Underfall.

 

Morning opened the doors and a great bonfire disposed of

the dead Nightbeasts. Thane took breakfast with the Archers

of Orm and related his adventures on the roads, careful to keep

the purpose of his journey a secret, but Archerorm was not a

fool and frowned often as the stories unfolded. Later he took

Thane up to the top of the great tower to seek out the truth.

 

'If you were not Thoronhand's grandson I would turn you

upside down and shake the secrets out of your pockets,' but he

laughed as he spoke. 'Come, lad, there's more to this journey.

My bowmen may settle for breakfast stories but the dogs run

with you, owls on your shoulders, a horse in the image of those

from long ago. Will you not ease my mind to help you further

on the road? The Nightbeasts want your hide and paid a heavy

price in failure last night; next time it could be you who pays . . .

with your life,' he added as an afterthought.

 

Thane looked out over a wild and hostile landscape that

stretched to the world's edge, 'Which way lies Underfall?'

 

Archerorm's face darkened. 'You make for that dreadful

place? Nay, lad, it is too heavy a burden for one so young.' He

put his hands on Thane's shoulders and looked searchingly

into his face, 'You have something of great value that King

Holbian wishes to hide, or keep safe? He is a wise and clever

King.' Almost speaking to himself Archer mused, 'Give it to a

boy to creep in; secret, dangerous, but quite clever! The dogs,

the owls and that great horse!' Delighted by his own powers of

deduction Archerorm danced about on the platform almost

upsetting the glass. But Thane brought Archer back to earth.

 

'No grand plan was ever made. I travel to exile Underfall

upon King Holbian's orders. The reasons are private. The

horse was the King's personal gift to me, the owls were with me

when I reached Woodsedge, the dogs appeared only a few

days ago, unasked. In truth they have saved my life three times

and still Underfall is beyond sight.' Thane felt weary of the

journey. Everybody he met wanted to know his business or

spoke of Underfall with such dread. And none so far had been

there for a long while, if at all. He had been hoping it was not

really so bad, and secretly hoped that Stumble Hill was

journey's end. Well, he could not ride on today; Esteron looked

run up lighter than a greyhound and still seemed asleep when

he had visited him before breakfast. A quiet walk was all he

would have today to ease his aching joints, Thane thought.

 

Archer interrupted his thoughts, and took his attention

beyond his reverie, with a pointing finger.

 

'See that range of mountains, hazy beyond the horizon's

edge? Follow that line, there! Just in sight, the tallest, that is

Mantern's Mountain. Underfall clings on to its lower slopes.'

 

Both stood a long time looking towards the end of Thane's

journey. Each was lost in private thoughts. Thane's drifted

home, and he touched the summer scarf and remembered his

mother's goodbyes, his grandfather's empty room and his

fingers touched the threads that Elionbel had needled in and

wanted the journey over and Tombel's friendly house just

around the bend.

 

Archer was back upon the Causeway road, a strike of

 

bowmen at his side beneath the shadowy walls of Underfall. How

he wished that they had really won that war.

 

A flapping of wings and hooting brought them both back to the

tower on Stumble Hill. The owls stooped over the tree tops

below, Archer followed them with the glass. Speaking sharply, as

he saw what was hidden in the shadows. 'Nightbeasts hide in the

woods. Do not leave the Wayhouse today!'With this he fled down

the stairs, shouting orders as he went. Stumble Hill became a

fortress preparing for a siege: during the morning the few families

that lived nearby abandoned their houses for the safety of the

Wayhouse, for as Archer's foot touched the first stair he had cut

the rope on Orm's Bell, freeing it to clatter a warning to any wise

enough to listen. The forges glowed white and sparks burnt the

armourer's aprons as they hammered out new arrow heads;

swords and lances kissed their grinding wheels; carpenters prepared

the shafts for the arrows and oiled the wooden bows of

Orm.

 

The three relay horses were made ready for battle, pride

arched their necks as fine mail coats were spread across their

backs. Special saddle cloths were fitted that flowed past their

stifles, embroidered upon them was the emblem of an owl in gold

threads on a blue background. Manes and tails were plaited,

hooves polished until they shone; they may have been small and of

common breeding but they lacked nothing in courage, standing

there fretting and champing on their bits. With them stood

Esteron, and they hoped he might see them hold the check and

sway where once upon a time only the Warhorses were allowed to

battle.

 

Thane was handed a longbow and quiver full of arrows, but it

was soon taken from his fumbling hands. 'If it comes to fighting,

use your sword, you could do a lot of damage with a bow but

which side would come off better?' The Archer smiled as he said

this and treated Thane with much respect.

 

Thane had little to do but explore the Wayhouse fortifications

and watch the archers prepare against attack. Afternoon wore into

early evening, the last cart full of farm children rumbled

towards the doors, pulled by an old sway-backed, bony mare.

Beside the cart a thin ragged man drove a flock of sheep, his

shepherd dog kept a careful watch and penned them near the

centre of the road. Without warning the dog's hackles rose,

growling he backed against the cart. The owls screeched and

stooped, arrows whined as Nightbeasts leapt on to the road.

The farmer raised his staff to have it split in two, hardly

breaking the sweeping arch of a jagged scythe, but a strike of

well-aimed arrows drove his attacker back into the ditch beside

the road. Out charged the relay horses, lances in their riders'

hands, up went a shout from all the shooting butts for the little

horses needed great courage to stand against the Nightbeasts

and the Archers knew that, though outmatched in fighting skill,

they would hold the road or die where they stood. But they

were not alone: Esteron reared, broke his chain and stable

door, and roared out the Warhorse challenge. Sparks flew

across the cobbled yards, Archers scattered as he galloped

through the giant doors. Few Nightbeasts dared to stop upon

the road with such a horse abroad and those that did remain

died quickly beneath his flying hooves. The air was thick with

arrows, though none flew near the horses, who in a running

circle round the cart, guided it through the doors to safety.

 

Esteron and the three relay horses snorted and stamped in

the courtyard as great shouts of honour echoed all around

them. The three small horses led Esteron towards the stables;

he had learned much about them during the night and found

many ties of blood from his mother's side in the tough little

equines of Stumble Hill. The smallest, called Sprint, was a

distant cousin, the fastest on the hill. Nimble, a sister far

removed, who had rare glimpses of the elevated paces, and

lastly, Stumble - none knew his blood lines, for he was

orphaned at birth and was found wandering on the road, thus

his name which fitted well for he lacked the speed or grace of

the other two horses but every man who knew him loved him

for he never shied or napped in tight spots and took the shock

of battle in his stride. Esteron hung back and slipped quietly

into an empty courtyard, for all the honours should be heaped

where they were most deserved, and he was hardly missed. As

warm hands slapped the relay horses' sweaty necks, Thane and

the owls found him drinking long cool draughts from a water

trough. Thane threw his arms around Esteron's neck, so glad

to see him safe and unharmed.

 

'Come, Esteron, you must rest; tomorrow with the first light

we race the road to Underfall and draw away the Nightbeasts

that plague this house for it is us they gather to kill.'

 

As darkness fell, Thane climbed to the top of the tower, and

through the glass studied the wild, shadowy lands that he

would enter before the sun arose. It was a long and bitter night

that stank of death. Arrows fell, a bitter rain upon the Night

beasts storming the hill, but nothing seemed to stop them

hammering on the doors, battering with torn up tree trunks

against the walls. How long could the Wayhouse stand against

such a press of hatred none knew. The doors shook, the beams

splintered and warped, and stone crumbled beneath the

Nightbeasts' strength. All night the armourers' hammers rang

upon the new-forged arrow heads. Each bolt found its mark as

piles of dead built up against the walls, but still they came. Fear

took the Archers' hearts, for they saw no end to the dark shapes

that filled the road and choked the dykes on Stumble Hill. But

Archerorm, Master of the House, had the tattoo on his arm and

held his men steady.

 

'Make every arrow count, take careful aim; soon the dawn,

soon the dawn.' Between hammer and anvil they fought, and

hoped to weather out the night.

 

The Great Dash

 

During the last hour of darkness before the grey light drove the

night away, Thane went into the stables to prepare Esteron for

the great dash. To his surprise he found Archerorm and a

slightly built youth a little older than himself getting Sprint

ready for the road.

 

'My son,' said Archer, a hand upon the young man's

shoulder, 'Kyot.' Archer's son was dressed to match Thane, a

different motif on the helm but the metal shirt, cloak and boots

looked the same, 'We have a plan, to win a little time and spread

confusion on the roads.'

 

Archerorm pulled a dirty parchment from a leather pouch

hanging from his belt and spread it on the cobbled floor. 'The

Roads to Underfall,' muttered Archer, pointing down at the

map. 'Look closely and remember your path. There are only

two Greenways still open, both of them are dangerous.' The

owls alighted on the map, searching out the way. Esteron and

Sprint peered over their riders' shoulders, the only sound came

from the flickering torches spluttering as they burned down

through the tar. 'One road is direct and kept well clear, the

other is little used for it runs through Notley Marsh and none

here knows how overgrown or treacherous it has become.'

Archer paused, looking slowly from face to face. 'Our plan is

simple, the moment the doors are sprung Esteron and Sprint

will gallop out together; a league beyond the doors, the road

divides,' Archer pointed carefully at the parchment, using one

of the few arrows saved for the moment their flight began, 'I

doubt if the Nightbeasts will be able to tell which of the two of

you they seek to kill.'

 

Archer held Thane's eye, 'We gamble Kyot's life and little

Sprint's great heart and courage to get you safely on your way;

my son begged the chance to ride with you if only for the first

league, for all of us knew your grandfather and loved him dearly,

he taught Kyot to ride and Sprint to run, and many times held

the road and bought us time when hope had fled before the

dawn. For him alone we owe it, but to you we also owe, for the

tattoo binds us.'

 

The stable doors burst open, cutting into the flow of

Archer's words, 'Archer, no man has more than two arrows left

and the doors are breaking down!'

 

Archer looked past his bowman into the black night where a

touch of grey nudged at the sky. 'The doors will hold, the grey

hours are with us, clear a path just wide enough for two horses,

every man will draw his sword. Now go and make ready the

way.'

 

Thane spoke with tears of pride in his eyes. To find a man so

loved by his friends that they will risk their lives in the memory

of him, or chance all for his grandson, is too great a price. I must

go alone, Grandfather would not wish it otherwise. I loved him

in childish ignorance and wish I had known him better. Your

love repays all debts and I thank you for it.' Thane turned away

to saddle Esteron, and to hide the tears he shed in his mane,

but a gentle hand turned him back.

 

'Do not take my chance to gallop in his memory, or rob Sprint

of his dash to glory, for we all loved him and in many ways he

belonged to us all, even a humble Keeper's son.'

 

Thane turned again, but Sprint held his eye, so proud he

stood, poised for the start, neck arched, eyes bright and full of

fire. The new set of road studs set into his shoes cast sparks on

the cobbles as he pawed the ground. What chance had he to

stay alive? But this was his choice, none would rob him of that.

 

With a smile touching the corners of his wet eyes Thane

spoke, 'At Underfall we will meet again, though all night's

creatures stand before us!'

 

'It is settled then, the first league you ride together. Then

which road will you take, Thane?' asked Archer.

 

'Through Notley Marsh; I give the Greenway to Sprint.'

 

Sprint snorted, snatching at his bridle for he had the better

road, but still it was further than he had ever run before and it

would test his strength and courage to the limit. Kyot grasped

Thane's arm in silent Hanks, for deep within his heart he had a

lot to prove: being Archerorm's son was no easy place to grow.

 

Both riders mounted in the outer courtyard and whispers ran

the rounds amongst the Archers of Orm, for they marvelled at

young Kyot's courage. Grey dawn winds tugged at his cloak

and showed his secret to all gathering near the doors, he had

taken off the mail shirt and wore no armour, save the helm, thin

cotton breeches, parchment thin boots and the lightest rapier

blade hung from the smallest saddle ever seen. Archer stepped

forward, raising his bow and last remaining arrows. His face was

grey and lines of grief furrowed his forehead.

 

'No, father, not even the Bow of Orm will I carry. Nothing but

your blessing for the road lest the burden wears Sprint's great

heart down.' He was indeed Archer's son, and none would ever

say again that he walked in his father's shadow.

 

The doors creaked, a crack appeared, and dawn broke the

night's power. Esteron roared a challenge, Sprint crouched, his

nostrils flared. Every archer bent his bow, the crack became a

gap, in that last moment Rockspray left Thane's shoulder and

flew to Kyot. Such great honour Kyotorm had never dreamed

of, to have a Battle Owl upon his shoulder. The doors were

sprung! Arrows, noisy as a hornets' nest, felled the Nightbeasts

in the gap. Esteron reared and plunged and jumped the heaps of

dead and beside him, stride for stride, ran Sprint.

 

'May the precious drop of Warhorse blood course through

your veins, little Sprint. Run, great horse, run!' shouted all the

Archers on Stumble Hill as they dropped empty quivers and

snatched up their long, sharp swords. Grim were their faces and

tight their lips, for the son of Orm was on the roads and needed

 

all the time their blades could buy.

 

Shoulder to shoulder their horses galloped, necks stretched,

nostrils flared. Nightbeasts leapt at them on either side, but the

sun rose and pushed them back into the shadows, for World's

Edge was afire with a new sun's birth which shone upon the

swords of the Archers who ran behind the fleeing horses,

catching all morning's glory on the bright metal. Skylarks took

to the wind, blackbirds sang along the Greenway's edge and a

fresh breeze chased the night beyond man's sight for the span

of another day. How the minstrels will string their lutes or

weave a tale for winter by the fire none yet knew, for the ride

from Stumble Hill had only just begun.

 

Esteron had the blood of his father and could run all day,

and when need snapped at his heels could give a little more.

Sprint, on the other hand, had only a trace of Warhorse in his

breeding, but his size and wiry frame gave no hint of the heart

full of courage he hid beneath a common coat. The first league

tested more than strength in the little horse, for black shapes

filled the road, reaching out to pull him down. Fear filled his

eyes, terror took his heart. He pressed close to Esteron's

shoulder lest he be left behind, but Esteron feared nothing that

walked by night and spread his courage like a blanket around

the little horse and kept him safe until daylight drove the

shadows back.

 

So tight were the riders crouched over their horses' necks,

manes streaming around their faces, that they did not see the

Border Runners leaping amongst the shadows, white teeth

tearing the nightbeasts down, or the shadows of the owls that

flew above their heads. Blurring speed, roaring wind, and

pounding hooves were all they knew until the horses eased

their pace. Birds sung all around them, dew sparkled in the

grass, morning was about them, the road was theirs.

 

A league behind, the new sun lit up the tower on Stumble

Hill, a lone figure stood on the platform, the great Bow of Orm in

his hand, the last arrow on the string. Tears flowed down his

cheeks, pride and sorrow mingled, for his son had taken

nothing into manhood save his blessing. 'Kingspeed,

greathearts, Kingspeed,' he whispered as he wept.

 

Cantering easily now Thane reached across and grasped

Kyot's hand. 'Till Underfall, Rider Orm!' laughter was in his

voice, 'You have a great horse between your knees; keep to the

crown of the road, spell Sprint only in the open spaces.' The

divide was upon them, Esteron and Sprint neighed their

farewells, the owls hooted. Rockspray would stay with Kyot

until he reached the doors of Underfall, or perish on the way.

 

'To many meetings at Road's End!' called Kyot as the gap

widened and the road divided.

 

Behind them in hot pursuit ran the Border Runners, but they

halted at the fork in a long noisy council of snapping and

growling. None wished to leave the pack, the road through

Notley Marsh was treacherous and they were pledged to guard

Thane. Eventually, long after the riders had become mere

distant specks in a wild landscape six of the largest Border

Runners pledged their help to Sprint and Kyot for they deemed

them worthy of it and this was agreed amongst the pack. Word

would spread as they travelled that the Son of Orm had won his

spurs on Stumble Hill.

 

Esteron cantered half the morning away, an easy loping gait

that pushed the Greenway leagues beneath his hooves. The

road was good, far better than Archer had led Thane to believe,

perhaps a little overgrown, but clear to follow.

 

'We could make Underfall by nightfall if the road stays this

clear.' Thane was full of optimism which soon eddied away.

 

They reached the rim of a wide valley below which lay Notley

Marsh. The Greenway vanished into a total wilderness. Esteron

slowed to a walk and picked his way carefully between the

hangman's creepers that blocked the track. Brambles scratched

his legs, quick thorn spikes dug into his flanks, everywhere

dead trees leaned dangerously across the path and where

sunlight forced a beam of light giant dragonflies hovered. A

stink of rotting vegetation filled the air, there was no room for

Mulcade to fly beneath the trees and he spent the afternoon

fighting off the swarms of marsh insects trying to eat

Thane and Esteron alive. Spiders dropped off the branches on

to Thane's neck, mosquitoes hovered ready to strike and the

stagnant pools bubbled as Esteron trod near them releasing

foul smelling fumes. The further he walked the deeper his

hooves sank into the ground. They were lost! Fading light

warned them that afternoon was nearing its end.

 

'Night must come early in this dreadful place, we must

prepare a ring of fire as Tombel taught me or die when the

shadows begin to move. This seems just the place for all the

Nightwalking creatures to gather.' Thane shuddered as he

spoke, his voice came as a whisper in the heavy atmosphere.

 

The dogs were still a long way behind and knew nothing of

the danger Esteron had almost walked them into. He had

strayed off the track and followed a Mud Wallower's path into

Notley Marsh, another twenty paces and they would have

disappeared, swallowed up by the mud pits in the valley floor.

Even the stoop of owls had lost sight of them beneath the

tangled trees and they dared not call out; Nightbeasts were in

Notley Marsh.

 

A hot sticky evening's labour built a ring of broken branches

and dead tree trunks as high as Thane's shoulders. In the

centre he piled as much extra wood as he could gather before

the shadows began to move. He drew his sword and read the

legend on the blade with the last glimmer of twilight. He felt

more alone and afraid than ever before. Esteron moved to

stand beside him and rubbed his soft muzzle on his cheek and

blew gently on his neck. Mulcade took the spark from Thane's

pocket and it glowed in his beak casting a giant owl's shadow

against the tangled trees that hemmed the tiny clearing. Thane

was glad that Mulcade held the spark, he had the courage to

wait, sharp eyes on the shadows, and not waste the precious fire

in what could be a long and dark night. But the darker it grew

the more his scalp tingled and the tighter the knot in his

stomach became. He drew Duclos' little blade and held it

ready, he dare not touch the scarf for that would tell the

Nightbeasts who he was. Twigs broke, creepers moved, still

Mulcade waited with the spark, but he spread his wings, lightly

balanced on Thane's shoulder ready for the stoop.

 

The last patch of sky had deepened through subtle shades of

blue to black and far above a canopy of stars shone white and

cold. Suddenly there was a roaring between the trees. Breaking

branches, Mulcade stooped; white glowed the spark, and drops

of fire fell upon the kindling wood as the owl lit their barricade.

Along the dead branches danced the flames of hope and only

just in time, for beyond the blazing ring night shapes had

crowded in. Esteron snorted, pawed the ground and reared as

scaly skin grew scorched and burned outside the homemade

fortress. Seeing Thane safe within the ring of fire drove the

Nightbeasts mad with rage and clawed feet trod through the

flames. Again and again the Hollow Keeper's blade thrust at

their armoured hides and brighter burned the ring of fire in

Notley Marsh. The blaze drew the Border Runners and far

above the owls had a homing mark, for none would have found

Thane in the dark without the beacon's light.

 

Fear fled, there was no space or time to keep a tally as round

and round they trod, fighting to keep the Nightbeasts out. Soot

smudged their faces and smoke stung their watering eyes.

Slowly the night hours passed away. Nightbeast after Night

beast fell amidst the roaring flames and fuelled a greedy fire,

sending new sheets of flame high above their heads. The

collection of firewood piled in haste in the centre of the ring lay

unused.

 

'These monsters make a merry blaze!' Thane shouted above

the screams of the Nightbeasts and the roar of the fire as he

drove his blade through another Nightbeast's heart. But there

was a note of despair in his voice, his sword arm had grown

numb and his legs felt heavy with tiredness. There seemed no

end to the hideous shapes breaking through the flames. He

looked beyond the swarming Nightbeasts into the dancing

shadows thrown against the edge of the clearing and saw

something that made him catch his breath. A black shape far

larger than the other Nightbeasts that moved as he did,

following his every step, driving the attackers against him.

 

'Kerzolde!' Thane whispered, recognising the injured claw

and empty eye socket. Then he laughed, feeling the tiredness

fall from his shoulders. The assault had slackened, now he

could count the monsters beyond the flames and see an end to

the battle.

 

Suddenly the ring of fire roared, fanned by the wind of a

thousand wings, stooping fast on Notley Marsh. A noise of

snarling, snapping jaws drowned out the Nightbeast screams.

 

'The owls! The dogs!' cried Thane.

 

'Thanehand!' hissed Kerzolde, escaping into the shadows,

'Next time I trap you I will catch you alive and peel off your skin

to make a new suit of armour!'

 

Thane took a step and sprang lightly over the fire ring and

followed Kerzolde's voice towards the edge of the clearing.

 

'Thanehand!' called the voice, begging him to follow.

 

Esteron whinnied a warning, Mulcade stooped quickly to his

shoulder and Thane hesitated, turned and jumped back into

the safety of the ring of fire.

 

Thane blinked and rubbed his dirty face, pushed Duclos'

dagger into his belt, drove his sword's point into the ground

and rested heavily on the hilt. Just beyond the fire the clearing

filled with friendly shapes as the Border Runners not hunting

in the dark, settled for the night. Creaking branches on the

clearing's edge told where the owls sat watching out the night.

 

Sleep did not come easily to Thane, each time he closed his

eyes nightmares came crowding in. He shivered and cried

aloud, and many times called his grandfather's name. Esteron

stood beside him, brushing his cheeks with his soft muzzle,

Mulcade whispered nestling lullabies but only in the grey

hours did sleep finally come, and with it a strange dream of the

other road to Underfall. His lips moved and Mulcade leaned

close to listen to the mumbled words, 'Run, Sprint, run!

Daylight comes to those who chase the night.' A smile touched

the corners of his soot-smudged lips for in his dream a little

horse broke through the shadows and crossed the first shaft of

sunlight into a new day, sparks scattered from his worn out

shoes, sweat streaked his labouring sides, his rider crouched

bloodied from many wounds, a broken rapier in his hand, but

his eyes were full of light, for before him unfolded another day

and the road stretched safe and empty before him.

 

The great ring of fire had burned itself to ash, distorting the

fallen Nightbeasts' iron caps and jagged scythes beyond the

hammer's skill ever to straighten out; half-burned armoured

skin lay on the fire's edge amidst the wreck of war. Half the

morning was spent dragging or pushing the refuse of the battle

into the smouldering ash. A nauseating task that brought waves

of sickness over Thane.

 

'What this place needs is strongwinds to blow it clean.' None

of the animals seemed to take any notice of Thane's comments.

They all wanted to be gone as quickly as possible and they

laboured hard to clean the clearing. At last the filthy, aching job

was finished, now they would leave Notley Marsh. The dogs

sniffed out a route between the treacherous bogs, so overgrown

and tight that Thane walked ahead of Esteron and used his

sword to clear the path. The marsh insects plagued them but

nothing bigger than the giant dragonflies dared to attack so

many Border Runners in the gloomy daylight. After many

hours amongst the reeds and rotting vegetation the ground

beneath their feet became firmer and Esteron's hooves no

longer sank past his fetlocks at every stride in the sticky mud. At

last they were ascending the far side of the valley. The track

became wider, the tangled roof of creepers gave way to

openings to the sky above, a few more steps and they reached

the valley's rim and the track opened on to the ancient way to

Underfall, now unused and overgrown, but it was a road

bordered by mighty oaks that marched on as far as the eye

could see beneath an evening sky.

 

'The road! We have the road!' cried Thane. He ran his hands

through the nearest dog's thick hairy coat. 'Without you we

would have perished, lost forever there in that awful place.'

 

Something made all the company turn and look back into the

valley below where dense clouds of smoke billowed in a

changing wind.

 

'The marshes are on fire!' called Thane, leaping on to

Esteron's back and standing in the stirrups to get a better view.

'Our ring has fed upon the Nightbeast dead and caught the

undergrowth alight. The wind is pushing the flames towards

Notley Marsh! None can follow us now!'

 

Even as he spoke black shapes fled before the flames to a

certain death in the bottomless mud pits that lay in their path

and fire cleared the road that none had dared to tread for years

beyond counting.

 

Lighter in heart Thane turned Esteron towards the avenue

of oak trees.

 

'To Underfall, but first a stream or pool to wash away the

stench of death that hangs on to us.' As an afterthought he

added, 'A safe place to sleep the night away would be a great

gift on a hard road,' but he sorely doubted that they would find

such a place. 'I wonder how Kyot and little Sprint fared last

night with only Rockspray to guard them. I dreamt that they

galloped into morning but Kyot looked sorely hurt. Can

dreams be true?'

 

Mulcade and Esteron had no answer to Thane's questions

and dared not speculate or hope.

 

The trees thinned out and grassy clearings opened on either

side of the road. The dogs spread out, moving silently, noses on

the ground; barking suddenly broke out somewhere just ahead.

Thane felt compelled to draw his sword, but Mulcade did not

move from his shoulder perch or seem at all perturbed. The

dogs had found water beside a ruined hut, tumbling from a

mossy fountainhead. Carved on the creeper-covered lintel of

the hut were words that Thane could just see. Reaching up he

pulled the creepers clear and rubbed the time-worn stone until

the legend was clear and he read, 'Though darkness holds the

road, he that seeks refuge may enter and sleep in peace until a

new day dawns.' Washed and refreshed Thane pondered the

broken doorway. Night was closing in, dare he enter the hut?

Howling far off towards Notley Marsh made the hairs on the

back of his neck prickle, a shiver ran up his spine. Hackles rose

on the dogs' backs, their lips curled in silent snarls.

 

'Wolves!' cried Thane, pushing his hand against the thorns

and creepers that grew across the doorway. They should have

needed hacking down but they parted easily at his touch and

drew back in the shape of a curtain, revealing a dust-covered

gloomy room.

 

'Nobody has used this place for suns!' he gasped, sticking his

head inside. 'It must have been a Wayhouse once, long long

ago.'

 

The howling was growing closer and he had to decide

whether to believe the legend over the door or run before the

wolves. Another quick look into the tumble-down hut showed

him an empty fire-place, smoke-blackened and cold. Broken

chairs and tables, once part of a hollow square now lying

scattered with weeds and wild flowers growing up through the

earth floor. The wolves were almost upon them.

 

'Quickly!' he cried, his mind made up, 'And let us hope

strong magic wrote the legend over the doorway and that it still

holds true!'

 

Esteron, Mulcade and all the Border Runners followed

Thane across the threshold. The door of thorns rustled,

swayed and fell back into place, an impenetrable wall.

 

'Strong magic!'Thane whispered, crouching by the window.

 

The first of the wolves reached the hut. It stopped, then

trotted in circles, sniffing the ground before lifting his saliva

 

dripping jaws to the darkening sky and howling. Soon the road

was crowded with the rest of the wolf pack, red eyes and yellow

teeth shining in the early moonlight. The dogs were uneasy,

lifting their lips in silent snarls but none uttered a sound.

Esteronstood very still, Mulcade perched on the saddle, wings

spread ready to stoop.

 

The leading wolf came right up to the doorway, snarling and

growling. It pulled at the thorns, shaking them from side to

side. Others joined in, snapping and snarling until the barrier

shook and trembled, and turned its thorns towards the wolves.

Yelps of pain replaced the angry snarls and the wolves retreated

into a large circle around the hut, licking at their torn lips and

claws. One by one they crept nearer, howling in turn at the hut.

Thane loosed the dagger and drew it. The lead wolf charged at

the hut, biting at the crumbling stone work, tearing at the

thorns with his claws, another followed, then another until

every claw and fang was attacking the masonry. Thane could

smell their foul carrion breath and hear their grunts of effort as

the thorn barrier began to fall apart. He leapt to his feet and

drew his sword but as he advanced to the doorway he noticed a

different smell filling the hut, and saw through the thorns a

brightness outside the hut that was more than moonlight. The

wolves were retreating, snapping at each other in their haste to

escape. The legend written above the door was the truth.

Nevian had built the hut and carved the words long ago and in

between each layer of the stones he had planted nightflower

seeds that only bloomed in darkest night when great danger

threatened. Inside the hut the sweet, heavy scent of the

nightflowers brought a dreamless sleep to the hunted, even

Mulcade, and they closed their eyes and slept. From the

outside the hut had become buried in banks of small white

flowers blooming between the thorns that gave off a bitter acid

scent that had driven the enemy away.

 

Road's End

 

'Trouble stirs! Arm the horses well! Make sure that every

saddle carries an extra sword throughout the watches of the

night.'

 

Thunderstone gave his orders without turning or looking

back, his voice carried authority into the furthest corner of

Underfall. 'Something is going to happen, mark my words,' he

muttered to himself, standing between the doors watching the

black cloud of smoke drifting over Notley Marsh.

 

'Too many shapes are moving after dark, make fast the

doors!'he shouted to the watch-keepers, stepping back into the

fastness at Road's End and turning his back on the last shades

of evening. 'Set the best bowmen you have on each watch.' He

wanted sharp eyes in the galleries tonight and steady hands on

the bowstrings. Trouble turned his heart as he checked the

horse lines for the twentieth time since the smoke rose, but he

could find no fault no matter how hard he looked. Every

buckle, keeper and strap was adjusted to perfection. The first

watch-horses stood ready, aglitter in the flickering torch-light,

reflecting from the countless tiny loops of polished steel woven

into their battle coats. Manes were tossing, hooves pawed and

scraped the cobbles for the nighthorses fretted for the road.

 

'Be calm, my friends, trouble is near enough,' whispered

Thunderstone, moving with a gentle hand amongst his horses,

settling them quietly on their halters. 'Save your strength, be

ready, be ready.'

 

Long after the moon had sunk from sight, Thunderstone

slept fitfully in the watching chair. He awoke with a start,

letting his long broadsword clatter on to the gallery floor.

'Sleep is a curse carried by the old,' he muttered angrily, rising

to tread life back into numb legs, for night chills had crept

beneath his cloak while he slept.

 

'Something moves on the road from Notley Marsh, Master,'

whispered the watcher on the wall. 'Wolves are howling. Shall I

fire a blazing torch to see what moves beneath night's mantle?'

 

'Yes, but with all your skill make the arrow curve high above

the old disused road, for need drives something from Notley

Marsh.'

 

'But none would use that path, Master, no man or horse

would dare to risk the marsh, except old Thoronhand, and he

has long passed into the shadows.'

 

Tiethorm, first Archer of Underfall, did not like wasting

arrows, and mumbled to himself as he dipped the blunted

bulrush shaft into the sticky tar, but Thunderstone was Master

of Underfall and knew which way a leaf would fall when tossed

into a changing wind. Hands froze on the bowstring as the

blazing arrow lit up the ancient Greenway, the old road was full

of monstrous Border Wolves, saliva hanging from open jaws,

red eyes glowing in the arrow's light. 'They hound some poor

devil to his death, or chase someone we have missed upon that

lonely road.'

 

Thunderstone's voice broke the spell that held the Archers'

fingers on the strings, and many arrows found a mark before the

torch burned out.

 

During the last hours of darkness, the wolves besieged

Underfall, leaping at the doors and biting at the granite walls,

but the first glimmer of daylight chased them into the wilderness

of Mantern's Mountain beyond the bowmen's reach, leaving

Thunderstone to ponder on whom they hunted, for none had

ridden or marched to Road's End since Thoronhand had passed

away.

 

Thane awoke to a chorus of snoring dogs; the nearest must

have dug a twitching elbow into his side.

 

'Chasing rabbits in your dreams?' he laughed, glad to be

alive. He stepped carefully between their sleeping bodies. The

thorn barrier gave easily to his touch but scratched a little as he

passed through. Esteron and Mulcade were already outside, the

owl flying back from searching the way ahead. He alighted on

Thane's shoulder, a forest rodent in his beak.

 

'Breakfast for some,' commented Thane splashing water from

the fountain head on to his face. 'What a strange old hut, it

looks nothing but a ruin from the outside, overgrown with

thorns. It is lucky the wolves didn't stop to sniff around. I

doubt if we could have held it for long.'

 

It was a beautiful morning; pigeons cooed in the woods,

blackbirds sang in the brambles and just a breath of wind stirred

the leaves along the Greenway's edge. Thane untacked Esteron,

worried that the saddle was rubbing sores on his back. He

looked dirty, dried sweat and mud from the marshes caked his

sides, his tail was full of clinging burrs. 'What a mess you look;

we can't arrive at Underfall looking like vagabonds.' Luckily he

didn't carry a looking glass to show the travel stained, dirty

clothes that he wore, or the smudges on his face the fountain's

water had not washed away. Using his fingers he scraped as

much of the mud and sweat out of Esteron's coat as he could,

but he still looked to have travelled a hard road.

 

The dogs jumped through the thorns, stretching and

yawning at the Greenway's edge, drinking quickly, they also set

about a rapid grooming session, scratching at their muddy and

blood-stained coats. Eventually the whole company seemed

satisfied with its appearance. Esteron was saddled, the girths

tightened and ready for the road, Thane gave a parting look at

the ruined hut and the last part of the journey began.

 

Through shafts of early sunlight they strode, travelling at an

easy pace that wore away the Greenway leagues. Forest and

woodland fell behind, tall mountains rose, wreathed in a

morning mist. 'Mantern's Peak,' said Thane, pointing a dirty

fingernail; it made him shudder to look at the towering

pinecovered slopes shadowing his new home.

 

'Underfall must lie somewhere below the rocky spur,' he

muttered. Something caught his eye far away to the left.

 

'That must be the other road from Stumble Hill. Mulcade,

fly high and be our eyes, there in that dark wooded valley. Fly,

great owl, fly.' With a hard push against Thane's shoulder

Mulcade rose on silent wings to search the countryside.

Esteron pricked his ears and pawed the ground, for he had

heard hoofbeats, far away, running fast, and a howling in the

wind. Thane shielded his eyes from the sun, 'If that is Sprint he

is long overdue.'

 

Now he also could hear a galloping horse. 'Run, Esteron.

Run as if the wolves were on your heels. If it is not Kyot, then

another Rider has great need of help.' Before Thane had

finished shouting Esteron had snatched the bit and set the

Greenway grasses bending with the speed of his hooves, looking

for a place to jump the bordering dyke. On the first bend he

found a place and leapt, plunging down towards the valley's

wooded bottom, twisting between trees, jumping tangled

hedges, over secret streams they ran. Throughout their

breakneck descent the fleeing hootbeats grew ever louder until

down the last steep bank, trampling wild wayside flowers,

Esteron and the dogs leapt on to the road, just as little Sprint

galloped past, a sword's length from Esteron. Eyes glazed, and

deaf to the help that had come at last, Kyot raised the broken

rapier blade, slashing as though at Nightbeasts on the road.

 

'Go Sprint, run!' cried Kyot, his voice full of desperation, for

he knew that Sprint's strength was at an end and they must

perish, he dared not look back to see defeat on their heels.

Tears were in his eyes as he slipped his feet out of the stirrup

irons, and whispered his farewells to the best friend he had ever

had, 'They shall not kill you, Sprint. Without my weight you

can run the last few leagues to Underfall. Keep safe.' with a

last caress of Sprint's bloody, sweat-covered back, Kyot

jumped, crying out as he crashed on to the road, 'They shall not

have you. Run!'

 

214

 

Bruised and bloody he arose, facing back the way he had

come; how he wished for his father's bow and a quiver full of

the sharpest new forged arrows to build a wall of Nightmare

dead, but he only had the broken blade and he swore that none

would pass while he lived.

 

Two dogs raced into view with an owl fluttering just above

the road, and there was joy in his face as he recognised the two

Border Runners that ran to his side, exhausted and bloody

from ugly gashes in their sable coats. They were the only ones

left alive on the great dash from Stumble Hill, and Rockspray,

with many flight feathers hacked away, swooped just above the

ground. Kyot scooped the owl up as he flapped his damaged

wings helplessly on the crown of the road and tried to tuck him

in the folds of his cloak but Rockspray was a bird of war and

sought only his shoulder perch to fight from.

 

'None shall pass us,' hissed Kyot, a fierce light in his eye.

The dogs moved, one either side of Kyot, crouching on their

haunches, lips curled in defiant snarls. But the terror of pursuit

had stopped, a roaring neighing shook the valley road; both

doubt and hope touched Kyot's heart but he stood his ground.

Sprint answered the call, for he had halted as the first note of

the Warhorse challenge rang clear upon the morning wind.

 

Esteron and the dogs let Sprint run past and filled the road

facing towards Stumble Hill. Their ranks silently opened for

the two exhausted Border Runners and Rockspray who would

take no aid even from Mulcade. Nightbeasts and all their kind

heeded nothing. They believed the road was theirs, their

quarry was almost run to death. They rounded the bend and

their screams of pursuit turned to howls of terror and rage

when they saw their way blocked. Strength and power held the

road underneath the banner of the sun. Blinded by Thane's

scarf, their hairy hands rent empty air, hissing, dribbling

Nightbeasts trampled the wolves under razor sharp claws in

their haste to flee. Esteron and the dogs leapt forward, sunlight

caught the valley top and shone upon the summer scarf.

The road is closed to all your Nightmare kind; begone!' cried

Thane, lifting the Hollow Keeper's blade to catch a beam of

sunlight and the shadows fled, wailing and grinding their empty

teeth in defeat.

 

KyOt could not believe his eyes, he blinked and rubbed his

face with a bloodstained hand. Where all hell's creatures should

have choked the road, Esteron and Thane stood with the "order

Runners beneath their banner of the sun. He shouted with joy

and threw his broken sword high in the air.

 

Though all the Greenway leagues stood between us you

came when hope had fled. Sprint, Sprint, we are safe....'

KyOtortn turned and almost fell over his little horse who had

retraced his aching steps the moment he had heard the

Warhorse challenge.

 

'We are safe, safe,' he cried, throwing his arms round little

Sprint's neck, but Sprint had run his heart out. He was beyond

care, legs trembling, unable to lift his weary head more than a

hands span from the ground. He seemed to hear familiar

friendly voices from afar, but even the pride of his great dash

meant nothing, it was overpowered by the pounding of the

blood in his ears. Each laboured breath burned his lungs.

Thane snatched his dagger and slashed the girths and the

bridle's plaited knot, carefully taking the bit out of Sprint's

 

blistered mouth.

 

'Water! Mulcade, use your searching eyes, and hurry before

Sprint dies!

 

Kyot wept as Thane carefully removed the saddle, for

Sprint's back was a mass of raw skin. Thane spoke with pride

and ~ wonder as he looked at Sprint, 'Great is the heart that

beats beneath his ruined hide. Though worn to a shadow he is

as full of courage as the best Warhorses of long ago.'

 

No greater praise had ever been spoken of the little relay

horse, bUt Sprint did not hear it, he was sinking into darkness,

his legs were buckling beneath him.

 

'Quicly Kyot, help me guide Sprint to the road's edge

beneath that shadowy tree.' All the company pulled and pushed

the little horse into the shade, Mulcade returned, Thane's helm

upturned in his talons full with cool clear water. Kyot held

Sprint's head as Thane removed his mother's scarf and dipped it

into the water. He gently wiped Sprint's lips and squeezed a

trickle on to his blackened and burning tongue. 'Drink slowly,

let it gently cool your throat,' whispered Thane, using the wet

scarf to wash and cool Sprint's face and bathe the many ugly

cuts upon his neck. Gradually a spark of life glowed in the little

horse's eyes. Thane tipped the helm and Sprint drank it all to the

last drop in the bottom. Mulcade, unsummoned, hooked his

talons on to the rim and flew back to fetch more water. How

many times he laboured with the heavy metal helm went beyond

counting, but the last one he carried he offered to Kyot as

tribute to his courage on the road to Underfall.

 

Throughout the struggle to keep Sprint from death Esteron

stood close, calling in soft whinnies the battle honours that

belonged to Sprint, and nuzzled his face. The dogs licked clean

the long gashes on his sides and legs, cut deep into his flesh by

the Nightbeasts' whips and scythes. All held their breath as the

spark flickering in the horse's eyes grew stronger. He rose to his

knees, paused a second before struggling to his feet amidst

deafening barking, hooting and cheering. Kyot whispered to

him while running his hand through his mane but the words

could not be heard in all the noise. Sprint snorted and stamped

a broken horse shoe on the ground, and

then rubbed his weary head on Kyot's arm.

 

The Border Runners were tough and hardy and tended each

other's wounds with rough clean tongues, but Rockspray's

injuries were beyond any healing skills that Thane or Kyot

possessed. The owl clung perilously on to Kyot's shoulder,

trying to keep his balance but as they prepared to take the road

again Kyot coaxed the owl into the folds of his cloakwhere he

fell into a coma and knew nothing of the last few leagues to

 

Road's End.

 

Sprint and Esteron walked together. Only after much

persuasion would an exhausted Kyot mount Esteron.

 

'I must walk through the doors of Underfall beside Sprint,'

he mumbled, as he fell asleep with his head resting in Esteron's

mane. Thane checked that Rockspray was safely tucked into

the folds of the cloak and would not slip or fall as they moved

forward. He lifted a hand to ruffle the soft downy feathers on

Mulcade's chest. He would miss the owl's weight on his

shoulder as he would have missed his right hand.

 

'We're near journey's end now; I hope you'll stay with me in

my new home.' Mulcade looked at him with large round eyes,

shifted his weight and rubbed his beak against Thane's dirty

cheek, pulling at the strands of hair escaping beneath his helm,

and hooted softly. The dogs, in two long columns, tails waving

behind them, led the way on to the causeway but would go no

further. Before them towered the walls of Underfall, still

wreathed in shadows, for the sun had not yet climbed above

Mantern's threatening shoulders.

 

'Underfall!' gasped Thane, moving forward with leaden

steps. 'What a dismal place it looks!'

 

The walls rose sheer, set with many galleries, each one

overlapping the one below, but all of them were edged with iron

teeth so bound and worked together that no Nightbeasts could

ever enter. The lower walls were polished smooth without one

single hand or claw hold for an attacker to use. Thane swept his

gaze up across the galleries to the great lamp on the highest

battlement, but nothing moved. Underfall looked deserted.

Narrow casement slits, well beyond a giant's reach, stared

empty-eyed back at him. Even the wind had fallen away to

nothing but a breeze that bent the torch flames set either side of

the massive iron-studded wooden doors. The doors stood

open, drawn back across well-worn cobbles to reveal inner

courtyards, full of dancing shadows cast from many hidden

wall lamps Narrow stone steps skirted each courtyard, running

upwards out of sight and tall archways deep in shadow joined

the courtyards together. The further Thane looked into the

fortress of Underfall the darker it became. He shivered and

turned his eyes to the newly mown lawns that swept from the

raised Causeway to the granite walls giving the only splash of

colour that he could see in such a bleak and dreadful place.

 

'Underfall. If I had really believed that it would look as grim

as this I would have stayed at Woodsedge forever.-'

 

Thane's spirits had sunk to the level of his boot straps. He

shook Kyot's arm to wake him, 'Road's End, Rider of Orm.

Time to put your feet back on the ground.' Kyot stirred and

opened his bleary eyes but sat up quickly, reaching for his

broken sword.

 

'I have heard winter tales to make the blood run cold about

this place, but none could match the reality.'With a look of pity,

he watched Thane summon up the courage to take the last few

steps into exile. Dismounting, he took his friend's hand, for the

great dash had made them even more than brothers; 'I'll stay

for as long as you need me.'

 

Mulcade hooted softly, gripping Thane's shoulder tightly

with his sharp talons. Thane's eyes lost that haunted look, he

laughed, 'With friends like this who needs to fear the dark.

Come, this was my grandfather's second home, here I can

tread in his footsteps and perhaps learn to know him a little

better!'

 

Thane drew his sword and knocked three times on the

massive doors but even as the hilt touched the wood for the

third time he saw that they had not come unnoticed. Beneath

the lowest gallery in deep shadow sat a host of the grimmest

horsemen mounted on the finest horses Thane had ever seen.

Each rider held a lance and all of them were pointing towards

the doors. The horses appeared to be crouching, hocks close to

the ground, ready to leap forward and their battle coats flashed

 

and sparkled in the shifting torch light.

 

 

The Keeper of Underfall

 

Between the two horses opposite the doors stood the fiercest

and oldest Warrior imaginable. He wore no armour save a

closely woven mail shirt. His boots and leggings were made of

pale calfskin, undyed and age-stained from frequent wear.

Upon his shoulders hung a simple blue cloak, drawn together

beneath his beard with a golden clasp, wrought in the shape Of

an owl. His face was angular and finely etched with care-lines

and his old eyes wrinkled with concern as he looked at the two

travel-weary young lads that stood before him. Thunderstone

smiled and threw back his cloak to reveal a sword with a long

horse tail woven into the hilt. Above the hand that held the

sword was a tattoo of an owl in blue and gold that shone as

freshly as the day that Nevian had traced it.

 

'Come! Come, fear not those who are gathered about me for

they are battle-dressed and ready lest any should dare hold you

up on the Causeway against your will.' Thunderstone spoke

softly, yet his hawk sharp eyes had already searched each one of

them and he could hazard a good guess as to who they were.

But why had they come unheralded to Underfall?

 

Before Thunderstone had finished speaking the warriors of

Underfall galloped past the weary travellers with a roar like

thunder. Through the doors they charged to form a ring

beyond the entrance so that none could enter without the

Master's leave.

 

Thunderstone raised his hand and called for Merion, the

Healer. 'Tend to the horse,' he commanded, pointing towards

Sprint, 'for his was the hardest road to World's End.'

 

Merion took the halter from Kyot and was about to lead

Sprint away when Thane stopped him and gently opened the

folds of his cloak and lifted Rockspray towards the Healer

 

Merion turned to Thunderstone. 'There is a great tale to tell of

the road by the look of these two!'

 

Thunderstone frowned and pulled Kyot's cloak aside, 'I'll

wager this young man was with them through the worst of it.

Offwith you now, go with the healer before your wounds from

the Nightbeasts' blades fester and turn poisonous. Your father,

Archerorm, would never forgive me if you died through lack of

care in my home!'

 

'You know me! Before even asking my name!' exclaimed

Kyot.

 

Thunderstone laughed, 'You, young man, have the Archers'

steady hand and eye. It is the way you move even without a bow

in your hand. Why, old Archerorm has grown a son few

enemies would care to stand before. But Archers travel in

strikes and do not roam the roads alone, I will hear why you

travel after Merion has dressed your wounds.'

 

After Merion had led Kyot and Sprint away towards the

healer's courtyard Thunderstone turned to Thane.

 

'When the horse that owned this tail lived and was, for a

moment, the light of my life, I had two friends whose mirror

images are with me now!' Thunderstone was stroking the horse

tail woven into his sword's hilt, but his eyes had a distant look as

he continued, 'Beneath these very walls we stood. Come,

young man, and let me guess your name. You cannot be the

son, you are much too young, yet the same look in the eye, the

owl upon the shoulder, the dogs upon the causeway, the clothes

are those of a Galloper. Thoronhand! You must be his

grandson, young Thane. How quickly the years run from us!'

 

With more than a touch of sadness in his voice

Thunderstone continued. 'How proud he would have been to

see you grown this far. But my manners have grown coarse and

hard like the place we stand in, let me call for meat and drink

and chairs to sit upon, and then you can tell me what has driven

you to take the road to World's End.'

Thunderstone clapped his hands and a table and chairs and

all that was needed were set in the centre of the courtyard, even

a trough of water and a bucket of hard feed was set upon the

cobbles for Esteron. Thane began searching through his

pockets for the letter from King Holbian.

 

Having found the letter, he laid it on the table before the

Keeper of Underfall. It had been a very hard road, the ivory

parchment was stained with sweat, crumpled and very dirty,

and a fine red powdery dust fell out as Thunderstone opened

the letter.

 

'So much for the King's seal,' laughed the Keeper, and then

added, only a little more seriously, "there is much to teach a

Kingsman if he is to carry news, for the one who receives it

must be able to read it!'

 

Thane told all that had befallen him on the road, the owls',

dogs' and Esteron's parts in it all, right up to their arrival before

the doors that morning. Thunderstone listened between

frowns and smiles, often re-reading the letter while Thane

paused for breath. The sun had become a ball of fire resting on

the hill tops, shining through the massive doors, when Thane

had finished his tale, the horsemen returned and the sun sank

from view. The doors swung shut with the sound of rumbling

thunder.

 

Thunderstone sat looking at Thane passing the letter from

hand to hand as if settling a difficult question in his mind.

Darkness had fallen and the torches glowed anew before he

spoke.

 

'It is not often the apprentice surpasses the master before the

first day's work has begun, or even before their first meeting.

To have fenced within the fire in Notley Marsh, or to have held

 

on to the Greenway road is more than any swordsman here

could do alone, even aided by the dogs and the owls. To have

won the road to Stumble Hill and then to have ridden out and

won the road again, is more than my best horsemen and my

best horses could do. Who is the Master now? What can I do

with you that will not feed resentment in my men's hearts or

humble your feats upon the road which all men shall come to

hear about soon? What can I do with you, who should have

perished on the way had you been any but Thoronhand's

grandson?'

 

'Master, I am exiled into your service and would do as you

bid me and not begrudge the meanest task. Luck and all my

friends saw the journey through, I am raw in learning and beg a

chance to know your skills and grow a little like my

grandfather.'

 

'What of Nevian's moving pictures in the Learning Hall that

the King writes about? Is this magic? Men fear what they

cannot understand.' Thunderstone waited on an answer.

 

'Ifit is magic, which I doubt, I cannot conjure it up or control

it in any way. Only once has it happened, but you are right, men

feared it. The Chancellors plotted my death, fearing a power I

do not hold. Even the King hung much importance on my day

dream in the Learning Hall.'

 

Thunderstone's face darkened, 'The King does not make

mistakes! Never cheapen his name within these walls or mix

treachery with your words. Elundium may have fallen into

shadows at the hands of the Chancellors, but we are here to

keep the light for a great King. We are bound to serve.'

 

Thane shrank back into his chair, seeing for the first time the

power and the anger of the man who kept the last outpost at the

end of the world secure so that other men could sleep without

fear.

 

'You shall be apprentice undergroom, under-rider, under

dog, under-anything to make you into the man your

Grandfather was. A true Kingsman. Now take your horse, bed

him well, clean your tack and all your gear of war. Your place is

in the straw above his stall, amongst the other curs who think

they might be men!'

 

Thane fled from the Master of Underfall, -rushing headlong

into the stable yards, looking for a place to hide. But Esteron

proudly stood his ground, holding the Keeper's eye. Mulcade,

perching on the high pommel of the saddle, did not flinch or

move. Two voices blended in Thunderstone's head, barely

louder than the nightwinds that whispered through the

courtyards.

 

'Judge him not too harshly, Keeper. He is but a boy, hard

driven to stand before you at the end of a desperate road. He

loved your King enough to face the darkness alone. Look to the

roof tops high above your head or watch for eyes beyond the

Causeway road and see that he has gathered many friends along

the way, just as his grandfather Thoron did. In many ways we

are all born to serve!'

 

Thunderstone looked up and caught his breath to see so

many blinkless eyes watching him, and a distant barking

echoed on the wind.

 

'Keep your pledges and teach him all you can, and we,

through love, will honour ours.'

 

As a cloud passed over the moon the owls on the roof turned

away, Esteron made his way towards the stables but Mulcade

moved to the saddle's cantle to watch the Keeper until Esteron

had left the courtyard.

 

Thunderstone sat, a tired and old man, worn out with

holding back the tide of fear that washed against the walls of

Underfall. He rose on weary legs to find his new charge and

quieten the anger in his heart.

 

'lord,' whispered Thane, shrinking back from the Keeper

of Underfall, 'I meant no disloyalty. I love our King more than

life itself.'

 

Thunderstone smiled, lifting Thane to his feet. 'Child,' he

said softly, 'we live in troubled times and you bring whispers of

disquiet from the man I have loved and served for a whole

lifetime in this shadowy place. It was not the talk of magic or

how our King viewed it that made me angry with you but the

tricks and treacheries that have driven him to send you here

alone.'

'No, Master, he did not send me alone, he gave me a horse

and offered me a strike of Archers or a squadron of Gallopers to

see me safely here.'

 

Thunderstone laughed bitterly, 'Did you read the letter, boy?'

 

'No, Master,' cried Thane, 'I was the messenger. I dared not

touch the seal.'

 

'Somebody has tampered with it!' accused Thunderstone.

'My anger was partly out of fear that the Chancellors or one of

their spies had read the letter. Who broke the seal, Thane?'

 

Thane swallowed, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks,

'Tombel,'he whispered, fearing Thunderstone would strike him

'but I didn't mean to let him know I carried the letter, only he

was going to kill the owl.'

 

Thunderstone laughed again, only this time it came from his

heart. 'Lad, I misjudged you. Tombel would not deal in

treachery, or kill a bird of war, he is a true Kingsman.'

 

'Will the Chancellors kill him?'

 

'Who? Kill who?' asked the Keeper.

 

'Tombel,' Thane replied. 'Only I stayed at Woodsedge during

the winter.

 

Thunderstone thought a moment, touching the horse tail

sword before he answered. 'Would you cross swords with the

greatest Marcher Captain in all Elundium?'

 

'No, Lord, never,' whispered Thane.

 

'Nor would the Chancellors, Thane. It would be a different

matter if Tombel entered the City of Granite but he is safe

enough at Woodsedge while King Holbian lives.'

 

'What will happen when the King dies?' asked Thane,

remembering how old he had looked.

 

Thunderstone frowned, drawing his forehead into deep

wrinkles, 'It depends on many things, lad, fate, luck or clear

eyed judgement from the last Granite King. But if he dies

leaving us without a new king the Chancellors will destroy

everything, even each other, in their struggle for power.

Remember, lad, only one man can rule this Elundium.'

'Who could be the new king? Wouldn't he come from

amongst the Chancellors?' asked Thane in innocence.

 

Thunderstone laughed, looking fiercely at the boy who

stood before him. 'How little you know or understand. Nevian

foretold long ago that the new king would arise here in the

shadows of World's End. The Chancellors fear this place and

none have dared risk their lives on the chance of growing into

Kingship in the shadows. Only the condemned are sent to

Underfall in chains to perish.'

 

'But,' interrupted Thane, 'the riders at the gate were not

chained.'

 

'No, lad, nor will you see one link of the shackles that

dragged them here to die. I break their chains and make them

into men of honour. Underfall would long ago have fallen into

black despair if I had treated the guardians of World's End as

the Chancellors wished. You see, child, if this fastness had

fallen Nevian's predictions could not come true. While Underfall

stands the Chancellors cannot seize power.'

 

'Perhaps one of the men sent in chains will be King,'

wondered Thane.

 

Thunderstone sighed sadly, 'No, Thane, not one single man

amongst them has the makings of a King. They are proud and

honest, but not the stuff of Kings. He will come one day, mark

my words, child, and raise his standard on the Causeway Fields

as Nevian foretold, and we shall flock to that standard in the

sunshine of a new Elundium!'

 

'When, Master?' cried Thane, eagerly.

 

'One day,' replied Thunderstone, quietly. 'But I have grown

old and tired waiting and you, my lad, may grow as impatient as

I before that standard flutters before these doors.'

 

'Master,' Thane asked, anxiously, 'has my coming here really

risked the King's life?'

 

'Yes. But it was not your doing. He could have left you to the

mercies of the Chancellors, or given you to the mob, but he saw

something in you, perhaps the vision, or the owl alighting on

your shoulder, something that moved him to cheat the

Chancellors of your death.'

 

'But why was it so important that I travelled here? I could

have hidden anywhere along the road.'

 

'Could you?' laughed Thunderstone, 'With those owls on

your shoulders and a king of horses between your knees. No,

my boy, there was nowhere else to hide but here at Underfall.

You are Thoron's grandson and had to follow your fate

whether you liked it or not. Fate pushed you forward, Thane, to

stand before a desperate King and you have won the road for

him where greater riders have failed and delivered a ray of

sunshine in the darkness, for now I know that King Holbian

has seen through the Chancellors' struggles for power.'

 

Peace was made in the candlelight, but Thane would still

serve his time as underling as any true apprentice would.

Secretly he was glad; he was the youngest at Underfall and

knew that he had much to learn from the men who guarded

World's End.

 

Sprint

 

Kyotorm recovered from his wounds within the space of four

days, at least enough to walk about, but he grew thinner,

seeming somehow older, and often his careful Archer's eyes

had a distant look. Nightshapes haunted his dreams and he

cried aloud in his sleep, tossing and turning, stabbing his hands

at the Nightbeasts in his nightmares. Thunderstone sat with

him through many watches and pressed into his hands the hilt

bound with horsetail but even that talisman only eased the pain

a little. Mulcade perched on his pillow but he could not drive

out all the shadows from Kyot's dreams. In desperation

Thunderstone summoned Thane to come down from his bed

of straw and sit out the watches by his friend's bed. He brought

his mother's scarf, bloody, dirty and creased and gently laid it

across Kyot's forehead and sleep came; the lines of pain were

smoothed away, for in Kyot's dreams he rode into morning and

the sun shone on his face and the Nightshapes fled.

 

Many nights Thane sat beside Kyot and each time, through

his troubled mumblings he pieced together the epic ride his

friend had made to reach World's End. He shuddered at what

he heard, and saw clearly the great courage and strength he and

Sprint had spent to win the road. After they had parted at the

divide Kyot had jumped to the ground and run beside little

Sprint to save the horse's energy. He had spelled him often in

the open spaces, rapier drawn lest any dared to attack. By late

afternoon the six Border Runners caught up with them,

barking softly and wagging their tails. Meremire Forest

stretched before them and day was near its end, only with the

last glimmer of twilight did Kyot remount, just as the shadows

began to move. Gripping the rapier's hilt tightly with a shaking

hand, Kyot urged his horse forwards; there was no turning

back, the road behind was full of shadows. Meremire Forest

spread before them, its tangled hanging branches creaked and

groaned and the silver star-reflecting road disappeared beneath

its threatening eaves.

 

Rockspray flew ahead. The dogs ran on either side as Sprint

gathered speed. The forest enveloped them with its blackness.

A stride inside and the stars were blotted out. Nightbeasts

moved between the trees, roaring and screaming; scythes

glistened and whips cracked. The dogs snarled and leapt,

tearing Nightbeasts down as they swarmed on to the road. Kyot

swung and thrust the rapier on either side, Rockspray hooked

out eyes on bloodied talons as sparks scattered from Sprint's

worn studs. He kept to the crown of the road, shutting out the

pain and terror as best he could, running for his life. The

roaring in his ears grew louder and louder until his pounding

heart mastered the Nightbeasts' screams. Kyot's arms were

wet with his own blood where noisome blades had cut deep

but he heeded nothing but the road ahead. Whips cut and

twisted around Sprint's legs, but such was his speed that he

wrenched them out of the Nightbeasts' hands, tearing off

rage-tight fingers in his haste.

 

Long after midnight, gasping hard, they reached the summit

of a long hill and for a fleeting moment saw how much still

needed to be won. Meremire stretched beyond the edge of

sight, but over to their right a great beacon blazed in the

direction of Notley Marsh and it fed doubt in the Nightbeasts'

hearts making them waver even as they sprang to block the

road. With courage and strength nearly exhausted, Sprint

charged at the towering shapes, as the road narrowed to a small

crack between the shadows. Kyot plunged the rapier blade so

hard that it snapped, two of the dogs died on the Walkers'

scythes; but even as death took them they saw Sprint win the

road. In that moment they saw the little horse break free,

running hard upon the Greenway's crown, sparks dancing

beneath his shoes, for the grey hours had come and the road

glowed like beaten silver beneath his fading hoofbeats.

 

Tears ran down Kyot's cheeks, and in his mumblings he

vowed to raise two great mounds beside that road and set about

them a ring of silver arrows, for he owed his life to those Border

Runners. With morning in the sky they had galloped into

sunlight and left Meremire, a dark threat behind them. Within

a league Sprint had slowed to a walk, Kyot dismounted and

nursed him, stopping often at pools and streams to wash his

horse's bloody wounds. Rockspray, tattered and bloody, sat

once more on his shoulder, while the four Border Runners

licked their wounds and watched the road.

 

All too soon the sun began to sink, drawing long shadows in

its wake. 'You must run with the setting of the sun, Sprint,' said

Kyot, 'for Mantern's Forest stands across our path. It is far

older than Meremire and our way looked from my father's map

to be descending into dark canyons and bottomless ravines.

Tomorrow we must reach Underfall or else die upon the road.'

 

Tightening the girths as they moved forward Kyot prepared

to mount, leaving it to the very last moment. His own thin boots

were scuffed and torn and blood oozed from raw blisters on his

ankles. 'Run! Run!' barked the dogs, but even as they spoke

other noises echoed in the wind, blood-chilling howls, still far

behind, but growing louder as darkness fell.

 

Thus it was that Thane had found them almost run to death

 

and nearly overtaken on the road to Underfall. Kyot had never

spoken about the ride from Stumble Hill, not even to Thane,

and he tried hard to shut it out of his mind, but often when

standing on the upper galleries his eyes strayed beyond the

Causeway road to the wooded edge of Mantern's Forest, and

those near him would sometimes catch his whispers, 'The

dogs, the great Border Runners, how much I owe that can

never be repaid,' and then tears would fill his eyes.

 

Thunderstone had sat the watches with Thane and had

marvelled at the boy's courage and made it known that Kyot,

son of Archerorm, should have the freedom of Road's End and

none should stand in his path, which was a great honour for one

so young.

 

During the weeks that followed their arrival, Thane began

to understand the true meaning of the legend carved above the

stable entrance. On his first evening he had passed beneath the

time-worn letters without a second glance, but now each word

seemed etched into his heart.

 

'Hardships make hard men, and hard men make nothing of

hardships.'

 

The legend became a way of life: starting with the first touch

of sunlight that opened the great doors until night drew them

shut, not a moment of daylight was wasted. Stables were

cleaned and scrubbed, horses groomed and kept in constant

readiness against Nightbeast attacks, and whenever a moment

of idleness drifted through the courtyards, the undergrooms

were ordered to polish the horses' battle coats until, ring by

ring, they glistened, reflecting back every precious ray of light.

But the evenings were a time of uneasy rest, when fear drew the

frightened together, for Nightbeasts howled in the gathering

shadows on Mantern's Mountain and night, when it came,

seemed to have no end. Yet the gallery boards creaked and

laughter echoed in the gloomy half-light as Kyot and Thane

walked together, sharing their hopes and dreams, for the great

dash from Stumble Hill had bound them closer than brothers

and they did not fear the dark nor anything that crept beneath

its mantle.

 

Thunderstone watched Thane and Kyot as they walked the

galleries and marvelled at what he saw, but his inner thoughts

were troubled; if these two boys were the beginnings of a new

age of men who could arise strong enough to rule them, this

King would have to be more than a man

 

Thunderstone sighed, remembering Nevian's words 'And

he shall set a standard on the Causeway Fields that men . . .'

Something jolted the old Keeper's memory, something about

that first morning a few months ago, two weary travellers

surrounded by a host of dogs, the sky above Meremire Forest

full of Battle Owls, a forgotten scarf tied to Thane's arm that

sparkled in the early sunlight.

 

'No,' he laughed, 'he is but a child,' but his eyebrows drew

into a frown and he whispered, 'If he is the one then I shall

protect him with my life; Thoron old friend, you have my word

on it!'

 

Summer had come to an end before Kyot was fully recovered

and ready for the road back home to Stumble Hill.

~Child,' said Thunderstone, 'you must return to your father's

house before winter comes and closes the road. I shall send a

squadron of my best horsemen to guard you but you must leave

soon or winter will cut off their return.'

 

'No, Lord,' replied Kyot, a smile touching the corners of his

mouth, 'I need no escort home, nor would I ask for one.'

 

Thunderstone frowned, raising his hand to brush aside

Kyot's words saying, 'Your father stood at my shoulder long

ago; in friendship to him I cannot let you wander unguarded.

Archer would never forgive me.'

 

'lord,' laughed Kyot, 'I shall not be alone but in the

company of a thousand friends.'

 

'who?' cried Thunderstone. 'Who could guard you better

than the men of Underfall who swept down on to the causeway

as you arrived, travel weary, at the end of a desperate road and

risked their lives that you should walk through these doors

unharmed?'

 

Thunderstone began to turn away full of anger but Kyot's

reply stopped him short.

 

'Who else, Lord, but those who kept me safe upon the road,

who in the darkness came when I was all alone and stood with

me in the face of defeat. Who else but the Border Runners.'

 

The Keeper looked mystified.

 

'The Border Runners, Lord, they have been gathering all

summer long along the Causeway. Whenever I have ventured

out on to the road they have come to me, led by the two great

Border Runners that ran at my side on the dash from Stumble

Hill. They will escort me home; I know it in my heart.'

 

'Then go with much honour,' laughed Thunderstone, his

anger forgotten, 'for you have guardians more numerous than

the leaves upon the trees and a greater safety than I could ever

guarantee but, my child, leave before winter comes, for it will be

a dark and desperate time.'

 

Kyot turned to go, thinking the Keeper had finished with him

but Thunderstone motioned Kyot to come closer.

 

'The scarf,' he whispered. 'What do you know of it?' Kyot

shrugged his shoulders, fearing to give away any of Thane's

secrets.

 

'It was his mother's scarf,' Kyot replied, vaguely. 'He took it

at their parting and carries it in memory of her.'

 

'Don't treat me as a fool, boy!' hissed the Keeper, towering

over Kyot. 'I saw it catch the sunlight and soothe away your

nightmares. It has great powers. Now! Tell me all you know.'

 

Kyot leapt backwards, away from Thunderstone, 'No, Lord,

not even if my life depends upon an answer will I betray

Thane's confidence and trust.'

 

Thunderstone sighed, holding up his empty hands. 'Neither

of you will come to any harm. Let its secrets keep your tongue

still, child, for a moment I thought old legends were coming true

at last. I asked without hope, thinking that the scarf might be

the standard that he would set up on the Causeway Fields.'

 

'Who?' Kyot asked, moving closer to Thunderstone.

 

'The new King,' answered Thunderstone.

 

Kyot laughed, 'Thane has no ambitions for Kingship. Finding

the bones of his grandfather and raising a tower to the stars in

his memory fills all of his mind.'

 

'But the scarf?' asked a bewildered Thunderstone. 'Perhaps

he carries it in ignorance, perhaps the new King is somewhere

on the road.'

 

Kyot sighed, seeing the Keeper of Underfall as he really was,

a tired old man who stood crushed beneath the worries of a

lifetime's toil. 'Lord,' he said, quietly, taking Thunderstone's

hand, 'the scarf, it has great power but the magic seems woven

into everything Thane touches, the owls, the dogs, why even

the sunshine seemed to sparkle more brilliantly as morning took

the road on our dash from Stumble Hill. He is different from any

other person I have ever known, except his grandfather,

Thoron, who had that same touch of magic, yet if I hold the

scarf it is nothing but woven silk. It holds no magic.'

 

'Yes, perhaps I have judged him wrongly,' replied

Thunderstone, sadly. 'Perhaps I am looking for something that

fills my dreams but as you say he is in many ways so like his

grandfather. He could have taken Holbian's crown any day he

wished, he had the power yet took nothing.'

 

'Oh no, Lord, he is quite different,' insisted Kyot,

remembering how Thane had stood between him and the

Nightbeasts on the road through Mantern's Forest, the summer

scarf blazing with early sunlight. 'I think he has greater power

than Thoron for the owls are on his shoulders and the Border

Runners run at his heels.'

 

'Then I must guard him more closely than a thousand cloaks

of jewels.'

 

'No, you cannot, unless your eyes are sharper than the owls',

or you can run as tirelessly as the dogs. Nature's army has

brought him here and waits upon the Greenway's edge; he will

be safe amongst them until any legends there are come true.'

 

Late autumn had pulled the landscape into a bleak depressing

place, mist and rain hung on Mantern's shoulders, Kyot

shivered, drawing his cloak collar up around his ears, drizzling

wind blew dead leaves along the Greenway's edge to fill the

muddy puddles.

 

'Winter's in the air. Soon snow will block the road,' Thane

said, huddled next to Esteron with Mulcade and Rockspray on

his shoulders, hunched against the weather. Reluctantly Kyot

mounted Sprint. Reaching down he gripped Thane's hand.

'Duty takes me back, Thane. I owe it to my father to return

home and help him guard the tower, and Thunderstone insists

I leave before winter sets in, but I would rather stay here with

you and face the shadows that threaten Elundium together.

Kyot laughed, 'None could stand before us; not even the one

eyed nightmare, Kerzolde!'

 

'Do not speak of him, Kyot,' Thane whispered, 'I feel that he

has some dark power and is w:~t.Ahin~r ~ frr,A,~T;A~ ~ 'I

 

each new daylight.'

 

Kyot looked back towards Underfall where a great company

of horsemen had gathered to see him start the journey back to

Stumble Hill.

 

'If the Nightbeasts hunt you in the dark, if Kerzolde or

something worse comes down the mountain, send word, send

Rockspray, and I will come, Archers in a strike, to help you

drive them back. Remember!' shouted Kyot, turning Sprint

and squeezing him into a gallop. 'Send word, and I will come!'

 

'I'll miss you,' Thane called after him but Kyot had gone,

galloping amongst the Border Runners.

 

'Kingspeed! Kingspeed!' he shouted, running a few paces

along the Greenway, but his voice was pulled away by the winds

on Mantern's Mountain, and sadness turned his footsteps back

towards the great fastness at World's End.

 

 

A Bitter Winter of Darkness

 

Thane's cloak became a blanket in the dark, but it gave little

warmth or comfort when the straw he slept on froze as icy

draughts breached the window cracks. Only during work or

while he held his steaming bowl of gruel did a little life return to

his numb fingertips. Brief winter's sun could do nothing to

prevent ice and blizzards sealing the great wooden doors. The

tree-thick beams groaned against each other, splintering the

grain. Spikes and stanchions ground their brittle metal teeth

in an effort to break winter's bitter lock, but the doors stood

firmly shut. Nature's springs were frozen solid. Even the owls

stayed indoors, hunting for their meat between the granary

bins. Winter deepened and the daylight hours became a

shadow of the night. Even with all the torches burning,

perpetual shadows gathered in all the corners. Only the owls

could penetrate the gloom and their unruffled courage gave the

men of Underfall new heart.

Never had Thunderstone known a season as bitter or one

that filled his men with such disquiet, for upon the frozen drifts

of snow, wolves and Nightbeasts in their thousands gathered,

howling and screaming, battering on the very doors of Under

fall, and he was powerless to stop them. Bow strings snapped,

brittle with the ice trapped in their frozen fibres, even his

spearmen found their shafts frozen to their hands as they

stretched to throw. They were besieged, and Thunderstone

felt his heart more troubled than ever before in his long life by

the sea of hate washing against World's End.

 

'Walk with me, child,' Thunderstone commanded Thane,

calling him to come to the highest gallery. And as he waited for

the boy to climb the countless winding steps he drew his winter

cloak about his shoulders, touching the frozen horse tail at his

belt.

 

Thane stepped on to the gallery, Mulcade and Rockspray on

his shoulders. Thunderstone looked into the owls' eyes, smiled

and lowered his gaze.

 

'Already the men think much of you, lad. You win hearts

even as you won the road to my door.'

 

As the Keeper spoke, his mind ran back over the months

since Thane's arrival, thinking of his labours to hold his place at

Road's End. 'Look out with me on all I have failed to win. Nevian

charged me to keep a light burning at World's End, but to what

purpose have I worn a life away?' Old and tired the Keeper

turned towards the snowy landscape. 'There are more shadows

and more fears out there now than another lifetime's toil could

push back. Have I failed? What is your answer to that my lad?'

 

'Lord, if you had once doubted your purpose, the night

would have taken over long ago and the Causeway Fields

would be a black place for any new king to set his standard.'

Thane dared not say more, or trip over his tongue again, but

the Keeper smiled at him.

 

'Come, Thane, you walk with only your own shadow. King

Holbian was right, the seed of Thoronhand will grow into a

mighty tree. Men will follow you when the time is ripe, that

much I can see. The signs were there at your arrival, but I feared

it then.' Thunderstone shivered, drawing his cloak tighter, 'Will

you help me, even as your grandfather did, to drive the

shadows back?'

 

Thane felt the owl's talons press into his shoulders as they

spread their wings, hooting softly.

 

'Look, Master, look!' shouted Thane, pointing towards the

eaves of Mantern's Forest, for even as Thunderstone put his

pride aside and bent beneath the wind of wisdom to ask for help

from one so young, the dark shapes of a great pack of Border

Runners crossed the snow, late winter sunshine glowing on

their sable coats.

 

'The dogs, the Border Runners!' Even as Thane spoke, they

fell upon the nightbeasts and the army of terror fled. Only the

wolves turned and stood their ground, lips curled back across

their yellow teeth, and fought beneath the walls of Underfall.

Many of the wolves died, ripped and broken in the bloody snow

for the Border Runners had the advantage of numbers and

greater courage and they cleared the Causeway road. As they

tore apart the last wolf the sun sank into the blackness of

Mantern's Forest.

 

In close formation, barking and leaping, the Border Runners

vanished between the trees. 'Never since I stood beneath the

rainbow cloak have the dogs come to our aid,' whispered

Thunderstone; the warmth from his hand had melted the frozen

strands of horse hair woven into the hilt of his sword and it felt

soft, silky, almost alive. His speculation was interrupted by

Thane's unsteady voice as he dared to answer the Master from

his heart.

 

'Master, Lord of Underfall, not only will I help and pledge my

life to drive the shadows out, but all free beings are at your

side. Turn your head and look, for Mulcade and Rockspray

have perched within this fortress of their own free will.'

 

He paused, watching the Keeper's face waiting for the frown

of anger. With his courage building, he chanced to add, 'Night

overcomes us all, fear draws us together, love binds us in the

dark. I think the dogs came because you asked for help.'

 

'Thane,' mused the Keeper without any anger in his voice,

 

'You have the wisdom of your grandfather and the pluck to

speak where fear holds others' hearts. Tell me, have I not held

World's End secure through love or has this life's work been for

ambition only?'

 

Thane considered a bumpy plunge on the end of

Thunderstone's boot down the winding stair, and chanced his

Master's anger to speak his mind once again.

 

'Men risk their lives for you, Lord. They fear you and hold

you above others, for you are the Keeper. There is a grimness

and a hardness like the very walls that rubs into everybody at

World's End, but there is little love, little that shows.' Thane

kept his eye level with Thunderstone, looking up into the

Keeper's face, and dared to go on; 'At school we learned the

legends of the Man of Granite who holds World's End by the

point of his sword; he breathes fire and grinds bricks between

his teeth. Dread fills the hearts of any who feel that fate would

push them along the road to Underfall.'

 

'Do you fear me, lad?' There was thunder in the voice, but

no real anger.

 

'Yes, and no, Master. I know more about you than most who

tread these roads although much of what my grandfather said

was beyond my understanding.'

 

'Thoron was my only friend. If he was in truth that close to

me why do you fear me, lad?'

 

'Grandfather loved you and once likened you to a tall thistle

that had grown amongst a bank of nettles. Proud, clothed in

many thorns that waited only for the sun to open the petal case

for all to see the beauty of the flower.'

 

Thunderstone laughed, looking away from Thane and the

owls. 'Much is changing, lad, and I must change things here

before spring comes, or it may be too late to drive the shadows

back. What you have said of me is the truth, and it has taken a

lifetime's toil to learn the wisdom in a child's words. Thoron

tried to show me but my eyes were blinkered by the warrior; I

never looked into the man.'

 

While Thunderstone strove beneath all Thane had said, to

see himself as others did, Rockspray flew to perch on his

shoulder, and new light shone in the old warrior's eyes. The

loneliest man at World's End had friends indeed and new hope

eased his heart. 'Come, Thane, tonight and every night the

men of Underfall shall eat at one table. Love shall bind us

together, not only pride and honour.'

 

Howling beyond the walls made the Keeper look out again

but laughter creased his bearded face, 'We are besieged again

lad, but fear moves amongst the Nightbeasts, they watch the

forest eaves. Come let us set this house to rights.'

 

Thunderstone kept to his word and worked hard at changing

all he could amongst the men of Underfall, but it was not an

easy task to change the habits of a lifetime, hold a grip upon his

temper and yet still seek standards high enough to keep

World's End secure. Laughter chased the grimness out and

new heart and effort had everyone from the captains down to

the humble undergrooms bending their backs in preparation

for the spring. In his wisdom the Keeper made every man an

equal at his table and shared his hopes and doubts about the

way they stood.

 

'Nature is gathering at World's End,' he said one night at

table. 'There are owls in the tree tops, the Border Runners are

beneath the eaves of Mantern's Forest and only today I caught

a glimpse of wild Warhorses upon Mantern's lower slopes.'

 

Even against the roaring blizzards that buffeted the walls,

every man who heard Thunderstone's words wanted to rush up

on to the galleries and look into the blackest night to see the

living legends.

 

'They gather for some great purpose, I am sure of that. Make

sure that each one of you is ready, for we are at the centre of

whatever storm should break.'

 

From outside Underfall stood unchanged, grey granite walls

rising sheer in the snowy landscape. Carrion crows picked at

the frozen wolves' carcasses lying half buried in the

bloodstained snow but whenever the Border Runners or

wolves came near they flew away in search of other bones to

pick over. Winter slowly began its retreat back into the

mountains, and each new day saw the sun grow in power,

pushing against the doors of Underfall, grinding the ice to

powder that clung fast within the locks and hinges.

 

'Soon we must saddle our best horses and clear the roads of

the Nightbeasts that have plagued us through a long winter,'

Thunderstone said, watching the doors straining against their

icy seal. 'Walk with me, Thane, while there is still time, and

watch the woods for they have filled with more than winter's

snow. We have so many allies out there now; help me ponder

on what is about to happen.'

 

Thane followed in the Keeper's footsteps, but he could not

cast any light on what moved Nature to gather at Underfall only

Mulcade, Rockspray and Esteron knew that pledges must be

kept, for they had heard the rumours on the winterwind and

fretted to be on the roads again.

 

Many others along the Greenway edge were as puzzled and

troubled as Thunderstone at the great migration heading towards

World's End. Tombel found Warhorse hoof prints in the snow at

Woodsedge and prepared his battle clothes in readiness for the

spring. The gardens of Gildersleeves were trampled down and the

hanging baskets of lucerne grasses eaten down to the last stalk.

Morolda, in all her grumbling, bet a cat's  tail that the boy with

the owls had something to do with it and smiled and remembered

him as she plundered the lofts searching for Duclos' war blades.

Archer stood on the platform in the tower at Stumble Hill and

watched shadows cross the forest floor and called his son Kyot to

his side.

 

'Not since the Causeway wars have I seen the beauty of the

Warhorses or so many Border Runners. We are witnessing the

beginnings of something, son. Since your return from Underfall

the animals have been gathering.'

 

As he spoke he looked down at the two great Border

Runners lying at his son's feet. 'Silverwing has disappeared and

the Nightbeasts hammer less often on our doors; you have

those magnificent animals always at your side. We are on the

edge of something, but what?'

 

'If the Warhorses and the Border Runners are making for

Underfall, perhaps Thane has called them,' Kyot offered as an

explanation, his eyes had a far away look as he rubbed his

hands through the dogs' thick winter coats.

 

'I'll lay a quiver of silver-tipped arrows that he's mixed up in it

somewhere, but I don't think he could call on the Warhorses

even Thoron did not have that power.' Half speaking to himself

Archer added, 'Although Esteron was as near the Warhorse as

I've ever seen, I doubt that he could summon the Warhorses.

They were pledged to freedom long ago when Nevian broke the

bonds; only love could bind them again.' He sighed, resting a

hand on Kyot's shoulder and looked deeply into his son's eyes,

'Thane may need your help before high summer comes, my

heart tells me that you will go, no matter how great the danger. I

see you facing an army of fear. Promise me one thing,' he

paused, 'you will take the Bow of Orm, as well as my blessings;

no other bow has its strength, and it would ease my heart to

know that your hand was upon its string.'

 

Kyot knew the measure of the gift and felt a lump grow in his

throat as he stumbled over words to thank his father but Archer

was himself near to tears as he remembered the beginning of

Kyot's ride to Underfall and turned quickly back to stare at the

distant mountain tops.

 

'Go quickly, take as many woodsmen as will follow and cut

new arrow shafts, touch not any horse that crosses your path

or lay a finger on their skin for they are free and go where they

wish. Nevian ordered it.'

 

As he spoke and Kyot turned to go the dogs licked Archer's

hands and rubbed their heads against his legs for they knew

the greatness of the gesture, and then they leapt, barking,

down the stairs to follow Kyot.

 

Age does not make the Warrior, nor innocence know the

measures of defeat. Thus Thane sat upon Esteron at

Thunderstone's command before all the Riders of Underfall to

 

head the flying column waiting for the doors to open. Mulcade

and Rockspray sat on their shoulder perches and flexed their

talons on his metal shirt. Thane wore no badge of rank, but on

his arm he wore his mother's summer scarf and it sparkled,

catching all the light that found its way into that gloomy

courtyard.

 

'The legend is coming true,' whispered Thunderstone to

himself, Mulcade turned his head and held the Keeper's gaze.

'Silence, Lord of Underfall!' a voice commanded in

Thunderstone's head. 'Now is not the time to speculate. You are

pledged to keep the light, let others follow their fate without an

old man's babbling.' The owl blinked and then turned away.

 

Thunderstone opened his mouth but the owl turned back

and stared him into silence. Horses snorted and stamped,

shaking their heads and setting the bit rings jangling.

Torchlight reflected from the thousands of tiny metal rings

sewn into their battle clothes. Sparks danced between their

hooves as they waited, fidgeting for the road. Two days they

had stood ready while the doors rocked to and fro, groaning

and straining against the frozen locks.

 

Crack! A splinter of light appeared. Crack! The horses

neighed, pawing at the cobbles as the doors swung open.

Crouching, hocks almost on the cobbles, the horses leapt

forwards with a mighty roar and the sound of thunder. They

swept on to the Causeway road, swords and spears glittering in

the sunlight. The banner of the sun burned white with light,

imaging the beauty of summer days.

 

Hard and fast they rode, in and out of the snow-filled dykes

searching out the shadows that waited for the night, until, with

the horses breathing hard, they reached the eaves of Mantern's

tangled forest and could go no further. Sweat vapours rose in

clinging clouds of steam from the horses' heaving flanks as grim

eyed Warriors sought to penetrate the banks of twisted thorns.

 

'The Deepling Gorge!' boomed a voice across the snow from

where Thunderstone stood, sword in hand, between the doors.

 

'Check the way is clear. Ride to the Deepling Bridge.' Even as

the Riders turned, plunging through the chest-high drifts that

lay against the Greenway edge, he looked up at the sun and

weighed the wisdom of his words and knew that all too soon

the day would end. 'Ride like the wind,' he shouted after them,

but his words fell to nothing amongst the thunder of their

hooves.

All afternoon the company galloped and always just a length

in front ran Esteron with the standard of the sun. But the wood

was empty, the snow lay crisp, white and untouched by any

foul Nightbeast claw prints. To the Deepling Bridge they rode,

without a single challenge called. An eerie silence hung all

around them. Thane urged Esteron across the bridge and rode

on for half a league before he realised that he was alone.

 

'Thane!' a faint voice called out from across the bridge, 'Night

will fall before we have returned, come back. Hurry!'

 

Thane turned, laughing at the Riders' fears and cantered

easily back to the bridge.

 

'Warriors!' he called, anxiously re-crossing the bridge and

searching the hoof-trampled snow. It was clear to see that they

had gone, retracing their steps towards Underfall, leaving him

all alone in the gathering darkness.

 

'Warriors indeed!' he muttered, drawing his cloak about his

shoulders and asking Esteron to follow their hoofprints. Fear

had taken the Riders' hearts.

 

'We must go now,' they had cried, milling about on the

Greenway before the snow-covered bridge.

 

'Thane! Thane!' they had called, begging him to return.

 

'Perhaps the Nightbeasts have taken him,' one Rider muttered

darkly.

 

'Night draws in and will claim us all,' shouted another,

spurring his horse in a tight circle.

 

'We must ride back,' urged a third, turning his horse away

from the bridge.

 

'Go now! Now!'

 

'We cannot leave Thane,' shouted Sygnis, first Captain of the

Nighthorses. Spurring his horse he stood between the other

Riders and the bridge.

 

'Wait if you wish and die in the darkness!' shouted Fagneon,

forcing his way past.

 

Panic then seized each Rider in turn and they all fled, driving

their spurs deep into their horses' flanks and beating the flat

blades of their swords upon the horses' battle coats to reach the

doors before night came.

 

In wild disorder, blood dripping from their spurs, they reached

the Causeway road, jostling and barging to be first back to safety

butwith less than half a league to run the doors slammed shut and

the riders cursed and shouted, hammering in vain, calling to

Thunderstone without hope to open them. But each man knew

that only the sun held that power. 'We are doomed,' they wailed,

milling in disorder.

 

A clear voice floated down from the galleries, 'Where is

Thane? Surely my best Warriors have not left him alone upon the

road while you scuttled back to save your own hides?'

 

As Thunderstone realised the full weakness of his men, his

rage reached heights he had never known and those at his side

cowered, crouching on the galleries.

 

'Ride back! No man is to be left alone. Even as the doors shut I

summoned Tiethonn with his best bowmen to man the walls and

keep you safe until morning came but if that boy dies through

your cowardice, not one arrow will be fired in your defence. You

will stand alone in the darkness.'

 

In disgust the Keeper turned, wringing his hands with shame;

but a musical tinkling drifting in on the wind made him turn back

and peer out into the evening shadows and what he saw brought

tears of joy into his ancient eyes. 'Thoron, Thoron if only you were

with me now to look upon the greatness you planted long ago,' he

whispered, gripping tightly on to the horse tail hilt of his sword.

 

'Look now, you band of whimpering curs who hammer on the

doors, look and in your cowardice see who holds the Causeway

road!'

 

The company turned, fear in their eyes, shaking hands tight

upon their swords and spears, and looked into the gloom and

hung their heads in shame.

 

'There is the only one true Kingsman beyond these walls. If

you value your lives at all you will do as he commands.'

Thunderstone looked beyond the men huddled below, for in

truth he knew any man beyond the walls would perish before the

night was done. The Keeper walked amongst his bowmen,

setting by each man a flaming barrel of tar and many bulrush

blunted arrows ready for a long dark night.

 

Esteron had followed slowly cantering easily for he had seen

many friends between the trees on either side who gathered on

the Greenway's edge as they passed by. Thane leaned down and

rubbed his hands through the Border Runners' coarse winter

coats in greeting.

 

'The Dogs are our true friends on the road to Underfall,'he

said to Esteron and the dogs barked, wagging their tails, leaping

up to lick his face. Mulcade dug his talons hard into Thane's

shoulder, 'And the owls,' laughed Thane, looking into the tree

tops. 'who fears the dark with such friends by his side?'

 

Then he remembered the despair that took the Riders' hearts.

'Will you help me tonight to keep the men of Underfall from the

terror of the nightbeasts? They know almost nothing of your

strength or courage, save through rumours. None of the Riders

with me had the tattoo on their arms; will you help me? The doors

 

will be shut and they will die paralysed with fear once the shadows

move. I must stand with them and do what I can, even as my

grandfather would have done had he been here.'

 

Thane looked in wonder at the growing host of dogs that

joined him with every step Esteron took until the road was full

to bursting and he laughed, 'If only Tombel could see me now!'

Above his head, owls flew through the branches, Mulcade and

Rockspray strutted and squawked, ducking their heads

backwards and forwards. 'Without you all the world would be

such a dull place.' He laughed again, looking all about him, 'but

we must hurry before fear drives the Riders into the dykes.'

 

Night could send all its shadows to World's End, but Thane

had many friends, many that he did not even see. Only Esteron

heard their voices and drew great comfort from their presence.

By the time Thane reached the causeway the last shades of

twilight were fading, Mantern's Mountain seemed to loom

threateningly, stretching shadowy arms out to engulf Underfall.

 

Pressed against the doors, bucking and rearing, driven to

madness by their riders' fear, crowded the battle horses of

Underfall, striking their hooves on the granite walls. Shrieking in

terror they cast their riders on to the ground. Esteron called in a

clear voice that rose and fell through neighing shouts to soft

whinnieS, 'Fear not! The shadows that move by night are not

invincible. Be calm; I am Equestrius' son.' The majesty and pride

in his eye held them still, sweating and trembling, showing the

whites of their eyes; but they listened. 'No Nightbeast shall touch

your skin. Look down upon the causeway, the Border Runners

are gathered to keep you safe and with them stoop the Battle

Owls

 

The horses drew great comfort from the multitude assembling

in an enormous semi-circle from the causeway to the walls. They

mastered their fear, putting aside doubt, and formed into a line

behind Esteron, snatching at their bits and pawing the ground, for

each one had a trace of Warhorse blood and knew the legend of

their kind from long ago.

 

Thane had dismounted and stood before the cowering riders.

He Spoke in a soft voice that held no malice or anger at being left

at the Deepling Bridge but lifted them and cast fear aside.

 

Thou fear night you are lost, overmastered with the thought of

it If you think only of the morning light it can hold no fear over

you If we stand upon this spot tomorrow and watch a new sun rise

we shall have won life itself and driven our greatest fear back into

the shadows. Who will stand beside me, look into night's face and

 

gb? For there can be no lightwithout darkness. Who will be the

stronger tonight? Those who stand with me will think of nothing

but the sharp edges of their swords and will see nothing beyond

the great host that now gathers upon the causeway road, for you

are not abandoned to die, nor do you stand alone beneath the

walls of Underfall. Look to the Causeway.'

 

- The men who had thought themselves Warriors lifted their

eyes and gazed in wonder at the Border Runners assembling.

'What magic is this?' they whispered. 'Never in all the tales and

stories of this dreadful place, never have the dogs come to us, only

with Thoron did they run, and then only in his stories of the road,

not here at World's End.' Then they asked among themselves,

'But will they really help us when the shadows move?'

 

Thane replied sharply, 'Look not to what they might not do,

look to your swords and see what this night's work may bring to

those who put their fear behind them.'

 

A voice from far above their heads called out, 'Thane! You

are safe? Unharmed?'

 

'Yes, Master,' Thane called back. 'The dogs and the owls

are with me . . .'

 

Wild barking and deep growling broke out upon the

Causeway, interrupting Thane. The men snatched up their

swords, a grim light in their eyes; Tiethorm bent his bow.

 

'Light! We need light!' shouted Thane, and Tiethorm and

all the bowmen at World's End loosed their flaming bulrush

arrows high into the night sky.

 

Beyond the furthest dykes, Nightbeasts swarmed thicker

than the tangled roots of Meremire Forest. Scythes and spears

cast wicked shadows in the arrows' light. Hissing, screaming,

treading the snow to ruin, they advanced. The dogs crouched,

hackles spiky on their backs, waiting for the moment. As the

arrows fell spluttering to the ground they leapt, fangs bared,

ripping and tearing. Esteron could wait no longer, he roared a

challenge and charged and with him, coats aglitter in the

arrows' light, ran the battle horses, neighing out their long

forgotten fathers' names. The circle of dogs parted as the

horses swept down on to the causeway and the sound of their

hooves was like thunder in the wind and their speed blew the

snow into new drifts that settled over those they trampled to

death.

 

Beneath a sky of burning arrow shafts, Thane and all the

besieged warriors strode on to the Causeway road singing and

shouting old, half-forgotten battle rhymes as their swords rang

and hammered on the nightmare iron caps. Owls stooped, dogs

leapt and the horses swept to left and right driving a clear

wedge throughout the army of terror, leaving a wide path of

trampled bloody snow behind them. Glory lay all about them as

new ballads were in the making at Underfall.

 

'Master,' shouted Tiethorm above the battle's roar, 'the;

bulrush arrows are near to finished, soon blackest night will

 

take the field.'

 

Thunderstone sniffed at the wind and wet a finger, 'Even the

weather blows to our advantage,' he shouted. 'Look, the clouds

are breaking, moon and stars will cast a silver light upon the

field.' In haste he ordered, 'Tear up the gallery boards! Split

them into arrow shafts, dip them deep into the tar, use every

piece of wood. Keep the night ablaze with light.' even the stairs

were plundered, ripped up and chopped into long splinters,

without flights or any time to trim for balance they filled the

night. High and low, some spinning as they flew, the arrows

kept the sky full of fire as bowmen balanced on the newly bared

joists.

 

Thane knew little of the strategy of war, and drew the men of

Underfall into great peril, for they followed, inspired by his

word and the skill of his sword beyond the safety of the Border

Runners, advancing far into the centre of the swarming Night

beasts.

 

'Whom do we chase?' shouted Sygnis, above the roar of

battle, breathlessly. He had kept at Thane's side, defending his

right flank.

 

'A monster more powerful than most Nightbeasts,' Thane

shouted back, plunging his sword double handed into a black

shape that had risen up to block out the arrows' light.

 

'Beware of him, Sygnis, he has a broken claw and only one

eye. He dogged my footsteps all the way here to Underfall. His

name is Kerzolde and I know he is somewhere near. I feel his

presence, I can almost smell his foul breath!'

Looking across the Causeway Fields towards the higher

ground Thane saw him, far away, head and shoulders above

the mass of Nightbeasts, driving them towards Underfall, a

whip fixed into his broken claw.

 

'Kerzolde!' he shouted, grimly, forcing his way forwards.

 

Kerzolde laughed, lowering his whip and beckoning Thane

to come to him. The Nightbeasts fell back, drawing Thane's

small band of Warriors into a trap away from the dogs. Quickly

they swept all around them, forcing them closer and closer to

Kerzolde. Thane's men were pressed into a tight knot, black

shadows towered on every side, only in front of Thane was the

ground left open, a clear path to Kerzolde's feet. Mulcade saw

Thane's danger and rose on urgent wings above the battle,

searching with sharp eyes for Esteron, he called to him in

shrieking hoots, begging him to come quickly.

 

Esteron had led the battle horses through the deep, snow

filled dykes away to Thane's right to fight amongst the Night

beasts attacking the Border Runners. Faintly came Mulcade's

call above the battle noises. Esteron paused, listened and

turned, calling as he ran for the other horses to follow.

 

'Clear the field. The Riders are in great peril. Follow.

Follow.'

 

Beneath the very blackness of nightmare shadows Thane

saw the trap he had rashly brought his Warriors into. He cried

to the Spearmen to set their shafts butt end into the snow and

hold the ground they stood in. Between each Spearman he set

those with swords, crying, 'While we live, hope is with us!'

 

Kerzolde sneered, pushing his whip into his belt and

lowering his spear, he gave the signal to crush the warriors to

death.

 

'Fight!' shouted Thane above the roar and clash of arms. As

the Nightbeasts closed in upon them from every side, they

 

pushed against their ring of sharp steel. Spear shafts groaned

and split, arms ached, and muscles bunched in knots of

numbing effort.

'Hope comes!' shouted Thane, feeling a tremor through the

ground, yet with each swaying movement of the battle he was

being pushed closer to Kerzolde. Briefly Fagneon was jerked

up above the other riders, impaled through the neck on

Kerzolde's spear, only to be dropped, broken and forgotten, as

the monster turned his mind again towards Thane.

 

From a whisper far away, the tremor Thane had felt became

a roar of thunder, blotting out Kerzolde's screams of rage.

 

The shadows of terror trembled, hesitating, swaying this way

and that, looking for weakness in man's heart, but found none

to bend beneath their will, for the Warriors of Underfall looked

to their blades and sang of a new morning's sun. With a great

noise of neighing and a thunder of hoofbeats Esteron broke

through~the shadows, followed shoulder to shoulder by the

horses of Underfall. Dogs leapt at the Nightbeasts' throats and

owls stooped from a star-filled sky and the moon rode clear of

the last cloud to cast a silver light into the Nightbeasts' eyes.

 

With a great shout the men strode forward, thrusting their

swords and spears into the fleeing Nightbeasts and the

lowering walls of shadows collapsed. Leaping quickly into their

horses' empty saddles, ready to sweep in victory across the

snow, they stopped. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder.

'Look!' shouted Thane.

 

'Look!' whispered Tiethorm, a still hand upon his

bowstring, 'Look, Master,' and in awesome silence beneath

moon's silver shadows the men of Underfall watched and held

their breath, for in a wide crescent that spread across the snowy

field, manes streaming with their speed, galloped the

Warhorses. Proudly they ran, and none could stand before

them. night-terrors wailed and fled back towards Mantern's

Mountain. Snapping at their heels ran the Border Runners and

the owls spread their wings, casting despair across their path.

The Warhorses ran, pushing the grey hours before them and

all the riders of Underfall marvelled at their beauty.

 

The field is ours!'cried Thane, 'won through hope and with

the help of the many friends who came when hope was almost

gone.'

 

And the men of Underfall knew the truth in his words. Esteron

stood watching his brothers and sisters, filled with sadness for he

yearned to follow but none answered his call. He turned at

Thane's touch on the rein back towards Underfall and with heavy

hooves retraced his steps but from afar upon the dying wind a

single horse called out, 'Equestrius, your father, bids you bide your

time in the bridle, he will have great need of you soon. Be ready,

by your great deeds upon the road he knows of your coming.'

 

Esteron bucked and plunged, the cares of battle and Thane's

safety for a moment forgotten, so great was his excitement to have

word from his sire.

 

Thunderstone trod carefully across the exposed rafters until he

could look directly down on to the company gathering once more

before the doors and called to them in a voice full of pride.

 

'Men that I thought had no honour have grown through this

night's work into mighty Warriors!' And looking down at Thane

he continued, 'It warms my heart that one amongst you rose up,

casting aside fear, that all should see a new sun rise. Even when

hope seemed at an end he herd' you together and never once

doubted your hearts.' ~

 

The riders lifted their swords high above their heads, shouting

Thane's name and his battle honours from the Causeway. Thane

blushed scarlet in the darkness for in secret truth he knew how

afraid he had been. Only the dogs, the owls and the great courage

of Esteron had kept his heart full of hope for they did not fear the

dark or anything that moved beneath its mantle.

 

The Keeper ordered warm rugs, food and bundles of spears to

be lowered down to those beyond the doors. 'Set the spears to

form a ring of bitter points that none may tread. Night may still

 

hold a menace or catch you unawares. Guard well and wait the

dawn.'

 

Thane could not sit easy in the saddle, something nagged at the

edges of his mind, something he should do, and with a sickening

feeling in his stomach he remembered when he had sat beside

the fire, rescued from the shadows and watched the dogs

search amongst the slain, killing any Nightbeast that still held a

spark of life. He must do now what they had done then, for the

dogs ran with the Warhorses and only the Riders remained. He

turned to Esteron, stepping through the ring of spears, drawing

his sword and screwing up his courage but the Riders followed,

asking what they must do to hold the field they had fought so

hard to win.

 

'The legend is coming true,' whispered Thunderstone,

awestruck, as he watched the riders follow Thane. During the

last of the grey hours the Warriors searched the field, gritting

their teeth and turning their heads as they plunged their swords

through the Nightbeasts' hearts, but they found many

wounded Border Runners and owls amongst the wreck of

battle and these were brought within the circle of spears and

covered with warm rugs and treated with great honour, for

without their help defeat would long have hammered on the

doors.

 

With the first streak of dawn in the sky and the song of the

blackbird already in the air the men of Underfall finished their

labours. Before them stood a giant pyre ready for burning all

the dead Nightbeasts in one foul heap. Thunderstone threw

down a tar-dipped spear, already burning fiercely. Thane

galloped and caught it in his right hand, turned and hurled it

amongst the mound of death and a great fire devoured the

mens' fear upon the Causeway Field.

 

Even as Thane threw the spear a new sun rose, red and fiery,

and the great doors swung open. The riders passed through

into the cobbled yards amidst shouts of welcome and victory to

have lived through the dark. Thunderstone's voice cut through

all other voices, 'Look to your horses, for theirs was the

courage that changed despair to hope. Little will they ask of you

but you will give them everything, putting their comfort and

well being before your own.'

And the Riders turned and saw in the light of a new morning

the great hurts they had suffered. They gazed in wonder and

pride at the steel-ringed battle coats that hung in tatters and the

saddles that once glowed with rich colours that were now hacked

to ruin. Each horse bore the Nightbeasts' scars upon its neck but

their tired eyes were full of fire that had stepped beyond defeat.

 

'Where is Thane?' asked the Keeper, searching among the

riders. 'Where is your Captain?' Looking out beyond the doors he

saw him kneeling within the ring of spears, tending to the fallen

dogs and owls. 'There is the boy who with each move teaches us

how love can overcome the terror of the dark.' Thunderstone and

all the Warriors of Underfall went out beyond the doors, knelt

and looked to the comfort of the wounded and a great bond found

new beginnings within the ring of spears between the Border

Runners, the Battle Birds and the men who guarded World's

End.

 

The snows melted, winter was at an end. The sun grew stronger

and the doors stood open a little longer each day. Often the woods

and wild landscape that grew within the shadow of Mantern's

Mountain seemed alive with Warhorses, Border Runners and

many species of bird, never seen before at World's End. 'Nature

gathers, lad,' became the Keeper's regular saying. He would lean

on the hilt of his sword, idly stroking the woven horse tail,

watching the Warhorses moving among the trees and sigh, 'Such

beauty, such beauty!'

 

Carpenters worked at times between his feet repairing the

gallery floors, but he was far away in youth and heard nothing of

the hammering a hand's span from his toes.

 

Thane spent many happy hours in the saddle patrolling the

roads towards Notley Marsh and Meremire Forest, guarding the

men mowing the Greenways and trimming the edges. Both roads

looked a great deal neater than they had when he had arrived.

Border Runners came and sat near the road, watching the men

working, coming down on to the Greenways when the men spelled

their horses, wagging their tails, licking their hands and faces. Owls

sat in low branches, keeping a sharp eye on the shadows well

beyond the road's edge. Neither Thane nor Thunderstone nor any

Of the guardians of World's End knew the meaning of the owls'

persistent hoots or the soft- throated growling that would suddenly

start amongst the dogs, seeming to travel with the wind. Each time

the chorus started, Esteron would snatch at the bit or the owls

would rise into the clear sky and stoop towards Mantern's

Mountain, as if searching for something or someone.

 

'What or whom do you seek?' whispered Thane, as he

stroked the owls' chest feathers; but their reply was beyond his

understanding, a mystery of troubled sounds that blended with

the wind.

 

King Holbian scratched his brittle fingernails across the

weave of the cloak, feeling in its many folds for the last jewel.

The Chancellors stood before him in a whispering huddle.

Proudpurse stood a few paces nearer the throne, nervously

hopping from one foot to the other, his eyes greedily following

the King's hand as it searched the cloak.

 

'When did the shadow first appear?' he asked again, looking

directly into the Chancellor's eyes.

 

'Yesterdaylight, my lord,' whispered Proudpurse, trying to

stop his hands from shaking.

 

'Yesterdaylight!' echoed the King, his fingers closing

around the last jewel. He pulled at it gently until it lay in the

palm of his hand. Stepping out of the cloak he gathered it into a

huge bundle and tossed it across the channel of wax to fall at

the Chancellors' feet. Crossing Candlebane Hall he climbed to

his high chamber in the granite tower.

 

After the King had left the Chancellors fell upon the cloak,

tearing it into shreds and they screamed with rage when they

realized that all the jewels had disappeared. The King stood at

his window, watching the shadow, it had moved closer.

Yesterdaylight it had been a faint smudge on the horizon, at

this rate it would be on the gates of the city before the sun went

down. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, it felt strange

after so many years, awkward and clumsy. A faint knock on the

chamber door made him turn.

 

'Enter!' he commanded, turning back to stare at the

shadows.

 

Breakmaster hurried to the King's side. 'Lord,' he

whispered, 'Errant is long overdue. He rode out to lead the

Marchers into the stable yard just before the shadow appeared.

What shall we do?'

 

'Have you done as I commanded?' asked the King. 'Are all

the horses and Warriors Errant has so far gathered within the

city?'

 

'Yes, Lord. The yards are empty, even the unbroken horses

have been herded into the lower limits of the city.'

 

'There, look!' shouted the King, pointing towards the

shadows. 'Something runs before them. Look!'

 

Breakmaster stood on tiptoe, searching the edges of the

black shadows. Backwards and forwards he looked until he

found it, a small cloud of dust on the crown of the Greenway,

less than half a league in front of the shadows.

 

'Pass me the glass!' cried the King; reaching out his hand

towards Breakmaster he snatched the slender brass cylinder

from him, putting the glass to his eye. He searched the

Greenway until he found the small speck he had seen racing

towards the city.

 

'Errant!' he gasped, adjusting the glass, bringing him clearly

into focus. moving the glass Holbian looked at Errant's pursuers.

 

'Nightbeasts!' he hissed, twisting the focus again. It was just

as he feared, the shadow they had watched for a whole daylight

 

was the vanguard of a great Nightbeast army advancing on the

Granite City. A large swarm of Nightbeasts suddenly broke

away from the main army and began gradually to gain on

Errant. The King swept the glass back to Errant and saw

Dawnrise stumbling with exhaustion, his battle-coat torn and

bloody, his flanks white lathered with sweat.

 

'They will overrun him before the sun sets,' muttered the King,

putting down the glass and clenching his fists in frustration. 'My

only Captain, cut down within sight of safety.'

 

Holbian turned and paced the chamber, thinking hard.

 

'Breakmaster!'he cried, his mind made up. 'Have you a horse

for me?'

 

'Lord, there is none worthy of a King. There are no Warhorses

within the city.'

 

Holbian laughed, a flash of forgotten youth shining in his eyes.

'Even the Buryman's donkey would be worthy enough now! Go

quickly, find me a horse!'

 

Breakmaster left the chamber, running as fast as he could

down the winding stairway.

 

King Holbian strode into the armoury and reached for his

battle helm. The iron work was dusty and showed spots of rust

but the three cornered crown engraved below the stooping owl

shone as new, glittering in fine golden lines. The King lifted the

helm on to his head, it felt heavy and made him stoop a little. A

sword on the wall caught his eye.

 

'Thoron! Now is the hour of great need,' he cried, touching the

blade. He left the armoury and descended the winding stairway to

the open doorway into the highest circle of the Granite City.

 

King Holbian smiled at the fine chestnut horse Breakmaster

held for him by the bridle. She was dressed in the finest battle coat

of woven steel rings that Breakmaster could find, it flowed down

past her hocks showing the emblem of the owl in blue and gold.

 

'She is truly worthy of a King, Breakmaster, what is her name?'

 

Breakmaster swelled with pride, 'Lord, she is Esteron's dam.

The mother of the horse you gave to young Thane for the journey

to Underfall. Her name is Beacon Light.'

 

Holbian fitted his armoured boot into the stirrup and mounted.

He laughed as Breakmaster tightened the girths, saying, 'Then I

am better mounted than I ever dreamed of to face the Nightbeasts.

Come, Beacon Light, and carry me into the blackest

night.'

 

The King laughed again, pirouetting the horse and sending

sparks dancing across the cobbles.

 

'Breakmaster! Follow me if you can with every horse you can

saddle.'

 

King Holbian urged Beacon Light forwards, cantering her

down through the winding city streets, his battle cloak flowing out

behind him.

 

Ironhand heard the hoofbeats and ran out of Candlebane Hall

with the King's standard. Catching up with Beacon Light he ran

at the King's stirrup, laughing and singing as the emblem of the

owl fluttered above his head. Beacon Light's iron-clad shoes

echoed in the narrow lanes and dark alleyways as she descended

towards the great gates, but other sounds mingled with the beat of

her hooves, light running Archers' footsteps, heavy crunching

marching boots and the neighing shouts and clattering hooves of

many horses. Their noise rose to a rumbling roar that made the

King look back. He laughed, his eyes shining to see so many eager

faces and he drew his sword, sweeping it above his head to catch

the glory of the bright afternoon sun.

 

'Men of Elundium!' he shouted, looking across the sea of faces,

'Who will come with me and fight once more beneath the emblem

of the owl?'

 

In the hush that followed the King saw the doubt and the fear

of the nightbeasts cloud their faces. Breakmaster broke the

silence, mounted on a rough-coated pony he called for room as he

 

rode through the press of warriors, behind him were twenty

mounted Gallopers formed into two neat columns either side of

the King

 

Breakmaster laughed, pointing his neatly coiled breaking whip

at the assortment of horses.

 

'Lord, every horse broken to the saddle is here, and every

warrior Errant has sent to the city awaits your command.'

King Holbian smiled, rubbing his hand along Beacon

Light's proud neck, touching the silver thread woven into her

mane.

 

'Breakmaster,' he said, quietly, 'you have served me well,

and I could ask for no better. You are indeed a true Kingsman!

Marchers and Archers,' he called out in a proud voice, 'Errant

is upon the Greenway, hard-pressed by Nightbeasts. I shall

lead this flying column of Gallopers out to rescue him. Follow

us and hold the Greenway secure for our return, block the

gates with tree beams to keep them open for the sun may have

long set before our work is done. Riders, to the Greenway.'

 

Without further delay the King rode Beacon Light out of the

Granite City and the Gallopers followed him, speartips ablaze

with afternoon sun.

 

Errant saw the King's standard before him and dug his spurs

deeper into his horse's flanks and swung the flat of his sword

against the torn battle coat. A roaring noise from behind told

him the Nightbeasts were less than a length away. Dawnrise

faltered, and seemed to shudder. Errant twisted in the saddle

and saw two Nightbeasts' claws hooked into the battle coat,

trying to pull the horse to a halt. He slashed the sword

backwards to the left and felt it strike, and heard the Nightbeast

scream with pain. He slashed again, this time to the right, but

he missed the claw, shattering his blade against the nightbeast's

iron cuff, the force of the blow numbed his hand and

sent the broken hilt high into the air. Dawnrise surged forwards

again, stumbling as he picked up speed. Something

bumped against Errant's leg and, looking down, he saw the

severed Nightbeast's claw and iron cuff still hooked into the

horse's battle coat. Another nightbeast was beside him,

reaching out its long arm to bring them down. They were all

around him now. Dawnrise was staggering, his head falling

from side to side with each laboured step. Errant drew both his

daggers, knowing the end had come. He turned the blades

outwards against the towering shadows and lifted his eyes to

see the sun once more, then he laughed with joy, for less than

half a length ahead of him two riders ploughed into the closing

Nightbeasts at spear-shattering speed. Behind them another

two fanned out, lowering their spears. Errant galloped clear of

the Nightbeasts, passing through the ranks of the Gallopers of

the Granite City who closed in behind him.

 

King Holbian rode amongst the Nightbeasts swinging his

double handed sword, smashing iron caps and piercing

through their foul nightmare armour, and all the time, even

beneath the darkest shadows, Ironhand, the Candleman, stayed

tirelessly at the King's stirrup with the standard of the owl in

blue and gold fluttering in the late afternoon sunlight.

 

Breakmaster rode his pony up beside Dawnrise until his and

Errant's stirrups were touching. 'Jump!' he shouted above the

thunder of hoofbeats. 'This pony is mountain bred and strong

enough to carry both of us.'

 

Errant loosed his stirrups and sprang across. Breakmaster

held on to Dawnrise's reins and so as the sun was setting they

passed through the first line of Marchers defending the

Greenway and eased back into a fast trot.

 

'Where is the King?' asked Errant looking backwards at the

line of shadows following them.

 

'There he is,' said Breakmaster, proudly, pointing back at

the Marchers, retreating in an orderly line. 'He is a great King

you know, Errant, and I'll bet a bundle of pure wax candles he

is the last into the Granite City.'

 

Holbian secretly thanked Breakmaster a thousand times as

he galloped Beacon Light amongst the Marchers for she was

brave and fearless before the Nightbeasts, rearing and

plunging, biting and kicking to kill, and each time he let the

reins fall to take up his sword she went where he bid her, or

stood rock still while he made the killing stroke.

 

Archer Grey Goose had divided up his bowmen into two

strikes. One he placed on the high ground against the granite

walls of the city. 'Save your arrows,' he commanded, 'for you

are the last line of defence. Swords will be broken and spear

shafts shattered in the retreat when the Marchers and the

Gallopers rush for the gates. Then drive back the Nightbeasts

with every arrow you have.'

 

'What of you, Grey Goose?' one of the Archers asked.

 

Grey Goose smiled. 'We shall be on the Greenway, using the

skills Trueflight taught us, sweeping in wherever the Marchers

are weakest, buying time with each shaft we shoot.'

 

Night had fallen, Breakmaster urged his pony into a canter,

Dawnrise followed, his head sunk down in tiredness. The great

gates loomed up out of the darkness, ablaze with every torch

and lamp the city people could find. Behind them Errant could

hear the roaring noise of the Nightbeast army.

 

'Look!' cried Breakmaster, 'Look at the walls.' Errant

looked up and saw, silhouetted against the night sky, thousands

of tiny lights.

 

'The people of the city have come to help us! Every one of

them has brought a lamp or a candle. Look how it lights the

Greenway.'

 

Breakmaster looked back across his shoulder past Errant

into the darkness and saw reflected in the city lights the

rippling emblem of the owl and the flash of bright steel where

the King spurred Beacon Light against the shadows. The

Marchers swung their swords in rhythm from left to right,

retreating a step, pausing to plunge their blades, retreating,

pausing, and sometimes silently opening their ranks to allow

the King through as he marshalled the line. Grey Goose had

followed the King, shadowing his every move, and five times

before night fell his strike of Archers had saved Holbian by

driving back foul beasts that threatened to overwhelm him.

Now they were within half a league of the gates. Holbian drew

all the Marchers, Gallopers and Archers into close order upon

the Greenway. The Archers with empty quivers were sent into

the city, running as quickly as they could, carrying their injured

between them.

'Swordsmen between the Spearmen, Gallopers on the outside.

Prepare to break order,' shouted the King as they neared

the gates.

 

'Now!' shouted Grey Goose, and all the Archers beneath the

walls loosed their arrows, halting the Nightbeasts' forward

rush.

 

'Break the standard. Retreat!' cried the King, turning

Beacon Light towards the gates.

 

As one the warriors quickened their pace, retreating through

the gates into the city, only the King and Ironhand were still to

enter.

 

'Lord!' Ironhand cried out, stumbling forwards, the

standard of the owl toppling out of his hands. Holbian spun

round, sparks flying from his horse's shoes and saw his

Candleman and brave standard-bearer driven to his knees by a

Nightbeast spear. Holbian spurred Beacon Light forwards and

plunged his sword through the Nightbeast towering over

Ironhand. He reached down and lifted Ironhand up across his

saddle, turned again and galloped into the city with the Nightbeasts

at his heels.

Breakmaster saw the standard fall and, leaping off his pony,

had rescued it just before the gates were slammed shut and

piled high with tree beams.

 

King Holbian cantered up through the city, shouting for a

healer. Only at the doors of Candlebane Hall did he draw rein

and, after quietly thanking Beacon Light for her great courage,

he dismounted and gathered Ironhand in his arms. He strode

to the Candlebane Hall doors and pushed against them, but

they did not move. He pushed again, stepped back a pace and,

raising his armoured boot, he smashed the locks. The rush of

wind from the bursting doors snuffed all the candles in the

outer hall, releasing huge shadows that leapt up the walls into

the smoky rafters.

 

'Chancellors!' shouted the King, advancing through the

candles into the innermost circle.

The Chancellors were huddled around the throne, whispering

together, Proudpurse cowering in the seat of the throne. King

Holbian stood at the edge of the inner circle, the candle light

reflecting from his bloodstained, battered armour. He saw before

him the remnants of the cloak of jewels, shredded and scattered

across the polished floor. He heard the Chancellors' whispers

and looked down at the quiet face of the Candleman on his arm.

He turned back to his Chancellors.

 

'Out! Out!' he whispered, violently, advancing towards his

throne. 'You who dared to scheme and plot to steal this kingdom,

take it now, if you dare! Stand before the people now and lead

them, or forever creep in the shadows.'

 

Proudpurse jumped up out of the King's way and fled,

followed by all the other Chancellors towards the Candlebane

doors.

 

'Stop!' commanded the King, 'I have not dismissed you yet.'

 

Gently he laid the Candleman in the seat of the throne.

Proudpurse would have heeded nothing, not even the King's

command, but a figure stood between the doors, barring the way.

 

'Chancellors! Your King calls you,' Nevian said quietly,

advancing into the Candle Hall.

 

'Nevian!' cried the King, 'Come quickly, my Candleman is

gravely wounded.'

 

Nevian spoke briefly to a figure standing outside in the

darkness and beckoned him to come forwards.

 

Errant strode into the Candle Hall and took the sword Nevian

had offered him. 'Chancellors,' he laughed, sweeping the blade

before their faces, 'let us return into the inner circle and await

the King's counsel.'

 

'He is dying, Nevian, save him,' pleaded the King. 'He was the

first man in the city I could trust. My brave standard-bearer,

Ironhand.

 

Nevian hurried to the high throne and took the Candleman's

limp hand into his own, already the fingers were growing cold, the

ends stiffening at his touch.

'He is beyond my skills, Lord. I cannot tread amongst the

dead and bring them back.'

 

King Holbian knelt, putting his arm around Ironhand's

shoulders and drew his head up to his own chest. 'Candleman,'

he whispered, a tear forming in the corner of his eye, 'Oh,

Candleman, Elundium will be a darker place without your

sweet voice to sing it to sleep.'

 

Ironhand's eyelids fluttered open slowly, his lips moved in

the slightest whisper, 'Who, Lord, calls the Candleman to see

him to bed?' He smiled as he looked up at the King. A faraway

look clouded his eyes and made him blind to those around him.

He sighed, and slumped in the King's arms.

 

Holbian felt a hand on his shoulder and looking up through

his tears saw the kind face of Nevian. 'Send for the Buryman,,

he whispered.

 

'He will not travel in the Buryman's cart,' replied Holbian,

carefully crossing Ironhand's arms and putting his own sword

into the dead hands.

 

'Proudpurse and Overlord, they will carry him on a bier

made from spear shafts used in battle. He shall have my battle

cloak draped across it and I shall be mounted on Beacon Light

following in honour of my dear and loyal friend. Each of the

Chancellors will walk in homage to the Candleman, carrying

lamps to light the way for him, who kept the light all his life.'

 

'And I shall carry the standard!' cried Breakmaster, falling

on to his knees beside the body of his friend, weeping

unashamedly in the soft candlelight.

 

The procession wound its way slowly down through the city.

The news of Ironhand's death had travelled quickly through

 

the city and all the city dwellers that had climbed to the top of

the walls to light the King's retreat thronged the Buryman's

routs, standing in silence as the Candleman was carried out.

Ironhand's widow walked at his side, her hand upon his, tears

of grief running down her face. King Holbian laid the last

square of turf on the mound over his grave and stepped back.

He looked at the sad faces filling every space in the Buryman's

yard and realized just how many friends the simple Candleman

had.

 

Nevianpressed the King quietly to hurry backto the Candlehall,

Errant and Breakmaster followed in the King's footsteps.

 

'You are besieged, my Lord, the Nightbeasts have ringed the

city. Listen to them pounding on the gates.'

 

Nevian paced Candlebane Hall, the bright colours of the

rainbow cloak reflecting everywhere in the candlelight. Holbian

turned his head towards the broken candle doors and listened.

Ironhand's death had overshadowed the retreat into the city, but

now he heard them and shuddered, remembering their foul

nightmare shapes upon the Greenway. Roaring screams rose up

from beyond the granite walls and at regular intervals a dull boom

seemed to shake the city, trembling up through the foundations to

Candlebane Hall, making the slender candle stems shake, spilling

hot wax on to the polished floor. King Holbian spun round

towards Nevian.

 

'What nature of beasts are these that can travel and fight in the

daylight and shake the very bones of the Granite City?'

 

'Lord,' cried Errant, 'They wear a strange layer of armour over

their eyes. Tombel slew a beast near Woodsedge, he examined

the eyes and said it was the skin from a wolf's eye, stripped and

stretched flat. It renders them near blind, without focus, but they

can travel in the daylight and as you saw had nearly pulled

Dawnrise down before you rescued me.'

 

King Holbian laughed bitterly, 'And I thought old age had

robbed nothing of my fighting skills. Now I find that blind beasts

chased me back into the city, killing my Candleman for good

measure.'

 

Again the hollow booming noise shook the Granite City.

 

'What strange magic have they brought with them?' cried

Breakmaster, drawing his sword.

 

'Whole trees,' replied Nevian, unrolling a map of Elundium on

the Candlehall floor.

'Whole trees?' echoed the King.

 

'Yes, my lord. They are battering against the walls and the

gates of the city with them. Twenty Nightbeasts hold each side

of the tree trunks.'

 

'How long will it be before they break through?' wondered

the King aloud.

 

'That, lord, depends on how great a stonemaster the last

Mason King was when he built this city. But we must talk of

attack and bold counter-moves, not defence and sieges. Too

long you have hidden here sulking while the Nightbeasts have

grown in power. Now is the time for action.'

 

King Holbian looked about him at the emptiness of

Candlebane Hall, remembering how, in his youth, his captains

and Marcher Marshals would have crowded around him,

 

eager for his battle plans. He laughed at the emptiness and

turned sharply on Nevian.

 

'What would you have me do? Send out my two Captains to

be slaughtered before the very gates of the city? I have no great

army to fight with, six ranks of Marchers, two strikes of Archers

and twenty Gallopers. Even if I spread them around the city in

defence each man would be out of sight of the next. I cannot

waste them in proud moves, blind to sense and reason.'

 

'You cannot afford to sit here either, for the army that faces

your gates is but a shadow of Krulshard's forces. The battle to

save Elundium from the darkness will not be fought beneath

these granite walls but far away in a place you know and dread!'

 

Holbian turned desperately to Errant. 'What of the

Marchers you had ridden out to gather. How many had you

found?'

 

'Sire, two thousand Marchers, sixteen strikes of Archers and

ten squadrons of Gallopers had assembled at Woodsedge in a

great camp. The lights from their cooking fires spread far

beneath the eves of the black forest. The Nightbeasts divided,

giving the wayhouse a wide berth, but Tombel took the

Marchers against them and slaughtered thousands before their

army had passed by. He dispatched me to tell you that in two

daylights he will march on the Granite City.'

 

'There, help is on the way, Nevian,' the King laughed,

turning back to the Master of Magic.

 

'No, Lord,' replied Nevian sternly, 'in two daylights all the

light of Elundium could totter and fall into darkness. If the

Warriors gathered at Woodsedge journey here to the Granite

City turn them, Lord, send them with all haste to Underfall!'

 

'How, Lord?' asked the King, lifting his arms in despair.

 

Errant knelt, offering up the hilt of Nevian's sword. 'Lord,

with first morning, as the sun heralds a new daylight, I will

break the siege and ride without pausing for breath to

Woodsedge and all the other Wayhouses on the Greenways'

edge. Ten thousand Marchers shall gather on the Causeway

Fields and Gallopers as numerous as summer corn will ride

along the Causeway road.'

 

'Bold moves,' whispered Nevian, smiling at the King.

 

Holbian lifted Errant to his feet saying, 'We will win you a

little Greenway, Captain. We shall ride with you as far as we

dare, blunting our swords on Nightbeasts' armour and

splintering our spears on their foul helms.'

 

'Lord,' Grey Goose cried, hammering on the broken candle

doors. 'The Nightbeasts are scaling the walls. We drive them

back but they climb faster than we can nock arrows on to the

bows.'

 

'Every man, woman and child must come here to

Candlebane Hall. Empty it of candles and take them to line the

walls with light. Open the armoury and give every man who can

fight a sword or spear.'

 

Candlebane Hall was quickly stripped of candles and the city

dwellers, high or low born, together carried the candles to the

highest ramparts and let them shine out against the darkness.

Nevian watched the King, keeping his hand on the King post

candle when all the others had been taken.

 

'You have grown brave, Lord, with the passing of the suns.'

King Holbian gently took the King post candle from Nevian

and passed it to Breakmaster, telling him to take it down to the

outer walls. Now Candlebane Hall stood bare and completely

dark.

 

'I have tried,' the King replied, walking quickly through the

doors, and breathing a sigh of relief to see the stars shining in

the dark sky, 'I still have much to overcome before I dare enter

the City of Night.'

 

Nevian smiled in the darkness and whispered, 'As I foretold

long ago you have become a great King. Come let us go down to

the walls and defend the city.'

 

First light had almost come. Dawnrise fidgeted while the

blacksmith burned on a new set of shoes and nailed them

securely to his hooves. Breakmaster scoured the armoury and

found what legends had said the great Warhorses once used to

wear, a battle coat of ancient steelsilver, so finely woven that it

weighed no more than a feather and had the touch of watered

silk, yet was tough enough to shatter a blade. He laid it across

the horse's back and it fitted perfectly, showing the emblem of

the owl in blue and gold threads. King Holbian had drawn the

Gallopers into two columns in the shadows of the gates.

Archers crouched between the horses. Marchers had interlocked

their spears with the blades pointing outwards and

waited in a long winding column that stretched back up into the

city. The tree beams blocking the gates were quietly levered

away, leaving a clear path for the King to gallop out on to the

Greenway.

 

Errant led Dawnrise out of the blacksmith's forge, mounted

him and rode down into the shadows of the gate.

 

'Errant,' the Kingwhispered, riding Beacon Light up beside

Dawnrise, 'take my standard and deliver it to Marcher

 

Tombel, tell him to lead the Warriors with all speed to

Underfall. Tell him to set the standard upon the Causeway

Fields against our darkest fears and...' the King paused,

taking a letter out from beneath his battle cloak, 'deliver this

letter to Thunderstone, for there will be no more messengers

after you have gone.'

 

As Errant tucked the letter into his pouch the King gripped

his arm. 'I shall miss you, Errant, brave heart, and my thoughts

are ever with you, long after you have ridden out of sight. We

shall ride with you as far as this column reaches, stopping only

when the last Marcher is between the gates.'

 

The gates rattled and the locks clicked, light glowed above

the horizon, the Nightbeasts battering the walls or scaling the

heights retreated in the face of new daylight, covering their

eyes with the wolf skin shields. Rumbling back across the

cobbles the gate swung open.

 

'Kingspeed, messenger,' shouted the King, spurring

Beacon Light forwards on to the Greenway.

 

'Kingspeed,' shouted every voice in the Granite City as the

Gallopers and Marchers thundered out, ploughing through

the shadows towards the clear line of the horizon bathed in

early sunlight.

 

 

Nighthorses

 

 

Morning was breaking through night's shadows, dawn was

pushing the grey hours into retreat. The doors groaned and

creaked, waiting for the sunrise. Watchkeepers patrolled the

upper galleries, wrapped in their warmest cloaks. Only the

Nighthorses stood awake, fidgeting in their stalls, stamping

sparks off their shoes, tossing their heads in the torch light.

 

Thane had slept badly, troubled by a persistent dream that

drove him from his bed of straw before the grey hours had

touched the darkness. He dreamed of the ancient tumbled

down Wayhouse and the door of thorns, tiny flowers opened

and he smelt their heady scent, but far away upon the edge of

sound a horse was running fast, pushed by fear. Tossing and

turning he awoke soaked in a cold sweat, cramped fingers

gripping the summer scarf. Each time he slept the hoofbeats

grew louder until he saw clearly who it was the Nightbeasts

chased and he leapt down on to the cold cobbled stable floor,

hastily pulling on his clothes, whispering to Mulcade and

Rockspray, 'Somewhere near this place fear drives a Kingsman

on the roads. None will follow us, risking death on the strength

of my dream. I must go alone. Will you come with me?'

 

The owls hooted softly, flying to perch beside the Night

horses' stalls, pulling at their bridle chains with their sharp

beaks. 'Will you fly ahead and search the roads lest I take the

wrong path?' In his haste to saddle Esteron Thane missed the

owls' wisdom as they tugged at the chains rattling the catches in

their beaks. 'Quickly,' he whispered, 'the grey hours are upon

us.' Frustrated and angry at Thane's blindness the owls rose on

silent wings above the roofs of Underfall. 'We must go alone,'

he whispered to Esteron, tightening the girths, 'None will

follow my cream,' but Esteron would not leave the stables no

matter how hard Thane tugged at the reins. 'Esteron!' he

hissed in the torch light, near to tears, 'a Kingsman rides alone

out there. I know my dream is a vision. It is the truth!' Dropping

the reins he turned to face Esteron, a hand on his sword, 'I will

go alone if I must!'

 

Esteron looked long into Thane's eyes and held him still,

calming his troubled mind, before moving to the nearest stall,

pulling gently at the chain that held the Nighthorse.

 

'The nighthorses!' Now he understood why the owls had

been pecking at the horses' chains and he ran from stall to stall

releasing the brass catches.

 

'Thunderstone may flay my hide, but we shall not be alone

upon the road. Come, the doors will soon open and we can take

the road that the owls choose.'

 

Doubt crossed and recrossed Thane's mind many times as

they waited for a touch of sunlight to spring the doors. An eerie

ghostliness surrounded him, sitting among the riderless

horses. They stood statue-still in two neat lines, not a hoof

scraped the cobbles, not a bridle jingled in the half light. If his

dream was just night's fantasy men would laugh and call him a

fool, the Keeper would probably beat him raw but he held on to

his courage tighter than the reins in his hands and waited for

the sunrise.

 

With a deep rumble the doors swung back, scraping across

the cobbles. Before them lay dew-wet empty fields. 'Which

way, Esteron? We must not choose the wrong path.' There was

an anxious note in Thane's whisper, 'It's getting late. Where

are the owls? They would know which way.'

 

Esteron stood undecided between the doors, Mulcade flew

to them low and fast, hooting and shrieking. Thane had heard

that call before when great danger had pressed all around them

on the road to Underfall.

 

'It is not a dream! Run, Esteron! Mantern's Forest is the

road, that's the direction! Run, Esteron!' And then his voice was

lost amidst the thunder of hooves, the banner of the sun blazed

from Thane's arm as either side of him the Nighthorses fanned

out, filling the Greenway still wreathed in morning mist.

Mulcade alighted on Thane's shoulder, looking ahead with

unblinking eyes. The men at World's End turned in troubled

sleep as thundering hoofbeats blended with their dreams.

Watchkeepers saw the horses galloping out and rang the

warning bells, but it was too late, Esteron was upon the

causeway, running fast towards Mantern's Forest and the

Deepling Gorge.

 

King Holbian had won four leagues of Greenway in that mad

dash out of the Granite City and Errant, looking back as

Dawnrise galloped clear of the Nightbeasts, briefly watched

the long column of Gallopers turn and magically shrink back

into the city, protected by the glittering spear blades of the

Marchers.

 

By evening time, with the sun near setting he had met

Tombel in the vanguard of the Marchers running hard towards

the Granite City. Tombel had argued fiercely against turning

towards Underfall and Errant had to break the leather binding

cords on the standard of the owl to convince him that it was the

King's command to turn away. He had rested Dawnrise at

Woodsedge just long enough for him to find his second wind

and then, re-girthing, he had mounted for the road again.

Elionbel had stopped him on the Greenway's edge and pressed

into his hands a finely hammered silver fingerbowl asking him

to give it to Thanehand when he reached World's End and to

tell him that she raised her cup each daylight towards his safe

return.

 

Dawnrise had taken him tirelessly from Wayhouse to

Wayhouse, calling out the bearers of the tattoo mark, telling

them that the King had great need of them upon the Causeway

Fields, beneath the walls of Underfall. 'Hurry! Hurry!' he had

shouted to them, remounting and galloping onwards. Now

Stumble Hill lay many leagues behind.

 

'We will come!' Kyot had shouted above the armourers'

racket as they hammered out new arrowheads.

 

Night was still master of the forest road and Errant saw

nothing of the grey hours or the breaking dawn above the

canopy of trees. Only on the summit above the Deepling Gorge

did he see morning and shafts of early sunlight on the wooden

bridge.

 

Suddenly all around him Nightbeasts roared, black shadows

swarmed on to the road.

 

'Gallop, Dawnrise!' he shouted, cutting the spurs into his

horse's flanks. The steelsilver battle coat shone and glittered as

Dawnrise leapt forwards, using the last of his strength to break

through the Nightbeasts. Spear blades, cruel, hooked scythes

and black double edged nightmare swords shattered against his

coat, Errant struck out with the sword Nevian had given him

and it sheared easily through the Nightbeast armour. Left and

right he plunged the blade, drawing closer to the bridge with

every stride. The wood beyond lay empty, bathed in early

morning light.

 

Above the sound of Dawnrise's hoofbeats Errant heard the

thunder of other iron-shod hooves and cried aloud with joy as

the Greenway before him filled with horses and each one wore

the crest of Underfall upon its battle coat. But his cry died away

- the saddles were empty. Only the horse that led them had a

rider in the saddle and he had a banner of light flowing from his

arm and a Battle Owl on his shoulder.

 

Dawnrise faltered, crashing to his knees twenty paces from

the bridge. Errant rose from the crumpling horse, his sword

gripped tight in his hand against the circling Nighthorses,

crying in a voice full of fear, 'None shall touch him while I live!'

 

'And none shall, save the healer of World's End!' answered

Thane's voice as he dismounted and offered Errant the hilt of

his sword.

 

'You have won the Greenway, messenger. You are safe from

the Nightbeasts now!'

 

Errant looked suspiciously at the young man who stood

before him. 'Much has changed since I left Underfall. Then

the Nighthorses went into battle with a warrior in each saddle.

What magic do you weave to counsel them? Who are you?'

Thane smiled, re-sheathing his sword and without a word of

command the circle of horses stopped, turning as one to face

outward, against the forest shadows. Thane knelt and loosened

Dawnrise's girths and pulled the saddle clear.

 

'I am but one who serves amongst the many at Underfall.

Thanehand is my name. I am the Candleman's son. I came

through the breaking dawn to the sound of your fleeing

hoofbeats. The Nighthorses were about me as the new sun rose

and filled the road at their own wishes!'

 

Mulcade, having taken Thane's helm as he dismounted,

stooped back to him carrying the helm upturned and filled with

water.

 

'Mulcade is a bird of war, and fears not the dark. He found

you beyond hope and showed me the road.'

 

Thane took the helm and began bathing the horse's wounds.

 

'Thanehand?' Errant whispered, reaching for the silver

fingerbowl fixed on to his belt. Thane looked up, smiling.

Errant offered him the bowl and he took it, puzzled.

 

'It is a gift from Elionbel from Woodsedge. She thinks of you

each daylight, and . . .'

 

Errant's face clouded as he thought back further, to a funeral

procession mournfully descending into the Buryman's yards.

'Was your father the King's Candleman in Candlebane Hall?'

he asked quietly, but he could tell at once from the look in

Thane's eyes that Ironhand was his father. Reaching out he

took Thane's hand into his own. 'He ran at the King's stirrup,

Thane, tirelessly carrying the standard. He was so brave,

 

Thane looked away, blinking back his tears, and, lifting his

hand to wipe his face the fingerbowl caught the sunlight as he

 

moved and he quickly fixed it to his belt.

 

'To love is to risk everything,' he whispered, looking down at

Dawnrise, struggling to rise to his feet. Quickly Thane looked

back to the messenger's face. 'You have risked everything to

ride to World's End. What has happened in the Granite City?

Why was my father, the humble Candleman, at the King's

side?'

 

'The city is besieged by a terrible Nightbeast army. I ride to

warn Thunderstone.'

 

'Then ride!' shouted Thane, leaping to his feet. 'Take any of

the Nighthorses. The road is yours to World's End and tell the

Keeper I shall return with your horse when he is strong enough

to stand and finish the journey.'

 

Errant quickly chose a horse, mounted and turned in the

saddle to look down at Dawnrise. 'We shall meet again at

World's End, great horse, and there I shall put a battle coat of

pure silver on your back.'

 

Turning to Thane he cried as the horse took to the

Greenway, 'The King called out your name as we parted and

hopes each daylight that you grow stronger!'

 

Thane sat in silence for a long time, bathing Dawnrise's

wounds and thinking of his father. Tears kept welling up and

unashamedly he wept.

 

'Thunderstone will marshal all the warriors to march on the

city,' he whispered to Mulcade, perched on his shoulder, and

then he wept again, thinking of his mother in that dark house

beneath the city walls, frail and all alone. 'I cannot leave her

alone,' he cried, leaping to his feet and tightening Esteron's

girths. 'The King needs me!'

 

A voice beyond the circle of Nighthorses made him spin

round, dagger drawn. 'Haste can be a bad council, Thane, and

saves little in the fullness of time!'

 

Thane looked out of the circle and saw the old man in the

rainbow cloak. He looked tired and dusty, worn out by a long

journey.

 

'Nevian?'he asked, stepping forwards.

 

The Master of Magic laughed, casting back his cloak and

entered the circle of horses motioning to Thane to re-sheath

his dagger.

 

'The messenger carries grave news, but your running back

to the Granite City will only darken it a little more. Your place

is here, leading the warriors of Underfall! Thunderstone needs

you.'

 

'But Lord, surely Thunderstone will march to rescue the

King before the Nightbeasts tear the Granite City down. I

could be half a daylight ahead, searching out the way.'

 

Nevian smiled, placing an aged hand on Thane's sleeve.

'Patience, Thane, the battle for the Granite City will be won or

lost here, at World's End, on a wide plateau near the stars. You

must find that place and be before the black gate when the new

sun rises and the battle begins.'

 

'But I cannot leave Dawnrise!' Thane cried, 'And where do I

start looking for this plateau?'

 

Nevian pointed beyond the Nighthorses to the dark eaves of

Mantern's Forest. 'You are not alone, Thane, nor is the road

difficult to follow, for many will have gone before you marking

the way. Look to the bonds I broke many suns ago.' Nevian

shook the rainbow cloak and it became as leaf shadows on the

forest edge that disappeared as a cloud covered the sun.

 

'Nevian, wait!' Thane called, running across the bridge.

 

'Nevian!' Movement in between the trees made him stop.

 

'Esteron,' he cried, retreating back into the circle, 'something

moves beyond the forest eaves.'

 

Esteron raised his head, searched the undergrowth and then

called out in a strong voice. Echoes came back from the distant

hills, roaring across the tree tops, growing louder and louder

until Thane realised that the sounds that he thought were

echoes were in fact answers.

 

'The Warhorses!' he whispered, putting a hand on

Mulcade's talons where they dug into his shoulder. In wonder

beyond his understanding he watched the road about them fill

with more beauty that he had ever dreamed could exist. The

Warhorses' soft coats shone like silk in the sunlight. Their

manes seemed spun on the finest looms, some so long and

flowing that they touched the ground. Sheets of muscle rippled

in graceful movements as they quietly walked around the

nighthorses, moving in the direction of World's End. By late

afternoon Rockspray returned, he had searched for the fleeing

rider along the ancient road through Notley Marsh but all that

he had seen had been a fire-scorched dismal road, burned back

to the boundary stones. He flew over the ring of ash and saw the

refuse of Thane's great battle and marvelled at his courage for

Mulcade, his brother owl, would not speak of it.

 

'Rockspray,' Thane whispered, as the owl flew to his

shoulder, 'Will you fly for me to the Tower of Stumble Hill and

warn Kyotorm that the Nightbeasts are gathering to attack.

Will you bring him back to me at Underfall? Will you?'

 

Rockspray spread his wings, hooted softly and rose above the

Deepling Bridge, flying fast towards Stumble Hill.

 

 

Black Tunnels

 

Beneath Mantern's Mountain, night had spread in confusion

and all sense of direction had been lost through Krulshards'

greed to swallow everything into the darkness. Whips rose and

fell to drive the tunnel slaves to dig, and new tunnels often ran

blindly parallel to old forgotten ones with only a wafer thin wall

of solid rock between them.

 

Many leagues below the ground, deep dust settled in the

maze of empty roads and icy draughts of pure mountain air

found the way to the deepest levels, bringing on a hint of

summer and the smells of another world within the light.

Willow rammed his aching shoulder hard against the sledge,

gritty dust ground between his teeth and stung his eyes. 'Pull,

Star!' he cried as the lash cut across his back, 'Pull!' But she

could go no further, her old legs buckled, and stumbling she

fell tangled in the traces. Tired eyes flinched as the enraged

Nightbeast raised the lash, but it never finished its stroke.

Willow pulled the hidden blade and, two-handed, plunged it

high above his head into the monster's back. And a great

strength in the steel sheared right through the hideous strips of

armoured skin, cutting into the beast's flesh. The sledge

slipped sideways, toppling over, a roaring neigh and flashing

hooves filled the tunnel. Willow hit the tunnel side with such

force that the wall collapsed, broken flakes of rock half buried

him. He saw the Nightbeast crushed beneath the Warhorse's

feet, saw Star trapped in the tangled traces, then blackness

closed upon him.

 

Dust settled in the broken tunnel. The spilled ore and the

 

collapsed tunnel wall stopped the enraged Nightbeasts from

 

reaching Willow, but they tore at the mound of rubble, tossing

great slabs of rock behind them. A wet tongue and soft lips

pushed Willow's head from side to side and brought him back to

consciousness as he lay in the Warhorse's shadow. The great

head gently pushed him awake. 'Hurry!' a voice shouted in his

head, 'The light awaits. Hurry, Willow.' He scrambled to his feet

and turned towards the gaping hole where the tunnel wall had

been, took a hesitant step and stopped. He turned back to the

ruined sledge, where Evening Star lay trapped in the traces,

struggling to rise; he knelt and took her head upon his lap, looking

into her eyes. 'The Elder said to follow my heart and let it choose

the path I take. I cannot leave you here to die alone.'

 

Reaching over he pulled the splintered blade out of the

nightbeast's back and made ready to defend his life beside the

one he loved. The Warhorse fretted and pressed more urgent

thoughts into Willow's head. 'Cut her loose, you fool, you were

not meant to go alone. Use the blade upon the traces. Hurry!'

 

With swift slashing strokes Willow freed Evening Star who

scrambled to her feet. They rushed for the black entrance as the

last remaining blocks of rubble were being wrenched apart. Great

Nightbeast claws appeared between the shifting rocks. 'Hurry,

hurry! I will keep the entrance safe for a little while. Always keep

the icy wind upon your face.' The voice in Willow's head fell silent

as Equestrius turned to face the screaming mass of Nightbeasts

swarming through the widening gaps between the wall of broken

stones. Alone he stood, proud and unafraid, all Nature's beauty in

that dark and crowded space against the glittering scythes the

Nightbeasts carried. Rearing, kicking, biting and crushing he won

what time he could. No slave had ever escaped to see the light of

day or give away the secret of the City of Night. All the roads were

filled with raging Beasts and the tunnellers burrowed deep into

the dust in fear of their lives. But in a high, secret chamber,

unknown to either Willow or the last of the Granite Kings, an

ancient prisoner hung, spreadeagled by the chains that bound his

blackened wrists, tortured and tormented he swung slowly in the

chilling draughts.

Equestrius brought him news of the great battle far below the

ground and of the sledgeboy's escape and his heart went out to

the child fleeing for his life deep in the bowels of the mountain.

 

For Willow and Star, dark, empty, silent tunnels branched

off in all directions, full of whispers but empty of fear, as the

Nightshapes turned away, drawing together into solid

blackness, for although they feared and hated what the Nightbeasts

were doing they could not help Willow and Star escape.

Deep dust banked up the walls in drifts and in some narrow

places almost blocked the way completely except for little gaps

beneath the jagged roof, blown clear by icy winds. This gave a

hint of the path they were to follow.

 

'Always keep the wind on your face,' the voice had echoed in

his head. 'Come on, Star, paw and scrape old friend.' Willow

caressed her and marvelled at how loud his voice sounded now

he had no Nightbeast at his back ready to wield the whips. A life

of whispers was at an end, Willow and Evening Star were free

within the mountain's heart and would not go lightly back to

slavery. Together they dug and scraped at the drifts of dust and

squeezed through the narrow roads. Rumbling noises far

behind made them dig faster, but the fragile network of tunnels

held together with the settling dust had been disturbed by their

retreat and rock slides had already blocked off their escape.

There was no going back, the way was closed.

 

 

The Warhorses

 

 

Underfall had armed for war. From the first clatter of the warning

bells the galleries creaked and groaned beneath a rush of

armoured boots. Spearmen filled the dykes, men shouted and

cursed as they dressed the remaining horses for battle.

Shadowspur threatened Thane's life for taking the Nighthorses.

Riders already mounted spurred their mounts hard, cursing the

undergrooms that ran beneath their feet burdened with the gear

of war. 'Clear our path! Let none stand in our way!' but their

voices were lost in the clamour.

 

Thunderstone stood in the main courtyard wielding the flat of

his sword to drive men faster and none came near its reach as he

roared out the orders. 'More swords on the Causeway. More

quivers on the galleries. We would all be dead if life hung on your

idleness.' But his anger and haste gave no indication of the turmoil

and despair echoing in his head. 'Old fool, who snatches sleep

while others stand the watches of the night. A child sees more and

moves before the rumours of a war become shouts. What is more

stupid than an old man, weary beyond his years, who hears nothing

but his own snores; fool, fool!' The voices shouted at him and he

swung his sword, catching a lad between the shoulder blades,

sending him sprawling across the cobbles, scattering new arrows.

The blow gave him no satisfaction, it only served to increase his

shame. 'Thane must have been sorely pressed to ride out alone,

taking only the owls and the nighthorses. Why, child? Can you

answer me that?' He spoke more to himself than to the boy lying

before him; he reached down and pulled him to his feet. The lad

tried to make a run for cover but the Keeper held on to him, looking

into his frightened eyes, 'Did you hear any sounds in the night,

child, or feel anything to trouble your sleep?'

'No, Master,' whispered the boy, fearing the Keeper's rage,

'I dreamed of galloping horses filling the Causeway; the sun

shone on their battle coats.'

 

'Whose horses were they?' asked Thunderstone, sharply.

 

'Why, Master, they had our crest upon them. A golden owl

on a blue background. There was fire in their eyes and they

tossed their heads with pride.'

 

The lad had a faraway look in his eyes, fear gone, and for a

moment the Keeper heard the roar of hoofbeats from his own

dream. He smiled, and whispering as he released his grip on

the lad, 'He will be safe amongst the Nighthorses for they were

gathered from all the wild places. No matter what shadows fall

across his path. Hurry, lad, new arrows may be bloody and

blunt before this day sees an end.'

 

Thunderstone now gathered his captains to stand with him

between the doors. He raised the blade of his sword towards

the wild landscape beyond. In his other hand he held a crystal

glass full to the brim with a clear liquid. Placing the glass upon

the ground, he spoke to those assembled.

 

'Rumours and whispers will become the shouts of battle,

that much I know. It is in the wind and it is in the ground we

stand upon. Watch the glass.'

 

Great Warriors bent their heads, not knowing that magic lay

trapped within the glass. None wished to seem the fool and

wide-eyed fear held them to the spot.

 

'Watch and wait!' ordered the Keeper. The noise of men

and horses preparing for war seemed to fade into the

background, the liquid trembled and became still, trembled

and was still again. None the wiser, the Warriors cast glances at

each other, looking for the courage to ask what riddle lay in the

glass. 'There is the whisper of war,' Thunderstone said,

picking up the glass and casting its contents across the cobbles

at their feet.

 

'Where, Master?' ventured Tiethorm, stepping back lest the

liquid touch his boots. 'What power moved the liquid?'

 

'The rumours of war, you fool, did you not feel the tremors

during the night? Whatever shook the very bones of this place

must have driven Thane on to the Causeway, taking the

Nighthorses with him. I thought the dotage of age robbed only

me of wakefulness, I did not realize it also robbed every man

about me, except young Thane.'

 

Thunderstone looked past those assembled, speaking

almost to himself. 'Something with great power moves the

ground beneath our feet. Something like a mighty wind. It is all

around us; we can feel it yet we cannot touch or hold it.'

Turning his mind back to those gathered about him he spoke

with all the authority of the Keeper of World's End. 'I counsel

you to be ready!' Then he turned to stride towards the galleries

but a cry from his bowmen on the walls made him turn again,

running back to the doors.

 

'Look, Master! The Warhorses!' came a cry from the dykes,

until the shouts of the men were lost beneath the pounding

hooves. The dust of their passage hung as a dense fog over

World's End. The ground shook, the doors rocked to and fro

upon their hinges, plates rattled on forgotten tables, drinking

vessels crashed to the ground and a fierce wind blew the candle

 

flames dancing madly on their wicks.

 

'Nature's army moves towards Mantern's Mountain!'

shouted Thunderstone, but none heard him as the close

pressed Warhorses galloped past. 'If nothing but the shadows

of death live why are they going in that direction?'

 

But his thoughts were broken by the sight of a rider

emerging from amongst the Warhorses, hard-galloping he

came, past the Marchers in the dykes who raised their spears

and swords to cheer him on, straight through the mighty doors.

Sparks showered from the horse's hooves as he skidded to a

halt before the master of World's End.

 

'Errant!' Thunderstone cried, embracing him, overjoyed to

see him alive and safe.

 

Holding Errant at arm's length Thunderstone frowned to

see him so ragged and exhausted. Drawing him close again he

asked in a quiet voice. 'What black news do you carry that has

hard ridden you into a shadow? Where is your horse,

Dawnrise? He was the best and the bravest that we have ever

saddled.'

 

'Lord, the Granite City is under siege. The road is full of

Nightbeasts and is closed. I bring you this letter from the

King. . . '

 

'Warriors!' Thunderstone shouted, turning abruptly away

from Errant. 'We must rescue the King.'

 

'Lord, Lord,' shouted Errant above the rush of armoured

feet and the clatter of hooves. 'The King sent me here to warn

you that the battle for the light of Elundium will be fought here.

Nevian foretold this in Candlebane Hall!'

 

Thunderstone held up his hands and the warriors fell silent

and stood back, listening. Turning back, the Keeper took the

pouch, his eyes softening.

 

'Forgive me my impatience, Errant,' he whispered, taking

out the letter and tearing it open with the battle dagger. A single

jewel fell into his hand, it flashed in the sunlight filling the

courtyard with brilliant white light. Thunderstone closed his

hand over the jewel and read the King's letter. It was brief and

battle written, smudged and hastily sealed before the ink had

had the time to dry. It told how the Nightbeasts had encircled

the city with their black terror and of Nevian's predictions of

the great battle to come at World's End, and how Errant would

raise the bearers of the tattoo mark as he carried the letter

across Elundium. The jewel, it said, was the last one from the

cloak of jewels and Thunderstone, if possible, was to set it in

the Great Lamp of Underfall to reflect and shine in the darkness

to come.

 

'Keep the light burning, dear friend, for as long as you can.

The pledges are at an end. If the bearers of the tattoo mark

arrive too late then everlasting darkness will follow!'

 

Thunderstone sighed, putting the jewel in an inner pocket.

Grimly he spoke to the Warriors crowding around him. Lifting

his arm with the tattoo mark of the owl in blue and gold he said,

'This light will burn as long as I live. It will shine in the

darkness of despair for it knows nothing of defeat!'

 

Taking Errant by the arm he led him aside and asked, 'You

were riding Nightbeam, the Nighthorse, where did you come

by him?'

 

'Thanehand and the Nighthorses rescued me from Nightbeasts

near the Deepling Bridge. Thane is staying with

Dawnrise until he has recovered enough to finish the journey.

He urged me to finish on my own.'

 

Thunderstone smiled, 'That young man grows more like his

grandfather with each new daylight, but what of the

Warhorses? Did you see many in Mantern's Forest?'

 

'Lord, the road was full of them, but they parted giving me

the crown of the road. The dust from their passage robbed my

sight of their beauty. There were many Border Runners

amongst them and flocks of birds flew overhead. Do you think

they are forming for battle?'

 

'If I knew the answer I would be a wise man, and well

prepared for whatever is about to happen. But you, Errant,

must eat and drink and rest after such a hard road. We shall talk

again before the sun touches the horizon.'

 

Thunderstone wrapped his cloak about his shoulders to hide

a troubled heart and walked amongst his men checking that

every bow was taut, every strap and keeper was in place, lifting

mens' hearts wherever he passed, for they saw not old age or

defeat but Thunderstone the Keeper of World's End.

 

Nature's army had thinned, the leading ranks had vanished

beneath the pine forests on Mantern's lower slopes, only the

late-comers strode across the Causeway Fields, weary from

long journeys. Dusty and sweat-covered they stretched their

 

necks as if to finish a great race. Thunderstone withdrew his

Marchers and Gallopers into the fastness of Underfall, filling

the courtyards to overflowing. Swordsmen and bowmen

crowded on the galleries. Not a man or a horse could move, so

tightly were the Warriors of Underfall pressed, waiting to hear

their Master speak. But he stood between the doors, watching

Mantern's Peak that now seemed to fill the sky. The letter from

his King was in his hand.

 

At last he turned, tired and as if at the end of some great

inner debate, but he spoke with the power that Nevian had seen

long ago, hidden deep within the youth, knowing that he would

grow to hold World's End. Even as doubt lay all about him, true

to his pledges, he spoke with pride.

 

'Men! You that I thought less than worthy have grown in

strength and purpose and have become mighty Warriors.

Horses that I deemed shadows of the truth have stood beside

their brothers of legends and shown that they have the heart to

match them! Ruin has taken much that we cannot see, pledges

and oaths are at an end. The shackles and chains that bound

you and pulled you to this place are now broken for ever. You

are free to return to wherever fate drove you from.'

 

Not a man moved, nor a horse tossed his head; all stood in

silence, for many had served a lifetime at Underfall and knew

nothing of the way home or whether any still survived from old

memories.

 

Tiethorm stepped forward, pushing his way through the

host until he stood before Thunderstone. He knelt, offering his

bow of oiled ash and asked the Keeper in a loud, clear voice,

'What of you, Master? Now that the oaths are broken, what will

you do?'

 

'I have given you back your freedom. My pledge was made

long ago and will hold until I die, for I am the Keeper of

Underfall. I will keep it secure alone, if fate drives me to it.'

 

'Master, Lord of Hope,' called Tiethorm, 'In childhood I

slept safely in my mother's bed, secure in the knowledge that

the men of legends kept us safe. Now I know you as a man I will

stand with you and in freedom bend my bow to hold World's

End until the last arrow is fired.'

The sun, dropping towards evening, shone blood red

through the great doors, seeming to set men's armour on fire.

Horses neighed, men lifted their swords and shouted, 'World's

End! World's End!' and Thunderstone heard in their shouts

the voices of a mighty army. Tears of pride ran down his cheeks

and he knew that night's shadows would hold no fear for the

men of Underfall.

 

Pledges and oaths were cast aside and every man, old or

young, knelt before Thunderstone, and in freedom chose to

stay at World's End. As the last undergroom bowed his head

and made the first choice he had ever had, hoofbeats rang on

the Causeway.

 

'Rise, lad, and stand in no man's shadow, be proud of your

choice.'

 

As Thunderstone helped the lad from his knees he recognized

the youth as the one he had questioned about his dream.

'Fear not the flat of my sword, child, blade for blade we will

face the shadows together.' Turning his head, he cried aloud

Thane's name, for he saw him less than half a league from the

doors, surrounded by the Nighthorses, their coats ablaze with

evening light. 'Thane!' he cried, as the warriors fell silent,

eager to hear what news he had of the road.

 

The Nighthorses halted before the doors, tossing their

heads in the direction of Mantern's Mountain. Low murmurs

passed amongst the company as Thane led Dawnrise to stand

before Thunderstone. None among them had ever seen a

steelsilver battle coat and they marvelled at the way it

shimmered, catching the light, as the horse moved forwards,

but their gasps of delight faded away as they saw the blood

caked spur marks on his flanks and the terrible Nightbeast

wound across his neck and shoulders where the steelsilver coat

could not reach.

 

Errant shouldered his way through the press of warriors and

knelt before Dawnrise and wept, drawing his dagger to take his

own life such was his despair at seeing how hard he had ridden

his own horse, but Thunderstone took the dagger saying in a

quiet voice, 'He ran as his forefathers did into the legends of

the world. Take not his victory, nor waste the joy of reunion.

Give him your hand, for this is his moment of great honour!'

 

Dawnrise moved forwards, sniffed Errant's hand, brushed

his muzzle on his face and whinnied softly.

 

'All honour to Dawnrise!' the warriors shouted. Swords

crashed on shields, spear butts clashed against the cobbles and

Errant led his horse into the stables and the gentle hands of the

healer of World's End.

 

Thane stood between the doors, a frown creasing his forehead,

looking towards Mantern's Mountain. Thunderstone

broke into his thoughts.

 

'What troubles you, lad? You have seen much that others

have missed.'

 

Thane strove for words. 'I had a dream last night. I saw the

Errant Rider, I feared to wake you but the dream was vision.'

 

'Yes, lad, I know that now but something else plagues your

mind, speak plainly, we are on the edge of something, a great

battle? Ruin?'

 

Thane summoned up his courage and spoke so that all those

gathered could hear him. 'Beside the Deepling Bridge Nevian

came to me, and counselled me to find a high plateau

somewhere near the stars. He said I must find a black gate

before the new sun rises.'

 

Thane turned his eyes back into the crowded courtyards, but

none laughed as he had feared. The silence was so complete

that he thought he could hear the grass bending in the wind. All

eyes were fixed on him.

 

'I must find that place. Nevian has commanded me. Where

do I look?'

 

Thunderstone laughed, placing a hand on Thane's arm as

he went to mount Esteron. 'Wait. The impatience of youth

makes an old man weary and his bones grate to chase your

haste. Wait!' he paused, tugging at his horse tail hilt, speaking

slowly from his memories of long ago. 'Only one man knew of

such a place, and he spoke of an entrance high above the tree

line. He knew nothing of its purpose or who had set it there,

only that it was full of shadows, a place of fear and terrible

dread. Somewhere high above the heather meadows, near the

stars!'

 

'Who was that man?' Thane asked, jumping lightly into

Esteron's saddle, 'that I may ask him the way.'

 

Thunderstone smiled, sadly, 'It was your grandfather,

Thane. He is beyond our asking, but he told me of that

dreadful place. It is there, somewhere, near Mantern's Peak.'

 

Thane turned in the saddle and looked at the darkening

mountain.

 

'I am against it, Thane, just as I was against your grandfather

travelling that black road, and I fear for your life beyond the

Causeway Fields, alone and amongst so many shadows.'

 

'He will not be alone, Master,' called out a voice from the

courtyard. 'You readied us for battle so we shall stand wherever

the shadows gather and fight beneath the banner of the sun to

march and ride wherever Nightbeasts threaten.'

 

Thunderstone raised his hand for silence, looking from the

lengthening shadows of the mountain across the Causeway

Fields and then back at the warriors filling the courtyards before

he spoke.

 

'It is settled then, mywarriors. Your going brings old legends

back to life, for you travel -a clear path in the Warhorses' hoofprints.

Follow them to glory and heaped up honours before

Mantern's Gate!'

 

Amidst the rush of men and horses leaping down on to the

Causeway Thunderstone held on to Esteron's bridle.

 

'The words of Nevian are coming true, Thane. I was going to

send every man and horse I could spare back to the Granite

City. He said the battle would be here. I would have disobeyed

him after all these years of loyal service, but you have made it

otherwise. Men follow you, Thane. Guard them well beneath

your banner, for they know little of the terrors that await them

beyond the Causeway Fields. They love you, Thane, use that love

well and come safely back, my greatest Captain.'

 

He took Thane's hand, gripping it hard, 'Keep safe, child, on

the Mountain of Darkness.'

 

'Lord, as my Master commands so I shall be amongst the

Warriors of World's End.'

 

'Bonds and oaths are broken. I command only myself, the men

that follow you do so in free choice. Love draws them to you. The

choice of where you follow fate is yours.'

 

'Lord, my choice lies with all beings that yearn for freedom to

see a new sun rise, to hear birdsong on the Greenway's edge and

ride into morning fearing nothing the sun has yet to touch.'

 

'Then go with my blessing, Thane, ride hard and stir up such a

wind that none can stand before you!'

 

Esteron reared, breaking free from Thunderstone's hand. Far

away in the evening gloom he heard the Warhorse call and fretted

for the road.

 

'Where is Rockspray?' the Keeper called, as Esteron sprang to

the Causeway, taking the bridle and striding into the fading light.

 

'I bid him fly to Stumble Hill to warn Kyot of . . .'

 

Esteron galloped hard across the causeway fields, taking

Thane past the running Marchers and other galloping horsemen,

and his shouted reply was lost in the thunder of hooves and the

great gust of wind he stirred up.

 

Thunderstone stood alone between the doors.

 

'You will not fight alone. True friends will gather before the

gate of night, I know it.'

 

The doors began to close, Thunderstone turned, his shadow

stretching long upon the cobbles. He was now almost alone

within the fortress of World's End, his footsteps echoed in the

emptiness. For the first time in a long life he missed the stable

noises, the bustle of activity around him. Only one horse stood

pulling at the hay in his manger, only one Warrior sat in the

bracken on the stable floor, honing the blade of his sword.

'Errant,' Thunderstone asked quietly, 'tell me how things

looked upon the Greenways. Tell me if you can what is there left

to keep the light burning in this great fortress for?' Errant looked

up, his eyes wet with tears, opened and closed his mouth, but

there were no words.

 

Haste drove the spur, fear was put aside and just as Thunderstone

had counselled, the way was clear to follow. Although uphill

men and mounts strode with bounding strides, none looked back

until they had reached the heather meadows, and then drawing

breath, saw far below, the lamp of World's End shining out in the

darkness of the valleys. Far away upon the ridge above the

Deepling Gorge, Thane thought he saw starlight glittering on

mens' helms. 'It must be a trick of the light,' he whispered to

Mulcade, 'Kyot must still be far away. We stand alone.'

 

Somewhere above, against the shadows of tall pines, a high

pitched cry broke the evening quiet, despair and courage blended

in the call for help. Esteron flattened his ears, curled his lips back,

 

snatched at the bit and leapt forward. The voice, in desperate

notes, cried out his father's name.

 

Willow dug and dug until his fingers bled. Star pawed and

scraped and together they forced a passage through the drifts of

dust. All around them the Nightshapes whispered faint mumblings

of the light, faint whispers of another world beyond the night

where water splashed into sunlit pools. They dug and dug until

exhaustion forced them to stop and they fell asleep side by side,

hands and hooves pushed into the next barrier of dust.

 

Cold and stiff they awoke and started digging again. 'We must

keep going forwards, Star,' Willow muttered between clenched

teeth. 'Even if the dust wears our skin away, leaving raw flesh, we

must reach the light.'

 

Star snorted and dug her hooves deeper, sweat trickled

down her forehead and across her shoulders. With each new drift

they broke through, the air smelt a little sweeter and gradually

they reached the higher levels and the tunnels widened into

long dark empty roads, busy with the movement of night.

 

'My grandelders must have made these tunnels,' whispered

Willow, now walking beside Star, a hand stretched out to feel

the wall. 'Equestrius said we must keep the tunnel draught in

our faces but there seem so many draughts.'

 

Suddenly the wall Willow had his hand against vanished,

two more hesitant paces forward and they were standing in a

huge cavern beneath a high rough domed roof.

 

'Hush, listen, Star. There is something in this cavern!' Willow

whispered, turning his head from left to right, straining his

shellshaped ears for every sound. 'There! Do you hear it?' he

hissed, as the dry, creaking, scraping sound echoed faintly

above his head. Moving closer to Star he looked up and saw a

dark shape high-pinned to the roof, held by strong chains.

Slowly it turned, the iron links grinding together in the cold

draught.

 

Star whinnied and a dark shape with wings outspread left the

hanging figure and stooped down to hover just above their

heads.

 

'Silverwing,' snorted Star in greeting to the owl, and the owl

screeched quietly, perching for a moment on her withers before

flying back to the figure in the roof.

 

'What was that.?' called out Willow, drawing his blade.

 

Star snorted, 'It is Silverwing, the Battle Owl. He guards a

great Lord that Krulshards captured long ago and left pinned to

the ceiling to die.'

 

'What is a Lord?' asked Willow, creeping forwards and

staring up at the slowly rotating figure.

 

The dark shape laughed as it turned, a dry crackling sound;

and then it spoke. 'You may well ask, "What is a Lord?", but

more important what and who are you?'

 

Willow hesitated, looking from the dangling figure to the owl

perched nearby and then to Evening Star at his side.

 

'I am Willow Leaf, the sledge boy, and this is Evening Star.

We are escaping to the light.'

 

The ancient figure bent his head, a smile crossing the wasted

face, 'And I, Willow, am Thoronhand, the last Errant Rider to

the Granite Kings. Equestrius has told me of your escape and

my heart yearns for you to see the daylight. Hurry now, boy,

you must not tarry here too long for Nightbeasts travel through

this chamber on their way up to the black gate.'

 

'Lord Thoronhand,' Willow asked, climbing on to Star's back

and reaching up towards the Galloper's ragged boots, 'Is there

any way I can cut you down?'

 

Thoron laughed, 'These chains are thicker than a child's wrist

and will need strong tools to break them, but I thank you,

Willow, for wanting to help and I will ask that you do for me

one task, perhaps more important than winning my freedom. On

the lower slopes of this mountain there lies a place called

Underfall; when you reach the light go there and warn the

Keeper that Krulshards, the Master of Darkness, lives, and that

he has bred new terrors here in the darkness and soon he will

sweep with them across all Elundium. Will you do that for me,

Willow?'

 

'Yes, Lord,' cried Willow, overbalancing as he reached up and

touched Thoron's boots, sending the old man spinning as he

fell to the floor. Silverwing hooted in alarm.

 

'Quickly,' urged Thoron,'Nightbeasts are near. Go straight

ahead and then take the third tunnel after the bend. I think that

way leads out on to the mountainside. Hurry!'

 

Willow scrambled to his feet and ran towards the low

entrance directly opposite on the far side of the cavern. He

could hear the dry rattle of the Nightbeasts' armour and smell

their foul stench.

 

'Come on, Star,' he hissed, leading the way. Evening Star

followed as quickly as she could, bumping her bulky sides

against the walls as the tunnel narrowed.

 

Willow's sharp ears picked up different sounds ahead, noises

he had never heard before, some so loud that they thundered in

his head. Dropping flat on to his stomach he crawled forward,

the dagger wedged between his teeth.

Rounding a tight bend a brilliant white light burned his eyes. If

it had been pure sunlight it would have destroyed his sight

forever but morning had not yet lifted about Mantern's

towering shoulders and what he had glimpsed was only the

beginnings of a beautiful day. Spellbound he hugged the dirty

floor, shaking his head until his hair fell in a tangled fringe over

his eyes and he looked again through slitted eyelids. It was

more wonderful than any of the elders' stories, pure light

flooded through a metal grille about two hundred paces further

up the tunnel. The grille had sharp spikes at the bottom that

touched the ground and barred the way. A heavy movement

near the grill caught Willow's attention. He froze where he lay,

holding his breath, a racing heart made the blood pound in his

ears. He had not noticed the niches carved near the tunnel

entrance, skilfully fashioned to hide the Watchers, for in the

niches sat two giant Nightbeasts. Willow knew that he must

retreat without attracting their attention. Behind him he heard

the dull pad of Star's hooves and her laboured breath rasped

loudly as she climbed the winding tunnel. The Nightbeasts

turned their heads from left to right and their hooded eyes

searched blindly in the light.

 

Willow edged backwards round the tunnel bend, willing the

old horse with all his mind to stand stock still. His bare foot

touched something hard, he jumped and rolled over, the

dagger gripped with both hands ready to strike upwards.

Evening Star's soft muzzle touched his forehead and a gentle

voice filled his mind, 'I heard you, Willow, we can talk together

without any sound just as Equestrius the great Warhorse spoke

to you telling you to cut the traces thatbound me to the sledge. I

have read your thoughts since the elder's death and know the

pain you took from the lashes meant for my back. Come, little

one, we must find another path to freedom.'

 

Willow guided Star backwards to the place where the

tunnels branched in many directions; slowly step by step they

retreated, hardly daring to breathe in case the watchers heard

them. But sharp-eyed owls had seen Willow through the grille

and brought the dawn birds to sing in a deafening chorus on the

mountainside and their music drowned out even the greatest

tunnel noise.

 

'Which tunnel now?' whispered Willow. 'They all look used,

and they all smell of freedom. Nightbeasts' footprints tread in

every direction.' Star's ears twitched and the whites of her eyes

showed in the dark. Quite near she heard the rattle of Night

beasts' armour and the tramp of feet.

 

'We must follow this tunnel and put as much distance as we

can between us and the watchers,' whispered Star.

 

Without any further sound Willow moved forward; he had

caught that glimpse of light earlier and it still burned within his

head. The Elder in all his stories had missed the power, the

sparkling beauty of the light. But, sighing, Willow remembered

that neither the Elder, nor any other tunneller beyond the

count of time, had seen the sunlight. He was the only tunnel

slave to have looked beyond the darkness and no matter how

many times he blinked or shut his eyes the image remained.

 

The tunnel forked, both paths looked identical, which to

choose? Willow wet a dirty finger and held it up, the finger felt

colder against the left hand opening. 'The draught is stronger

that way,' whispered Willow. 'If only Equestrius was with us, he

would know the way.'

 

Star whinnied and rubbed her tired head against his arm.

Her need to reach the light became more urgent with each step

she took, for the unborn foal she carried was growing impatient,

yet she dare not tell Willow, he would make her rest

and time was their enemy.

 

'Light,' hissed Willow, gripping the dagger in both hands.

'Look,'

 

The old horse pushed past him, snorting and whinnying,

'Hold my tail and cover your eyes, we have found the secret way.'

 

Willow stumbled blindly forward, oblivious to the sighs of

lament from the Nightshapes for they knew they would change

if the boy escaped. Strange smells and noises filled his head

until it felt as though it would burst, but a gentle voice kept him

steady, 'A few more steps, child, and the sun will burn fiercely

on your skin, grass and heather will lie beneath your feet.

Tread carefully, the side of the mountain will be steep and

strewn with rocks.'

 

'Can I look?' whispered Willow.

 

'No, the sun is at its most powerful. Wait for evening or the

shade of the pine forest below.'

 

'Pine forests?' questioned Willow, bubbling with excitement,

'I must look.'

 

'No!' commanded Evening Star. 'You must wait.'

 

'What's that?' asked Willow, grimly, for he heard noises all

about him that had not been there a few moments earlier,

flapping noises near his head, rustlings in the heather.

 

'Is it the Nightbeasts?' Evening Star was snorting greetings

to those that passed on either side of her, or flew just above her

head.

 

'Hush, Willow,' she whinnied, passing clear thoughts into

his head, 'We are passing among the Warhorses.'

 

'Warhorses!' cried Willow, 'I must look.- Are they as

beautiful as Equestrius? How many are there?' willow would

have gone on talking all day in his excitement, and was about to

open his eyes when Star cut him short.

 

'No!' You are not to look. I will answer all your questions

all that I have the answers for - as we walk down the mountain.'

 

'But,' interrupted Willow, 'Birds are flying near my face. I

can feel the draught from their wings. Are all the animals

gathering to set us free?'

 

'One thing at a time,' replied the old mare, she could feel the

beginnings of labour and with tired eyes sought a place to lie

down.

 

'First, before I answer your questions I must tell you my

secret. Equestrius said you had to escape in ignorance, he said I

was only to tell you if we reached the light.'

'What?' exclaimed Willow. 'What could be more important

than freedom itself?'

 

'I carry Equestrius' son and he must be born beneath the sky

in freedom.'

 

Willow thought back to that first time he had seen Esroh

near the place Evening Star was shackled and remembered

how the Warhorse had commanded him to keep secret his visit

to the sledge horses. Star interrupted his thoughts. 'Soon the

birth will start but first we must move as far down the mountain

as possible, away from the Nightbeasts' mine. Now the answers

to your questions. All the Warhorses are beautiful, but Esroh is

their Lord and perhaps the greatest and most powerful. The

birds, the dogs, and the Warhorses are gathering here on

Mantern's Mountain for another purpose, but they will help

us, if the need arises.'

 

'Why do they gather then?' interrupted Willow.

 

'To free the old man, Thoronhand, the one we found

hanging in chains in the high chamber. You see, amongst the

wild and the free he is held in high esteem, the owls bring him

food and drink, and rumour has travelled throughout the land

of how Equestrius found him and Nature's army gathers to

rescue him.'

 

'He must have been a great Lord among men,' whispered

Willow.

 

'Yes, he was,' Star replied. 'Why I remember hearing

rumours of him when I served the King as a relay horse before

the Nightbeasts stole me.'

 

Star had led Willow down into the shadows of the tall pine

trees. 'You can open your eyes now, but only for a few

moments.'

 

He opened his eyes and gasped. Towering pine trees rose all

around him, their resin scent filled his nose and a thick carpet

of pine needles pricked at the soles of his feet.

 

'It's beautiful, beautiful!' he murmured, looking everywhere

at once. 'It's more wonderful than any of the Elders' stories

and . . .' then he saw all the animals moving around where they

stood and his sore eyes filled with tears. Wild Warhorses

stopped and rubbed their heads against his arms. Mighty

Border Runners sniffed and licked his hands and face and the

owls hovered and stooped down low between the trees. Willow's

eyes were burning, even in the shadowy forest light and he

closed them. Whispering to the old mare as he held tightly to

her mane. 'All of it is so beautiful. Far better than I ever

imagined it would be.'

 

'Hold on tight, little one, and I will take you down to

Underfall. Soon night will come and it will not hurt to open

your eyes.'

 

'What is Underfall?' he asked.

 

'Underfall is the strongest fastness in all Elundium. I lived

there once, Willow, and served the King before the Nightbeasts

stole me. But we must hurry, my labour is beginning and

I must find a place to lie down,' snorted the mare.

 

Willow had many questions he wanted to ask about fortresses,

men and the world all about him, but Evening Star began

looking for a place to lie down. Willow saw that they had

reached the forest edge. Before him stretched heather

meadows, dark, wooded valleys and a single point of light

shone far below in the inky blackness. Day had come to an end,

it did not hurt to open his eyes any more, the first evening stars

were climbing into the sky.

 

'Star!' he cried, pointing up. 'Look at the stars, they. . .'

Snapping twigs and branches behind them made Willow spin

round, Star snorted and neighed.

 

'Nightbeasts! Run! Willow, run to Underfall, I can go no

further.'

 

'No!' shouted Willow, 'I will not leave you, I will not.'

Snatching up a stout branch that lay at his feet Willow drew the

dagger and cut a strip of leather from the broken harness that

still hung from Star's shoulders. 'I will make a spear, just like

the ones in my dream, and I will defend you.'

Binding the blade as tightly as he could, Willow looked

down the mountainside. 'It is too far to Underfall, they will

kill you and the foal. As Equestrius saved my life in the

broken tunnel so shall I save yours.' Evening Star lifted her

tired head, snorting through the labour pains, 'You have all

the world to run in. Go! The men of Underfall must be told

of Krulshards and the Nightbeasts' mine; make for the light

below, run, run!'

 

But Willow knew he owed not only his life to Equestrius

but freedom itself, and his heart told him it would be an

empty world without Evening Star at his side.

 

'I cannot leave you, I love you,' he whispered. Evening

Star laid her head on the ground and a glaze of labour

filmed over her eyes. As the pain swept through her body

she whispered to Willow, 'Call Equestrius's name, sing it to

the stars.' Dark shapes moved between the trees. 'They are

coming,' said Willow, gripping the spear shaft tightly, a

quick glance at Evening Star was all he had time for as the

Nightbeasts advanced, crushing and burning the heather

beneath their hideous feet. That brief glance showed him

the miracle of life, the tiny foal was almost born and on his

hooves, reflecting in the star light, were the Warhorse rings

of steel.

 

Willow screwed up his courage and his voice rose clearer

and stronger with each word towards the stars, borne up on

the evening breeze, it echoed within the very gates of the

City of Night. 'Equestrius, your courage holds my blade,

even as you protected me and made me strong so shall I

stand between the Nightbeasts and your new born son!'

Willow plunged the home-made spear and many times

avenged the Elder's death, but with mighty thrusts the

towering monsters pushed him backwards until he stood

with his legs straddling Evening Star and her new born foal

and he looked up without fear into their faces as they snarled

 

and drooled, raising their spears to make the killing thrust.

'Equestrius! Equestrius!' Willow shouted as the stars were

blotted out above his head, 'Equestrius!'

 

The ground shook and trembled beneath his feet and a

roaring noise filled his ears, louder even than the screams of

the Nightbeasts.

 

 

The Tattoo Comes to Life

 

'Gallop, Esteron, Gallop!' Thane shouted and the heather

beneath his pounding hooves gave off a clear night scent that

reminded him of his pillow far away at home in the City of

Granite. Before them Nightbeasts filled the meadows, closing

in upon a tiny figure straddling an old horse that lay on her side.

Beside her, first life flickered in a new born foal. As Esteron

broke upon them, Border Runners leapt from the shadows of

the pine trees, owls stooped from a star-filled sky and the

Warhorses swept through the Nightbeast ranks, kicking and

crushing all before them. Victory was quick, silence held the

field and starlight sparkled on Thane's summer scarf as it

fluttered in the night breezes.

 

Willow stood quite still, gripping the home-made spear in

his hands, looking from the Warhorses and dogs to the rider,

advancing through the heaped bodies of the Nightbeasts. Star

struggled to her feet, her foal Dickered and sought a teat for

comfort.

 

The Riders of World's End sat uneasily in their saddles for

they feared the power of the Warhorses and the great dogs that

stood among them, but they feared a darker magic in the child

who held the spear for none of them had ever seen such large

round eyes or the shell-shaped ears before, and they knew not

what he was, or what power he held, to summon the

Warhorses, owls and dogs.

 

Thane bent low over the pommel of the saddle and gazed in

wonder at Willow and the new-born foal, a miniature likeness of

Esteron. 'Well met, little Warrior! Are there many more of your

kind upon this dismal mountainside?'

 

Willow started to answer, lifting his bloody arm to point up

beyond the trees but he uttered only a cry, pointing his arm in

the other direction, for beating the night air beneath a massive

wing span flew a mighty owl, a sword gripped in his shiny

talons. Slowly he passed over them, blotting out the stars,

calling to Mulcade and all the other owls that had helped to

rescue Willow, 'Mantern's Gate! Mantern's Gate!'

 

Thane knew nothing of Eagle Owl's words or the urgency

in the message, but he recognised his grandfather's sword.

 

Journey's end was almost in sight. Eagle Owl had seen

much that troubled his heart as he flew across Elundium

following the great Greenway towards World's End. Ruin,

chaos and burning townships spread beneath his wing tips.

Nightbeasts plundered as they moved with the shadows of

death, closing in a great circle around the Granite City. Only

long after passing over Stumble Hill had he seen the swift

moving column of ancient marchers heading towards Underfall

and recognised Tombel with his great fighting sword

resting across his shoulder.

 

'Run!' he hooted, 'time wears all to ruin. Run!' but the

brambles and undergrowth slowed them down. Tombel heard

the owl's cry and lifted the marching sword high above his

head where it flashed in the sunlight.

 

With aching wings, Eagle Owl flew across Meremire

Forest, rising on evening currents towards Mantern's

Mountain. Black and shadowy land slipped by beneath the

great sword that he carried in his talons. Above the Deepling

Gorge, starlight reflected on the helms and polished bows of a

strike of archers running towards Underfall. Before them,

riding a fiery little horse, a young warrior held the Great Bow

of Orm in his hand, and at his heels ran two great Border

Runners.

 

Eagle Owl hooted, urging them on, for time was their

enemy even by night, they must run or come too late and find

ruin as a welcome. For an instant, Rockspray rose to fly

beside a great Captain Owl of days gone by and shrieked and

hooted all the news of events at World's End, before stooping

back to Kyot's shoulder.

 

Eagle Owl dare not rest or ease his grip upon the sword.

Where Nightbeasts trod beneath the trees, danger flew against

him, black crows attacked, flying up from wild woods that

crowded against the Greenway's edge. Magpies snapped and

screeched at his wing tips but none dared to touch the blade or

risk his beak, for though he was old beyond counting, he was

the Lord of Owls.

 

World's End, wreathed in shadows, showed up below.

Underfall still looked secure, and upon its highest galleries one

lamp shone, pure white in the blackest night. Beside the lamp,

an ancient warrior trimmed the wick but even as he laboured to

keep the lamp steady, his eyes were drawn towards the

mountain slopes.

 

Eagle Owl stooped to earth, for he knew he must rest or drop

the sword, and he alighted beside the great lamp, making

Thunderstone leap backwards grabbing at his horse-tail

sword, but surprise turned to curiosity as he recognized who

perched near the lamp. 'Even you, great bird of war, have

returned from the inaccessible bleakness of your mountain

home. What calls you to this grim place? What is the burden

you carry in these razor-sharp talons of yours? Rest, weary bird,

for whatever precious touchstone lies beside you, it is safe

within this fastness while the lamp burns.'

 

The owl let Thunderstone advance near enough to touch

the hilt of Thoron's sword, for he saw before him the Keeper of

World's End, full grown in power and purpose from the ragged

youth of long ago when battle had darkened the Causeway road

and he hooted softly before flying to perch on the old man's

shoulders.

 

'Thoron's sword! You carry a great burden, brave owl, for

few could lift such a blade, but,' he mused quietly, 'few had

your strength in battle all those years ago. Why have you

brought such a trophy here? Thoron has long passed into the

shadows and greatly we miss him.' Thunderstone thought for a

moment as he looked at the sword. 'Is it for his grandson

Thane?'

 

Eagle Owl turned his ancient head, looking from the sword

towards the black, towering shape of Mantern's Mountain and

in quiet hoots told Thunderstone of his perilous journey into

the Granite City, stooping low between the nightmare shapes

that assaulted and swarmed the walls to collect the blade from

where it hung in the armoury. 'Kingspeed' the King had called

from the lower battlements where he fought among the Nightbeasts,

lifting his sword to glint in the sunlight. Eagle Owl tilted

his head on one side and shrieked. 'Mantern's Gate,

Silverwing, my brother, keeps a lonely vigil in the mountains

heart. He sent word that Thoron lives and will need the sword!'

 

Thunderstone lifted a hand and caressed the owl's chest

feathers. His' eyes searched the mountainside and he

whispered, 'If only I could understand what you say or know

the counsel of your words, for Thane has gone, following in his

grandfather's prints towards the great gate somewhere near

Mantern's Peak.'

 

Eagle Owl hooted, tightening his talons on the old warrior's

shoulder before taking up the sword and flying into the

shadows of Mantern's Mountain.

 

'The tatoo of the owl has come to life!' shouted Thane.

'Warriors of Underfall, follow the owl!' Thane reached down

and lifted Willow quickly from where he stood, placing him on

the pommel of the saddle but the boy struggled to get down.

'What of Evening Star?' he cried, 'I cannot leave her here

alone.'

 

Thane laughed, and pointed, 'She is not alone. She has

better guardians than us. Look!'

 

Willow turned his head and stopped struggling for he saw

that a great company of Warhorses stood in a circle around the

old mare and her foal.

Thane urged Esteron towards the dark pine forest that

stretched across the mountain's side; Willow shouted to Star as

Esteron broke into a canter, 'I will come back!' Thane leaned

forwards, shouting against the wind, 'Who are you? Tell me, as

we ride, all about your people and where they live.'

 

 

,.

 

 

The Causeway Field

 

Thunderstone stood, once more alone, and wept in the memory of

his old friend. Around him he heard the roar of forgotten battles

and saw Equion rise up to break the shadows, bringing the glory

of morning to a boy without hope. Far away he heard a cry and

thought for an instant that he saw starlight flash on cold steel high

above Mantern's shoulders where the heather meadows began.

Hooves rang on the causeway, shouts from somewhere down

below brought him back to the gallery, memories forgotten.

 

'Who hammers on my door?' he shouted, throwing a flaming

torch into the darkness. As he threw the torch, Rockspray flew to

his shoulder and a strong youthful voice rose out of the darkness.

'Kyotorm, son of Archerorm, with a great strike of Archers. We

follow Rockspray, we come to Thane's call.'

 

Thunderstone laughed, calling out in a clear voice full of hope,

'He rides to the gate near Mantern's Peak; with him are all the

guardians of World's End; still I think they will number as little as

one stalk of grass in a wild meadow full of weeds and thistles.'

 

'Which way?' shouted Kyot. 'Our quivers are full of new arrows

and rest heavily on our backs.'

 

'Follow the hoofprints, for the Warhorses went before them.

Will you take meat to eat upon the road?'

 

'No, Lord, we run with tight belts towards the dawn; nothing

must burden us lest we arrive too late.'

 

As Kyot turned Sprint towards the mountain's shadowy

blackness, he called in parting, 'Tomorrow we will eat your table

bare. The top, the legs, even the chair you sit upon, for we have

run without rest from Stumble Hill and still journey's end is not in

sight.'

 

The darkness swallowed up the Archers, only starlight reflected

on the polished wood of their bows as they ran towards the

mountain slopes.

 

'This is no night for sleeping,' muttered Thunderstone as he

paced the galleries; treading leagues beneath his feet before

night passed into the grey hours, remembering all that had

passed in a long life. Looking out into the beginnings of dawn,

he thought his old eyes were playing tricks, for marching on to

the Causeway through swirling mist advanced a great army. At

first he thought the Nightbeasts had come to claim back what

they had once ruled, and bring final ruin to Elundium, but as

the host came closer he saw proudly held banners that brought

new blood racing through his veins, for they showed the

emblem of an owl in gold on a blue background. Old and faded,

some as threadbare as the warriors that carried them, they

filled the road. The troop of marching feet shook the walls and

echoed across the Causeway Fields.

 

'Thunderstone! Keeper of World's End!' called Tombel,

raising his marching sword to strike the door. 'Old friends have

gathered at your door.'

 

As the hilt of Tombel's marching sword hit the door, a shaft

of new sunlight touched his shoulder, casting the sword's

shadow across the war-scarred wood. The locks clicked and

ranted, the doors swung open, grinding across the cobbles.

Thunderstone stood before them, sword drawn, casting an

early sun's shadow far back into the courtyard, tears glinted in

the corners of his eyes and one escaped to run down his age

wrinkled face, as he stepped forwards shedding the cares that

time had heaped on his shoulders, he knew at last that he was

not alone or forgotten at World's End.

 

Tombel looked into the courtyard, a frown creasing his

forehead. 'Are you all alone in this place? The King has sent us

racing across all Elundium, abandoning the Granite City to

find you are safe and well and the Causeway Fields empty. We

came in haste, wearing old bones brittle on a wild road.

Yesterdaylight we saw a great Eagle Owl carrying Thoron's

sword and took it for a sign, and marched all night without

rest . . .'

 

'Tombel, Tombel!' Thunderstone cried, 'you may yet

arrive too late. Thane led all my warriors towards the gate on

Mantern's Mountain. Nevian foretold him that there the battle

would be fought as the new sun rose.'

 

'Then we have come too late,' grieved Tombel, looking

towards the sunrise. 'We have marched hard and worn our

boots to ruin to stare defeat full in the face.'

 

A sunbeam touched the horse tail where it hung at

Thunderstone's side.

 

'If only the Warhorses or the Border Runners were there

with him, for they might buy us time!' thought Tombel out

loud, looking at the horse's tail.

 

'They are!' cried the Keeper. 'Nature has been gathering

here all winter. Thane followed in their Footprints even as the

sun was setting.'

 

'Then we must run as we did in our youth!' shouted Tombel.

'Better late upon the field than not at all!'

 

A movement on the causeway road caught his eye, a flash of

sunlight on polished steel, figures hurrying towards Underfall,

surrounded by an army of cats.

 

'Who in all Elundium can this be?' muttered Thunderstone,

drawing his sword, but a loud piercing voice turned his

grimness to laughter and his blade was put back into its

scabbard.

 

'Duclos, we're here,' shouted Morolda, trying to keep the

cats from hunting in the dykes. 'Leave those birds in peace,'

she threatened waving a heavily ringed fist.

 

Thunderstone walked down on to the causeway to meet old

friends. Far away memories of youth filled his mind and tears

flowed down his cheeks to see how age had treated the greatest

 

Fencing Master in all Elundium.

 

'Duclos! Morolda!'he cried, throwing his arms around their

shoulders, 'What draws you to this grim place?'

Duclos smiled, looking over the Keeper's shoulder towards

the sheer granite walls of Underfall and spoke only one word.

'Thane!'

 

'He cannot hear you,' explained Morolda, smiling sadly. 'He

still lives in a world of total silence.'

 

'I know,' said Thunderstone. 'Thane told me.'

 

'Then he lives? My little knight is safe and he finished his

journey without coming to any harm?'

 

'Yes,' hesitated Thunderstone, stepping back and looking

towards Mantern's Mountain.

 

'Where is he?' demanded Morolda. 'Duclos has been

plagued by dreams that Thane needs his help. Where is he?'

 

Thunderstone pointed towards the mountain, his words

catching at the back of his throat as he told Morolda all that had

happened during the last two days.

 

'Duclos!' Morolda shouted, turning him towards the

mountain. 'He has gone up there!'

 

'Up where?' asked Duclos, a puzzled expression crossing his

face. 'Up where?'

 

'No, you silly old fool, watch and pay attention.' with careful

finger talk Morolda explained to Duclos all that Thunderstone

had told her.

 

'Then by the cats' tails I must climb the mountain,' Duclos

spoke more to himselfthan to Morolda or to Thunderstone but

he took the Keeper's hand, smiling at him over his spectacles,

and spoke with his out-of-key intonation. 'Throughout a life

time of toil you have kept us safe, even the cats thank- you!'

 

'Duclos!' Thunderstone called, but it was no use, the

Fencing Master had turned away, striding across the causeway

fields, the army of cats at his heels. Morolda wept and

whispered, 'He must follow his dream and match Thane blade

for blade wherever the shadows move.'

 

 

 

The Mouth of Night

 

Esteron took the bit and with each stride passed through the

great army of animals moving up the mountainside. All around

him he heard whispers of his father's name, for Equestrius had

summoned him to be at Mantern's Gate before the dawn birds

sang. Without rest he ran. Chill, clinging mists swirled and

twisted around his fetlocks as he galloped into the grey hours,

for dawn was in the sky, heralding a new morning's beauty and

he dare not be late upon the field of battle.

 

As they galloped, Thane listened to Willow's story, and

marvelled at how his people had survived beneath the

mountain, but his heart beat faster when the lad told him of the

old man hanging in chains and he pressed him for every scrap

of news, no matter how insignificant.

 

Willow told him all he could remember of their brief

meeting, even the warning about Krulshards still being alive in

the City of Night. After that Thane fell silent, gritting his teeth,

for he dare not think or hope to see his grandfather alive while

Krulshards had him a prisoner in the city. He shut his heart

against it and pressed Esteron hard towards the dawn.

 

The ground beneath Esteron's hooves was flattening out,

morning took the sky; all about them dawn birds burst into

song, night mists dissolved leaving dew sparkling in the heather

as a new sun rose. 'Mantern's Gate!' shouted Thane, drawing

his sword. The steep mountainside had at last levelled into a

wide, heather-covered plateau. At the far side, a black entrance

in the sheer rock face boiled with threatening Nightbeasts.

 

Rumblings far below the ground shook tiny drops of dew off

the stalks of heather. 'Mantern's Gate!' Thane shouted again,

halting Esteron. Looking to his left and right, he saw the

Warhorses filling the plateau right to the edge, rank upon rank

of them, spreading in a great crescent, at their feet crouched the

Border Runners, snarling and growling. Flocks of owls eclipsed

the early morning sun, casting fast-moving shadows across

Mantern's Gate. The Warriors of Underfall arrived, breathless

and hot from their long climb up the mountain and filled the

ground behind Esteron, seeing for the first time what they had

pledged themselves to. Defeat and fear cast them down and

they cried out, 'Too many! A world full of shadows, there are

thousands of them!' But Thane lifted high his sword to flash in

the sunlight and spoke in a clear voice.

 

'You came with the power of morning to break the shadows,

look how they hesitate at the flash of light upon my sword!

None will judge you less than men if you cannot face the

Nightbeasts, you are free to choose.' Then he remembered

Thunderstone's words, 'Guard well those that stand beneath

your banner, for they know little of the real fear of darkness.'

Twisting in his saddle he looked down into their frightened eyes

and spoke softly, 'Spearmen and swordsmen, let each of you

that chooses to face the shadows with me, set himself amongst

the Warhorses; let their great courage keep you safe.' Without

looking towards the black gate, the Warriors spread out

amongst the Warhorses and each man found just enough space

had been left for him to fill.

 

'What of us?' shouted Tiethorm. Thane turned his head and

saw the bowmen of World's End standing huddled together,

their eyes fixed upon the ground.

 

'Tiethorm!' Thane said proudly, 'you are a great Archer

whose skill with the feathered shafts of death can split a single

blade of grass. Keep your hand steady on the bow string, form

the bowmen into a strike, move with the Border Runners,

sweeping wherever they go, for the battle of the Causeway

Field formed a great bond between you and they will keep you

safe.'

 

'But we are still far outnumbered,' muttered Tiethorm, looking

across the plateau, for he saw crowding amongst the

nightshapes an army of nightbeasts unknown to the men of

Elundium, and fear of their great numbers filled his heart. 'If only

we had the Great Bow of Orm,' he whispered, 'or an army of

Marchers.'

 

Thane laughed, digging his heels into Esteron's sides,

shouting, 'We have a greater gift, we have the sunlight! Come!

Let us have this battle won!' Esteron surged forwards and

morning breezes tugged at the summer scarf tied to Thane's arm,

casting the glory of a new sun towards the black shapes

spreading across the plateau.

 

'Wait!' shouted Willow. 'Wait! Listen!'

 

'What is it?' asked Thane, pulling Esteron to a halt.

 

'Hush! A horse is galloping within the mountain. It is getting

closerwith each hoofbeat.'

 

Esteron turned his head towards the rock face on their left,

ears pricked. Thane tightened his grip on his sword and all the

dogs started barking wildly, the horses were neighing and the

owls were screeching. 'Equestrius! Equestrius!' shouted Willow,

jumping down from Thane's saddle to the ground.

 

With the sound of thunder echoing in narrow valleys a great

black Warhorse burst through a hidden entrance in the rock

face, crossing into the sunlight. He called out the Warhorse

challenge. A grey horse, muzzle whitened with age, broke

through the Warhorse crescent and galloped towards

Equestrius. Thane recognised her as Amarch, his Grandfather's

horse, and called out her name. Amarch stopped beside Thane

snorting and whinnying a greeting, turned, and neighed fiercely

at the black gate.

 

'You have all come to free grandfather!' Thane exclaimed,

sweeping his eyes across the thousands of Warhorses, Border

Runners and owls assembled on the plateau. Amarch turned her

head and for a moment held his eyes with her soft gentle eyes.

Equestrius cantered to where Willow stood and knelt beside

him, offering him a place on his back. The great crescent of

 

Warhorses neighed, pawed the ground and knelt for the

Warriors of Underfall to mount them.

 

'Mount them, and be proud!' shouted Thane, for the

Warhorses have not consented to be ridden since the

bondbreaking. Warriors - ride to your glory!'

 

Esteron and Amarch, side by side, moved to the centre of the

crescent to face the Nightbeast army that had swarmed out of

the black gate and now engulfed half the plateau. The

Warhorses began to move forwards, gradually gathering speed.

 

'Look to the sunlight and the sharp edges of your swords!'

Thane shouted above the thunder of hooves. Standing in the

stirrups he turned to marshal the Marchers, urging them to

keep in close formation behind the wall of spear blades the

spearmen had lowered against the advancing Nightbeasts.

 

'Sygnis!' he cried, reining Esteron back out of the crescent,

'Bring the Gallopers forward to the left of the crescent towards

that rough high ground beneath the rock wall. We must win the

black gate, before the Master of Night sees defeat. Thoron

lives and he will kill him if the battle turns against him to our

advantage.'

 

Sygnis hurriedly organized the Gallopers into a flying column,

fanning out into the shape of a spear. Thane wheeled

Esteron back towards the black gate and saw Amarch, half a

league ahead, plunging among the Nightbeasts. A part of that

vision in the Learning Hall flooded into his mind as he saw her

rear up, a cruel spear shaft embedded in her side.

 

'Amarch! Amarch!'he cried, spurring Esteron forwards, but

she was beyond his reach. Fast shadows crossed the sun as

stoop after stoop of Battle Owls dropped upon the Nightbeasts,

tearing at their eyes. Border Runners in savage packs leapt up,

biting at the Nightbeasts' faces and necks. Sometimes as many

as ten huge dogs attacked together, toppling a beast before

tearing it apart.

 

Sygnis quickly won the high ground but the Nightbeasts

swept all around the Gallopers and drove them back against the

sheer rock face. Thane urged Esteron towards them, slashing

with his sword in despair, but he could not break through to

them. Then the Marchers arrived and crashed against the

Nightbeasts. He rode amongst them, rallying their hearts,

lifting the banner of light above the dark shadows, yet as

morning moved to noon and the sun reached its full power the

Nightbeasts sneered, mocking his standard, stretching out

claw-like hands to tear it down.

 

Pace by pace the Nightbeasts had driven a wedge of darkness

between the crescent of Warhorses and the Warriors of

Underfall. Now they were hopelessly divided. Thane looked

up towards the black gate and saw a terrible figure wrapped in

black malice. Beside him stood one-eyed Kerzolde and all

about them, spears interlocked, moved the shadow circle.

 

'Thane!' a voice cried out behind him. Thane spun round

and laughed with joy, for there, ascending on to the plateau he

saw Sprint, lathered white with sweat. Kyot sat upon his back,

the Bow of Orm in his hands, an arrow on the string, and

behind them a mighty strike of Archers, loaded down with new

forged arrows.

 

'Kyot, oh Kyot!'he cried, 'Amarch is injured near the black

gate. Thoron is a prisoner beneath this foul mountain and the

Nightbeasts have divided us. The Gallopers are against the

cliff face and the Marchers and Archers are exhausted and

near defeat.'

 

Kyot laughed, 'Let us fight side by side, brother, and win the

high ground first. Draw your warriors in behind the Archers

and watch the Nightbeasts fall as thick as new mown corn when

the bows of Stumble Hill begin to sing.'

 

Thane reined Esteron in next to Sprint and length by length

the horses forced a passage on to the high ground. Behind

them the Archers swept easily through the Nightbeasts. Kyot

turned Sprint towards the black gate and his laugh fell away to

nothing as he saw Krulshards and the solid mass of Nightbeasts

that spread before him.

 

'Who is that foul nightmare?' he cried.

 

'Krulshards!' Thane shouted, 'The Master of Darkness!'

'Then only death awaits in that black hole, Thane,' Kyot

answered. 'It is madness to fight against such power.'

 

Thane grabbed Kyot's arm. 'Every Nightbeast spawned is

his creation. Every dark fear and black shadow that makes you

jump at night was fashioned by his hand. It is he I ride against,

alone if need drives me to it!'

 

Thane spurred Esteron angrily towards the Gates of Night,

spreading his banner to catch the sunlight. Kyot cried out for

him to wait, taking his feet out of Sprint's stirrups he quickly

dismounted.

 

'Go, dear friend. I cannot risk your life against such terror.

Run to my father's house, you will be safe there.'

 

But Sprint snorted, arching his proud neck and bent his

foreleg, kneeling he offered Kyot the empty saddle and Kyot

gently stroked Sprint's neck, whispering as he remounted.

'You have more courage than the great Warhorses.'

 

Turning to the strike of Archers he shouted, 'To the Gates

of Night!'

 

'The Gates of Night!' chanted the Warriors, gripping their

spear shafts for the surge forwards.

 

Kyot searched in his quiver and selected a slightly different

arrow. It was longer and had a polished tip of glass that shone in

the sunlight. Fitting it on to the string he stretched the bow

until it cried out to be released.

 

'Which one, Thane?' he cried out, aiming at the shadow

circle.

 

'Krulshards!' Thane shouted, driving his sword through the

nearest Nightbeast.

 

Kyot released his fingers and the arrow flew high, spinning

above the battlefield, screeching over the Nightbeast army

towards Krulshards. But he heard the arrow and spun round,

throwing an arm up to protect his face. The arrow, true-aimed,

sunk into the black malice near his shoulder, tearing through

the rotten flesh until it hit bone. He staggered backwards,

gripping the arrow shaft and snapped it in two. The Nightbeast

army hesitated, trembling in doubt, looking from its black

master to the Warriors and the Warhorses.

 

'Charge!' shouted Kyot, laughing and knocking another

arrow on to the string.

 

'Wait!' shouted Thane, rising in the stirrups and turning

his head, looking from the black gate to the plateau's edge.

'Something is happening, Kyot, something that we cannot see.

Look at the Nightbeasts.'

 

Kyot lowered his bow and watched that moment of doubt

that had grown amongst the army of terror. Just as a breath of

wind moves across the grasslands so the Nightbeasts hesitated,

swaying backwards and forwards. Faintly came the sound of

singing and the tramping of marching feet.

 

'What is happening?' hissed Kyot, the Nightbeasts were now

milling in disorder, trampling on each other to retreat.

 

Thane laughed, pointing with his sword towards the Gates

 

of Night.

 

'Look Kyot, Willow and the black Warhorse have won the

gates. They lead an army of tunnellers out into the light.'

 

Kyot pulled at Thane's arm, turning his attention to the

plateau's edge. 'Look at the standard.'

 

Thane shielded his eyes against the setting sun and saw

Tombel striding on to the plateau.

 

'Tombel!' he cried out in joy. 'The Nightbeast army is

retreating!'

 

'Then we are not too late upon the field. Forward, Marchers,

forward!' shouted the greatest Marcher Captain in all

Elundium.

 

Down through Mantern's Gate, issuing out of the darkness,

cantered Equestrius, the tunnellers streamed after him,

shielding their eyes against the soft evening light, singing of its

beauty as they fought amongst the Nightbeasts.

 

Thane drew alongside Tombel, urgently pointing to where

the Warhorses' crests plunged among the Nightbeasts.

 

'Amarch is wounded, Lord, I saw her take a Nightbeast

spear. She is somewhere near the black gate. Thoron lives! He

is a prisoner below the ground.'

 

'Then we must secure the field without delay and rescue

both of them! Come, Thane, lead us into battle!'

 

:

 

, ,

 

.

 

Winning the Light

 

 

Equestrius had not galloped into battle, but had turned aside

taking Willow back into the mountain's heart. A strong voice

echoed in Willow's head as the secret ways swallowed them up.

'It is time to set your people free. We shall raise a great army

and win Mantern's Gate from within the mountain before this

day is over.'

 

'Free my people!' Willow queried, bursting with excitement,

'But how?'

 

'Quiet, Willow, quiet. Lean along my neck - in places this

tunnel roof is low. Now listen. Your escape shook more than

the bones of this evil mountain. Even before the dawn birds

sang to hide your presence from the Nightbeasts' rest by the

grille, even then your people were making ready.'

 

'Ready for what?' interrupted Willow, hanging tightly on to

Equestrius's mane.

 

'Hush, child,' snapped Equestrius, 'Listen! Legends

amongst your elders whispered that one day a boy would rise

up and win the light. It would be a signal.'

 

'Signal for what?' whispered Willow, a little bewildered.

 

Equestrius sighed and nickered softly in the dark. 'The

Elder saw it in your eyes just before his death. Your escape was

the sign for the tunnellers to revolt. At this moment, in the

lower chambers, they are fighting with the Nightbeasts. We

shall gather them together and lead them to Mantern's Gate

and the lost sunlight.'

 

'Equestrius,' the lad whispered, 'was that ragged old man

who hung in chains a great Lord of men? And has all this

happened because the animals gathered to free him?'

 

'Yes and no, Willow,' the great Warhorse answered. 'If you

pull a thread in your sleeve it moves all the threads it touches.

Thus fate often pulls us all whether we wish it or not.'

 

'But,' said Willow, completely mystified, 'in all the Elders'

stories Lords were always wearing fine clothes and looked well

cared for.'

 

Equestrius snorted and would have laughed if he could,

adding as they burst upon the Nightbeasts, 'The owls cared for

him, when he was beneath the mountain, and would not take

kindly to what you said. Remember, we are not always what we

seem! Now raise your spear and fight.'

 

'Touch not the Nightshapes,' Willow cried as he led his

people, 'For they are the true shapes of the night and wished us

no harm. Hunt only the Nightbeasts, look into every dark hole

or crack, even sift the dust through your hands to find them and

destroy their evil beginnings.'

 

Throughout a bitter afternoon of fighting in the dark, the

tunnel-slaves swept up level by level through the City of Night,

driving the Nightbeasts towards the light. Picks rose and fell,

sharpened spades sliced into armoured hides, and with each

step the light grew stronger and the chanting voices of Willow's

people made the mountain tremble.

 

Thane spurred Esteron towards the Gates of Night. The

Riders and Marchers of Underfall cheered, lowered their

spears and followed him. Kyot swept his strike of Archers to

left and right and none could stand against them. Tombel

marshalled his army to follow and the Nightbeasts fell as thick

as summer corn beneath their feet.

 

'Keep the shadow circle from entering the Gates of Night!'

Tombel cried to Thane while diverting a column of his

Marchers along the edge of the plateau to stop any of the

Nightbeasts escaping. But they did not get away, two glittering

swords in Duclos' hands guarded the only other path down the

mountainside and he laughed and danced, singing while the

pile of dead grew around him.

 

Krulshards looked to the Gates of Night and saw Equestrius

cantering down on to the plateau. Before him, riding at a

gallop, came Thane on Esteron with the standard of the sun

flowing in the evening sunlight; and far above, beyond the sight

of men, an owl hovered carrying a long galloping sword.

 

Krulshards spun the shadow circle faster and faster until the

Nightbeasts' out-turned spear blades were humming with the

speed.

 

'Kill! Kill!' he screamed. 'Destroy all the light and bring

darkness to Elundium. Trample all to ruin! Kill! Kill! Kill!'

 

- The circle began to spin faster, cutting through the press of

leading Warriors, shredding armoured arms and legs, forcing

the Marchers to flee in terror. Duclos saw the flash of sunlight

on the blood-wet spinning blades and quietly crossed the battle

field to stand in Krulshards' path.

 

'Shout all you like,' he laughed into the black Nightbeast's

face, 'but you cannot harm me this time!'

 

'Kill! Kill!' hissed Krulshards, pushing the circle against

Duclos but the swordsman sang and laughed, deaf to the

threats, turning both his blades against the spinning circle,

cutting into it, forcing the sharp edges of his swords inwards.

Nightbeasts in the circle screamed as the swords bit into them,

shattering spear shafts, iron caps and claws, and the circle fell

apart. Krulshards towered, threateningly, over Duclos.

Kerzolde lowered his spear to stab at the swordsman.

 

'The shadow! Step on his shadow!' Willow cried, darting

past the swordsman.

 

Krulshards spun round, retreating from Willow towards the

black gate. Kerzolde flung his spear and as he turned to follow

his master he knocked Willow to the ground, breaking his

homemade spear shaft beneath his clawed feet.

 

Thane spurred Esteron forwards, reached down and

snatched Willow up.

 

Amarch saw Krulshards fleeing towards her from where she

lay, mortally wounded, less than half a length from the Gates of

Night. Struggling to her knees she called the Warhorse

challenge and lunged at him. Krulshards felt her teeth catch

upon his robe, tearing at its black shadowy folds, stopping him

and pulling him backwards. Unsheathing his dagger he

plunged it through her heart, ripped his robe free and jumped

into the darkness.

 

'Who will follow me now?' he laughed. 'Is there a King among

you brave enough to risk the darkness of the City of Night?'

 

Thane galloped to the gates and reined Esteron to a halt. He

dismounted lightly and set Willow on the ground before he ran

to the black entrance. He took a cautious step inside and

blackness closed about him.

 

'Follow if you dare!' echoed Krulshards' voice, growing

fainter as he fled into the high chambers.

 

'Thanehand!' Kerzolde hissed, leaping out of the blackness,

catching his broken claw in the fine chain that held Elion's

fingerbowl on to Thane's belt. 'I have waited too long for this

moment. Die!' he screamed, swinging an iron mace, putting all

his hatred behind the blow.

 

Thane jumped backwards, breaking the silver chain and

stumbling towards the gates. He saw the iron mace and flung

his sword against it, shattering the blade into a thousand pieces.

He fell on to his knees and ducked beneath Kerzolde's second

swing, rolling over he scrambled out into the light. Kyot and

Willow pulled him clear of the black entrance. 'I will follow

you!' Thane cried, rising empty-handed to his feet and turning

back towards the black gate.

 

But he hesitated, shielding his eyes against the setting sun,

watching the shadow of a mighty owl as it passed over the

battlefield towards him.

 

'Eagle Owl!' he whispered, uncertainly, screwing up his eyes

and looking at the sword that flashed, blood-red, in the owl's

talons, catching all the glory of the dying sunlight.

 

Eagle Owl spread his flight feathers against the first chill

up-draughts of the evening air and wheeled slowly over the

black gate, searching with sharp eyes for journey's end and

Thoron's outstretched hand. Beating his wings in the thin

mountain air he hovered and saw far below the cloak and helm

he sought. He shrieked, stooping fast to deliver the sword but

as he descended to the black gate he saw a stranger in Thoron's

clothes and fanned his wings, slowing the stoop, keeping the

hilt of the sword a finger's length from the hand that stretched

up towards him.

 

'Who dares touch this sword!' he shrieked, staring with hard

cold eyes at Thane, churning the air beneath his wings, rising

up away beyond his reach.

 

A low murmur of fear ran through the warriors' ranks,

spreading across the battlefield, making them hesitate. Bad

omens were on their lips and whispers of defeat grew as the owl

rose, spurning Thane's outstretched hand.

 

'Eagle Owl,' Thane cried out in despair, recognising his

grandfather's sword.

 

'I am Thanehand, Thoronhand's grandson, and I have great

need of the blade you carry, for Grandfather is still a prisoner in

the City of Night. Lend me the sword so that I can rescue him.

Please help me!'

 

Eagle Owl hovered, turning his gaze from Thane across the

upturned faces of the warriors, seeing the doubt in their eyes.

Looking back to Thane he searched the young man's battle

blackened face and softly called his name, breaking the eerie

battle silence that had spread across the high plateau.

 

'I know you, Thanehand,' he called softly.

 

Thane laughed, stretching his hand up towards the great

bird of war, closing his fingers around the hilt of the sword.

 

'I will follow your nightmares!' he shouted above the sudden

roar of warrior voices, 'with a new sword in my hand. For I am

 

Thanehand, the Candleman's son, and I fear nothing in the

dark!'