'Many limes!' he laughed, running to lead his people on to the Causeway. 'We will clear the Greenways and garden the roads as we travel!' he shouted. 'We will repay these people for our freedom. Come, Tunnellers!'

'Forward, warriors!' shouted Tombel.

'Forward!' hooted Eagle Owl, hovering impatiently, far above World's End, watching the ruin and chaos spreading as a black shadow across Elundium.

Firldirlg the Secret Road

Fine stone chips crunched beneath King Holbian's iron-shod boots as he paced along the top of the innermost wall of the Granite City.

'We are near defeat, Breakmaster,' he muttered, without turning his head towards the horseman or checking the measure of his stride. Breakmaster hunched his shoulders and looked out despairingly across the ruins of the city.

'Where are all those foul Nightbeasts hatched?' he asked, watching the shadows begin to move, with the weakening of the sunlight. 'They have us siege-trapped, caught tighter than rats in a barrel of wax.'

Holbian turned, grim faced, to Breakmaster. 'Would you still, if you had the choice, ride with me now that defeat washes in a black tide against our last defence? We have nowhere left to run, brave warrior.'

Breakmaster quickly knelt. 'Lord, greatest of Granite Kings,' he said, and drawing the hilt of his sword he offered it up to the King.

'Rise, true friend,' whispered Holbian, stretching a hand to Breakmaster, 'for we shall face death together as the new sun

rises whether we wish it or not.'

'Take the Marchers and the Gallopers, Lord. Marshal them into a hollow column and force a pa.s.sage through the lower circles of the city. Lead us out on to the Greenway.'

King Holbian slowly shook his head and pointed down into the innermost circle, 'I could not abandon them, Break

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amaster, they are my people. I could not save myself and leave them here. The Nightbeasts would be amongst them before we had ridden two leagues.'

Breakmaster looked down, blinking his eyes against the haze of blue smoke that rose up from the cl.u.s.ter of cooking fires in the shadow of the inner wall. The crowds of city folk moved slowly, almost aimlessly, around and around the sheer walls of Candlebane Hall. Clearly there was nowhere to escape these Nightbeasts.

King Holbian sighed and turned to the narrow steps that led down into the inner circle. 'We have come to it, friend, the last night of the Granite Kings. I will fall with my city. Set my standard before the doors of Candlebane Hall that I may die defending my people with the rays of a new sun shining on my face.'

'Lord, Lord!' implored Breakmaster. 'Arm the people. Let them make the Nightbeasts pay dearly for the doors of Candlebane Hall.'

Holbian smiled softly at Breakmaster. 'These people are not warriors, my friend, but simple craftsmen, cryers, servers and candlemen, they are the life blood of tile city. You and I and chose few Marchers and Gallopers with us must carry the burden of defending what is left of the city, but arm them if you wish. Break open tile armoury, let every man, woman and child be armed if they wish it.'

'Who has the key?' Breakmaster asked, his foot upon the first step.

'Chancellor Proudpurse,' called the King, turning for a last look at She setting sun.

Breakmaster searched through the crowds in the Inner Circle but Proudpurse was nowhere to be found. Grey Goose fell into step with the hurrying horseman, asking whom he sought, and laughed at the reply, pointing with the tip of a steel arrowhead towards the towers of Granite.

'I saw him and his son, Silverpurse, making for the armoury just as the masons were sealing the inner circle of the city.'

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Breakmaster muttered under his breach and turned towards the Granite towers, his lips pressed into a chin grim line. 'Come with me, Archer,' he hissed, his knuckles white wide anger upon the hilt of his sword.

The doors of the armoury were slighdy ajar. Breakmaster put his foot against them and roughly kicked them open. Evening light flooded into the dark granite halls, reflecting back in a thousand points of light from armoured bathe plates, chainmail shirts and bathe helms. Whole forests of spears marched back into the darkness besides rows of polished sword blades, waiting for eager hands to s.n.a.t.c.h them up.

'Proudpurse!' Breakmaster shouted, striding forward, scooping up the nearest sword in his free hand. 'Where are you, rat shadow?'

'There is treachery afoot in this place,' muttered Grey Goose, searching along a broad avenue of horse armour. As he strode forward a figure broke away from the shadows directly in front of him and raced towards the far end of the armoury.

'Stop! Stop!' Grey Goose cried, nocking an arrow on to tile bow and loosing it after the fleeing body.

'Chancellor Proudpurse?' he shouted again, trying to cross the armoury by forcing a pa.s.sage through a tall stand of

spears, sending them crashing and spilling on to the broad aisles. Grey Goose's arrow struck a steel breast-plate and, glancing off, sent a shower of sparks into the darkness.

'There! By the far wall!' Grey Goose called, nocking another arrow on to his bow.

'Where?' cried Breakmaster, fumbling in his pocket for a spark. The spark hissed, spluttering into life, driving tile shadows back between the rows of bathe armour. Both warriors strode forward Through the armoury, eyes sharp for Proudpurse and his son.

'They must be somewhere in here. n.o.body, not even a Chancellor, could- have slipped past us,' whispered Grey Goose as they reached the far wall.

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'Look!' he hissed, stretching out his hand to direct the horseman's spark towards a well-hidden corner where a stand of horse armour had b~en disturbed. Something glittered with the colours of watered silk.

'Steelsilver!' Breakmaster cried, kneeling and touching the ancient batde coat with his finger tips.

'No, beyond chat. Look, dlree steps lead down to a heavily-studded door.'

Grey Goose moved past the kneeling horseman to the stairhead and descended the three steps to the door. He tested it, pressing with the palm of his bow hand. It creaked a handspan ajar. Cold musty air flowed out touching his face and far away he heard the echo of running footsteps.

'Chancellors!' he hissed, running back up the steps and almost stumbling over Breaimaster's kneeling figure as he made for the main door to the inner circle of the city.

'Find the King!' he shouted, 'and bring him to the Armoury.'

'Steelsilver!' Breakmaster whispered to himself, putting his spark back into his pocket and letting the fine battle coat slip through his fingers. It sang as it moved, in whispering tones, with the sound of horse bells in a gende breeze. 'Steelsilver,'