The sound of the steelsilver coat brought Grey Goose to his feet. 'Lord, the Chancellors and the Marchers are before us, I cannot tell how far, perhaps a league or maybe two, but they are shouting and arguing, ignorant that we follow.'

'What do they say?' asked Holbian.

Grey Goose hesitated, looking down at the ground.

'Speak plainly, Captain, for I hold you as a true friend.'

'They call you a fool, my Lord, and a weak shadow of a King, easily deceived, who walks in fear of the darkness.'

'Was that all they said?' asked King 11olbian, after a long silence.

'Proudpurse's voice was the loudest and he scorned your fears saying that since they had trapped you in the Granite City they should deliver you up to the Nightbeasts for a dozen barrels of wax.'

King Holbian laughed, bitterly, without humour. 'Well, my last two Captains, what say you? Am I worth as much here, alone and an easy victim in this darkness? What say you to the Chancellors' twisted tongues?'

Grey Goose laughed, taking the King's hand. 'You are here, my Lord, without a spark to light the way, hot on the Chancellors' heels. I can hear your power through the music of your cloak and I know the Chancellors and the warrior traitors will be made to bite their twisted tongues and eat every treacherous word they have uttered.'

'But,' muttered the King, thinking aloud, 'how can we challenge them? We are only three.'

'We will walk in their shadows,' whispered Breakmaster, 'and await an opportunity.'

'We will be ready, my Lord,' added Grey Goose.

Holbian smiled, 'Here I stand, a light, wasted King, with just two friends, and we talk of victory. How many arrows have you, Archer, or fierce Marchers to marshal?'

'It is not the number, my Lord, but the heart and the eye that aims the bow. That is where victory lies.'

'Who taught you that, Captain?' asked the King, reaching out and taking Grey Goose's bow hand.

'The greatest Archer in all Elundium, my Lord. Archerorm, the Keeper of Stumble Hill.'

'Then lead us forward, brave Captain, with his wisdom in our hearts; but tread with cautious stealth and keep a good distance behind the traitors. Remember we will choose the moment, not them. Now lead on!'

Grey Goose turned, reaching out into the darkness for the rough rock wall and moved forward. Breakmaster held back.

'The horses' hooves will echo on the rock floor, my Lord. I must m.u.f.fle them before we follow.'

Moving amongst the city dwellers huddled against the wall Breakmaster found what he sought and returned to the King triumphantly holding up a dozen coa.r.s.e Hessian sacks and leather binding thongs. Picking up each hoof in turn he tied

the heavy sacks over their iron shoes.

'Now we can follow with less than a whisper in Grey Goose's quiet footsteps,' he laughed, leading both horses

forward, one at either shoulder.

King Holbian took Beacon Light's reins from the horsemaster'

s hand and followed in his footsteps. Slowly, one by one, the city dwellers overtook the King for he walked lost in the music of his steelsilver coat, re-living summers he had too easily squandered before the Nightbeasts arose.

'Move along,' growled a voice, breaking through the music of the coat to the left of the King. A ragged figure was pushed, stumbling forward, tripping over and spilling a meagre bundle of possessions at Beacon Light's hooves. Holbian turned his head irritably towards the scuffle and gripped the collar of the figure that had done the pushing.

a'Who dares to hara.s.s my people?' he hissed.

'We are falling behind, my Lord. The old woman was slowing our pace.'

'Quiet, fool,' snapped the King, bending to help the old woman to her feet.

'Lord, you are a great King, who cares as the shepherd does for his flock, no matter how weak they are,' she sighed.

King Holbian laughed and then frowned. There was something in the voice he recognised, a tone that he had heard somewhere before. 'What is your name, old woman?' he asked, staring at her through the darkness.

'Angishand, my Lord, the Candleman's wife.'

'Ironhand,' whispered the King, gripping her hands tightly, and remembering how the Candleman had, for all his simplemindedness, been his first true friend against the darkness. 'You should be carried in honour, Angishand, for if fate had treated us better you would have been the mother of Kings, the handmaiden of greatness.'

Smiling sadly, he lifted her, bird-light and frail as she was, and set her side-saddle on Beacon Light's back. 'Ride beside me, lady of Elundium, and share my dark hours for this is all we have, all that is left.'

Before Angis could answer Holbian had knelt and scooped up her bundle of belongings and thrust them into the hands that had pushed her on to her knees. 'Guard these treasures well,' he commanded, taking the reins and leading Beacon Light forwards.

Looking up into Angishand's face he smiled. 'We will talk of things to come; of the daylight at the end of the road and of your son, Thanehand, who took a darker road than this to try

and save the daylight. There was a moment when I thought he might have the power to be a King, but now there is nothing left to rule.'

'Lord, is he dead?' she whispered, her eyes misting with i tears.

186.

~ in

'Do you have the second sight?' asked the King, fear filling his voice.

'No, Lord, I was only the weaver, the threadlady of the great Granite Hall, and my life was spent repairing the emblems of Elundium, painting in new colours where they had faded with age or neatening ragged endings, binding them bright with fine gold thread.'

King Holbian sighed with relief. 'Your son may live yet.

Thanehand may still be growing strong at Underfall. We must not give up hope no matter how dark the road becomes.'

'He took nothing, Lord, save a summer scarf I had woven from the spare ends of emblem thread. I fear that he was so ill prepared he must have perished in that first winter's snow.'

'Emblem thread!' cried the King, turning sharply and setting the steelsilver coat rattling in the darkness.

'Lord,' Angis whispered, shrinking back away from the King.

'I did not steal the threads, they were rag ends only fit for burning.'

'No, no, I care nothing for what you took, but what pictures did you weave? What was upon that scarf? Tell me, tell me!!'

cried the King, his heart racing with excitement as he tried to remember Nevian's prophecies. There had been words about a standard, that he was sure.

'It was a picture of the sun, my Lord, a summer sun in a blue sky.'

'Did you edge it with blue and silver?' persisted the King.