'All just to set me free! A wanderer of the Greenway turf?'

'You are but a small part in these things, Thoron, but many threads of fate have stretched far across Elundium to set you free.'

'How can I ever repay what they have sacrificed?' Thoron cried, looking at the wide crescent of burial mounds.

'You cannot, and must not try. The price of your freedom had no measure set against it. Come now and ride upon my

back to Underfall.'

Siege-Locked

King Holbian cantered up through the Granite City, reined Beacon Light to a halt before Candlebane Hall and dismounted. '

Another daylight!' he laughed, shivering in the chill dawn wind as he unbuckled his sword and rested the hilt against the broken Candledoors. Breakmaster reined Mulberry, his rough-coated pony, in beside Beacon Light and also dismounted.

'We have won another daylight from the Nightbeasts, my Lord,' he sighed, rubbing his hand wearily across his battlesmudged face, and smiled at the edge of sunlight climbing over the horizon. 'But how long can we hold out against those foul Nightbeasts that hammer on the gates of the city?'

'Each daylight is a victory in itself, Breakmaster, we can ask no more. The shadow of the Nightbeast army has shrunk a little, I think. Look beyond the outer walls, near the horizon.

There is a green strip fresh-painted in dawn colours. Come, we have rested enough, let us make ready for the long night ahead.'

'Do you never tire, Lord?' Breakmaster asked, hurrying -after the King and catching up with him as he strode through the empty Candle Hall. Early shafts of sunlight streamed through the high vaulted windows, chasing the night shadows into gloomy corners.

King Holbian laughed, drawing his fingers musically across the rows of empty tallow-stained candlesticks that ran in concentric circles up towards the high throne. His armoured boots echoed across the polished marble floor as he climbed to the throne. 'The wicks of my life are guttering, Breakmaster, and the great Candleman hovers with the snuffer behind my shoulder. Ruin looms tall and bleak enough almost to blot out the sunlight. No! I dare not tire, for I am the last Granite King and I must not fail the people of Elundium. Only kings can walk in the darkness and destroy the terrible Nightmares.

I will leave this throne fit for a new king!'

Breakmaster stepped up to the throne and knelt before the King. 'Lord,' he whispered, 'I meant no disrespect. You are always first where the Nightbeasts swarm over the walls, fighting with the strength and energy of ten warriors. Lord, you are the greatest Granite King.'

Holbian reached down, putting his hand under Breakmaster's chin, and gently motioned him to rise.

'There are plenty here who would plot and scheme and show disrespect at every footstep, but I have never doubted you, not since that day when you hid Thanehand from the Chancellors' rage. Now, sit by me and help me marshal the Chancellors, for they are a treacherous lot who would open the gates of the city if they feared the Nightbeasts less and if they could see a little profit in it.'

'Shall I summon the Chancellors and the defenders of the outer walls into a full Battle Council, my Lord?' Breakmaster asked, turning towards the throne.

Holbian lifted his hand in silent approval; he was leaning forwards, engrossed in watching the morning shafts of sunlight pick their way between the tall candle stems, filling the Candle Hall with beautiful light, and he was unaware of how closely the horse-breaker was studying his ungloved hands and his face.

Breakmaster gasped and swallowed; he had never sat so close to the King before and his hands trembled as he picked up the calling bell.

'Granite Kings,' he whispered, stealing another look at the King's face, following with his eyes the tiny hairline fractures in the skin, until they disappeared beneath his flowing locks of pure white hair.

'Surely,' he muttered, ringing the calling bell as loudly as he could, 'the King is not made of stone? That is a night tale, one whispered by the ageing crones and witches in the lower circle of the city.'

A movement in the darkness behind the throne caught Breakmaster's eye and he turned quickly to see a dissolving flash of bright colours.

'Nevian! Is that you?' he whispered nervously, searching the shadows for the magician's rainbow cloak.

'Guard him well, Breakmaster,' a voice whispered out of the darkness. 'For he is the last Granite King.' Nevian paused, gathered the rainbow cloak into tight folds to hide its light and peered intently at the maze of age cracks on the King's hands and face. 'He grows brittle with age, horseman.

I fear that only one winter is left to King Holbian. You must help him reach the Palace of Kings by high summer so that he may be laid to rest in his father's house.'

'Palace of Kings?' asked Breakmaster. 'I would not know where to look for such a place even if we could escape the siege lock the Nightbeasts have ringed around the Granite City.'

Nevian laughed quietly. 'Within the shadows of Mantern's Mountain lies the fortress of Underfall. That, horseman, is the Palace of Kings, but if you cannot escape, keep the King warm in the chill winds before the dawn; that will stop him from turning into stone.'

Breakmaster rose to his feet and took a step towards the shadows 'Nevian?' he whispered. 'How do I keep the King warm? He spurns all cloaks since the Chancellors destroyed the cloak of jewels.'

The voice in the darkness chuckled, 'You must search, horseman, for something of great value. Something that you would treasure against the Nightbeasts, and wrap it around the King's shoulders.'

'Search? Where?' Breakmaster hissed, stretching out a hand

towards the voice.

'Something you would treasure, horseman.' The voice chuckled, turned hollow and vanished as the first morning sunbeam reached the last dark s.p.a.ce in Candlebane Hall.

Armoured footsteps interrupted Breakmaster's whisperings, ringing out through the upper circle of the city. Strong voices laughed and shouted together above the murmur of battle talk as the defenders of the Granite City filed into Candlebane Hall.

'Well met, warriors, to a new daylight!' shouted the King, motioning them with a sweep of his hand to be seated.

'Chancellors!' he called, the smile fading from the corners of his mouth. 'Come forward, griefmongers, you are blotting out the sunlight. Sit by the wax channel and tell us what news the new daylight brings.'

Chancellor Proudpurse hunched his shoulders, glanced furtively at the warriors as they moved aside, and led the other Chancellors through into the Candlehall. 'Lord,' he cried, taking his place on the edge of the cold wax channels. 'The lower city larders are near to empty. Soon the people will have nothing to eat but the sewer vermin.'

'They will be in darkness, my Lord,' cried out Chancellor Overlord, rising to his feet, 'for the lower tallow house is drained of wax and only one in twenty men has a spark to light his way.'

King Holbian glared darkly at the Chancellors. 'Enough of this pantomime,' he hissed, pointing an accusing finger. Archer Grey Goose rose quietly to his feet and slipped unnoticed out of the room, gathering a small strike of Archers around him. He entered the Chancellors' houses in the third circle of the city, going from chamber to chamber, searching out the truth.

'I have watched you for many suns and countless daylights,'

the King roared, standing directly above the Chancellors, 'plotting, taking and h.o.a.rding, lining your

pockets and growing fat on the people of Elundium.

'Great King,' Proudpurse soothed, spreading his smile as wide as his outspread hands, 'our toil is the life blood of Elundium, and all that is ours we would gladly give to the people of the Granite City, but. . .'

'But...' laughed Grey Goose, standing between the Candledoors, a rough hemp sack slung across his shoulder.

Proudpurse turned, frowning at the Archer. 'You dare to interrupt a Chancellor?'

Grey Goose strode forwards and cast the contents of the sack across the polished marble floor at the Chancellors' feet, laughing. He knelt before the King. 'I bring gifts for the people, my Lord, from the Chancellors. I bring sparks to light the night, blocks of pure tallow, coils and loops of unused wick, cotton...'

'Lord! Lord!' Proudpurse cried, treading on the sharp sparks as he retreated to the edge of the wax channel, 'I . . .'

Holbian stared the Chancellor into silence, his face set in lines of anger. 'What else do the Chancellors offer to the people of the Granite City to ease their siege plight?' he asked and turned smiling eyes towards his Captain Archer.

'Why, my Lord, they are so generous that whole wagonloads of oatmeal, smoked meats and bagged forest fruits are being sent into the lower circles of the city as we talk. They have emptied their houses in their generosity.'

Proudpurse bit his knuckles, shaking with rage.

'What say you now to the Archer's interruption?' King Holbian asked, turning searching eyes to the Chancellors.

Proudpurse opened and shut his mouth, the colour draining out of his cheeks, but all he could utter was, 'The people, the people will. ..'

'Benefit?' prompted Breakmaster, laughing.

'Benefit, my Lord!' choked Overlord, sitting down heavily beside the wax channel.