Wilm, Dajaes and Llian went looking for Tallia, but the room she had been in was empty. They crept along the dark halls, trying to find her, without success.

“We have to go,” said Dajaes, who was becoming increasingly anxious. “If anyone comes…”

“Yes,” said Llian. “There’s nothing we can do for her now.”

From outside, someone roared, “Fire!”

Through the window Wilm saw smoke belch out from the other wing of the villa, near where they had seen the flashes of light previously.

“What the hell was that?” said Llian.

Wilm told him about the shaft up from their tunnel.

“I’m not sure we can get to it now,” said Dajaes.

She tried another way, but again they saw guards ahead. Dajaes stopped suddenly, standing on tiptoe to look out a high window.

“The library’s burning and there are guards and servants everywhere. Wilm, I don’t see how we can get back to the cellars.”

“It wouldn’t do any good if we could,” said Wilm. “See those guards?” He pointed to a trio standing near the outer wall. “They’re watching the shaft; they’ll see us if we go near the tunnel.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Steal some horses,” said Llian. “Get to the front gate and hope the guards have run to the fire. It’s our only chance.”

Wilm thought it a poor hope but could not think of anything better. Then, as they approached a corner, Dajaes in the lead, he caught an unpleasant, sweaty stench.

“Wait, Dajaes!” hissed Llian. “Where’s your knife?”

She indicated the sheath.

“No bloody use there, is it?” said Llian. “Wilm, draw your sabre.”

He did so gingerly, holding it in both hands.

“Back away,” said Llian. “Dajaes, you too!”

She drew the knife and took a couple of steps back, only to freeze as a huge red-faced man reeled around the corner. He carried a canvas satchel with an arcane device sticking out of it. Wilm saw a stubby brass tube, a dark, glowing crystal and some wound copper wires.

“Dajaes, get back!” snapped Llian.

She was staring at the drunken brute, frozen to the spot in horror.

“Don’t try anything, Unick,” said Llian, advancing.

Unick grinned, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth. “Just how I like ’em,” he said thickly. “Small and helpless.”

Wilm raised the sabre, then hesitated. Unick roared, “You haven’t got the guts,” and pulled the brass device out of the satchel.

Llian swore, dropped the manuscript bag, snatched Wilm’s sabre and hurled it at Unick.

Unick sprang sideways and the sabre missed by inches. He pointed the device at Dajaes. A pitch-black flash burst from the crystal on the end and struck her in the chest, lifting her off her feet and hurling her back several yards. She landed on her back, her arms spread wide and her mouth gaping. Silent. Still.

Wilm screamed; he could not help himself.

“A real man could have saved her,” sneered Unick. “But you’re just a boy, a terrified little pup.”

He turned and lurched back around the corner. Wilm’s paralysis lifted; he ran after Unick and grabbed the sabre. Unick whirled, blasted it out of his hand, then skidded on something spilled on the floor. He bent, picked up the broken top of a phial and sniffed it.

His eyes widened. His head shot around; he seemed to be staring through the stone wall into the far distance.

“I’ll have her too,” he said mockingly and slipped the piece of glass into his pocket.

He took a second brass tube from his pack; this one had two red crystals on the end. He swung it back and forth horizontally as if seeking something, and the red crystals lit momentarily.

“Ah!” He smashed his way out through the nearest door and disappeared into the darkness.

Wilm staggered back to Dajaes, praying that she was only stunned. Llian was kneeling beside her small body, cradling her head. There was bright blood on her lip but no life in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Llian wiped his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Wilm. I should have…” He shook his head. “There’s nothing you could have done, not against Unick.”

Wilm picked Dajaes up, then just stood there. He couldn’t think. He could only feel, and everything was agony. Why, why? This was all his fault. He had talked her into trying to save Llian; it had seemed like a wonderful, unreal adventure. And now she was dead, because of him. She had done everything he had asked of her, done it perfectly, and he had failed her the very first time she needed him.

He barely noticed when Llian, who had retrieved the sabre, thrust it back into the sheath. Llian picked up the broken phial, sniffed it, frowned, retrieved the bung and jammed it into the phial, and pocketed it.

There came a tremendous boom from the other end of the villa and within seconds that part of the building was enveloped in flame.

“That was the brandy room,” said Llian. “Why did it explode?”

“Dajaes’s blasting charge,” Wilm said in a dead voice, then howled in anguish.

“No stopping it now,” said Llian. “The whole villa will be lost. And maybe the twenty-two Great Tales too.” He stood there for a moment, staring out the window towards the library. “They’re not worth another precious life. This way, Wilm.”

Wilm followed him numbly. Though small, Dajaes had been a sturdy girl, but he did not notice her weight in his arms. He followed Llian out the side door and, keeping to the shadows, across to the stables. In the distance the servants and guards, under the direction of a kimono-clad young woman, were trying to save precious items from the library.

When Wilm entered the stables Thandiwe was inside, saddling several of the best horses.

“You utter bastard!” she hissed. “You’ve ruined everything for me, again!”

“If you’re talking about Snoat,” said Llian, “I didn’t touch the swine.”

“I did it,” Wilm said dully. “I did it, I did it, I did it.”

“I blame you anyway, Llian.” Thandiwe was beside herself with rage.

“He was going to kill me as soon as I finished my Great Tale.”

“I wish he had. One day you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

“I dare say,” said Llian, “but it might be an idea to sheath our daggers until we get well away from Pem-Y-Rum.”

She nodded stiffly. Llian saddled another horse and, knowing they would have to ride long and hard, looped three spare horses together. He stuffed several horse blankets into the saddlebags, tied on a water pot, grabbed a pair of cloaks hanging behind the stable door then cut the stirrups off all the other saddles. “It’ll gain us a bit of time.”

Wilm got himself into the saddle without knowing how, still holding Dajaes.

The gates of Pem-Y-Rum were unguarded; everyone was at the fire. Llian and Thandiwe rode out, leading the three spare horses on a rope. Wilm followed, cradling Dajaes’s body and wishing he could have given his life to save her.

Karan was sick with failure. There was no way of knowing if Llian was alive or had already been put to death, and no way of finding out. The North Wing was surrounded by hundreds of guards, servants and field workers, all trying to save what they could – Shand and Ussarine had done their work too well. There was no sign of them either; no way of knowing if they were dead, alive, escaped or captured.

After an explosion in the main building it was ablaze from one end to the other. If Llian was trapped inside there was no way to get him out. Karan stood behind a screening row of bushes with Esea and Lilis, staring hopelessly at the flames. It felt as though they were consuming her life. Tallia lay on the ground with a coat around her, shivering.

“We’d better try for the gates,” said Lilis. “The guards are bound to come this way.”

“Yes,” Karan said dully.

She helped Tallia up, supporting the much taller woman on her shoulder. Lilis led them on a meandering course towards the gates, taking advantage of every scrap of cover. They rounded the greenhouses and there, to their joy, they stumbled into Shand and Ussarine, who were covered in soot and ash but unharmed.

Lilis embraced them both. Karan stood there, unable to speak.

“Llian?” said Shand.

“No sign of him,” said Karan.

“Guards,” said Ussarine. “Coming this way.”

“Do you want me to make a diversion?” said Esea. She looked as though she was dying to.

“Yes, quick,” said Shand.

Esea thrust both hands towards the vast baroque cast-iron greenhouses, each of which was thirty feet high and a hundred feet long.

“All to ruin!” she screamed as if she wanted to tear the place apart.

The glass exploded out of the greenhouses towards the advancing guards, and they were no longer there. Karan took a hasty step back, shocked by the rage in Esea’s eyes.

“Lead the way, Lilis,” said Shand.

Lilis led them, under cover, towards the gates. It was darker there, the area being shielded by an avenue of trees. They were sneaking along, fifty or sixty yards from the unguarded gates, when three riders burst out of the stables, leading another three horses.

They passed under the lamps illuminating the gate and the watch house. Karan had not seen Thandiwe in years but recognised her instantly. The second rider was hidden from view behind her, but Karan also recognised the third, who carried someone small in his arms.

“That’s the lad I saw in the forest with the girl,” said Karan. “The lad who was carrying the dirt from the tunnel.”

“It’s Wilm!” said Shand. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“And who’s he carrying?”

“I don’t know, but she looks in bad shape.”

They turned at the gate and Karan saw the second rider clearly.

“Llian!” she cried.

He did not turn; he would not have heard her over the roar of the fire and the clamour from behind them.

“Llian!” Karan shrieked.

He rode through the gate beside Thandiwe as if he did not have a care in the world, and they disappeared into the darkness.

“You bloody bollocking bastard!” she wailed. “Come back.”

Shand gestured to Ussarine, who swept Karan up in her arms. They ran for the gates, but by the time they passed through the riders were gone.