“I can’t believe how changed Carcharon is,” said Shand, peering at the ruined tower through eyes slitted against the icy wind. “It… feels as though it’s part of another world.”

Karan was profoundly shocked. She had been thinking the same thing. “It feels like the sickest part of the void I ever saw.”

“What have we got ourselves into?” said Ussarine.

“What have Karan’s corrupt ancestors got us into?” said Shand, though mildly this time.

“Is there anything you can do?” said Ussarine.

Only in dire circumstances did Shand practise mancery, and then with the greatest reluctance. But Karan had seen him do remarkable things, and despite his protestations of being “past it”, she felt sure that he still could do them.

“The power at work here is way beyond my ken,” he said.

They were half an hour’s climb below the tower and the weather was closing in rapidly. Scudding snow showers were starting to blur Carcharon into grey.

“We’d better get a move on,” said Ussarine, studying the weather.

“If we ever get out of here,” said Karan, “I’m going to tear Carcharon down, stone by stone.” She considered the monumental labour that would be. “No, I’ll bring a hundred barrels of blasting powder up and blow the wretched place to bits.”

“I’ll help you carry them,” said Shand. “Stay here. I’m going to take a look.”

He laboured up and out of sight.

“He’s afraid I’ll betray him,” said Karan.

“Via the stigma?” said Ussarine.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it for a second.”

“Thank you. But… I’m starting to think that I’ll have to go to Cinnabar again.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. The second time I used Malien’s spell, the magiz was waiting with traps set. It’d be suicidal to use it a third time.”

“And yet?” said Ussarine.

“If I don’t go back and kill the magiz, will Sulien ever be safe? Will I?”

“There’s no point going back to Cinnabar unless you have a new way to attack.” Ussarine looked up. “Shand’s waving; he wants us to go up.” She strode up the track.

Mummy, where are you? Mummy, you’ve got to answer.

Sulien’s link was full of child-like bewilderment. Why wasn’t her mother answering? Then, desperately, Mummy, are you all right?

Karan doubled over, digging her fists into her belly, trying to distract herself from one pain with another. It did not work; she could not take any more. Surely it could not hurt to reassure Sulien… just one sentence? One word.

She began to make the link, then forced herself to stop. Before she could go back to Cinnabar she had to convince Malien to unblock her gift for mancery. Malien’s dire warnings surfaced but Karan forced them down again. It simply had to work.

She slogged after Ussarine and reached the tower, now an outline through whirling snow.

“I think we should go in a rush,” said Ussarine, “just in case.”

Shand was grey-faced and breathing hard. “If I drop dead, don’t try to revive me.”

Karan clapped him on the shoulder. “I dare say you’ll live to a greater age than I will.”

“Given that you’ve got both Aachim and Faellem blood, that’s debatable.”

“Well, I’ve got neither,” said Ussarine, “so I win!”

Shand chuckled. Karan managed a smile. “Let’s go.”

The wind dropped momentarily and she heard the clashing of swords, followed by a familiar, desperate cry.

“That’s Llian!”

She ran, drawing her knife. The doors were open and she burst through them, sliding on the icy floor almost to the stair. She looked around wildly. Where was he? The wind had resumed with greater ferocity, howling around the battered tower and through the window holes.

Ussarine came flying in and went skidding across the room towards the steep stair. If she fell down it she was liable to break her neck. Karan grabbed her outstretched left arm and heaved, and went spinning around Ussarine like a small red moon orbiting a giant dark planet.

“Thanks,” said Ussarine.

Shand entered less precipitously. Close by, swords clashed. “They’re out in the yard!”

Karan raced through the partly open door. The wind blasted snow into her eyes and for a few seconds she could not see. She rubbed it away.

Llian was on his back, desperately trying to hold off a snarling Unick, who was trying to strangle him. Wilm, a few yards away, was attempting to keep five armed men at bay. They were led by a wiry white-haired fellow, and all wore shoulder badges indicating that they were Snoat’s men.

Karan left the five to Shand and Ussarine, and ran at Unick. Llian’s face was purple. She leaped into the air and drove both feet at the back of Unick’s head.

His face slammed into the rock with a crunching sound. Karan hoped it was his neck; if ever a man deserved to die, he did, though she suspected it was only his cauliflower nose. And his huge hands were still around Llian’s neck.

She took hold of one shoulder and heaved, trying to drag him off. Unick rolled over and let Llian go, and she saw his ghastly face close up. His nose was gushing blood, his face was scarred and bloated, and his flip-flopping red eyes were one of the most sickening sights she had ever seen. She froze, staring at him. Beside him, Llian choked and gasped.

Unick’s hands closed around Karan’s shins, then he wrenched her legs apart so hard that she went over backwards. He came to his knees, still holding her shins. She kicked furiously but could not break his grip. The stump of his missing finger made bloody smears on her calf. Karan groped for her knife but it wasn’t there; it had fallen out of its sheath in the struggle.

“Shand?” she cried.

He did not hear; he was fighting one of Snoat’s five. Ussarine was defending against three more, and Wilm was trying to hold off their white-haired leader.

Unick came to his feet, changed his grip and she realised what he planned to do – swing her around by the shins and smash her head into the wall. She tried to double up and punch him in the face. He laughed and fended her off. He began to swing her, and there was nothing she could do to save herself; he was far too strong.

Llian scrabbled across, caught Unick’s left leg with both hands and sank his teeth into the back of his calf. Unick howled and let go of Karan, who went flying over a pile of tumbled stones into a snowdrift. Unick flailed at Llian, who bit him again then reached up and punched the bloody wound on the back of his thigh.

Unick shrieked, toppled, recovered and hopped away into the snow, blood pouring from his nose, his calf and the back of his thigh.

Karan stared at Llian, who was gagging and spitting and scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. There was no time for a reunion. Shand had just gone down and his attacker was looming over him, sword raised for the death stroke.

Karan snatched up a fist-sized piece of rubble and hurled it at the man’s head. It went wide and struck him on the right elbow. The sword fell from his hand and hit the ground point first between Shand’s ribs and his arm. The man threw back his head in silent agony – the rock had struck him on the funny bone. Shand caught the hilt of the sword as it toppled towards his face, thrust it up into the man’s middle and rolled out of the way as he fell.

“You all right?” said Karan.

“Bastard stabbed me in the arse,” said Shand. “Left cheek.”

“Want me to take a look at it?”

“No, thank you.”

She looked around, dizzy from all that had happened. Ussarine had efficiently dispatched two of her opponents and now took on the third man, but he turned, snatched up the Command device and ran.

“Send word to Snoat!” said the white-haired leader, who was still fighting Wilm.

Wilm had a small patch of blood on his right shoulder and a cut on his chin. The white-haired man was wounded in the left ribs, and there was a smear of blood across his hair.

He lunged at Wilm, who barely evaded the blow. His own sword strokes were starting to look clumsy and he was panicking. Karan could not imagine how he had lasted this long against a man who was clearly a professional killer.

But the white-haired man was also middle-aged. He’d had a week-long pursuit and an exhausting climb at the end of it, and perhaps he was more used to slitting throats in the dark than fighting a long duel face to face. Karan, who had seen more fighting than she cared to remember, saw what Wilm could not.

“His legs are going, Wilm! He’s tired; he can’t take much more. Wear the bastard down!”

Wilm’s legs did not seem tired. He was just a youth and used to hard labour. He flashed her a strained smile, parried the next blow, then lunged and pinked the white-haired man on the breastbone.

It wasn’t a serious injury, but it could have been, and the white-haired man knew it. He checked and Karan saw the moment that he started to panic. He tried to fight it and went at Wilm with a series of furious blows, but his knees were wobbling, the heavy sword had exhausted him and none of his blows went quite where he wanted.

Wilm had his confidence back. He wielded the black sword as though it was an extension of his arm – he parried three blows then struck between the white-haired killer’s ribs and into his heart. He fell back, dead.

Wilm stood there for a moment, panting, his face covered in sweat. Then, in a moment that showed his quality, he bent, closed the dead man’s eyes and stood before him for a minute, head bowed, acknowledging his victim.

Karan’s knees were wobbly; she was too old for this. She staggered across and shook his hand. “Thank you for rescuing Llian. And for all you’ve done for him.”

“No more than he did for me,” Wilm said simply.

Karan wondered at that but did not ask. “Did you find Aviel?”

“I think Unick has her trapped below. At the… summon stone.”

“We’d better do something about it.”

She surveyed the yard with its litter of bodies. Ussarine was uninjured. Shand was pressing a rag against his backside and grimacing.

Finally she turned to Llian, who had put on his pack and was watching her anxiously. There was blood on his face and purpling bruises where Unick had encircled his throat with those great hands, almost finishing him. He looked exhausted, and a little afraid.

Karan noticed a familiar ring on his little finger. “That’s Maigraith’s ring! Where did you get it?”

“It was in the dirt, just over there.” He pointed. “Come here.”

Karan hesitated for a second. But against all expectations he was alive, and safe, and she knew he had done his best. And he had done what he’d set out to do – found the summon stone for them. She took a flying leap into his arms. He caught her, staggering backwards, and held her tightly.

Then Llian’s left hand went around her neck and Maigraith’s enchanted ring, which had once belonged to Rulke, touched Fiachra’s chain, which had been made by Rulke’s enemy Shuthdar. The ring lit with an eerie yellow radiance, and Karan felt something wake in it.

The whole of Carcharon answered, echoing the same yellow radiance. It waved up from every stone, every twisted metal fragment of the ruined roof, and every one of those weird projections in the outside walls.

The drumming returned, louder yet deeper than ever.

There came a cry of agony from the depths.

Then a gate opened in front of Karan and Llian – an oval, shimmering tunnel – and humid air gushed out of it, instantly condensing to fog. The tunnel contracted then expanded again, sucking the air in. It lifted Llian off his feet and tumbled him backwards, his arms still wrapped around Karan, into the gate. She felt a blow to the belly, like being struck with a fast-moving ball, and clung to him more tightly.

Llian went “Oof!”

Then they hurtled into darkness.