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Sun Sword 3: The Snowy Tower

9781742754635

Random House Australia Pty Ltd

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http://www.randomhouse.com.au

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First published by Random House Australia 2007

Copyright © Belinda Murrell 2007

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Murrell, Belinda.

The snowy tower.

For primary school age.

ISBN 978 1 74166 182 8.

I. Title. (Series: Murrell, Belinda. Sun sword; bk. 3).

A823.4

Cover illustration by David Legge

Cover design by Louise Davis, Mathematics

For everyone precious in my life –

my family and friends.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Imprint Page

Dedication

Map

Chapter One: The Palace Library

Chapter Two: Lazlac’s Proposal

Chapter Three: The Journey North

Chapter Four: Battle with the Sedahs

Chapter Five: Capture

Chapter Six: Ambush

Chapter Seven: Trowbridge

Chapter Eight: Snow Country

Chapter Nine: The Mountain Tribes

Chapter Ten: Stickball

Chapter Eleven: Moutain Perils

Chapter Twelve: The Tower

Chapter Thirteen: Ice Boat

Chapter Fourteen: Adder’s Tongue

Chapter Fifteen: Wedding Day

Chapter Sixteen: Royal Wedding

Chapter Seventeen: The Feast

Epilogue

About the Author

The Quest for the Sun Gem

Voyage of the Owl

Queen Ashana swept into the palace library, followed by one of her ladies-in-waiting, and a troop of ten Sedah soldiers dressed in black armour. The soldiers set to work thoroughly searching the library. Queen Ashana stood to one side, tapping her foot imperiously, with her arms crossed.

One of the soldiers checked that each of the large glass windows was padlocked. Another checked that there was no-one hidden under the desks or behind the deep velvet couches. When the library had been meticulously searched, the soldiers marched out. Their leader paused at the door.

‘Remember, Lady Ashana,’ Captain Malish snarled, ‘we have your son, and if you try to escape, we will kill him.’

A look of intense pain crossed Queen Ashana’s face.

‘How could I forget that you invaders have kidnapped Caspar?’ Queen Ashana snapped, her voice trembling slightly. ‘Every waking moment I think of my precious children and wonder if they are alive. I already know that you and your masters hold everything in your hands, Captain Malish. Do not begrudge me an hour or two to lose myself in a book.’

Captain Malish’s eyes swept the vast room, with its white shelves groaning with thousands of books, soaring to the magnificent painted fresco on the domed ceiling. Ladders on tracks leant against the shelves so that books could be fetched from above. Glass windows ran in a circle just below the dome, filling the library with light.

‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Captain Malish sneered. ‘I hear that Governor Lazlac plans to burn all these useless books and turn the library into a games room for our soldiers. Perhaps you could join them then for a game of darts?’

Ignoring with difficulty the captain’s jibes, Queen Ashana turned to pick up a book from a small carved side table. She sat herself in a plump blue velvet armchair and smoothed down her dress, reminded once more how thankful she was to her staunch ally, Cookie, the palace cook, for making sure clean clothes, hot baths and a comb were provided to Ashana’s humble garden cottage, instead of the rags she had been forced to wear while Lord Lazlac had confined her to the dungeons for the weeks since the Sedah invasion.

‘Marnie, have you tried that section, near the second window?’ Queen Ashana enquired. ‘It has some fascinating old medical texts.’

‘Yes, your majesty. I found one yesterday that recommended swallowing frogs for a head cold to soothe the throat and placing live maggots on wounds to eat away the putrefying flesh!’ Marnie laughed.

Captain Malish snorted, annoyed at being ignored. A plump woman with red, work-worn hands appeared at the door, pushing a large trolley laden with dishes and jugs and covered with a fine lace cloth. Captain Malish darted to the trolley and whisked away the cloths eagerly, poking through the contents as he searched for illicit weapons or notes.

‘Cookie,’ said Queen Ashana warmly. ‘How lovely to see you. What delicious treats have you prepared for us this morning?’

‘Good morning, your majesty,’ Cookie replied, bobbing into a deep curtsey, her round face creased with smiles. ‘I have brought apple turnovers with whipped cream, scones with raspberry jam, lime tart with fresh strawberries, a large chocolate cake, pecan tart, hot chocolate, tea and coffee. As ordered by the governor, I have brought no knives to cut the cakes with, merely a cake server and teaspoons.’ With this she glowered at Captain Malish, who was using his dagger to slice open the chocolate cake, to check there were no weapons baked inside.

‘I beg you not to ruin my carefully prepared morning tea,’ Cookie scolded. ‘Governor Lazlac may be joining her royal highness this morning, and I am sure he is not used to the pig slops you usually prefer to serve her majesty.’

‘There is enough food here for ten people, not three,’ complained Captain Malish petulantly.

‘Never let it be said that I run a stingy kitchen,’ Cookie retorted. ‘Now I am sure we should retire and let her highness enjoy some well-earned peace.’ Cookie marched towards the door, shooing Captain Malish in front of her as if he were a recalcitrant barnyard animal.

‘Enjoy your book while you can, Ashana,’ snarled Captain Malish over his shoulder, as he closed the massive double doors behind him. ‘I have four guards standing watch outside this door, fully armed and prepared to kill. I will return in one hour.’

The doors banged shut. Marnie and Queen Ashana heard loud clicks as the doors were bolted and padlocked.

Queen Ashana rose to her feet with a quick, tight smile at her companion. She listened intently at the door, then darted to the far left-hand wall. She searched for a thick leather-bound black book above her head. The gold lettering on its spine read Sea Monsters of the Deep. Pulling this tome from the shelf, she reached into the empty space behind it and pushed the timber backing, which slid away to reveal a cavity. Inside the cavity was a lever. Queen Ashana twisted it, then pushed.

Immediately the whole section of bookshelves beside the lever moved, opening on a pivot, like a door, to reveal a narrow tunnel behind.

Four anxious young faces peered around the corner. Queen Ashana threw herself on one of them, a child with short blonde hair, wearing faded, baggy breeches, a ragged white shirt and a green cloak.

‘Roana, my beautiful Roana,’ the Queen murmured, covering the child’s face with kisses. Roana hugged her back fiercely.

‘Mama, oh, Mama. It is so good to see you.’

Another two children, a boy and a girl, rushed from the secret entrance and threw themselves on Marnie, squeezing her, smiles stretching their faces. A large red-gold dog flew from the tunnel, nearly knocking Marnie and the children over in her exuberance, licking, wagging, wriggling.

A second boy held back, behind the bookshelf, watching the scene with an air of resigned melancholy. After a moment, Marnie remembered him and drew him into her joyful circle. ‘Come on, Saxon. Don’t be shy, come and give me a hug.’

‘I am so glad you received Cookie’s message about the secret passage into the palace,’ said Queen Ashana. ‘Did you find it difficult to locate the entrance?’

‘Not at all,’ replied Roana.

Soon the four children and the two mothers were sitting in the deep comfortable chairs at the far end of the vast library, chatting in low voices, asking whispered questions, beaming, talking over each other. Ethan took four mugs from his pack, which Marnie filled with hot chocolate topped with shaved curls of dark chocolate.

‘Mmm. Cookie’s hot chocolate is absolute heaven,’ sighed Lily, sipping the froth appreciatively, her black cat curled in her lap. Marnie smiled and stroked Lily’s long curly hair back from her face. Queen Ashana sipped her coffee with one hand on Princess Roana’s, as if she would never let it go.

Ethan cut generous slices of tart and cake with his dagger. There were only three dainty china plates, so the children ate from the palms of their hands with their fingers, licking up the drips of cream and raspberry jam.

The four children were hungry, after the anxious journey creeping down secret tunnels behind the thick palace walls, knowing that an army of ruthless Sedah soldiers patrolled the corridors of the palace. They fell upon Cookie’s feast with gusto.

The two mothers were content to eat little, sipping on milky coffee and feasting instead upon the children’s faces, remembering every well-loved feature and noting the tiny changes since they had last met. Princess Roana’s dyed brown hair had lightened considerably in the weeks at sea, and her once pale skin was now tanned golden brown. Ethan was looking strong and fit after working on board ship, while Lily had a new air of determination and confidence. Saxon’s eyes still sparkled with mischief, but there was also a shadow of seriousness, which Marnie had not seen before.

Aisha, the dog, and Charcoal, the cat, were not forgotten either. Aisha gulped down half a dozen scones in a few seconds, while Charcoal elegantly licked whipped cream from Lily’s fingers.

‘Look at you, Mama,’ murmured Lily admiringly, noting her mother’s beautiful silken blue dress, adorned with embroidery and lace. ‘You look like a princess.’

Marnie laughed in delight. ‘Her royal highness, Queen Ashana, lent me one of her gowns, as mine was completely ragged. It looked a lot like yours, as a matter of fact, my darling.’

‘It was wonderful to change out of my rags too,’ Queen Ashana agreed. ‘Perhaps Cookie can find some new clothes for you all. She could search out some of your dresses, Roana, and throw those revolting breeches on the garbage cart.’

‘No.’ Roana shook her head emphatically. ‘Much as we would love to, these rags are our best disguise, and we all think it is safer if I travel as a boy. We could never have come this far if I was dressed as a princess.’

‘Absolutely. Sniffer would have caught us weeks ago.’

‘Otto would have held you for ransom.’

‘We probably would never have made it past the guards at Tira in the first place.’ Ethan, Lily and Saxon talked over the top of each other, enthusiastically agreeing with Roana. Queen Ashana and Marnie shook their heads in mock confusion, laughing at the babble.

‘What in the Sun Lord’s name have you four been up to?’ begged Queen Ashana.

So, in between mouthfuls, the children related the stories of their adventures so far – escaping the Sedahs, sailing the Great Southern Ocean on the Owl with the smuggler Fox, eluding the persistent Sedah tracker called Sniffer, crawling down secret tunnels, crossing the moors on black smugglers’ ponies and marching back into Tira disguised as beggar children. The tale was rambling, confused and out of sequence, as the children remembered different details and interrupted each other constantly.

Marnie’s heart hammered painfully as she learnt of the many dangers the children had faced and overcome on their voyage.

‘But we did it, Mama.’ Princess Roana beamed. ‘We have returned to Tira with the Sun Gem, the Moon Pearl and the Star Diamonds.’

She offered up the hem of her cloak for her mother to feel. The ruby, pearl and diamonds were meticulously sewn into the hem. Queen Ashana gasped with surprise as she felt the hard gems beneath the sturdy wool. The gems seemed to pulse and burn with power under her fingertips.

‘I cannot believe it,’ Queen Ashana murmured. ‘I cannot believe that you four brave, clever, reckless children have managed to save the sacred gems from the Sedahs.’

‘Now all we have to do is find the Sun Sword and rescue Prince Caspar,’ added Ethan cheerfully, crumbs of chocolate cake around his mouth.

‘Your brother …’ choked Queen Ashana, tears of grief spilling down her face. ‘He is to be taken very soon to Sedah to Emperor Raef. He will be lost there …’

‘Then we must rescue him first,’ announced Princess Roana, her voice set with determination. ‘We must find him, and bring him back to Tira.’ She glanced around at the other children, who nodded gravely. ‘We will ride to Bryn in the north and search for him until we find him.’

Ethan slowly and carefully quoted the verse that Saira the Wise of Mereworth had told them when she was in a trance, staring into her round rose quartz ball:

‘Five travellers true, a treacherous journey to take

A princeling to save, a kingdom at stake,

Fire, plague, sea and snow must test,

To the ends of the land they make their quest,

To fetch sun and moon and blade

so the bright magic is whole again made.

The sun is dimmed under Tira to seek

The blade is hidden in the caverns deep,

The moon and stars under sea lost their power.

The princeling imprisoned in a snowy tower.

When all is done the five may rest

When ice is conquered to win their quest.’

‘So far the prophecy has been correct,’ Lily said. ‘We found the Sun Gem dimmed under Tira, and the Moon Pearl and Star Diamonds under the sea.’

‘We have certainly been tested by fire, plague and sea,’ Roana added. ‘We fought the fire of the Barramon, the plague of rats in the caverns and many dangers on the sea, so that just leaves snow and ice.’

‘So Prince Caspar must be imprisoned in a snowy tower,’ summarised Ethan. ‘Lord Lazlac said Prince Caspar would be taken to Bryn. Are there any snowy towers in Bryn? That should make it easier to find him.’

Queen Ashana frowned, shaking her head. ‘There are many towers in Bryn, but it is unlikely to be snowy there at this time of year. The snows are further north.’

Saxon rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled parchment. He flattened it on the spindly side table.

‘This is the map that I found in the captain’s cabin on board the Sea Dragon before she sank,’ Saxon explained. ‘It shows all the major towns and villages of Tiregian. The key landmarks, such as Tira, the royal hunting lodge and Kenley, are circled so it was obviously used by the commanders during the invasion of Tiregian. Another landmark is circled, and it is a tower deep in the Silent Mountains, further north of Bryn. Perhaps that is where Prince Caspar is being held?’

‘So Lord Lazlac lied about where Prince Caspar was taken,’ Ethan mused. ‘I guess he wanted to put any planned rescuers off the track.’

Everyone gathered around the map to study it. The children had seen it before on the journey back from the Nine Isles, when Saxon had discovered it in the pocket of his breeches. He had forgotten it in the excitement of escaping from the Sea Dragon and the Sedahs, mending the damaged Owl and diving to the wreck of the Sea Dragon to find the Moon Pearl and Star Diamonds hidden in a tobacco pouch.

‘That is the Tower of Sun and Moon,’ gasped Queen Ashana, stroking the map with her long tapered fingers. ‘During high summer many priests and priestesses retire to the peace of the mountains to study and meditate. During winter the tower is locked up and empty, as it is bitterly cold and unforgiving in the mountains during the seasons of snow.’ Queen Ashana flushed with anger as she thought of her youngest, her darling son, imprisoned with the cruel priests of Krad.

Princess Roana hugged the queen fiercely. ‘Do not worry, Mama. I promise you we will find my brother and bring him home to you.’

Queen Ashana stamped her foot in frustration. ‘It should be me, not my daughter, facing death and danger to rescue Caspar,’ she wailed desperately. ‘I feel as though I am dying of frustration and fear and anger and grief. Yet I can do nothing but wait and watch and simper at that unbearable Lord Lazlac, while you four children must risk your lives for us all.’

Roana soothed her agitated mother with strokes and soft words.

‘It is difficult,’ agreed Marnie sensibly. ‘But you must do your part here and keep Lord Lazlac thinking you are docile and compliant. That will give the children time and space to achieve what needs to be done, with the Moon Goddess’s blessing. You know if you try to escape or upset Lazlac, many people will die.’

Queen Ashana shuddered, gripping Roana painfully to her.

‘The children must go, and be clever and resourceful and invisible,’ Marnie continued, her eyes glinting with emotion. ‘We must trust them and let them do what is right, for we have no other option.’ Lily and Ethan wordlessly hugged Marnie again. Aisha whined gently and licked Marnie’s hand. Marnie patted Aisha, wiped her eyes brusquely and kissed Lily and Ethan on the forehead.

‘Now you must get ready and go. Your majesty, is there anything we can give them to help them?’

Queen Ashana leapt to her feet and hurried to a bookshelf. She searched for a few minutes, found a volume and impatiently flicked through it.

‘Ethan, may I borrow your dagger, if you please?’ she requested. The sharp dagger was used to slice a few pages from the book. ‘Here is a short chapter on the Tower of Sun and Moon, with a map of the Silent Mountains. It may help you find your way.’

Ethan took the pages and the dagger, nodding gratefully as he scanned the text.

Aisha leapt to her feet and bounded to the door, her hackles raised and her nose quivering. All eyes turned to the door anxiously. There was the unmistakable sound of the padlock being lifted and a key grinding in the lock. Ethan whistled softly for Aisha, who obediently loped back across the floor.

Without a sound, the children gathered up their mugs and Charcoal, and darted to the secret door. Queen Ashana and Marnie followed swiftly, hugging each of the children tightly and pushing them through the door.

‘Be strong. Be brave. Be clever,’ whispered Marnie hurriedly. ‘Most of all, my darlings, be careful.’

Together Queen Ashana and Marnie closed the door and stuffed the volume back on the shelf. By the time the library’s double doors swung open, the two women were collapsed on the sofa, delicately sipping on the cold dregs of their coffee.

Lord Lazlac strode into the library. He was wearing his best black suit. His face was gaunt, with pale, waxy skin and black eyes burning with anticipation. He scanned the library quickly, noting the two women sipping coffee.

Ashana looked very beautiful. Her hair was once again clean and combed and the golden curls swept up into a twisted knot. She was wearing a fresh long dress of green silk, trimmed with lace at the throat, wrists and hem, with full petticoats cascading over the blue velvet sofa. Her cheeks were flushed with pink and her eyes sparkled.

Lord Lazlac reassured himself. His plan was a good one. He hoped his most fearful majesty Emperor Raef would see it the same way.

He nodded peremptorily to Ashana and Marnie. His eyes took in the tea trolley. There were half a dozen dishes there, but little left on them except plenty of crumbs and smears. All that was left now was half a chocolate cake, which looked rather hacked and squashed, and a slice of pecan pie.

Lord Lazlac was amazed. How could those two reasonably slim women eat so much? he thought in disgust. It is a wonder that they aren’t as fat as pigs. I suppose they may have starved somewhat down in the dungeons, but I can’t have them eating too much now. I’ll have to order the cook to feed them reduced rations.

‘Lord Lazlac, some cake?’ gabbled Queen Ashana nervously, gesturing with the cake server. ‘I am afraid Captain Malish mangled it somewhat. I believe he was searching for hidden weapons baked into the cake. No such luck unfortunately, but it still tastes rather delicious. Or some coffee? It is a bit cold now, but we could ring to the kitchens for a fresh pot?’

Queen Ashana breathed deeply, trying to still her erratically beating heart and slow her anxious prattle.

‘No thank you,’ replied Lord Lazlac, his lip curling in disdain. ‘I prefer to eat sparingly. Ashana, there is something I wish to discuss with you, so perhaps your handmaiden can now withdraw?’

Marnie nodded and rose obediently.

Queen Ashana stiffened, her head held high. ‘There is nothing you might need to discuss with me that you cannot mention in front of Marnie. Take a seat, Marnie, if you please.’ Marnie sank down again gracefully, spreading her skirts.

‘Very well,’ Lord Lazlac replied, grimacing in annoyance. ‘I have decided to take you as my wife. We will be married before Krad in four weeks. That should give us plenty of time to prepare the wedding feast.’

Queen Ashana stared, speechless.

‘I would prefer to have the ceremony sooner,’ Lord Lazlac continued chattily. ‘However, it will take time for the High Priests of Krad to travel from the north. I have sent urgent missives today ordering them to return. The messenger is under strict instructions to ride at full speed on pain of death.’

‘Marry you?’ spluttered Queen Ashana furiously, rising to her feet. ‘You must be mad. You murdered my husband, kidnapped my son and tried to kill my daughter. Marry you! I would rather die.’

‘That can be arranged,’ Lord Lazlac retorted, twisting his face in a parody of a smile. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer a nasty little accident to befall your son?’

Queen Ashana deflated completely, all blood drained from her face. Marnie sprang to her aid, helping her to the sofa, chafing her wrists and murmuring soothing words.

‘I thought you would see reason,’ gloated Lord Lazlac. ‘Now we have a lot to discuss. Your ladies will, of course, need to prepare your wedding clothes. They must be red velvet in accordance with Sedah tradition, ornately embroidered in gold thread, with a sheer red silk veil. You will need to organise a night shift of sewing women to have them ready in time. I have prepared some rough sketches of my preferred design.’

Lord Lazlac waved a sheaf of papers in the air, all covered in tiny cramped writing.

‘And of course there is the question of my coronation. I thought a double ceremony would be perfect. I have drawn up a menu of dishes to be prepared, and a guest list. Unfortunately I feel it is safer if your son remains in the care of the priests until after the wedding, to ensure your full compliance, then he will be sent to Sedah as originally planned. This will be your last visit to the library, as you will be much too busy to read and, of course, watching what you eat.’

Lord Lazlac glanced meaningfully at the trolley of empty dishes. Queen Ashana closed her eyes as if that would help to block out Lord Lazlac’s grating voice.

‘You are overcome, my dear,’ Lord Lazlac purred solicitously, stroking Queen Ashana’s cheek. ‘Perhaps you should have a little rest while I send over the rolls of velvet and silk.’ Lord Lazlac thrust the sheaf of papers at Marnie. ‘Take my designs and ensure that they are properly executed. I will hold you personally responsible for their creation.’

Somehow Marnie managed to help Queen Ashana back to the gardener’s cottage. Once behind closed doors, Queen Ashana woke from her shocked stupor and ranted and raged, striding back and forth. Marnie said very little, letting the Queen’s fury and despair work its way out, but her mind ticked furiously as she considered the options.

‘What shall we do?’ Queen Ashana begged, her shoulders slumped with despair. Marnie thought of Willem, her husband, still locked in the dungeons below the palace. She missed him dreadfully and longed to discuss this new dilemma with him. Still, there was nothing for it. They would need to figure out some strategy on their own.

‘Pretend,’ Marnie stated vehemently. ‘Pretend to be compliant. We’ll sew this wretched wedding dress and embroider this ridiculous train and veil. But we’ll try to delay as long as we can and buy some time for the children to rescue Prince Caspar. We’ll ask Cookie to get word out to the rebels in the forest to help them. We’ll send word to the people of Tiregian that this marriage is a sham, and not of your choosing. We’ll fight him subtly and quietly in any way we can. Most of all, we will not give up hope.’

Queen Ashana thought carefully over Marnie’s advice, then nodded in agreement. There was nothing else they could really do.

Holding flickering candles, Ethan, Lily, Roana and Saxon crept along the dark stone tunnel with Aisha prowling at their heels. Lily’s arms ached from carrying Charcoal. She was too big to fit in a pocket now. Finally Lily put her down and Charcoal scampered along in front, her long waving tail leading them like a standard.

The tunnel ran the length of the palace. It was built many years before to give the royals a secret way to slip around the palace. Every now and again they passed a secret spyhole that looked into the Great Hall or various reception chambers, where the kings or queens of old could spy on their courtiers and hear the latest intrigues and plots.

The children retraced their steps of an hour before. Eventually they crept down a steep flight of stairs, deep below the palace, and followed the tunnel along for another ten minutes. The tunnel led under the garden and the main palace wall. Finally they climbed a steep ladder, which popped up in a stone and iron rotunda in the spacious parkland that provided a green buffer between the palace and the town. There was a secret trapdoor cleverly built into the timber seat that curved around the rotunda.

Queen Ashana had told Cookie how to find the secret entrance. Roana’s great-great-grandfather had enjoyed sneaking down the tunnel at night, to visit his favourite inn and have a few pints of ale, incognito.

Cautiously the four climbed out into the rotunda, hauling Aisha and Charcoal up into the fresh air. The trapdoor was quickly closed. The candles and a tinderbox were left down in the tunnel, in case they were needed later. Saxon pulled a leather ball, stuffed with straw, from his pack.

The four children ran out from the rotunda and started kicking the ball from one to another. They had decided that playing football would make them look more like innocent local children than suspicious fugitives. Aisha chased the ball, barking madly.

‘Over here,’ called Ethan, holding his arms up. ‘My kick.’

‘No, it’s my turn,’ squealed Roana. ‘You two are such ball hogs.’

The four children zigzagged across the parkland, chattering and giggling heartily. Saxon scooped the ball up and ran with it towards the hedge that separated the park from the town. Ethan chased him speedily and tackled him with gusto. The boys rolled over and over, mock wrestling, while Aisha barked and leapt joyfully.

Lily scooped up the ignored ball and kicked it away. A Sedah guard up on the palace wall watched the game of football for a moment and then turned away, bored. A moment later, the scene of four children and a dog playing football in the park had completely faded from his memory. He did not even notice the black and white cat that sedately followed, prowling through the grass.

Once in the streets of Tira, the children kept up their pretence of playing football until they were well away from the palace. They headed west for a few streets, then darted down a side street. Ethan stopped to check his boot for a phantom stone, to make sure no-one was following them. They turned down several dark, narrow alleys, then emerged into a crowded main road, where they let the crowd sweep them further west. Another detour took them down a side alley while Saxon lingered behind, pretending to check out the delicious offerings in the baker’s window.

When they were sure no-one had followed them, they came out into the crowded market place, and headed south-east. At last they arrived at their destination, the White Horse Inn. Inside the taproom Master Albert Drummond, Cookie’s brother and the proprietor of the inn, was sitting at a scarred table, writing lists with the help of a bearded man with a red ponytail like a fox’s brush. It was Fox, renowned smuggler and captain of the Owl. On Fox’s shoulder perched a tiny, cheeky monkey called Mia.

When the taproom door swung open and the four children and Aisha strolled in, Mia leapt from Fox’s shoulder and darted over to greet the large dog. She grabbed Aisha’s leather collar and swung herself up on Aisha’s neck like a jockey, chattering noisily. Aisha was wise to Mia’s naughty tricks, so she immediately rolled over on her back, dismounting Mia in an instant.

Mia leapt for Lily’s skirt and nimbly raced up, until she was seated on Lily’s shoulder, her little wrinkled hands tucked into Lily’s collar. Mia nibbled Lily’s ear and stroked her cheek affectionately.

‘Mia, we’ve missed you,’ Lily laughed joyfully, patting the monkey’s silky fur.

Aisha pawed at Lily’s skirt jealously, begging for the attention being bestowed upon Mia.

‘Children, welcome back,’ beamed Master Drummond, his round face shiny with pleasure.

Fox stood up, relieved to see the children safely back from their visit to the palace. He smiled and his tanned face crinkled up around his pale blue eyes. Today, he did not wear his usual black, but was dressed in a crisp white shirt and navy breeches, with long black boots. There was no sign of his cutlass, but the children were sure Fox would have concealed a dirk or two somewhere on his body.

Two days ago, Fox had smuggled the children back into Tiregian on the Owl, then to a lonely farmhouse on the moors, eluding an ambush set by the relentless Sedah tracker, Sniffer. Fox had finally brought them to the White Horse Inn on the back of a farm cart, laden with potatoes and vegetables for market. He had more than earned the pile of gold crescents that the children had paid him, but Fox was keen to help them prepare for the next stage of their journey before he returned to meet the crew of the Owl.

He and Master Drummond had been working tirelessly with the four children to plan strategies, source provisions and discuss options.

‘Master Drummond and I have been reviewing the plans,’ Fox said. ‘Let’s go through them all together to make sure we’ve thought of everything. Saxon, your map, please?’

‘We are heading to the north, first,’ Saxon said, spreading out the crumpled map. ‘It is imperative that we find the tower where Prince Caspar is being held and rescue him before he is sent to Sedah, where we would have no hope of reaching him.’

Master Drummond examined the map carefully.

‘Even though it is nearly summer in the south, the far north is still snowbound. The spring thaw may not come to the high mountains for some weeks. The snow country is dangerous and inhospitable, even for the wandering mountain tribes. There are avalanches, wild beasts and freezing temperatures, and it is very easy to get lost in the snow.’

The four children glanced at each other, their minds whirring.

‘Why would the Sedahs send Prince Caspar so far into the wilderness?’ Ethan asked. ‘They have concentrated their invasion mainly on the coast to secure Tira and the ports. Why not take Prince Caspar directly to Sedah?’

‘Perhaps because the tower is so remote and inhospitable,’ Fox replied. ‘No-one would think to look for a missing prince in the middle of nowhere. They needed somewhere they could simply disappear, where no-one would ask questions.’

Master Drummond nodded.

‘Governor Lazlac is using the threat of Caspar’s safety to force the queen to co-operate with his plans. I think Queen Ashana might be a lot less compliant if Caspar were taken away to Sedah – if there was no hope of him returning. The prince is integral to the Sedah plans to control the whole of Tiregian, not just the coast.’

Princess Roana stiffened, her jaw tight.

‘So we must travel to the north at once,’ she said.

‘There is much to be done before you can go,’ replied Master Drummond, consulting his list. ‘You will need clothes that are suitable for the cold – gloves, hats, warm coats, scarves and blankets.’

‘And rugs for your horses,’ added Fox.

Master Drummond scribbled furiously adding to his list.

‘And good provisions because hunting will be scarce in the north, and we don’t really have time to waste,’ Ethan mused.

‘How long do you think it will take us to ride to the Silent Mountains?’ Lily asked.

‘About a week to reach the foothills,’ Master Drummond stated. ‘Although climbing through the mountains will be much slower, so perhaps ten days. It will be much quicker coming back if you can catch a barge down the river Bryn. The journey upriver, against the current, is far too slow and arduous by barge.’

Fox stood up from the table and paced the room, stroking his beard with concern. Mia scampered from the table up his arm onto her usual shoulder perch.

‘I am anxious about the children travelling on their own so far to the north,’ Fox worried. ‘As you say, there are many dangers on the roads, and we know the Sedah are watching out for four children travelling with a dog. I should travel with them, to help protect them.’

‘I know,’ agreed Master Drummond. ‘But as we have discussed, you are also very recognisable and have already been betrayed to the Sedahs, because they knew exactly where to wait for you when you returned to Tiregian. I think you should lie low in one of my safe houses for a while.’

Fox stopped pacing and glared at Master Drummond furiously.

‘I will not,’ growled Fox. ‘I can look after myself. I don’t want to endanger the children but I will not be hidden away in a safe house. I have spent my life avoiding capture.’

‘Do not underestimate the Sedahs,’ warned Master Drummond. ‘They are not a bunch of lackadaisical coast guards.’

‘Still, someone should go with them,’ Fox insisted.

‘I would go with the children myself, but our plans are at a crucial stage in Tira,’ Master Drummond explained. ‘There is no-one I can trust to co-ordinate things here, and I dare not risk raising suspicion among the Sedahs. Perhaps some of the rebel soldiers –’

‘We’ll be fine on our own,’ interrupted Ethan. ‘We’ve managed to find the Sun Gem and Moon Pearl so far, and elude Sniffer and bandits and Sedah soldiers.’

‘As you said, the Sedah have not yet seized control of the countryside to the north, so we should be safer there, too,’ Saxon added. ‘Besides, the Sedahs are more likely to notice us if we ride north with a band of bodyguards.’

‘Plus we have Aisha,’ Lily argued. ‘She is better than half a dozen bodyguards.’

Aisha sat up at the sound of her name and barked fiercely, as though agreeing fervently with Lily. Charcoal meowed and arched her back in disagreement. Everyone laughed.

‘True enough,’ agreed Master Drummond. ‘You have all done brilliantly. Perhaps the princess should stay here with us for protection, though. It would be a disaster if the Sedahs found her royal highness.’

‘I cannot stay here,’ argued Roana. ‘As you said, not even Tira is safe, and it is my brother we seek. I must go to rescue him – he will be frightened if more strangers try to take him away.’

Fox sat down again, nodding reluctantly.

‘Perhaps the rebels in the forest could be warned to look out for the children,’ Fox suggested.

‘The less people who know about this journey, the better,’ Master Drummond said. ‘If no-one else knows about it, then it is harder for the children to be betrayed.’

Ethan felt a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. It seemed this journey would be even more perilous than their previous adventures.

‘So it does seem that the best plan is for you four to travel by yourselves to the north,’ decided Fox. ‘But we will do all we can to make it safer for you.’

So everyone set to work, packing saddle bags, making piles of blankets, rugs, candles and foodstuffs. Fox rustled up bulky, cable-stitch woollen fishermen’s jumpers, with knitted caps, scarves and thick socks from his fishing contacts down at Ainsley. Cookie came from the palace, bringing warm woollen gloves that had been hurriedly knitted by her and Marnie.

Moonbeam, Nutmeg, Toffee and Caramel were disguised as humble packhorses, with mud rubbed into their glossy coats, twigs knotted in their manes and tails, and frayed rope halters replacing their fine leather tack. They were laden with barrels of ale and cider. Moonbeam snickered in dismay, tossing her proud head and pawing the ground.

It was impossible to hide the beautiful formation of their well-bred heads, and the sleek musculature of their hunting heritage. Master Drummond just hoped that the bored Sedah guards would not see past the mud and prickles and shabby tack.

‘People generally see what they expect to see,’ Master Drummond explained as he examined the effect. ‘They probably won’t look twice at the horses.’

The saddles, bridles, food, weapons, clothes and saddle packs were hidden in the farmer’s cart in rough hessian sacks and topped with cabbages.

‘Now, much against my better judgement, we have agreed that you will make the journey north by yourselves, but we may need to contact you,’ Master Drummond said. ‘If I send someone to meet you I will give them a code phrase so that you know they are a friend. The code phrase will be, “Looks like that horse is foundering”. Your response should be, “No, she just had a stone caught in her hoof”. Then they will know you are the right children as well.’

‘Looks like that horse is foundering. No, she just had a stone caught in her hoof,’ repeated Lily, memorising the phrases.

Finally all was ready. The four children stood in the courtyard, their clothes ragged, and daubs of dirt on their faces. Master Drummond had his huge gentle draughthorse, Judy, harnessed in the shafts of the laden farm cart. Charcoal was safely stowed in a comfortable wicker fishing creel, strapped onto Nutmeg’s saddle.

Cookie had brought another large sack of provisions from the palace, which she had baked before dawn. She embraced each child in turn, her face crinkled with worry. She hugged Roana long and hard.

‘Cookie darling, please look after my mother,’ begged Roana, ‘and Marnie, and poor Willem down in the dungeons.’ Cookie turned away sharply. She could not bear to tell Roana the news that was now flickering through the palace – the news that Governor Lazlac was forcing Queen Ashana to marry him.

Fox strolled into the courtyard leading a small coal-black pony, with Mia riding proudly on the pony’s withers, clinging to a short tuft of mane. The pony had been closely shaved from nose to hoof, with a neatly plaited short tail. Her black eyes were quick and intelligent, and her velvet nose snuffled the air in curiosity.

‘This is Mischief,’ announced Fox, a note of love and pride in his voice. The children remembered that Mischief was one of Fox’s highly trained smugglers’ ponies, the one he had ridden the night they returned to Tiregian. After Sniffer had ambushed them, Mischief had led the string of ponies away across the moors and back to their stables, without a rider. ‘I thought you might need another clever horse to help carry your provisions on the voyage north, and when you find Prince Caspar, to carry him home. I’ll be moving operations to the east for a couple of months so I won’t be needing her.’

Roana ran across to Fox and gave him a hug. ‘Thank you, Fox. Thank you for everything,’ she whispered.

‘It’s nothing but my loyal duty,’ grinned Fox. Roana knew that Fox’s loyalties in the past had never been to Tiregian and the royal family. His loyalties always lay with Mia, the Owl, himself and his friends, plus of course anyone who could pay him enough gold. It was a sign of his respect and affection for the children that he now counted them as worthy of his loyalty. Mia leapt up onto Roana’s head and patted her comfortingly on her cropped blonde hair, crooning softly.

‘That is the first time Mia has climbed up on me,’ Roana laughed in delight. Mia tweaked Roana’s ear then leapt back to her familiar perch on Fox’s broad shoulder. Fox handed Roana a small pouch, which jingled as she took it in her hand.

‘The twenty gold crescents you paid me for taking you on the Owl,’ he explained. ‘I decided that I was more than amply rewarded by the ingots you found me, and I thought you might need the money on your journey.’

‘Thank you, Fox,’ Roana said gravely, realising that Fox was giving her much more than a bag of gold.

Fox turned to each of the children in turn, wishing them good fortune and a speedy voyage. When he came to Saxon, he pulled a brown leather pouch from his pocket.

‘Saxon, this is for you.’ Fox said quietly. ‘I know you remember how to use it, and I pray that it may help you find your way safe home again.’ Reverently Saxon opened the pouch and slipped out a silver case, about the size of his palm, which was engraved with the form of a wide-eyed owl. The case clicked open to reveal a face, decorated with several letters and a needle that flickered and shimmered. Saxon cautiously turned the case so the needle pointed to the ornate N at the top.

‘Your compass,’ breathed Saxon. ‘It’s beautiful, Fox, I will treasure it.’

Then all the goodbyes were said and the scruffy convoy moved away, Fox and Cookie and Mia waving madly from the courtyard. Judy the draughthorse clopped slowly in the lead, Master Drummond at the reins, with Mischief tied to the back of the cart. Next came Ethan and Roana leading the barrel-laden horses, with Saxon, Lily and Aisha bringing up the rear.

Down in the palace dungeons, Willem sat with his head in his hands. He felt as though he was going mad. He had no idea where his children were. He had not seen his wife, or Queen Ashana, for days. He was now denied the brief comfort of the half hour’s walk in the herb garden. There were no more special rations from Cookie now that the queen was gone. Willem could imagine his whole life stretched out before him – an endless succession of long, brain-numbingly boring days and black nights. He was going mad.

Willem looked over at the others. He saw one of the gentlemen-in-waiting leaning in the corner. Like all of them, he was dressed in filthy rags. The man had a completely blank face. His mouth hung open a little, the lips slack, the eyes unblinking and lifeless.

Willem was shocked. ‘Charles?’ he called. There was no response. ‘Charles!’ Willem jumped up and shook the man, who gradually came back to consciousness.

‘Leave me alone,’ Charles mumbled. ‘Just leave me alone.’

That’s probably what I looked like just now, Willem thought. I am turning into a drooling vegetable. If we are ever rescued or manage to get out of here, I’ll be no use to anyone. If someone put a bow in my hands now I probably wouldn’t have the strength to draw it, let alone shoot it. I have to do something to keep us all going down here.

Willem stood up and started to pace up and down, up and down, his mind racing.

We need to exercise and make our bodies strong again, Willem thought. I wonder if there is some way of communicating with the prisoners in the other cells? What if I could somehow chip a tiny hole through the mortar to the next cell? Then I could talk to the prisoners there and encourage them to do the same to the next cell and the next cell, and perhaps all the prisoners could be encouraged to walk and exercise. At least then we would have some hope.

Willem smiled to himself, a sense of purpose and direction surging through his tired body. The Sun Lord knows that while there is life and blood pumping through my veins, then there is always hope.

Governor Lazlac sat at his desk, wading through a mountain of paperwork. For the second time in ten minutes, he caught himself dreaming about his impending nuptials. Perhaps this afternoon he would drop in to the gardener’s cottage to see how the dress was progressing.

A loud knock sounded on the door. A young Sedah soldier saluted nervously, handing over a thick parchment sealed with black and red wax. ‘Urgent despatch for you, sir, just in from Sedah.’

‘Ah, good,’ purred the governor. The soldier saluted smartly and left. Governor Lazlac opened the parchment, slicing the wax seal with his dagger.

The note read:

‘2 14 10 13 1 10 16 24 23 10 3 3 10 12 20 14 13 10 23 13 2 4 23 20. 15 24 4 1 12 17 18 21 13 1 14 23 10 23 13 13 24 16 14 2 12 10 25 14 13. 22 24 24 23 25 14 10 1 21 10 23 13 2 3 10 1 13 18 10 22 24 23 13 2 21 24 2 3 6 18 3 17 24 4 3 3 1 10 12 14 …’

Quickly Governor Lazlac decoded the message, substituting letters for the numbers written there, with R being 1, S being 2, back to A being 10 and so on. He read the letter twice, his brain refusing to accept the message that was written there.

‘Sea Dragon attacked and sunk … four children and dog escaped … Moon Pearl and Star Diamonds lost without trace,’ Governor Lazlac muttered.

He pulled over his quill and a pile of paper, then turned back to the door. ‘You, get me Captain Malish immediately,’ he roared at the surprised soldiers guarding the door. ‘And you, stand by to take these orders to the city gates at once.’

After the guards had left, one to fetch Malish and the other laden with the sheaf of papers, Lord Lazlac strode over to the massive four-poster bed. He felt under the bottom mattress and pulled out something long and hard, swathed in a velvet cloth, which had been hidden there.

Lord Lazlac threw off the cloth, revealing a huge sword in an ornate gold scabbard. Grasping the sword by the hilt, he pulled it free from the casing, flourishing it over his head. Lord Lazlac felt a rush of power and strength surge through his arm. He held the Sun Sword – the sacred symbol of Tiregian royalty, reputed to have vast mystical powers.

Lord Lazlac studied it carefully. The tarnished blade flashed dully in the lamplight. The hilt was gold, carved with ornate designs of leaping sun rays, with tiny bejewelled flowers and plants unfurling underneath. On the reverse side were engravings of waves and fish glimmering under a missing moon.

The sword had once been an object of immense beauty and craftsmanship. Now it was ruined, its hilt marred with ugly wounds where two large gems had been removed.

Lord Lazlac sighed with regret. His orders were clear – the Sun Sword must now be destroyed. Only then would it be impossible for the Sun Sword to be reunited with the Sun Gem and the Moon Pearl. The Sedahs did not believe the sword had magical powers but Emperor Raef was taking no more chances. Lazlac lowered the sword reluctantly. It seemed to have a strange pull on him.

Quickly the thought came to him that he could ignore his orders and conceal it again where only he knew where it was, perhaps up the chimney, or under the floorboards. Such a weapon should not be destroyed. Lord Lazlac was just hurrying across the room to find a new hiding place when Captain Malish knocked on the door and entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the massive sword in his commander’s hands.

‘Captain, I want you to … I want you to destroy this sword,’ ordered Lord Lazlac. ‘Burn it, snap it, cast it into the deepest bowels of the earth, but just get rid of it.’

Captain Malish nodded his understanding, saluting as he went to take the sword. Governor Lazlac seemed strangely reluctant to let go, and held on to the hilt for just a few moments too long, until it was almost as if they were tussling over it. At last Governor Lazlac pushed the sword away from him with great force. Captain Malish gingerly wrapped it in his black cloak and hurried off to complete his task.

A few blocks from the eastern city gate, Saxon and Lily dropped back behind the others. Master Drummond adopted a new persona – a drunken innkeeper delivering ale. He wore a bright red velvet coat with half the brass buttons missing and a few gravy stains down the chest. A red felt hat was squashed on his head.

‘Hurry up, you lazy larrikins,’ he shouted, waving his whip around dangerously and slurring his words. ‘We’re late with this delivery. Rotten useless stableboys deserve a good whipping,’ he explained to the Sedah guards lounging at the gateway.

The guards were bored with weeks of checking old dames’ grocery baskets, and farmers’ cartloads of cabbages. It had been two months since the surprise Sedah invasion, and resistance had been sporadic and disorganised. The worst they had really faced had been the occasional old peasant spitting on them or calling them names. Once these troublemakers had been severely punished, the rest of the population had sullenly returned to their own business.

It was now late in the day. The two guards glanced disinterestedly into the cart, lifting up a square of canvas. They totally ignored the two browbeaten stableboys leading the packhorses.

‘You lads should come down to my inn some evening. I serve the best ale in Tira,’ Master Drummond boasted to the men. ‘The Merrow Maid, over near the north gate. Prettiest barmaids too. Everyone knows where it is.’

The guards nodded, a spark of interest finally lighting their faces. ‘Could do with a pot of ale, now,’ one said to the other. ‘All right, on your way, old man. Get all these animals out of the way before they clog up the gateway with horse dung.’

Obediently, Master Drummond cracked his whip and giddy-upped to Judy. The convoy moved across the gently arched bridge, which crossed the deep chasm of the River Bryn. To the north they could hear the thundering of the Jigadee Falls and see the billowing mist rising in the air, fractured with tiny rainbows.

A few minutes later Saxon and Lily stepped up to the guards, carrying a pile of empty, earthy sacks. Lily’s hair was hidden under a dirty kerchief. Both had filthy fingernails and hands, and sullen expressions on their faces.

‘Been to market, have you, sonny?’ asked one of the guards.

‘Yeah, to sell ’tatoes,’ Saxon replied gruffly.

‘Turn out your pockets,’ ordered the guard, tapping the sides of Saxon’s thighs with his stout wooden cudgel. Saxon muttered grumpily. Aisha growled deep and low, her hackles raised.

‘And control your dog, or I’ll slit its throat,’ added the guard. Lily slipped her hand under Aisha’s collar, quietening her immediately. Saxon emptied his pockets, displaying the contents on his half-curled palms – a length of twine, a homemade catapult, a round stone and a few silver coins. The guard snapped the catapult in two, throwing the broken twigs over the parapet into the chasm below. Then he scooped up the silver coins and dropped them in his own pocket.

‘That’s our market money,’ exclaimed Saxon indignantly. ‘I’ve gotta take that ’ome to Marm for the ’tatoes.’

‘Not any more it isn’t,’ sniggered the guard. ‘You’re lucky I don’t arrest you for carrying a dangerous weapon, so be grateful. On your way.’

At that moment, a young Sedah guard called Burgis elbowed his way enthusiastically through the queue, carrying urgent orders. The waiting peasants wrinkled their noses. This guard had a peculiar, cloying smell about him.

Lily and Saxon started eagerly across the bridge, but Aisha raised her hackles once more and growled fiercely. Lily whistled impatiently, and Aisha turned and followed.

‘Vicious dog! Should have finished it off,’ growled the guard. Burgis looked after the two children and the large muddy dog crossing the bridge. The dog somehow looked a bit familiar. He turned his mind back to the job at hand.

‘Important message from Governor Lazlac,’ he said, saluting smartly.

‘Yeah, right. What is it this time?’ replied the bored guard. ‘Do we need to look out for suspicious grannies wearing shawls? Or maybe old codgers with lethal walking sticks?’

Burgis handed over the sealed parchment. For some reason, his eyes were drawn once more to the two children and the dog at the far side of the bridge, but after a moment he turned and trotted back to the palace, his duty fulfilled.

The guard on the city gate snorted in disbelief, reading the opened note. ‘Looks like the governor’s worried about kids again. We have to look out for three boys and a blonde girl with long hair, travelling together with a dog and a cat. As if we haven’t got anything better to do than watch out for kids and their pets.’

‘This city is full of grotty kids, let alone mongrels and fleabags,’ retorted his colleague. ‘The governor must be losing his marbles if he thinks we’ll find the four he’s obsessed with. I wonder what they’ve done?’

The first guard lifted his eyebrows in derision. ‘They’re just kids. They probably forgot to say please and thank you to his precious lordship.’

A couple of kilometres from the city walls, Master Drummond pulled over into a sheltered copse by the side of the road. Here the five horses were transformed from scruffy packhorses to sleek, swift mounts, looking much more like the royal hunters they had been bred to be. Lily brushed them all vigorously, removing the mud and twigs, until their coats glistened. The horses were in superb condition. Master Drummond had looked after them well while the children had been away sailing on the Owl – feeding them his finest oats and exercising them daily. All were newly shod, and the leather of the tack had been polished until it gleamed.

Master Drummond handed out the saddles and bridles. He had replaced Roana’s bejewelled lady’s sidesaddle with a more practical astride saddle.

‘All the horses have grown a bit fat in the stables of the White Horse Inn,’ Lily laughed, struggling to do up Nutmeg’s girth. ‘They’ll be very frisky for a few days.’

Saxon patted his own tummy. ‘A few more meals at the White Horse Inn and I’d be struggling to do up my girth too.’

Each horse carried a saddle bag, crammed with clothes and supplies, which was hung behind the saddle. Brimming water bottles were hung from the pommels. As usual, Saxon had to tickle Caramel’s pale chestnut tummy and walk her around until she blew out the air in her belly, so he could tighten the saddle girth properly.

Small coal-black Mischief was laden with extra saddle packs, as she would not be ridden on the journey north. Mischief carried most of the food and the blankets, and was tied by a lead rein to Toffee. Mischief snorted and pranced. When Ethan walked past, hefting Toffee’s heavy saddle, Mischief butted the boy with her head, sending him flying.

‘Oh, Mischief,’ complained Ethan, brushing grass off his breeches. ‘Watch it.’

‘Why do you think she’s called Mischief?’ Lily laughed. ‘I think she has the most adorable, wicked face I’ve ever seen on a pony.’

The barrels were stowed back in the cart and covered with a tarpaulin. Ethan strung the bows ready for action and checked the quivers were full of freshly fletched arrows. Master Drummond changed from his easily recognisable red velvet jacket and felt hat into a sedate tweed coat and cap.

Nutmeg, with her three white socks and long white blaze down her nose, gently nuzzled Lily’s ear, blowing air through her nostrils.

‘Stop it, Nutmeg. That tickles,’ giggled Lily. Nutmeg whinnied softly in reply, pawing the ground eagerly with one hoof, anxious to be off.

At last everything was ready. Farewells were exchanged with Master Drummond and everyone mounted, excited to be back in the saddle again. Soon they were off cantering to the north, waving wildly, Aisha loping at their heels.

Master Drummond watched them go, hope glowing in his heart, then turned Judy’s head and headed back to Tira.

‘I think we should cover as much ground as we can this afternoon,’ called Ethan. ‘The horses are fresh and well fed, and so are we. We’ll ride until it’s dark and we simply can’t stay in the saddle any more.’

The others agreed, and so they alternated cantering, trotting and walking, keeping the setting sun always to their left. It had been a month since any of them had ridden, so after a couple of hours their muscles were screaming in distress. They slowed down to a steady walk and shifted their positions in the saddle to get more comfortable.

The sun set to the west in a riot of flame colours.

In Tira, as the sun set, Burgis saw Sniffer crossing the courtyard of the palace. Burgis remembered the events of two nights before, when he and Sniffer had laid in ambush for the Tiregian children who Sniffer was so keen to track down. He remembered the embarrassing shemozzle of the fugitives galloping off on their night-black ponies, which slipped under the hand like melted butter, and the ferocious dog that had attacked Burgis and Sniffer.

A flicker of recognition darted through his mind, then eluded him. The dog. Where had he seen that dog? Another memory leapt out, of two children and a dog crossing a bridge. This time he was quicker and caught the memory before it disappeared. The eastern bridge of Tira today – children and a dog.

‘Sniffer. Sniffer!’ he called eagerly. ‘I think I know where the children are.’

Captain Malish tried to snap the Sun Sword. The steel was strong and amazingly resilient. It bent and curved but refused to snap, even with dozens of hammer blows. He tried to melt the metal, taking it to the palace forge and subjecting it to white-hot coals. In the end he decided on option three – the bowels of the earth.

After the captain had been handling the sword for a while, the rebellious thought came to him that perhaps he should not destroy the sword but keep it somewhere hidden, where he could take it out and admire it occasionally. It would be an impressive souvenir of this Tiregian campaign. Captain Malish repressed this thought. He must destroy the sword, on his emperor’s orders.

It was dark and long past curfew when Captain Malish slipped out through the palace gates with a bulky parcel under his cloak. The guards took no notice of his passing. Captain Malish crept through the empty streets to the south. He had no lamp or lantern to light his way, and he stumbled occasionally on uneven cobbles or potholes.

He did not see a slight figure, wrapped in a black cloak, hiding in the shadows of a doorway, with a clear view of the main palace gate and the long carriageway. Captain Malish strode past, his eyes, accustomed to the palace lamplight, struggled to see in the darkened streets. The figure waited a few minutes then, unseen, slid silently from gateway to shadow to alley to doorpost following the Sedah soldier. Captain Malish stopped once or twice to check behind him or down a side street, but he did not see anyone.

Captain Malish came to the poorest part of Tira, just inside the city walls, where the streets were narrow and twisty, and the houses were dark and mean. There was a pervading odour of decay, damp and slime. The captain paused several times, unsure of his way, and each time the shadow trailing him paused too.

At last, Captain Malish came to a dusty courtyard. By the faint light of the stars he could see the darker outline of a decrepit well in its centre. Captain Malish looked around carefully, but there were no lights and no-one about. He darted across the square to the well, fumbling in the darkness with the lid, making a loud clatter. He stopped immediately, cursing softly to himself and glancing about to the shadows behind him. There was no movement, no other sound. He tried again and lifted the lid off. A terrible stench rose from the well, as though something had died down there.

Captain Malish gasped, then held his breath against the smell. From under his cloak he pulled out the long, thin package. He prepared to throw it down the well, but could not resist having one last look. He unwrapped the object, holding it up carefully. The starlight glimmered softly on gold and silver metal – the massive sword of kings. Captain Malish held the weapon above his head, feeling its weight, its strength, its power. It was a truly beautiful weapon.

Captain Malish sighed, then held the sword over the well and let it go. He waited for a few moments, waiting to hear a thud as it hit the bottom. There was no sound. The sword was gone, lost in the abyss. Captain Malish heaved a sigh of relief, tinged with regret.

He paused, staring down into the bowels of the earth. At last, Captain Malish turned and made his way quickly back to the palace and his bed.

The figure in the shadows followed him all the way back to the palace, then melted away in the darkness, heading for the White Horse Inn to make her report to her boss.

The next day the children rose early, before the sun had risen. They had camped in a copse of trees by the side of the road, wrapped in warm blankets. To save time, they breakfasted in the saddle – cold egg and bacon pie, with water from their water bottles.

No-one talked – they were still too sleepy, and very stiff from being in the saddle again. Ethan spent the first half hour of the ride thinking about the journey ahead of them and the dangers they might face.

‘I’m a bit worried about Sniffer,’ commented Ethan at last. ‘He has an uncanny ability to find us, even when we think he must have long since lost the trail. He is like something out of one of those nightmares you have, where you just keep running, but no matter where you hide, the troll finds you.’

‘Yes, but Sniffer isn’t a troll,’ Saxon replied. ‘He’s a human and doesn’t have any magical powers.’

‘The powers he does have, though, are frightening enough.’ Lily shuddered. ‘He really gives me the heebies.’

Roana shivered in agreement, glancing over her shoulder to check that the trail behind them was still empty.

‘Well, we need a plan,’ Ethan continued. ‘If he does track us, or ambush us again, we need to be prepared. The most important thing is to get Princess Roana and the gems away safely. Saxon, that will be your job. Lily and I might be able to distract him with our bows and arrows, or some other way. But Roana, you need to forget about us and just run for it, whichever way you can.’

‘No, I could not just leave you,’ Roana argued. ‘If we all stood together, working as a team, we could fight him off.’

‘Roana, it’s too important,’ Ethan reiterated. ‘The other times we were lucky, or we had other people to help us. This time it’s just us, and somehow I don’t think Sniffer will come alone. He will probably have heaps of soldiers with him. Look, he may never find us, but if he does, it is vital that at least you get away with the gems. You and Saxon could find the rebels who are hiding in the forests and ask them to help you. Promise me you’ll run away as fast as you can?’

Roana shook her head mutinously. Saxon smiled at her princess pout, which they so rarely saw on Roana’s face anymore.

‘Why doesn’t Lily go with Roana, so both the girls are safe?’ Saxon suggested. ‘And I can stay with you and fight off the Sedahs.’

‘I want Lily to be safe, but Roana would have a better chance with you to help protect her,’ Ethan replied obstinately.

‘I agree with Ethan,’ Lily stated. ‘We have come too far to risk the Sedahs getting the gems back now.’

Aisha whined, distressed by the air of tension. She ran back and forth between the different horses, looking up at the children with pleading eyes.

‘Oh, all right then. I promise I will run away like a yellow-livered coward at the first sign of trouble,’ Roana said reluctantly.

‘Not like a coward, like a precious royal princess.’ Ethan grinned, relieved that she had finally surrendered.

‘And I will gallop after you, like a trusty knight in shining armour to protect you, my beloved princess.’ Saxon bowed gallantly with a foppish twirling of his hand.

‘Trusty knight in rags, more like it,’ retorted Roana, laughing at Saxon’s caricature.

Lily and Ethan laughed as well, glad that the tension had dissolved.

‘So if Sniffer might be on our trail, do we take the most direct road north, or do we try to be stealthy – travel by night, take an indirect route, double back and so on?’ asked Lily.

‘We should take the direct road,’ insisted Roana. ‘Caspar is to be taken soon, so we have little time to waste.’

‘Stealthy would be wisest, but I tend to agree with Roana,’ Saxon said. ‘Of course, we need to be careful as we approach the tower, to have the benefit of surprise, but the sooner we get to the north the better.’

‘I agree,’ Ethan added. ‘Travelling by night would slow us down enormously, and we simply don’t have time to hide our tracks.’

‘Good, we all agree then,’ Lily summarised. ‘Hopefully we completely lost Sniffer on the moors west of Tira, and we won’t need to worry about him for a while.’

Two white-bobbed rabbits, startled by their passing, ran across the track in front of them. Aisha immediately gave chase, barking and racing, pretending not to hear Lily’s call to stop.

Three hours to the south, Sniffer was galloping on one of King Radnor’s prized grey geldings, using a short whip. He was followed by a troop of ten mounted soldiers and a pack of spare horses. Sniffer intended to swap horses regularly so he could gain on his quarry. He had sent out scouts the night before to interrogate local villagers and farmers to gain clues to the direction the children were travelling.

Threats, blows and enticements had been offered to peasants in a ten-kilometre radius of the city. A stocky farmer had finally succumbed and sulkily muttered that he had seen four children and a dog, riding on the road that led north towards Trowbridge.

Sniffer had organised supplies, horses and soldiers to be readied while he waited for the intelligence reports. Once he knew the direction the children were travelling, he had wanted to set out at once. However, the Sedah groom had convinced him to wait until dawn, to minimise risk of injury to the horses. Sniffer had hardly slept all night and had woken the soldiers long before dawn.

The guards on the city gates had to open up early to let the soldiers through. Sniffer had allowed the horses to walk while it was still dark, but as soon as it was half light they were galloping at full pace, laden with armoured soldiers and weapons.

Later that morning, Sniffer spied a scuff in the mud on the bank to the right of the track. He leapt from his horse and investigated. As he had thought, the scuff mark was caused by a horse’s hoof sliding in the soft mud. The hoof prints led off the track to a small camp site. He found five flattened spaces in the grass and the blackened ash of a recent camp fire. He found plaited wisps of grass, matted with brown and black horse hair, and he found greenybrown piles of horse dung. He estimated that the freshest dung was only two or three hours old.

In the roadway, the soldiers and horses were having a well-deserved rest – the horses lipping the grass, the men sipping from water bottles and stretching their legs. The groom was taking small groups of horses down to the nearby stream to drink.

‘On your horses, men. We continue north,’ barked Sniffer.

The groom cursed inwardly, worried for the horses in his care. ‘But Sniffer, the horses need to –’

‘I said we’re going, now,’ interrupted Sniffer, clambering up into his saddle. Every muscle ached. Sniffer was not a horseman, but he was determined to find Princess Roana and those pesky children this time. The other soldiers groaned but obeyed sullenly.

Back in Tira, over breakfast, Captain Malish heard that Sniffer had set off before dawn with a troop of soldiers, on the trail of some children and a dog seen crossing the eastern bridge. He swore loudly. His ears were still ringing from the invective that had been shouted at him by Governor Lazlac yesterday afternoon. Apparently those children had not died at sea after all but were causing more trouble.

Captain Malish thought of a plan that would earn him a lot of points from Governor Lazlac. He sent orders for Lord Mortimer to be fetched from his cell and brought to the stables at once. He would take Lord Mortimer with him to identify the princess. He wanted to be sure that there were no mistakes this time.

So for the second time that day, a troop of heavily armed, mounted Sedah soldiers clattered over the eastern bridge, and took the northern road. Captain Malish travelled more slowly than Sniffer, pausing frequently to check they were taking the right path. In their midst rode an eager, foppish Tiregian lord, dressed in ragged finery, his hair neatly tied back in a ponytail with a crimson ribbon.

At last, Lord Mortimer thought, his heart singing in time to the rhythm of the horses’ hooves. At last, we will find that spoilt princess and my plans will finally come to fruition. At last I can marry the brat, claim the throne of Tiregian and rule as king. King of Tiregian. Then Princess Roana can be quietly locked away in a remote corner of the palace, out of trouble and out of sight. King, I will be king.

To the north, the children were riding deep in a forest. It reminded Saxon, Lily and Ethan of the forest of Kenley, making them homesick. When they came to a merry, babbling brook meandering through the trees, they decided to stop and water the horses, and let them crop the sweet spring grass.

When the packs were taken from Mischief’s back, she rolled over and over on her back, scratching away at the itchy patches, her four legs waving in the air.

‘Isn’t she gorgeous,’ laughed Lily.

‘What’s gorgeous is what Mischief has been carrying,’ contradicted Saxon. ‘Cookie’s supplies! I’m starving!’

The children were hungry and tired and hot. After they had unsaddled the horses, watered them and rubbed them down, they were relieved to take off their own sweaty boots and paddle their feet in the stream, splashing their faces and hands. Soon they just could not resist stripping down to their underwear and swimming in the icy water.

Feeling invigorated and refreshed, they rubbed themselves dry on the blankets and dressed. Saxon built a fire of twigs to boil a pot of tea. Roana and Lily rummaged through the packs and found a parcel of food prepared by Cookie. There were sandwiches with roast beef and mustard, and boiled eggs in their shells. These were followed by moist apricot cake, topped with crunchy brown sugar, with a mug of tea.

They all sat on the stream bank, resting their backs against a large rock. Ethan threw pebbles into the stream. Charcoal stalked through the long grass, hunting shadows and crickets, enjoying the freedom to move after the confinement of her wicker basket. Aisha flopped in the shade, exhausted, one paw hiding her eyes.

‘Mmmm,’ sighed Roana. ‘That was delicious. We should enjoy Cookie’s fresh food while it lasts. I suppose it won’t be long until we’re down to the dry biscuits.’

‘The part I hate is when we run out of fresh milk and have to drink black tea,’ moaned Lily.

‘We might be able to buy supplies at Trowbridge and Bryn,’ Saxon commented. ‘We still have plenty of gold crescents left, don’t we, Roana?’

‘Yes – a whole pouch thanks to Fox,’ agreed Roana, feeling the heavy leather pouch tucked on a thong inside her shirt.

‘I suppose we should get up, saddle the horses and be on our way,’ suggested Ethan half-heartedly.

‘Oh, just five minutes more,’ begged Lily. ‘My legs feel so stiff – I don’t think I can move.’

It was another fifteen minutes before they finally clambered slowly to their feet, groaning and moaning. The horses were tacked up, the packs buckled on. They splashed their faces with water once more, filled their bottles and extinguished the fire. Charcoal was scooped up and popped back inside her carry basket, meowing loudly.

Aisha sat watching the preparations, her left ear turned inside out to show her displeasure. She was looking forward to a lovely afternoon nap. When Saxon and Caramel led the procession back onto the path, Aisha stayed behind pointedly, her back turned. Only when Lily whistled did she reluctantly follow.

The horses too were slow, no longer pawing the ground in anticipation, but plodding along steadily.

To the south, Sniffer was still cantering. He had swapped horses, and whipped the poor creature unmercifully. The grey’s sides were slick with sweat and blood. Sniffer was well in front, with the other soldiers trailing quite some distance behind him. They were fed up with this chase. How important could it be to catch a small gang of children, even if one was a former princess?

Sniffer smelt a faint whiff of wood smoke wafting down the forest trail, and he urged his mount on faster. On the left was a small clearing beside a stream. Sniffer hauled on the reins, cutting the horse’s lip as he dragged it to a halt. He did not bother to dismount.

The ashes from the camp fire were still gently smoking, and the pile of horse dung on the roadway was fresh olive green. The quarry must be only half an hour ahead. Sniffer looked back to the soldiers trotting behind him. He gestured urgently to them, waving his arm, then whipped his poor horse once more.

Sniffer galloped on and on. His horse screamed for every breath; its sides heaved and red foam slobbered from its mouth.

Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan rode past a small woodsman’s cottage, set back from the forest path. As they passed they noticed the stack of firewood leaning against the south wall, red geraniums by the door, a tilled patch of stunted vegetables, and a dilapidated barn to the rear.

They were travelling now at a steady jogging trot, the riders rising up and down in rhythm with the gait.

‘My knees ache,’ complained Roana grumpily. ‘Can we not walk some more?’

‘We should keep moving. The horses can keep this speed up for a long time yet,’ argued Ethan.

‘The horses might, but I cannot,’ retorted Roana. ‘I feel like my body is going to snap in two.’

Reluctantly Ethan slowed Toffee back into a walk. Roana stretched thankfully, easing her cramping muscles and aching joints. Everyone was secretly grateful. They were all feeling the strain of the long hours in the saddle.

They kept riding for a couple of kilometres then, as dusk fell, they found a camp site in a clearing off the track. Charcoal was let out of her basket to hunt down by the stream. Everyone unsaddled their horses, rubbed them down and checked their hooves for stones or bruising. The bridles were swapped for leather halters and the horses were allowed to graze freely along the stream bank. At night they would be tethered with long lead ropes, so that they would not wander too far away.

Ethan built a small camp fire, building a ring of rocks to hold the coals and snapping twigs and branches into kindling to feed the flame. Lily fetched a pot of water from the stream to boil for tea. Roana and Saxon were sitting under the trees, fossicking in the packs for provisions to make an evening meal. Aisha lay stretched out by the fire with her eyes closed. Lily had to step over her to place the pot in the heat of the coals.

‘Poor Aisha,’ Lily murmured soothingly. ‘It’s been a long, hard run today, hasn’t it, girl?’

Aisha lifted her eyebrows quizzically, then closed her eyes again and snuggled even closer to the fire. Suddenly she sat bolt upright, her ears cocked and her hackles raised, staring down the forest track in the direction they had come. She growled long and low, then barked loudly in warning. Lily and Ethan stopped what they were doing and watched Aisha, then gazed apprehensively down the road. Ethan picked up his bow and quiver, and carefully nocked an arrow.

Then they heard it, the sound of many hoofbeats thundering towards them.

‘Roana, go,’ hissed Ethan urgently. ‘Saxon, get Roana out of here.’

Roana grabbed up her cloak, the precious cloak with the sacred gems sewn into the hem, and raced for Moonbeam. She leapt bareback onto her loyal horse, twisting her hands in the mane and, using her knees and her voice, urging her into a gallop out of the clearing and into the wild wood.

Saxon paused a moment, torn by fear for his friends, then remembered his promise to save Roana before anything else. He ran to Caramel, vaulted on her bare back, and followed Roana. In a moment they were both gone. Lily raced to the packs to get her own bow and arrows.

Aisha was in the roadway, barking ferociously.

A moment later, Sniffer burst into the camp site, followed by his group of ten mounted, armoured soldiers. Nutmeg reared, screaming in confusion at the invasion. As a smuggler’s pony, Mischief had been trained for sudden unwelcome attacks, and she broke into a gallop, racing for the safety of the trees. Nutmeg and Toffee followed her, all three galloping in the same direction that Moonbeam and Caramel had taken.

Charcoal, too, skittered into the long grass to hide.

Lily had tried to run for the horses, calling for Nutmeg, but Nutmeg was too frightened to come to her call. Realising the horses were gone, she turned back to help Ethan. She ran to his side and nocked an arrow, willing her hands not to tremble. Lily and Ethan could both hear their hearts thumping, their blood pounding, their muscles twitching as adrenalin kicked through their systems.

Sniffer dragged cruelly on the reins, hauling his horse abruptly to a stop. The other horses skidded to a halt.

Sniffer’s eyes skimmed the two children with the large dog at their side. There was the girl with long, golden curls cascading down her back – her face pale and set – her arrow aimed for his heart. The boy was slightly taller, with honey brown hair and a slim streak of white at his temple, a murderous gleam in his chocolate eyes and a crooked left eyebrow. Sniffer had seen the unmounted horses galloping from the glade. So where were the others?

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ asked Ethan boldly, squinting down the aim of his drawn arrow. Ethan quickly summed up his opponents. The soldiers were protected by body armour and helmets, but their arms and legs were uncovered, allowing them to move more easily. He would need to aim his arrows for the soldiers’ arms and legs.

‘Don’t harm them … yet,’ reminded Sniffer, as several of his men pulled out daggers and cutlasses. ‘I think you know what we want,’ he directed to Ethan, ‘so why don’t you and the young princess put down your bows before one of you gets hurt.’

Ethan’s and Lily’s minds whirred at his words. Sniffer obviously thought Lily was Princess Roana.

‘Don’t come nearer,’ Ethan warned, ‘or we’ll fire. Just take your men away and let us go peacefully.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Sniffer laughed. ‘Governor Lazlac is very keen to see you, and so is Lord Mortma. He is getting very impatient to see his bride, so you see, you might as well put down your weapons and come back to Tira with us.’

‘No, we will not,’ Lily snapped. Aisha snarled, revealing sharp, white teeth, as vicious as a wolf’s.

‘Get the children,’ ordered Sniffer. ‘And someone kill that dog.’

The soldiers dismounted, a trifle gingerly after the long ride, then rushed towards Lily, Ethan and Aisha. Aisha lunged forward, her teeth snapping and snarling, fearless of the flashing daggers and cruelly curved cutlasses.

‘Fire – aim for the arms and legs,’ whispered Ethan, and the two of them set off a volley of arrows. At this range they could not fail to miss, even in the growing dusk. Ethan was particularly fast at reloading and was able to fire several arrows before the soldiers reached them. Even so, it was ten fully grown Sedah soldiers, fit and battle hardened, against two children and a ferocious dog, who would gladly give her life to save her family.

It was all over in a few minutes. Lily was dragged, screeching, kicking, biting, by three soldiers, her bow snapped and useless. Ethan shot a soldier in the forearm just as he was preparing to slash at Aisha. Aisha twisted and jumped, snapping and shaking. The dagger sliced her rear flank, drawing a fountain of blood. Ethan saw Aisha injured and Lily dragged off.

‘Aisha, find Saxon,’ he bellowed. Aisha stared at him with plaintive, begging eyes. She would not leave Ethan and Lily in danger. She grabbed a soldier by the leg, growling and tearing.

‘Aisha, GO!’ roared Ethan. Aisha dropped the leg obediently and stared in confusion at Ethan. ‘I said GO!’

Tail between her legs, blood trickling from shoulder and flank, Aisha slowly, sadly, slunk off into the darkness of the forest, following the smell of Nutmeg and Caramel. Every instinct made her want to stay and protect Lily and Ethan, yet she was too well trained to disobey a direct order. Three soldiers seized Ethan, one cuffing him sharply on the side of his head, knocking him to the ground, his bow and arrows dropped and forgotten.

‘Don’t hurt him,’ Lily shouted, struggling to get to her brother. Another soldier dragged Ethan up and pushed him roughly, blood pouring from his nose.

‘Stop,’ commanded Sniffer. ‘I said not to harm them.’

‘We weren’t going to break anything,’ whined the soldier who had hit Ethan. ‘Just teach the brat some manners!’

‘Bring the boy here,’ ordered Sniffer. Ethan staggered, his head aching, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

The soldiers lifted him by the arms and dragged him to Sniffer, where they threw him to the ground. Ethan groaned in pain.

Sniffer assessed the situation. Half his men were wounded, arrows sticking out of their limbs like spikes from a hedgehog. In the growing darkness, the clearing was littered with packs, saddles, bridles, blankets, Charcoal’s basket and the kicked-over cooking pot.

‘Grab those packs,’ ordered Sniffer. ‘Load the packs on some horses and put out that fire.’

The uninjured soldiers scurried to do Sniffer’s bidding. Lily sagged between two of the captors, her mind spinning. Escape. Escape. How could they escape? The horses were gone. Aisha was gone. Ethan was injured. Charcoal was … who knew where? But hopefully Roana and Saxon were safe, and so were the Sun Gem and the Moon Pearl.

Ethan was roughly tied and thrown over the withers of a soldier’s horse, his legs hanging down the left side while his arms hung down the right. He fought nausea as the blood rushed to his head. His nose started to bleed again, dripping down into the dust. Lily was similarly tied and thrown up in front of Sniffer.

‘What about the other two?’ asked one of the soldiers, nervously.

‘I cannot track them in the dark,’ snapped Sniffer. ‘Besides, we have the princess at last, and we have the packs, so I think we will find what we are looking for. Shame we didn’t finish off that dog. Hopefully it has crawled off somewhere to die. We will head to that little forest hut a couple of kilometres back to spend the night.’

Sniffer led the procession out of the darkened glade, like a royal conqueror, grinning triumphantly to himself.

To the south, as it grew dark, Captain Malish ordered his men to make a camp and set two men to stand guard.

Lord Mortimer seemed reluctant to dismount. His mind followed the road winding ahead into the forest, yearning for his cousin’s only daughter, his coveted bride.

‘It is too dark to ride on, Mortma,’ snapped Captain Malish. ‘We will find the grubby brats in the morning.’

Lord Mortimer dismounted reluctantly, throwing his reins to the overworked groom. He tossed his ponytail contemptuously and strode up and down, before sinking down by the fire, as though he were sinking onto a throne.

Lord Mortimer fell asleep by the fire, dreaming of his wedding and coronation in the Great Hall of the Palace of Tira.

Princess Roana had no idea where she was riding. Moonbeam trotted delicately over fallen branches and decaying logs, followed by Saxon on Caramel, followed by Mischief, Nutmeg and Toffee. They didn’t know that much further behind came Aisha, hopping painfully but valiantly on three legs, with her slashed hind leg dripping blood onto the leaf litter of the forest floor.

Roana’s mind whirred with concern for Lily and Ethan. Had they been captured? Were they all right? How could they help them?

In the darkness, she did not see a watching guard hidden behind a tree. She did not see the cold hard steel of the dagger until it was pressed against her throat. She did not see the danger until it was too late.

‘What have we here?’ asked the guard as his hand closed on Moonbeam’s halter. Roana and Saxon had no weapons, no Aisha, no resources left. They had no choice but to surrender and go with the shadowy guard. Who knew where? Roana slumped forward, a huge lump in her throat.

Quickly and efficiently, their captor tied their hands together with the horses’ lead ropes, then gagged them both with filthy rags. He kept his dagger close to Saxon’s throat to ensure their compliance. Roana and Saxon had to concentrate to keep their balance on horseback with no saddles and their hands tied.

Through the darkness of the dense forest their captor strode quietly, leading Moonbeam and Caramel by their halters. Nutmeg, Toffee and Mischief followed behind, their lead ropes trailing.

At last their captor reached a tree. He stopped and whispered a password. Another man stepped out from hiding, staring curiously at the captives on horseback. He waved them on before melting back into the shadows.

Over the rustle of the horses’ hooves, they could hear the sound of low voices and smell the smoke of a fire. Their captor led them into a large clearing and unceremoniously dragged them from their horses. Saxon and Roana struggled furiously as their legs hit the ground and received a quick cuff for their troubles.

‘I found two of them,’ announced their captor gruffly to the numerous black shadows the children could now see huddled around a small fire. ‘Looks like they caught the other two – the blonde girl and the boy with the bow.’

‘Well done,’ answered a tall man, rising to his feet. ‘Bring them over near the fire. Let’s take a good look at them.’

Saxon’s heart sank to the soles of his scuffed boots. He cursed inwardly. He had failed. He had failed in the most important role his friends had given him – to keep Roana and the gems safe from harm.

The Sedah soldiers rapped loudly on the door of the woodsman’s cottage along the trail back towards Tira. The woodsman, and his wife and four children, were brusquely ordered to leave. With shocked, pale faces they left their home to sleep in the forest. They were not allowed to take even a blanket to keep the cold night air away.

The woodsman’s wife stared anxiously at Ethan and Lily, trussed like plucked ducks, still lying over the horses’ necks. One of the Sedah guards pushed her roughly in the back, lifting his pike staff threateningly. The woman stumbled and cried, gathering her own children to her protectively before hurrying off into the deep twilight of the forest.

Sniffer strode into the small two-room cottage. The main room had a fire burning in the grate, with an iron pot bubbling over it, a scrubbed pine table and some carved timber chairs. A low overhead loft held two pallet beds and a chest where the family obviously slept, above the warmth of the chimney. The smaller room had no fire and seemed to be used as a storage room, filled with tools, benches, sacks and baskets.

Lily and Ethan were roughly thrown into this room and left in the darkness, tied up at hands and feet. Uselessly, they struggled against the ropes that tied them. They tried to use their fingers to unpick the knots. They strained to wriggle across the floor to search for tools that might help them.

Outside they could hear the soldiers’ horses whickering and snorting as they were tethered, unsaddled, rubbed down and fed. Through the timber wall they could hear Sniffer and the soldiers laughing and chatting as they huddled around the fire in the main room. The men slurped down the vegetable soup from the pot but did not bring any for Ethan or Lily.

The groom performed rough surgery on his soldier comrades, yanking out the arrow stubs from arms and thighs, and tearing up rags to wad the wounds. Lily shuddered at the muffled screams.

‘Pass me those packs,’ called Sniffer from his prime position by the fire. ‘Let’s see what we can find hidden in there.’

There were murmurs of appreciation as Sniffer handed out Cookie’s precious food rations. There was the sound of smashing glass as Sniffer tossed Lily’s precious tinctures and ointments onto the fire. Clothes and horse rugs, ropes and candles, mugs and pans were searched and tossed on the floor.

Sniffer found a bundle of maps and papers, which he glanced at briefly then tucked away.

‘By mighty Krad, there’s nothing here,’ swore Sniffer angrily. ‘We’ll search the brats in the morning.’

In the darkness of the storeroom, Lily and Ethan could see no window, just the crack of firelight under the door. At last, they stopped struggling. Lily felt tears welling up in her eyes. She fought them down. Be strong, be strong, she thought to herself.

‘We should save our energy and our wits,’ Ethan whispered, nudging Lily with his shoulder to comfort her. ‘We will need them tomorrow.’

As the night grew colder, Lily and Ethan had to huddle together to keep warm. Both were bleeding and battered and cramped and desperately afraid. They whispered to each other to keep their spirits up, telling stories of other times that had been frightening, which had somehow turned out well. Ethan told silly jokes that still made Lily giggle, and they talked about Roana and Saxon and wondered where they might be sleeping in the forest, with no blankets and no food, but at least they were free and safe.

At last they fell into an uncomfortable doze, twitching and tossing, waking each other up with every startled move. They were awake long before dawn – cold, starving, stiff and uncomfortable. Both were too anxious to whisper, their stomachs knotted with fear, their mouths and throats parched, their fingers numb from lack of circulation.

At last a trickle of cold grey light spilled through the crack under the door.

Sounds of stirring came through the wall as the soldiers woke, chatted, found bread and wandered outside to water a tree.

Still no-one came near them. About half an hour later there was a commotion outside, with the sound of several horses cantering. Hope blossomed in Lily and Ethan’s hearts. They began yelling and screaming for help, leaning as close to the outside wall as they could. In a moment, an extremely annoyed Sedah guard threw open the door, holding his cutlass aloft.

‘Shut your mouths right now, or that young laddie will be feeling the curve of my cutlass,’ he hissed, before slamming the door shut again. Lily and Ethan stopped shouting at once.

From outside they could hear the sound of voices, then the sound of boots approaching the front door. Perhaps the passers-by had heard them and were coming to investigate?

More voices, this time from inside the cabin. The door opened once more and the guard returned, dragging Lily roughly to her feet. He untied the knots that bound her hands and feet, then untied Ethan’s feet.

Through the open door, they could now hear two familiar voices talking. The hope unfurling in Lily and Ethan’s hearts immediately withered. The visitors were not here to rescue them.

‘Well, you certainly covered some ground yesterday, Sniffer,’ congratulated Captain Malish. ‘We had trouble catching up with you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sniffer replied. ‘I wanted to follow any tiny lead that might help me track down the princess, and as you will see it paid off. We captured one of the lads as well.’

The guard prodded Lily forward. Lily took a deep breath, then pulled herself up as tall as she could, unconsciously mimicking Roana’s regal deportment, before she walked into the next room, Ethan following behind. Her attempt at dignity was a little spoiled by the blood circulation that had been cut off from her feet for so many hours. Instead of striding bravely through the door, she had to hobble and stumble.

Standing in front of the cabin fire stood three men. Sniffer smiled proudly, his chest puffed out, like a bantam rooster in the farmyard, surveying his flock. Captain Malish turned to Lily uncertainly, examining her long tangled blonde hair, her defiant blood-streaked face, her filthy skirts. The third man was Lord Mortimer. He was wearing a smirk of unbridled joy. He waited impatiently, looking past Ethan to the room behind.

‘Well, where is my sweet little bride?’ Lord Mortimer asked eagerly. ‘Perhaps we should skip the huge court wedding and just have a brief private ceremony back in Tira today. I think we have wasted enough time already.’

Captain Malish smirked to himself. He doubted that Governor Lazlac would be allowing the traitorous Lord Mortma to become king, but there was no harm in encouraging the delusion for a little while longer.

‘Your bride?’ asked Sniffer uncertainly, gesturing towards Lily. ‘Princess Roana is right here. I found her travelling with the three boys and the big vicious dog, just as our intelligence said.’

‘That village brat is certainly not Princess Roana,’ spat Lord Mortimer, his face twisted with venom. ‘I couldn’t care less about these useless children. You should have left them in the forest to starve. Your intelligence was wrong. The last time I saw Princess Roana, she was dressed as a beggar boy. You have let her escape and I want her found – now!’

Lily stood defiant, as all eyes stared at her in shock. She was furious with anger, at Lord Mortimer’s words and the immensity of his betrayal.

The rest of the room broke into confusion at this announcement. Sniffer went pale and bit his lip, all puff evaporated. Captain Malish fussed about, soothing Lord Mortimer’s vitriol, ordering soldiers to saddle horses, barking at the guard to lock Ethan and Lily back in the storeroom. Lord Mortimer stormed around the room swearing and kicking furniture, seething with frustration. Soldiers sprang to ready the horses.

The cutlass-wielding Sedah guard hustled Lily and Ethan back into the storeroom. He scooped up the ropes and hurriedly wound a length of rope around Lily’s body, knotting it at the back. He did not bother with their feet. The door was locked and soon there were noises of horses whickering and sidestepping, men mounting and shouting and a rumble of hooves as the cavalcade cantered out of the glade.

The cabin was silent and still. Lily and Ethan waited anxiously. Were they alone? Did Saxon and Roana have enough of a head start to escape? Would the odious Sniffer and Lord Mortimer find them despite all their endeavours?

In the forest clearing, Roana and Saxon were pushed forward into the flickering glow of the fire. Fifteen men sat around the blaze. Four held bloody daggers, which they were using to skin a few rabbits.

‘Who are you?’ demanded the leader of the group, untying the gags and examining Roana and Saxon’s faces carefully.

‘Two brothers lost in the forest while hunting,’ Saxon answered quickly, offering up his bound hands. ‘So if you just let us go, we will be getting off home – our parents will be frantic.’

‘You don’t look like brothers,’ replied the leader tersely. ‘And I know you weren’t hunting. We’ve been following you all day.’

Saxon bit his lip.

‘Can you tell me why nearly twenty Sedah soldiers have been chasing four children and a dog, at breakneck speed, all over the countryside?’

Saxon said nothing, scuffing his boots in the dirt, as he tried to think.

‘I presume you have something, or someone, that the Sedahs want quite badly,’ the leader continued, glancing at Roana.

Roana’s heart hammered frantically in her chest. Her eyes darted around the clearing, searching for escape, searching for anything that might help them out of this predicament.

‘Well …’ Saxon mused. ‘I suppose we should tell them what’s true, don’t you think, Rowan, and just whoa? Just give in and tell them what they want to know …’

Roana glanced at Saxon in confusion. Then she remembered two things. She remembered the sign Saira the Wise had shown them, which when you looked at it one way, said True, but when you looked at it upside down said False. She also remembered Sniffer’s ambush a few days ago, when Fox had commanded the smugglers’ ponies to ‘whoa’. The ponies had immediately sprung into a full gallop, surprising the Sedahs and allowing them to escape.

‘Yes,’ replied Roana cautiously. ‘We should not be false.’

‘Good idea,’ agreed the leader approvingly. ‘So why –’

He never finished his sentence. Saxon dropped his head and rammed it straight into the leader’s stomach with all his strength, yelling ‘WHOA’ at the top of his voice.

Roana obediently turned and ran as fast as she could for the shelter of the forest. For a moment, all was confusion as men ran to help their leader and struggled to drag Saxon away. For a moment, no-one thought about the smaller boy, dashing for the forest. Roana ran as fast as she could, the safety of the forest drawing closer and closer.

Then she heard footsteps pounding behind her, slowly gaining on her. Adrenalin gave her an extra burst of speed, but still the footsteps thudded closer. One of her pursuers dived for her legs, knocking them out from under her. Roana fell heavily to the ground, all the breath knocked from her body. She was dragged back to the fire, gasping for breath, and trying desperately not to cry.

‘Tie them up,’ barked the leader. ‘Tightly.’

Willing hands trussed them up so that they were sitting on the ground back to back, their legs stretched out in front. Blood poured from Saxon’s lip. Roana ached all over.

‘Now, I don’t think I made myself quite clear,’ the leader said grimly. ‘I think you and I are probably on the same side. We are Tiregians, and it is our sworn duty to force the Sedahs to leave our lands. You, I take it, are fleeing from the Sedahs? So I guess the Sedahs are your enemies too?’

‘Bitter enemies,’ spat Roana impetuously. ‘I hate them with all my heart.’

Saxon nudged Roana sharply.

The leader smiled. ‘Good, then perhaps we can work together.’

At that moment, a large man with a black beard ran into the clearing. He looked thrillingly, heartwarmingly familiar.

‘George?’ Saxon cried. ‘George, the blacksmith, from Kenley?’

The large man turned immediately, ‘Saxon? By the blessed Sun Lord, what are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’ retorted Saxon, his face twisting with conflicting emotions.

‘Training with the Tiregian rebels, of course,’ roared George. ‘There are two hundred of us here, men, women and children, hiding in small groups in the forest, waiting for our chance to strike against the Sedah. Working for the day we can rid our country of this evil vermin.’

The leader of the rebels looked from George to Saxon to Roana. ‘You know this lad, George?’ he asked.

‘Known him since he were a swaddled babe,’ replied George. ‘Saxon’s father left him in my care two months ago, but he disappeared during the Sedah invasion. I thought he was on his way to Sedah as a slave by now.’

‘And you can vouch for him?’ the leader pressed.

‘With my life, Sam,’ George grinned. ‘Though he’s probably more mischief than he’s worth.’

‘Good.’ Sam sighed. ‘I think we are finally getting somewhere. Why don’t we eat and talk over everything? Did you have a message for me, George?’

‘Oh, I completely forgot,’ George said. ‘The woodcutter’s family arrived in the eastern rebel camp, saying the Sedah had commandeered their cottage and had thrown them out into the forest. They had two prisoners with them – two children.’

‘Ethan and Lily!’ exclaimed Roana.

‘Ethan and Lily?’ repeated George, pale with shock.

‘You know the others as well?’ asked Sam, grinning. ‘It’s quite a Kenley gathering, isn’t it? And this young lad’s from Kenley too?’

‘No,’ frowned George. ‘Though he does look a bit familiar …’

Roana smiled and shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.

Saxon and Roana were untied and given roast rabbit to chew. A few moments later a bedraggled, wounded Aisha limped into the camp site, her ears and tail drooping. Roana and Saxon cleaned her cut with water, stroking her head and soothing her with loving words.

‘Do not fret, Aisha. We will find Lily and Ethan and rescue them, as soon as we can,’ Roana promised. Aisha whimpered in answer, too despondent to eat.

Roana looked worried. ‘I wish I had some of Lily’s ointments to dress Aisha’s wound. It looks nasty, and quite deep. I hope she will be all right.’

Aisha lifted her ears slightly at the sound of her name, but slumped back uneasily. She shivered. At last Aisha slept, but Roana could hear her whimpering and twitching in her sleep.

‘So, now we know we are on the same side, but what about the Sedah?’ asked Sam, resuming his questioning. ‘Why are they chasing you, and do you think they will come after you two as well, now that they have caught your friends?’

Saxon thought carefully. He was certain that Sniffer would come after them as soon as he realised Ethan and Lily did not have the gems, and he knew from bitter experience how skilled Sniffer was at tracking. But how much to reveal to the rebels? He needed to ensure their help, but their true quest must remain secret.

‘I am sure the Sedahs will come after us, and soon,’ Saxon replied. ‘Their leader is Sniffer, an expert tracker. They are after us because we offended Lord Lazlac trying to help Tiregian.’

Sam looked skeptical, glancing at the two dishevelled children.

‘Ethan and Lily helped dozens of prisoners escape the Sedahs at Kenley,’ confirmed George, beaming proudly at the memory.

‘That was the other children,’ Sam said. ‘What about you two? Why do the Sedahs want you as well?’

Everyone stared at Saxon and Roana expectantly. Roana took a deep breath.

‘May we speak with you privately, in the greatest confidence?’ requested Roana.

Sam, George, Roana and Saxon withdrew into the shadows outside the circle of the fire. Roana drew herself up tall.

‘I am the Princess Roana,’ she announced. ‘The Sedahs wish to capture me, like my mother, the queen, and my brother, Prince Caspar.’

Sam and George gasped with amazement. George glanced at Saxon for confirmation, who nodded gravely.

‘I thought you looked familiar,’ cried George. ‘I mean, sorry, your highness.’ He ducked into a clumsy bow, followed by Sam.

‘Your highness, of course we’ll do all we can to help you,’ Sam promised. ‘I’d love to teach those Sedahs a good lesson.’

Together, Roana, Saxon, Sam and George sat up around the fire planning strategies until late in the night. At last, Roana curled up gratefully in her cloak, surreptitiously feeling the precious lumps in the hem. She finally fell asleep, listening to the soft sounds of the forest in the dark.

The Sedah troops cantered easily through the early morning forest, fingers of sunlight poking through the tree canopy. It was a fifteen-minute ride back to the clearing where they had found the children.

Sniffer led the way, Captain Malish and Lord Mortimer at his side. In the clearing they found everything as they had left it. Under the trees were abandoned saddles, blankets and weapons all covered in dew. Ethan’s bow lay in the middle of the clearing, and a dagger lay down near the stream.

Sniffer did not pause but continued to the west, following the clearly marked trail where the five horses had galloped away into the forest. Sniffer’s quick eyes noted smears of dried blood on some ferns, and some large uneven paw prints. Good, that blasted dog was seriously wounded. Hopefully it is dead already, Sniffer thought.

The trail was easy to follow, with cracked branches, crushed ferns and scuffled leaf litter indicating the way. It twisted and turned for a couple of kilometres as the horses had tried to forge a path through the forest. At last Sniffer saw a slight movement in the forest ahead. He stopped his horse and held up his hand for silence.

There was another sudden movement, and a muffled noise. Sniffer gestured to the rest of the party to stay behind, while he dismounted and crept on ahead for twenty metres. He peered through the undergrowth into a small glade.

Here he could see five horses tethered – three well-bred hunters, a pure white pony and a black pony. The sturdy black pony whickered in warning, pawing the ground and shaking its head. A smile lit up Sniffer’s face. Huddled together under an overhanging fallen log, he could see two sleeping bodies – two children, covered with dark green cloaks.

Sniffer crept back to his men, who dismounted and crowded around to listen to his report.

‘They are just up ahead,’ he whispered. ‘Sleeping. Now I want you four to creep around to the west, you four over to the south. I’ll take four men to the north, so we will have them surrounded. Leave the horses tethered here and go on foot as quietly as you can. When you hear my call, then we will strike.’

Lord Mortimer gazed eagerly at the figures sleeping in the distance. ‘Remember, don’t injure the girl dressed as a boy!’ he said, already planning his wedding later that day.

The soldiers nodded their understanding and crept off in the directions that Sniffer had specified. Lord Mortimer and Captain Malish stayed at the rear with the horses and four soldiers.

Sniffer and his band of men crept to the north, moving slowly to avoid cracking branches. The children’s horses started nervously, snuffling the air for danger. One of the children stirred, but settled back to sleep again. Sniffer chose a spot with clear access to the glade. He paused for a few minutes, watching. There was no sign of the dog.

Sniffer whistled softly into the morning air, ‘Too-wit-too-woo.’

‘Too-wit-too-woo,’ answered back from the east.

Things happened quickly. Sniffer and his soldiers ran forward, spreading out over a few metres, eyes forward and daggers drawn. From the trees above, a man dressed in green dropped suddenly, landing on the last soldier, knocking him to the ground. Sniffer heard the thump of a body hitting the forest floor and turned around in surprise, ready to berate the soldier who had tripped. Another green flash jumped from behind a log, knocking his black-armoured target flying. Two more emerged from behind tree trunks, daggers in their hands.

Before Sniffer could react, he realised that all four of his men were fighting, struggling, rolling on the ground with men dressed in green, who had sprung as if from the very soil. In a few moments, the four Sedah soldiers were deprived of weapons and tied up.

Sniffer ran. He ran as fast as his short, stooped frame could take him. He ran straight for the bodies of the two children sleeping in the clearing. One of them was the Princess Roana, and this time he was going to catch her.

At that moment, Lily was struggling with the rope that bound her. She wriggled and twisted until at last the rope dropped free.

Lily sighed with satisfaction. Ethan whistled in excitement.

‘Thank the Moon Goddess, you’re free,’ Ethan whispered. ‘The guard must’ve been in such a hurry that he tied the knots carelessly. Come and untie mine.’

‘Yes, he was in a hurry,’ Lily whispered, as her fingers worked at the knots that tied Ethan’s hands. ‘But I also thought of Caramel and how she always blows herself up like a barrel, so that when she releases her breath, the girth comes loose and slides off. So when he was tying me up the second time, I filled my lungs with air and puffed myself up as hard and strong as I could. The rope didn’t quite slide off, but it made it a lot easier to undo.’

‘That was clever,’ congratulated Ethan, grinning broadly as he rubbed blood back into his tingling fingers. ‘Thanks, that feels better. Now let’s see if we can get out of this cottage and find the others.’

There was a small window at the back of the room. It was closed with barred wooden shutters. Ethan wriggled the bar free from the supports, cautiously pushing open the shutters and peeping out. There was no-one to be seen at the back of the cottage. Ethan climbed out and dropped quietly to the ground, followed by Lily. They crept around the back of the cottage, then slipped away into the forest.

When they were far enough away from the cottage they risked whispering to each other.

‘Our packs are still somewhere in the cottage,’ Lily sighed, thinking of the thick jumpers that Fox had given them and the gloves lovingly knitted by her mother.

‘I know, it can’t be helped,’ Ethan agreed. ‘But Sniffer might be back at any time, and we should find Roana and Saxon. I think we should head back to the clearing where Sniffer caught us and try to follow their trail.’

Together they set off, slipping through the forest in the shadows beside the track.

Saxon heard the sound of Sniffer’s running footsteps, threw off the blanket and leapt to his feet, brandishing the sword that George had given him. Saxon enjoyed feeling the familiar weight of a sword in his hand once more. Roana was on her feet in seconds, an arrow nocked in her bow, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Aisha struggled into the clearing from behind a log, limping on three legs, teeth bared, hackles raised, barking furiously. Sniffer stopped immediately, his face pale and bloodless.

What had gone wrong? Instead of ambushing the escaped children, the escaped children had ambushed him. Sniffer evaluated the weapons, the ferocious dog, the determined expressions on the children’s faces and the sound of soldiers in the forest behind him. He was no swordsman, no fighter. He was a tracker. Sniffer turned and fled, dodging and weaving, off into the cover of the forest.

Saxon briefly ran after him, sword in hand, but soon stopped, determined to protect Roana above all else. Moments later the clearing was filled with green-garbed rebels, dragging trussed Sedah soldiers behind them. The last to be brought into the clearing were Captain Malish and Lord Mortimer, their arms bound behind their backs. Roana started with surprise when she saw her father’s cousin.

‘Lord Mortimer,’ Roana cried. ‘What are you doing here with the Sedahs?’

‘As you know, your highness, I am a prisoner of the perfidious Sedahs,’ replied Lord Mortimer, attempting an ingratiating smile.

Captain Malish snorted by his side.

‘So this is your blushing bride, Mortma,’ sneered Captain Malish. ‘I wonder that you were in such a hurry to marry the hoyden, even if it did make you king. Surely there are maidens in Tiregian that aren’t quite so grubby?’

Roana flushed with anger and mortification. Lord Mortimer scowled ferociously.

‘That’s enough of your chatter,’ growled the rebel escort, pushing Captain Malish in the back. ‘Keep moving.’

‘You murderous traitor!’ shouted Roana at Lord Mortimer, her furious words echoing through the clearing. ‘How could you betray us all?’

Lord Mortimer ignored her shout and was herded over to the side of the clearing with the other prisoners. There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Saxon gave Roana a rueful smile.

‘Well, we caught most of them,’ boasted Sam, the rebel leader, changing the subject.

‘All except for that blasted Sedah tracker,’ grumbled George, the burly blacksmith. ‘He’s as slippery as an eel.’

‘Perhaps the tracker can become the tracked,’ Sam grinned. This was his first victory against the Sedah invaders, and he thrummed with exhilaration.

‘Sam, our friends Ethan and Lily are being held prisoner by the Sedahs,’ reminded Roana imperiously. ‘We must set forth and rescue them immediately.’

Sam was brought back to the situation with a jolt. In fifteen minutes, Saxon and Roana were riding back towards the woodcutter’s cottage, accompanied by Sam and George, and twenty rebel soldiers. Another band of rebels was left to guard the prisoners while dozens of soldiers scoured the forest for Sniffer.

Aisha was draped, rather uncomfortably, on Caramel’s shoulders in front of Saxon, as she could hardly walk. Saxon was concentrating on the road ahead when a shrill bird whistle sounded from the scrub to the left-hand side of the road. Aisha whined loudly, struggling to clamber down from Caramel’s back. The whistle sounded again, forcing its way into his consciousness. It was the bird whistle that Ethan and Saxon had used in Kenley to summon each other.

Saxon turned to the left, pulling up the lead on Caramel’s halter and peering into the undergrowth. A quick movement caught his attention.

‘Ethan?’ he called. ‘Are you there? Are you all right? Come out – we’re with friends.’

In a few moments the four children and Aisha had a joyful reunion. Lily fussed and worried over Aisha’s wounds, her brow furrowed with anxiety. An hour later all the packs and gear had been recovered from the cottage and the clearing. Charcoal had also been found, prowling haughtily in the reeds by the creek, and the party returned to the rebel camp.

Lily’s medical supplies had been smashed by Sniffer, so she resorted to supplies foraged in the surrounding forest to treat Aisha’s wounds. In the woodsman’s garden she found lush red geraniums growing by the door. She removed the geranium stalks, dipped the leaves in water, packed them on the wounds to aid the healing and bound them in place.

Roana, Ethan and Saxon were sent into the woods to gather spider webs, which Lily later used to dress the wounds and stop the bleeding that slowly oozed every time Aisha moved. Growing in the open woodland, Lily discovered a cluster of delicate hairy plants, about sixty centimetres tall, with thick spikes of tiny purple tubed flowers.

‘Woundwort,’ Lily announced in satisfaction to Roana. ‘Sometimes known as All-heal. It will take a few days before I can use this to wash the wounds, but it will come in very handy.’

Lily made an infusion by soaking the shredded herb in some brandy, which she had begged from George the blacksmith.

Either Ethan or Lily stayed by Aisha’s side at all times, giving her small dribbles of water and trying to tempt her with titbits of meat.

Roana watched anxiously. Now that everyone was safe once more, her thoughts had returned to her brother, Prince Caspar, imprisoned in the Tower of Sun and Moon far to the north. The delay caused by Sniffer’s attack was making her apprehensive.

‘Is Aisha well enough to travel?’ Roana asked.

Lily thought carefully. She knew that it was urgent that they find Caspar, but Aisha was seriously hurt and could hardly walk. Aisha’s coat was dull, her eyes were clouded and her ears drooped miserably.

‘We really should let Aisha rest for a few days but I know we must keep moving north,’ Lily mused. ‘Let me see how she is tomorrow, then perhaps we can carry her in front of one of us on horseback.’

‘Perhaps we should leave Aisha here with George …’ Roana began. A worried look from Lily silenced her at once. ‘No, of course not. I am sure she will be much better tomorrow,’ Roana continued.

Everyone chafed at the delay. But there was nothing to be done. The children decided to fill the time by training with the rebels – shooting arrows at stuffed sacks, or practising sword fighting with wooden swords.

Roana drew quite a few curious stares. She tried to slouch around the camp, muttering churlishly, but as soon as she stopped thinking about it, she resumed her usual regal bearing. Her imperious comments and her accent also gave her away. It was obvious to most of the rebels that the lad ‘Rowan’ was not quite what he appeared. Rumours spread, fuelled by the soldiers who had overheard the interchange between Roana and Lord Mortimer, that it was, indeed, the lad Rowan that the Sedah soldiers had been trying to capture, and that he was possibly really a she – and a princess at that.

Captain Malish and the other Sedah soldiers had been stripped of their armour and uniforms, and dressed in peasant rags. They were locked in a palisade of timber stakes, with sharply pointed ends, and closely guarded but otherwise well treated. The rebels were furious with Lord Mortimer once they learned of his treachery, and there were muttered threats to punish him severely. Sam insisted that Lord Mortimer be treated like the other prisoners and kept closely guarded.

Lily treated the arrow wounds of the Sedah prisoners, bathing the wounds with boiled herb water and binding them with sticky spider web, much to the prisoners’ disgust.

Of Sniffer there had been no sign. He had vanished without trace. The skills of a tracker were handy for someone who wished to elude capture. George took it upon himself to guard the children, watching them closely. The children decided to keep their plans to rescue Prince Caspar a secret. Sam had offered them refuge in the forest with the rebels for as long as they needed it, but he was soon busy planning raiding parties out into the surrounding countryside, to harry Sedah soldiers.

The next day Aisha was much better, although still limping.

‘I think tomorrow morning we should be able to continue north,’ Lily decided. ‘We will need to be careful not to overdo it, but I think Aisha should be fine if we carry her on one of the horses for a couple of days.’

‘That is wonderful news,’ beamed Roana, playing with the amethyst locket she wore around her neck. Anxiety had been wearing her down.

‘I think we should slip away unnoticed, as though we were going hunting,’ Ethan suggested. ‘I think the adults would try to stop us, or send someone with us, if they knew what we were planning to do. They mean well, but I think we will attract less attention on our own.’

‘Good idea,’ Saxon agreed. ‘We’ll need to escape old George. He watches us like a hawk. I think he feels bad that he lost me once when my father asked him to keep an eye on me, so he doesn’t mean to lose us again.’

‘We can leave him a note so that he will not be anxious,’ Roana suggested.

The packs were carefully repacked with their clothes and supplies, and the water bottles filled. The children were loath to take food from the rebels, who already had so many mouths to feed, so the packs were unusually light. Charcoal was tucked up in her wicker basket, and Aisha’s wounds were carefully washed with steeped woundwort.

They were ready to creep off before dawn.

In Tira, Governor Lazlac had decided to implement his plan to destroy the queen’s rose garden – and start work on the new temple to Krad. His only disappointment was that the temple would not be ready in time for the wedding ceremony.

‘I want you to take up twenty of those stinking prisoners from the dungeons and set them to work clearing the temple site,’ Governor Lazlac ordered Lieutenant Foulash. He wondered idly what had happened to Captain Malish, who had still not returned from some mysterious foray into the countryside. He presumed he would be back any time now. ‘Choose the strongest and healthiest, I want the work to progress quickly. The stone arrives in a week, so I want the site ready to start building by then. Use the lash, or whatever it takes to get the job done.’

Lieutenant Foulash nodded his understanding and saluted. He toured the dungeons inspecting the prisoners. Most of them were in a pitiable state, starving and weak. Willem was one of the prisoners chosen to labour on the new temple. He was herded up the stairs with the others, all wearing leg chains to discourage them from escaping. They shuffled forth into the fresh air and sunshine, blinking in the harsh light, and were led through the kitchen gardens to the site of the future temple of Krad.

The Garden of Sun and Moon was breathtakingly beautiful, surrounded by high stone walls and lush, velvet green lawns. The roses were in two large circular beds, one filled with white roses, the other with rich gold roses tinged with red. In the centre tinkled an ornate fountain.

A divine smell wafted towards the prisoners, nearly overcoming them with its richness.

‘It’s all going,’ barked Lieutenant Foulash. ‘We want a completely clean site, level and smooth by the end of the week. Put your backs into it, or you’ll feel the stroke of my whip on them.’

The head gardener, who was standing by to hand out shovels, hoes and picks, stood with tears in his eyes as he realised his life’s work would be destroyed in a matter of minutes. There must be something he could do.

‘The prisoners will need to dig up all the roots to ensure the ground is prepared properly for the foundations,’ suggested the gardener bravely. ‘I can dispose of the plants myself – they are very thorny.’

Lieutenant Foulash nodded impatiently. He left a number of soldiers on guard to supervise and returned to the palace.

‘Try to save the roots,’ whispered the gardener to each prisoner. ‘Leave plenty of soil around the roots, and we may be able to save them.’

Some of the prisoners could not be bothered and ripped the roses and hedges out carelessly, swearing as their skin was caught by vicious thorns. Crushed petals fell to the ground like tears. Other prisoners took Willem’s lead and dug carefully around the base of each plant, taking a large ball of soil with each one. The gardener whisked away the saved plants in a wheelbarrow to hide them in his shed, for replanting elsewhere.

Willem enjoyed the hard work, though his muscles screamed with unaccustomed usage. He relished the fresh air, the burning sunshine, the salty hot sweat that he had not felt in months, the smell of soil and crushed grass and rose petals. His skin cracked and blistered and rubbed raw, but he felt alive.

At lunchtime they were allowed to rest for ten minutes. A plump, severe-looking woman bustled into the garden at noon carrying a large basket and a bucket, which she hefted with ease.

‘Good day to you, Mistress Cookie,’ called the gardener cheerily.

Willem’s eyes darted to examine the woman when he heard her name. This was the mysterious friend who had sent them real food in the dungeons and those wonderful coded notes about eggs and fish, telling him that his children were safe.

‘What delicious rations do you have for us today?’ asked the gardener.

‘Naught but bread and cheese for the likes of these folk,’ snorted Cookie derisively, but Willem thought he detected a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. Cookie did not leave the rations to be doled out by the prisoners, but handed out each portion herself. Willem noticed that she surreptitiously examined the face of each prisoner as she gave them food. She murmured a few words of comfort to each as she gave them two thick slabs of bread and a cup of water.

When it was Willem’s turn, he checked carefully around. The sentries were sitting sprawled in the shade, enjoying their own lunch and relaxing. Only one guard was closely supervising the prisoners’ meal, and he was watching those who already had their bread.

‘Mistress Cookie, thank you for everything,’ Willem whispered as he pretended to drink from his cup.

‘Willem of Kenley?’ Cookie asked quickly, leaning closer as she pretended to fumble with the basket. Willem nodded slightly. ‘I thought so by that crooked eyebrow of yours, just like Ethan’s. Marnie sends her love. She is well. The children are safe and travelling to the north. Plans are afoot.’

Willem took his slabs of bread and cheese and sat down with the others, surrounded by the devastation of the destroyed garden. His back no longer ached. He could no longer feel his blisters or chafes. All he could feel was his heart singing. Marnie and the children are safe. Plans are afoot!

He bit into his sandwich. Cookie had been very modest in her description. The bread was soft and fresh and slathered thickly in butter. The cheese was creamy and rich and sprinkled with pepper. It was the best sandwich he had ever tasted.

A few metres from the rebel camp, high in the branches of a gnarled old tree, perched a small man, dressed in black, spying on the bustle below. He watched anxiously, yet he could not see what he desperately hoped to find. There was no sign of four children, or of the wounded dog, or of the horses. Sniffer waited patiently, his eyes scanning the camp. His muscles cramped in the unnatural position, but he did not move to stretch or relieve the ache. He was invisible in the shadow of the leaves.

Occasionally his nose twitched as he snuffled the air, processing the different scents.

They must be out hunting, Sniffer thought. He saw big George the farrier, looking anxious, scurrying around the camp. At least the big man is not with them today. That will make it easier to ambush them if they are on their own.

Sniffer waited all day. It was only at dusk, when the children had still not returned to the camp, that he became concerned. He watched the camp fires being lit, the rebels eating, laughing and talking, but still there was no sign of the children. Sniffer watched until the rebels curled up in their blankets and slept. He waited until the sentries did their rounds, then slipped away into the forest to sleep for a few hours. Before dawn he was trudging north.

In the early morning light, he found the trail – a set of five hoofprints clearly marked on the damp track. Sniffer sighed and set off on foot, following.

Master Drummond was working at his desk, sifting through correspondence, when Jed knocked on the door.

‘Here is the ale that you were expecting from the north,’ Jed called, heaving a heavy barrel onto a side table.

‘Thanks, Jed,’ replied Master Drummond. ‘Just leave it there.’

When Jed had gone, Albert Drummond rolled the barrel onto its side, and carefully removed the bung. The bung was one which Master Drummond had designed himself. It was cunningly crafted, with a hollow cavity just large enough to hold a small scroll of paper.

Master Drummond levered off the hidden lid and pulled out a scrap of paper wrapped in leather.

The paper read:

FUCIDEABSEBSDHC IDESFSDHORHLRNMU HDYEASHLRNAEEASIPIOESIFRVDDATRSM. MRSNDNFEEAECPUEA

Master Drummond took a pencil and paper and carefully transposed the letters in a different order, adding in spaces where required, over a series of two lines.

He scanned the letters quickly, frowning, smiling, then frowning again. He checked the message again carefully, tapping his finger up and down from the top line to the bottom, and back again. It now read:

FU CIDE ABSE BSDH CIDE

OR HLRN MUHD YEAS HLRN

SF SDH I PI O E SIFR VDD

AE EAS MRSND N F E EAE

ATR SM

CPUE A

He tossed the scrap of paper into the fire, where it crumpled, curled and crumbled into red hot ash. The message he had deciphered worried him greatly. It churned around in his brain, creasing his forehead with worry.

‘Four children ambushed by Sedahs. Children safe. Sedahs imprisoned. Sniffer evaded capture. Sam’

Master Drummond sighed deeply and started thinking through all his plans.

Nutmeg, Caramel, Moonbeam, Mischief and Toffee jogged forward in the early morning sunshine. Ethan rode with Aisha slung uncomfortably in front of him. The travellers had left the forest far behind and were now riding on the main road north, heading towards the village of Trowbridge.

The country road followed the River Bryn, which wound its way lazily through the lush green valley like a fat brown snake. Clouds of yellow wildflowers swathed the bank. Occasionally the river would stir itself, rippling over shallow rapids with sparkling whitecaps dancing in the sun.

The roadway was paved with flat grey stones, meandering through copses of trees, with wild red poppies growing along the roadside. Wide paddocks held black and white cows, their udders heavy with milk. Horses watched curiously over the fence, while their foals gambolled along on ridiculously long legs. Chocolate-faced sheep, heavy with white unshorn wool, slowly grazed while their tail-wagging lambs suckled blissfully.

Ahead the smooth, rounded foothills rose in banks of rich green. Further to the north they could see the first mountains, rocky and wild, wreathed in drab green forest and grey cloud, and capped with dazzling white snow. Two tawny hawks soared on a cross current, searching for foolish rabbits or fieldmice.

In the late afternoon the children rode into Trowbridge. Unlike the south, where many villages had been ransacked and burned, Trowbridge was deliciously peaceful, with no outward sign of the Sedah invasion.

On the outskirts of the village, they dismounted and chose a small stone cottage, with a sprawling garden of lavender and roses, where three small children were playing hide-go-seek. Lily knocked on the door, which was opened by a kind-looking farmer’s wife, her arms dusted with flour.

‘Good evening, mistress,’ Lily said, with a warm smile. ‘We are travelling to the north and wondered if we could please purchase some supplies and perhaps a bed for the night in your barn? We will be leaving first thing in the morning.’

The woman scanned the faces of the four children, weary from a long day in the saddle, and thought of her own precious brood.

‘Of course,’ agreed the farmer’s wife, smiling in empathy. ‘Come around the back.’

In return for a few silver coins she gave them fresh bread and milk, tiny green cucumbers, tomatoes warm from the sun, pale pink ham, boiled eggs and crumbly yellow cheese, which they ate on a bench in her garden in the golden evening sunshine.

The barn was warm and spacious, with a wide soft bed of last year’s hay.

Aisha flopped into the hay in exhaustion, too tired to even turn around three times to flatten her bed. She covered her eyes with her paws and started to snore. Charcoal scampered coquettishly in the hay, smelling traces of mice and revelling in the freedom of moving after sleeping in her wicker basket all day.

Ethan, Lily, Roana and Saxon tended to the horses, grooming them, picking out their hooves, feeding them oats. The children fell asleep breathing in the sweet smell of hay and horse sweat, and listening to the sounds of horses rustling and stamping.

The cocky rooster woke them before dawn with his self-important yodel to welcome the Sun Lord. Everyone stirred to action, eager to be on the road once more. They washed under the icy cold gush of the garth pump. The farmer’s wife brought them fresh, warm bread, dripping with butter and honey, and steaming milky tea. She smiled with pleasure as the children gulped hungrily, licking their fingers in delight.

She handed Lily a parcel wrapped in cloth, and tied up with string.

‘A morsel to eat on your journey to Bryn, my dears, and may the Moon Goddess light your way, every step of your travels,’ the farmer’s wife blessed them.

The children smiled, comforted by the familiar proverb. Calling and waving their thanks and farewells, they clambered up into their saddles and clattered out onto the cobbled road. At Trowbridge, the road crossed the mighty River Bryn, over a gently arching sandstone bridge, then continued north on the western bank. A massive, gnarled and twisted ancient tree grew on the left side of the road, weeping down towards the rushing water.

As they continued north, the countryside became wilder and cooler as the road gradually climbed towards the foothills of the Silent Mountains.

It took two days of long riding – alternating walking, trotting and cantering – to reach the northern town of Bryn. They passed lonely farmhouses, and the occasional hamlet or village where they could buy supplies or a night in the hay. On the fast-flowing River Bryn, they passed barges floating away downriver, carrying cargo of logs and sacks of vegetables for market, or empty barges towed upriver by draughthorses straining against the current. The bargemen waved, calling out merry greetings.

Bryn itself was a bustling town of elegant sandstone bell towers and grand public buildings with arched bridges spanning the river.

They found a cheery bakery, following the wafting yeasty scents of hot bread and sweet pastry, and bought a large canvas bag bulging with food. The four children sat down on the river bank, with their bare feet dangling in the freezing snow melt water. Saxon passed over steaming hot meat pies and sausage rolls, the pastry golden and flaky. It was good to eat hot food once more.

Aisha was much better and gulped her sausage roll down in one swallow. Her coat had regained its healthy red-gold gleam, her ears were cocked, and the wounds were healing beautifully, although her flank was still disfigured with a shiny, curved pink scar.

They slept at the Black Bear Inn, down by the river quay, and were woken the next morning by the cries of the bargemen loading their cargoes in the pre-dawn glimmer.

As the sun rose, its red rays lit up the hundreds of rolling peaks of the Silent Mountains stretching away endlessly to the north. Those closer were grim and green, while those higher and further were crowned with white snow and grey cloud. The children shivered as they saw how far they still had to travel. The innkeeper’s wife served them wooden bowls of steaming porridge, topped with cream and brown sugar, served with hot milky tea. The children all ate hungrily. They had no idea when they would eat hot food again.

It took Sniffer two days to walk to Trowbridge. The trail was getting cold, as farmers’ carts and roving herds of livestock obliterated the tracks Sniffer was following.

He slipped into the village in the late afternoon. Two farmers on their way home glowered at him suspiciously, disliking the look of the Sedah stranger.

‘Seen four children – three boys and a girl, with five horses, a dog and a cat?’ Sniffer asked them, jingling a pile of silver coins in his palm.

‘Lots of children in Trowbridge, lots of horses, dogs and cats too,’ snorted one farmer.

‘These ones are strangers from the south,’ Sniffer encouraged. ‘The girl has long curly blonde hair and brown eyes, about this tall. One of the boys is fair, and the others are a bit darker?’

‘We’ve had no strange children staying here,’ declared the farmer firmly.

Sniffer spent the rest of the afternoon knocking on doors, jingling coins and intimidating villagers. No-one had seen or would admit to having seen the children. At one house, the farmer’s wife glanced away, shrugging and shaking her head.

‘What would four southern children be doing travelling on their own up here?’ she asked dismissively.

Sniffer turned away, but something about the woman’s manner made him suspicious. When the door had closed, he skulked around the side of the house and into the garth. There was a large barn there. Sniffer opened the door and slunk inside. He breathed in the smell of sweet hay, farm animals and musty feed sacks. He felt a thrill of excitement. He was sure the children had been there.

‘Get out of my barn,’ came a high voice behind him. The farmer’s wife stood there with a pitchfork raised threateningly.

‘I was just looking for a place to spend the night,’ Sniffer said placatingly. ‘I have silver coins to pay for board.’

‘I don’t want your coins and I don’t want you in my barn,’ the farmer’s wife retorted, jabbing the pitchfork into the air, dangerously close to Sniffer’s head. ‘Just leave now.’

Sniffer left hurriedly.

At a lonely farm, just north of Trowbridge, he slipped into the stables and hastily saddled and bridled a large bay gelding. Sniffer opened all the stable doors, freeing the two other horses, and chased them out into the roadway at a gallop. The farmer and his wife came running from the kitchen at the commotion. By the time they caught the horses, Sniffer and the stolen gelding were gone.

In the Tower of Sun and Moon, the seven priests of Krad were in conference around the smoky fire. The head priest held a missive from Governor Lazlac ordering the immediate return to Tira of five priests to conduct the ceremony for his marriage to Queen Ashana. The exhausted messenger had just arrived, having ridden almost non-stop from Tira on horseback, and was now eating a meal in the kitchen.

‘What of the boy?’ asked one black-robed priest.

‘He is to be left here until after the ceremony. Then Governor Lazlac will send a troop of soldiers to escort him to Sedah. You two will be able to handle him while we five return to Tira. The boy is completely subdued now, but just to make sure, perhaps you should increase the quantity of the drug he receives each day.’

The priests nodded in agreement.

‘Let us begin preparations,’ the head priest suggested. ‘It is a long journey back to Tira.’

He stood and shivered in the chilly air. ‘At least it will be warmer in the south.’

‘Krad be praised,’ they intoned automatically, rising to their feet.

Upstairs in his freezing tower room, the boy tossed and turned in his troubled sleep, dreaming fitfully. In his nightmare the black-clad priest lunged at him, swishing his cane viciously. The boy screamed in fright, ‘Mama. Mama, where are you?’

He awoke, drenched in sweat, despite the icy air. Consciousness flooded in, bringing with it a wave of despair. He thumped the pillow angrily, yet did not weep. Prince Caspar had no tears left.

The next morning Caspar drank his brimming mug of foul medicine without a murmur. It burned his throat going down.

The priests gave it to him every morning and evening. Originally he had fought the medicine, spitting and gagging, but the priests had held him down, holding his nose until he had swallowed it all. Now he no longer fought them – there was no point. The priests always won in the end.

The boy watched disinterestedly as five of the priests put on their black travelling cloaks, pinned with the malevolent glowing eye of Emperor Raef, and prepared to depart. He bent obediently over his lessons and recited the Nine Laws of Krad. He did not even look up when the massive front gate swung shut and the heavy iron bolt was dropped once more.

Albert Drummond was concerned. He had just received further intelligence from the rebels in the forest, via his hollow bung, that the children had disappeared and Sam was organising raiding parties to harass the Sedahs, which would ruin all his own carefully laid plans. He had also learned that the rebel training was not proceeding quite as well as he had hoped – the rebels were enthusiastic but under-resourced and disorganised. If it came to a fully fledged battle between the highly trained Sedah soldiers and the rebels, he feared they would come off much the worse.

Then of course there was the looming wedding of Queen Ashana and Governor Lazlac – a potential disaster. Master Drummond was racked with stress – there was much to do.

In the middle of the night he lay awake worrying, wondering how to solve the many challenges which faced him. There was not much he could do to help the four children so far away, but perhaps he could do something to improve the professionalism of the rebel forces so that when the children returned they were ready to strike. At three am, a potential solution came to him. He thought of just the man to help him – a man who was clever, resourceful, brave and sly. A man who would make a perfect spy.

At dawn the next morning Albert was down at the village of Ainsley. A few discreet enquiries led him to the cliffs, where Fox was walking with a pretty woman in green silk skirts, whose name was Jess. Mia the monkey was swinging from Fox’s coat tails, chattering in jealous rage.

Fox seemed disconcerted to be interrupted in what was obviously a tender farewell scene.

‘Good morning, Albert,’ greeted Fox. ‘You’re up early. Have you come to wave your hat in farewell to the Owl? We sail on the hour, heading for the east to collect a delicate cargo of summer silks.’

‘No,’ replied Albert, smiling warmly and lifting his hat to Jess. ‘I’ve come to offer you a nearly honest job. I need you, and the pay could well be excellent.’

Fox grinned in curiosity. ‘It sounds intriguing, and I’m always on the lookout for new opportunities, especially those that pay well and are nearly honest!’

Jess smacked Fox playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t tell me we might see an honest man of you yet!’

‘It’s possible, my dear,’ Fox conceded. ‘My latest exploits have made me rethink my priorities. Plus the Sedah soldiers are not big spenders when it comes to silk, so perhaps I need a new adventure after all.’

Jess smiled. ‘I cannot imagine you without adventure in your life.’

Albert grinned, relieved. ‘So I take it you are interested in my proposition? I need you to start immediately, working with me in her royal highness Queen Ashana’s special and highly covert employ. Come and report to me tomorrow at the White Horse Inn. Deal?’

Fox spat in his palm. ‘Smuggler’s honour.’

Albert hesitated just a moment, then spat in his own palm, shaking it vigorously with Fox’s. ‘Spy’s honour.’

‘I thought you said he would be nearly honest?’ Jess laughed.

‘How about you, Jess?’ retorted Albert. ‘Do you need a job too? I think we need all the help we can get.’

‘Why not?’ Jess smiled. ‘I think I’d make a very good spy.’

For the next two days, Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan rode northwards, following the valley floor, with steep hills rising on either side. The cobbled road gradually faded to a faint cart track. When the light dimmed at dusk each night, they found a camping spot. Huddled around a small fire, they ate cold supplies before falling into an exhausted sleep, wrapped in their blankets. They would have liked to keep riding into the night but there was no moon, and the track was too faint to see by starlight.

On the third day’s ride out of Bryn, they were riding through open fields. On either side of the track were huge round boulders, fissured and cracked, splotched with pale green lichen. The boulders were piled into stacks and towers, as if by the hands of some giant’s child. Dead trees twisted against the sky, their branches bleached and ghostly.

‘The Giant’s Marbles,’ commented Saxon, glancing at the crumpled map in his hand. ‘We are getting closer to the Silent Mountains.’

‘This place gives me the shivers,’ Lily whispered. Aisha agreed, listening carefully, all the hairs on her back standing straight and stiff. She growled a low warning.

‘Shhh,’ hissed Ethan, holding up his hand. Everyone stopped for a few minutes, hearts thudding and ears straining. Up ahead, they heard the sound of distant hooves. Ethan gestured urgently. Carefully, quietly they all slithered down from their saddles, and led the horses off the track.

Ethan led Toffee up behind a large tower of boulders, twenty metres off the path. The others followed, Lily keeping her hand warningly on Aisha’s neck. Ethan crept back with a large branch and carefully swept the ground to hide their tracks.

Louder now came the sound of hooves. Ethan dropped behind a fallen tree trunk covered in velvety moss, wrapped his green riding cloak around him, and pressed himself into the earth. Through the tangle of roots he peeped at the path.

In a moment he saw a sight that made his heart tumble to his stomach in trepidation. Mounted on five sturdy donkeys rode five black-robed men. Thick black cowls covered their heads, shadowing their sallow faces. At their throats, their cloaks were fastened with a silver pin, depicting a glowing red eye, over two crossed silver cutlasses.

Ethan breathed in sharply, shrinking down into the leaf mulch. Sedahs! Sedah priests.

The leader carried a long leather whip. His eyes darted from left to right, silently searching the surrounding valley for signs of danger or ambush. His eyes lingered on the tree trunk where Ethan was hiding, and seemed to bore through the thick timber to the prostrate boy behind. Ethan closed his eyes, willing himself to be invisible, trying not to breath or move a millimetre.

I am a rock, chanted Ethan to himself. I am nothing but a rock.

The leader’s donkey shied and brayed, cavorting and bucking, sensing Aisha hiding close by. A sharp crack of the whip urged the donkey forward once more. The leader’s eyes flickered over the large boulder tower, where the others were hiding. His eyes searched the mossy crevices and flitted forward. The convoy clattered on slowly, wending their way down the track towards Bryn. Ethan lay still for many minutes, not daring to move in case he caused a noise that brought the Sedahs back.

At last, he slowly rose and checked the path. There was no sign of the cavalcade of wraiths that had just passed by. Silently, the children remounted and urged the horses back onto the path. The horses walked quickly, sensing the children’s anxiety. After ten minutes they risked cantering, to move as quickly as possible away from the menacing Sedah priests.

When at last they rode over the crest of the foothill, and slowed to a walk down the other side, they felt safe enough to talk.

‘What were Sedah priests doing all the way out here in the wilderness?’ Lily asked. ‘There is nothing but mountains and forest for kilometres.’

‘I wonder if they are travelling from the Tower of Sun and Moon, where my brother is being held?’ asked Roana anxiously. ‘Perhaps they were taking him back to Emperor Raef’s court. Perhaps we are already too late.’

‘There was definitely no sign of Prince Caspar with the priests,’ Ethan assured her. ‘There were five men on donkeys. I couldn’t really see their faces, but none of them were small enough to be a child.’

‘That may well be a lucky sign,’ said Saxon cheerily. ‘Perhaps those priests did come from the Tower of Sun and Moon, which may just mean that there are less priests there guarding your brother. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

‘It would indeed,’ smiled Roana, hope lifting the weight of anxiety from her heart. ‘But I wish I knew what they were doing, and if my brother is indeed safe and well.’

‘The only way to find out is to keep on going,’ Lily said, with mock determination.

‘Onwards and upwards,’ laughed Saxon, drawing his dagger and waving it. ‘The tower awaits.’

‘Idiot!’ laughed Ethan, kicking Toffee into a trot.

The path twisted through the valley, turning into a grassy cart track studded with small white daisies and waxy yellow buttercups. Pink and purple wildflowers proliferated in the knee-deep grass. The children cantered along, drinking in the cool, sweet air, the horses’ hooves kicking up clods of mossy mud.

A glossy green and black duck with an orange beak scampered across the track, dragging its wing and squawking pitifully.

‘Oh look, the poor creature is wounded,’ cried Roana, sad to see the beautiful injured bird.

‘Don’t take any notice of that performance,’ laughed Ethan. ‘That duck could make its living entertaining in your Royal Theatre. The male duck pretends to be wounded, dragging its wing along the ground to distract predators from discovering that, a couple of metres away, his beautiful duck wife is sitting on a nest full of eggs or hatchlings.’

Aisha spied the flapping duck, and she lifted her paw and flagged her tail in her classic hunting pose, before giving swift chase. Sure enough, the wounded duck rapidly recovered and soared away to safety, leaving Aisha barking madly in frustration.

‘Aisha, no!’ scolded Lily, trying to look stern. ‘You should know better than that!’ Aisha slunk back to the track, ears and tail down, looking crestfallen. A moment later she was bounding gracefully through the tall grass chasing a pheasant. Everyone laughed at her flapping ears and athletic leaps through the swathes of grass.

‘Did you know that ducks are very romantic?’ asked Ethan. ‘They mate for life, and there is nothing sadder than the lonely sound of a duck crying for its lost mate.’

The horses splashed through a shallow rivulet and up the other bank. The cart track wound on through the valley, then over a dilapidated bridge. From here the cart track dwindled to a narrow path that rose steeply up a ridge into the rolling green hills, scattered with thick copses of trees. Herds of deer scattered as the horses approached. Wild, woolly sheep with chocolate faces ran in fright. Black lambs with long woolly tails leapt up rocky screes as nimbly as mountain goats. There was no sign of shepherd boys or farmers.

The path wound steeply up the ridge, so the riders had to lean forward over their horses’ necks. Caramel complained noisily as she climbed, hurrumphing her displeasure. The horses paused at the very crest of the hill.

‘What an amazing view,’ breathed Lily, exhaling a misty puff of air as she gazed back the way they had come.

Below their feet spread a misty vista of open valleys bathed in sunshine, rounded green hills and the winding grey snake of the River Bryn, growing fatter and wider as it descended. In the distance were the hazy golden turrets and rooftops of Bryn.

To the north, the cliff crumbled away, dropping to another steep valley. These valleys and hills were swathed in shadow, with dark grey clouds and racing rain squalls. The hills rolled away for kilometres, growing ever more steep and sheer, until they grew into snow-white mountains, wreathed with cloud.

‘Brrrr,’ shivered Ethan, flexing his stiff fingers on the reins. ‘It’s getting chilly. Perhaps it’s time to unpack our woolly mitts.’

‘It’s hard to believe that it is now summer in the south,’ Lily agreed.

They dismounted, swigging icy water from their bottles and nibbling some dry oat biscuits. They unpacked the thick cable-stitched fishermen’s sweaters, scarves, snug hats, and the thick woollen gloves that had been hurriedly knitted by Marnie and Cookie.

It was too cold to stop for long, so they remounted and continued down the steep slope. Here the riders had to lean right back, their stirrups far forward, holding the reins firmly.

Moonbeam slipped as a patch of gravel tumbled away, and Roana screamed as Moonbeam slithered a few metres down the slope before regaining her footing. Goats bounded away at the commotion, their bells tinkling. The horses reached the valley floor, only to clamber straight up the other side again. The horses plodded up and down, their sides heaving and sweaty, their breath laboured. Chilly fingers of mist clutched at the children as they passed. They huddled further into their cloaks, glad of their thick gloves.

The open landscape gave way to a birch forest, with beards of golden lichen hanging from the branches and moss blanketing the fallen logs. A huge trunk had fallen right across the path, which the horses had to leap gracefully. A lone deer skittered across the trail, its white bobtail flashing. Hares and rabbits dashed through the undergrowth, but Aisha for once ignored them, tired by the endless ascending and descending.

The smell of damp leaf mulch and rotting wood clung to their clothes and skin. Patches of dappled sunlight shattered the dark gloom of the wood. And still the path wound and climbed.

‘Look,’ cried Lily, pointing ahead. A fine dusting of white covered the rocks, trees and leaves. ‘Snow. Isn’t it beautiful?’

Soon small balls of white fluff were drifting from the heavens, floating softly to the ground and landing lightly on faces, manes, shoulders, haunches, ears and hair. Snow flakes wafted against the dark green trees, shimmering with light, like thousands of soft white stars. It was enchanting, like an exquisite fairyland. Everyone snuggled deeper into their cloaks, the horses surging forward into the snow country.

‘The Silent Mountains,’ Saxon said softly. ‘We are in the snowlands.’

Aisha whined, shivering as her paws sank in the soft cold carpet. She lifted one paw distastefully and flipped her left ear inside out. She paused for a moment, then trotted on after the five horses.

Late the next afternoon, the wind had grown into a gale and the novelty of snow had long since worn off. No-one could count how many hills they had climbed up and down. The cold was bitter and endless, and still the snow grew thicker.

The wind howled and moaned off the mountains, whipping more snow into the air and hurling flint-hard slivers of ice in their faces. It was impossible to see more than a couple of metres in front. Ethan found a rope in his pack and tied all the horses in a long line so no-one could get lost.

The path had long since disappeared in deep drifts. Saxon checked their direction regularly using Fox’s compass and the soggy, dog-eared map, which was starting to blur and tear.

Everyone swathed scarves around their faces to protect their skin from the stinging snow. The horses hung their heads, plodding bravely forward. Aisha whined and cried, slinking along, her tail curled between her legs and her ears drooping with dismay. Charcoal refused to leave her wicker carriage for more than a few moments at a time, preferring to stay curled, snug and warm, in a black and white ball.

Progress was dishearteningly slow, and everyone secretly suspected they were lost. At last, Ethan spied a couple of large black boulders, with sides that were too steep to hold the snow.

‘Let’s shelter here,’ he called. ‘It might protect us a bit from the snow and wind.’ The others simply nodded, too cold and exhausted to speak.

The boulders formed a small corral, with rock on two sides, and a wall of snow on the other. Ethan and Saxon scooped out a shallow cave in the snow, at the base of the boulders. The four children, Charcoal and Aisha squeezed into the cave, huddling together for warmth. The five rugged horses squeezed into the outer space, stamping and swaying and shivering.

The body heat of the humans and animals so close together did help to make everyone warmer. Supplies were running low, so there was very little to eat, and their water bottles were nearly empty. The wind howled into a frenzy, hurling snow and ice.

The storm raged most of the night, but when Ethan woke, it was eerily quiet. He peered out to find the world completely transformed. The storm had died, leaving the world blanketed in a thick eiderdown of white. The horses huddled together miserably. Ethan crawled out from the snow cave to explore.

There was no sign of a track. It was impossible to see the true fall of the land, whether the snow covered grass or shrubs, rocks or logs. Ethan floundered out into the snow, sinking to his knees in soft powder. His stomach grumbled with hunger and his mouth was dry with thirst. Aisha followed him, but refused to come out past the corral, into the deep snow.

‘Wake up, sleepyheads,’ he called back towards the cave. ‘Come out and take a look.’

The other three stumbled out into the open, rubbing their eyes and stretching.

‘Which way do we go?’ asked Lily, surveying the unfamiliar world in dismay. ‘The path’s completely disappeared.’

Saxon pulled out the ornate silver compass Fox had given him. The arrow quivered, pointing away to the horizon.

‘North is that way,’ Saxon pointed. ‘We will just have to keep following the compass until we find a path or a landmark.’

There was no point staying where they were. Everyone was anxious to be on their way again. There was no food for breakfast and no hay for the horses. So as quickly as possible, the gear was packed up, the horses saddled and bridled, the saddlebags strapped behind the saddles, Charcoal’s basket buckled onto Mischief’s pack. Then they set off, leading the horses out into the treacherous drifts.

Despite the calmer weather, progress was still painful. The horses slipped and slid on the ice, and floundered in the deeper drifts. They decided that it was best to lead the horses, so the children could try to pick the best path. Their boots were made for riding, not for hiking, with smooth soles, treacherous on the slippery ground. They all fell frequently, bruising buttocks and knees.

Nutmeg made a welcome discovery, pawing at the ground to uncover a fast-running rivulet, hidden under the snow. The horses and Aisha drank thirstily. The children filled their water bottles over and over, greedily swallowing the delicious stream water. The horses pawed the ground to uncover some thin blades of grass, which they could eat. There was nothing for the humans.

By late afternoon, everyone was tired and miserable. They seemed to have covered hardly any ground all day. They were weak with hunger and exhausted from the constant slipping and falling. Their clothes were sodden and heavy, and the horses were tiring. Lily felt tears of frustration and fatigue hovering just below the surface. She sat down heavily on a rock. ‘I need a little rest,’ Lily muttered thickly. Roana sank down gratefully beside her.

‘Be brave. Be strong. Be clever,’ Lily heard her mother’s voice echo in her mind. She felt the cool Merrow pearl nestled against her skin, under the many layers of clothes. It always made her feel stronger.

‘How much further to the tower, do you think?’ begged Roana plaintively. ‘If it were not for your compass, Saxon, I would think we had been walking around in circles all day.’

‘We may well have been,’ Saxon complained, squatting down on his haunches. ‘It’s impossible to travel in a straight line, with snow drifts, and boulders, and crevices, and sheer cliffs. So we’ve been heading sort of north, but taken so many detours that the tower could be anywhere out there.’ Saxon swept the horizon with his arm. It was cold and bleak, with no recognisable features.

‘Let’s face it, we are completely lost,’ admitted Ethan dispiritedly. ‘These mountains all look the same.’

They sat for a few minutes searching the surrounding peaks for some clue as to where the Tower of Sun and Moon could be hidden. Their sweaty bodies were warm while they were moving but quickly chilled when they rested, so Lily was soon shivering, her teeth chattering, as the cold seeped up from the rock through her whole body. She willed herself to get up and start moving again, but she was simply too tired.

Aisha pricked her ears, then growled low and deep in her throat. She turned back the way they had come, her hackles raised, then bounded off barking sharply.

Ethan jumped up to follow her, his bow strung and arrow nocked. Saxon drew his sword and followed. A large pale golden dog appeared around the bend in the path, barking loudly. He was a good twenty centimetres taller than Aisha, with his tail aloft and his ears pricked. Aisha sniffed him carefully, her tail cautiously wagging, then dropped down into a crouch like a puppy ready to play. The male dog sniffed her in return, then wagged happily, licking Aisha gently on the nose.

Saxon and Ethan lowered their weapons, staring in wonder. Where had this magnificent golden dog appeared from? And if there was a dog, were there people nearby as well?

This question was answered just a moment later when a boy stepped around the corner. He was shorter than Ethan, but looked about the same age. He was dressed in brown woollen leggings, with a suede fur-lined jacket and thick mittens, and a brightly coloured knitted hat over his black hair. His skin was tanned ruddy brown, with pale blue eyes, and a freckled snub nose. Strapped to his feet were snow shoes – an oval of netted twine with a curved wooden rim and upturned toes. In his left hand, he carried a couple of dead hares, while in his right he held a short, sharp dagger, which was currently pointed at Ethan.

‘Hello,’ called Ethan, in a friendly tone, his bow lowered but his muscles tensed for action. ‘Perhaps you can help us. I think we might be lost.’

The boy snorted in laughter. ‘That’s an understatement! It’s a wonder you haven’t killed yourselves.’ The boy lowered his dagger, and whistled gently. ‘Jonte, come.’

Jonte obediently left his doggy conversation with Aisha and came to sit by his master’s heels, his tongue lolling and his tail thumping the snow.

‘I was checking traps and found your tracks, back near the snow cave you stayed in during the storm,’ the boy explained, with a lilting accent. ‘The people of the snows don’t like strangers wandering in our lands, so I thought I would track you and find out what you are doing.’

The four children looked at each other quizzically. Ethan thought about the boy. He didn’t look very dangerous, despite his dagger, and they really needed help if they were going to find the Tower of Sun and Moon. Ethan decided to take a risk.

‘My name is Ethan, and this is my sister, Lily, and our friends Saxon and Rowan. We are trying to find the Tower of Sun and Moon in the mountains, but we lost the trail in the snow storm.’

The boy looked suspicious, and a trifle wary. ‘The Tower of Sun and Moon, as you call it, is that way.’ He waved away to the north-east. ‘But you can’t go there, the black ones are living there now. There were seven black crows, but now only two stay there.’

‘Black crows – you mean Sedahs?’ asked Lily eagerly.

The boy looked puzzled then nodded. ‘Strangers from the south. Not strangers like you, stranger strangers.’

‘And a child? Is there a boy as well? A blond boy about eight years old?’ begged Roana, tears glinting in her eyes.

The boy searched her face and nodded slowly.

‘Is he still there or did the Sedahs take him away again?’ demanded Roana urgently.

‘I have not seen a boy, but there is talk among my people that such a boy is still there in the tower.’

‘Thank the Moon Goddess,’ sobbed Roana, tears of relief dripping down her face. Lily came and hugged Roana.

‘The boy is his brother,’ explained Lily gently. ‘The Sedahs have stolen him and are keeping him prisoner. We have come to steal him back.’

The boy nodded once more, understanding and compassion shining in his face.

‘My name is Wilf. My people are staying yonder by the loch, about half an hour’s walk away. Come with me and we can try to help you.’

Wilf led the way back in the direction they had come, Jonte at his heels, and then down a narrow cleft the children had missed. The horses slid and slipped in the thick drifts of snow. Weariness was momentarily forgotten as hope sang in their hearts.

The cleft wound down, into a narrow, sheltered valley, with sheer walls of white snow and black rock. The children quickly realised that they would never have found a way down on their own. Wilf’s snow shoes gave him much better grip, spreading his weight over the netted base.

A wide frozen lake wound around much of the valley floor, its shore crusted with snow. Wilf strode along the lake’s edge, Jonte running on ahead. Soon they could smell the smoke of cooking fires, and other scents that made their stomachs grumble – roasting meat and baking bread and smoky coffee.

In the protected lee of the cliffs, near the frozen lake, were clustered a number of round, white domes. Spirals of grey smoke wafted from the top of the domes, while other camp fires crackled in the open centre of the camp. A fenced yard to the side held a herd of reindeer, while in another yard huddled a number of shaggy, tough ponies. Wooden sleds were parked by each dome, some covered with packages and boxes.

Tribal folk wandered out to watch the arrival of the bedraggled convoy of children and animals. One man strode out shouting furiously at Wilf in a guttural-sounding language. Wilf answered back defiantly in the same harsh tongue.

Lily stumbled in the snow, swaying with weariness. Roana moved to help her, although Roana’s own legs were trembling with exhaustion. Ethan watched the exchange between Wilf and the man, his heart sinking to his numb, frozen toes. Saxon’s hand hovered near his sword, ready to protect them if the need arose.

A short, round woman bustled out of one of the domes, her quick eyes assessing the situation. She hurried past the shouter, yelling at him in annoyance, to where the children were standing in the snow.

‘Come on in,’ she smiled welcomingly. ‘Don’t mind my husband, Jared, he is suspicious of strangers, especially since the black crows have come to the north. Come into our tent and share a meal with us. You are very welcome to share our hospitality.’

Jared snorted in disgust and stomped off towards the reindeer yards.

‘Go on,’ grinned Wilf. ‘I’ll look after the horses. They’ll be fine in the yard with the ponies. I’ll make sure they get a good meal.’

The four children shuffled into the white dome behind the woman, Lily carrying Charcoal in her arms. The dome was made of thick, white felt stretched over timber struts. Inside, a low fire glowed in the centre. The floor was strewn with woven rugs and cushions in rich reds, vibrant blues and deep forest greens.

The woman smiled once more. ‘My name is Leila. I am Wilf’s mother. Welcome to our home. Take a seat by the fire and I’ll find you some dry clothes and serve up some food.’

The children sank down by the fire on a pile of cushions, murmuring words of appreciation and soaking up the warmth and colour of the mountain tent. Wilf returned after a few moments with large golden Jonte. The hound flopped down on a soft pallet inside the door. Aisha lay down nearby, one ear cocked as always for danger.

Leila bustled around finding dry clothes, making hot milky coffee for everyone, then serving them large bowls of steaming stew with hunks of fresh bread. After days of blizzard, it was one of the best meals they had ever tasted. No-one spoke as they gobbled large bowls of the stew.

Leila served herself a smaller bowl and sat cross-legged by the fire. She seemed to realise they were all exhausted and did not press them to talk. After dinner, Leila and Wilf cleared away the empty bowls, ignoring the children’s offers to help.

‘Sleep now,’ murmured Leila. ‘Time enough to talk on the morrow.’

Obediently the four children rolled themselves in thick rugs by the fire and quickly fell asleep, warm for the first time in days.

Leaving Aisha and Jonte inside the door, on guard, Wilf and Leila withdrew outside to the roaring camp fires. Wilf told her and the rest of the tribe all that he had learned about the strangers, the black crows and the young boy imprisoned in the snowy tower. The mountain tribe folk discussed the dilemma back and forth, over and over. Wilf argued vehemently the case for his newfound protégés, while several tribesmen argued against him.

‘It is none of our concern. Our tribal gathering is in a few days. We have business of our own to worry about without interfering in the business of the south.’

‘There is talk that more of the black crows are heading north. In the south they have wrought much destruction, burning villages, stealing animals and crops, and taking slaves. The black crows will soon do the same here.’

‘We don’t have villages, and the snow lands will protect us. We can disappear into the mountains at the first sign of trouble.’

‘The first sign of trouble was when the black crows moved into the Tower of Snows.’

‘The spring thaws are on their way, so the snow will not protect us then. Summer is the time for us to enjoy the sunshine and grassy meadows, not flee into the high mountains.’

‘The black crows have stolen a child of the southerners. What if they start stealing our children? Who will help us then if we do not help now?’

‘We can protect ourselves against the black crows.’

‘How do you think we can defeat the black crows, when the southerners with all their weapons and ships and fortifications could not?’

‘The southern children are inexperienced in the snows,’ Leila cried. ‘They may well die without help. How will you feel when the spring thaws reveal their lifeless bodies?’

‘I will help the southerners,’ Wilf declared hotly. ‘I will guide them up the mountain to the tower and back again if no-one else cares to help.’

‘Well, there is no harm in letting the children travel with us to the north, to the tribal gathering,’ decided the clan chieftain. ‘It is closer to the tower, and we may learn something of the black crows from the other tribes. We can decide then what to do.’

The camp fire had dropped low, and the stars were blazing in the chilly air when the discussion faltered and the tribesfolk made their way to bed.

The children slept late the next morning, oblivious to the furore their visit had sparked. When at last they awoke it was well past dawn, and the rest of the dome village was long since about. Wilf came in to check on them, bringing in steaming cups of tea and hot buttered scones. They ate ravenously once more, feeling their strength and vitality return with the food, warmth and rest. Wilf sat and ate with them, sharing the information he had learnt.

‘The Tower of Snows, or the Tower of Sun and Moon as you call it, is about two days’ travel from here, along the base of this valley then up a mountain,’ Wilf explained. ‘It is a hard trek. Our people are travelling northwards to meet the other mountain tribes for our spring festival. My tribe discussed it last night, and believe you should travel north with us tomorrow. Then I can guide you up into the mountains, when the weather is suitable, to help you find your way. I can also teach you some snow craft as we travel.’

The others nodded, seeing the sense in the plan. Their travels of the last few days in the snow had made them more respectful of its dangers and travails. Plus it felt so wonderful to be warm and dry and well fed.

After breakfast, the children left Charcoal purring by the fire while they visited the horses. Nutmeg, Moonbeam, Toffee, Caramel and Mischief were huddled blissfully together with the smaller ponies, munching on sweet dry hay. The horses deserved a rest even more than the humans.

They followed Wilf down to the edge of the lake, with Jonte and Aisha trotting at their heels. Wilf had a bag slung over his shoulder, which he opened to reveal a pile of whittled bones and leather straps.

‘Lesson one. We’re going to strap these over our boots,’ Wilf explained. ‘Then I’m going to teach you to skate on the ice.’

Each one fastened a thin bone blade to the base of their boots, using the leather straps and steel buckles. Wilf led them out onto the thick grey ice of the frozen lake.

At first Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana were as clumsy as newborn colts, wobbling and slipping, falling with a heavy thump on their bottoms, sliding and waving their arms around, screaming and laughing, struggling back onto to their skates and trying again. Wilf was as graceful as a dancer, gliding and turning, skating and skimming and showing off.

‘This is really hard,’ panted Lily, rubbing her backside, which was feeling rather bruised.

‘It won’t take you long to get the hang of it,’ Wilf laughed. ‘Don’t try to walk, you kind of swing from side to side, transferring your weight from foot to foot and pushing away across the ice. Once you get in a rhythm it feels fantastic – like you’re flying.’

Lily was the first to get it, but soon all four were skating rhythmically with only the occasional tumble. At last Wilf was satisfied.

‘All right, that’s your first lesson concluded.’ Wilf smiled. ‘Now for something harder.’

The children changed their bone skates for snow shoes – the netted base that strapped onto the bottom of their boots. Then Wilf handed them each a pair of polished wooden planks that were carved into a rounded, upturned point at one end, and a pair of long wooden poles.

‘We’re climbing up that hill there,’ Wilf explained, ‘then we’re sliding down on these skis.’

Roana looked up at the steep slope of the hill ahead of them. ‘Sliding down?’ she asked incredulously. ‘How?’

‘I’ll show you,’ Wilf promised. ‘It’s like skating. It takes a little while to get the hang of it, but once you do, it is the best feeling in the world!’

The children puffed and panted as they climbed up the slope. The snow shoes made it much easier than wearing ordinary boots, but it was still hard work.

‘Is this not far enough?’ complained Roana, shifting the skis on her shoulder to a more comfortable position.

‘No,’ replied Wilf. ‘It is too steep here for beginners, the slope is gentler higher up.’

At last Wilf decided that the terrain was suitable for their first skiing lesson.

Skiing resulted in even more falls than the skating lesson, but at least the snow was deep and soft, unlike the rock-hard ice. All four children were fit, with a good sense of balance, but it was still difficult to get going. Wilf taught them to start off with the points of their skis pointed in together in a V shape, to slow them down. They wibbled and wobbled, zigzagging down the slope, falling over every few metres and struggling to clamber up out of the wet, clingy snow to try again.

After four hours, they were sliding a lot faster, turning closer together and travelling further before they fell again. They flew over the snow, swooping and gliding, filled with exhilaration. That evening when they trudged back to camp carrying the heavy skis and poles, their calves and thighs ached, their fingers were frozen and their knees creaked, but their hearts sang with happiness.

That night around the camp fire the tribes-people told stories of the mountain – of great heroes who had fought battles against snow giants and fierce ogres, of the wee folk, who sometimes spirited babies away, or tricked wanderers away from the path with eerie lanterns and enchanting music.

‘You must be careful of the trolls when you climb up into the mountains,’ warned an old woman, who seemed to be missing most of her teeth. ‘The trolls swoop out of the snow caves and trip innocent travellers. You’ll be tossed down a crevasse in no time if you don’t watch out.

‘Then there are the snow giants. Mostly you only see them in storms where they club each other to death. They throw boulders around wildly – their aim is terrible, but a whole mountain of snow can fall away when the snow giants are squabbling. If you’re in their path, well, you have no hope of surviving that avalanche of snow. Then there are the grey wolves of the mountain peaks. They’re mighty hungry at this time of year, after the long winter.’ The old woman pointed an arthritic, bony finger at Lily. ‘They’d rip a little girl like you to shreds in moments if they found you all alone on the mountain. Beware. Beware.’

‘Oh, auntie,’ Wilf interrupted politely. ‘The southerners will be fine – they’re with me. I won’t let snow giants or wolves harm them.’ Lily looked at slight Wilf and shivered with nerves.

Overhead a million stars blazed in a clear black sky. The waxing moon would not rise until after dawn, so the night was dark and full of mystery. Aisha snored gently, curled close to Jonte.

‘It will soon be late, and we have an early start tomorrow,’ Leila reminded them gently. ‘Perhaps it is best if you all go to sleep now.’

Lily gave a huge yawn in acknowledgement, which set everyone else yawning too. Sleepily they said their good nights at the fireside and scampered through the night cold to their blankets by the banked coals inside Wilf’s dome.

In Bryn, Sniffer visited all the inns asking after the children. At the Black Bear Inn he jingled his coins and asked his questions once more, only to receive the same reply – no-one had seen the southern children travelling north.

‘Well, I’ll have a room for the night, and a meal,’ ordered Sniffer, glancing around the cosy taproom, noting the roaring log fire and the big plates of beef stew set in front of the locals.

‘Sorry, we’re full,’ responded the innkeeper curtly, nodding to the door. ‘All out of food too. Shame about that.’

Sniffer growled in disgust and was inclined to argue, but one of the burly bargemen rose to his feet, glaring menacingly. Sniffer hurriedly decided to leave.

The baker sold him bread that was days old, stale and crumbly, and reiterated that there had been no sign of four children from the south. Sniffer ate the musty bread with distaste.

At last Sniffer discovered some news of his quarry. An impoverished tinker confirmed that he had seen four children, riding horses, heading to the north, towards the Silent Mountains. Sniffer handed over some coins and left the exhausted stolen gelding with the excited tinker.

Sniffer found the stables behind one of the inns, and chose a strong black stallion as a fresh mount. This time he was not so lucky. A burly farrier discovered Sniffer helping himself to the tack room.

‘Not so fast, you blasted Sedah thief,’ growled the farrier, gripping Sniffer in a vice-like grip. ‘Where do you think you are taking the master’s best horse?’

‘I wasn’t stealing it, I was simply borrowing it for a while,’ explained Sniffer, struggling in the farrier’s grip. The farrier gave Sniffer a hearty cuff over the ear. The blow left him with ringing ears and double vision.

The farrier dragged Sniffer to the street, struck him another huge blow across the head, then gave him a kick on the backside that sent him sprawling onto the cobbles.

‘Next time I see your snivelling face around here, you’ll get more than a gentle push with my boot,’ growled the farrier. ‘Get out of here before I call the magistrate and have you thrown into the town prison.’

Sniffer stumbled off, his head spinning and his pride and body badly bruised. Yet he was not to be deterred by this minor setback. At the next inn, he found another horse to be stolen, and continued his chase into the mountains.

In the gardener’s cottage of the Palace of Tira, Marnie and Queen Ashana were sitting with the ladies-in-waiting, endlessly sewing and embroidering. They were surrounded by swathes of blood-red silk and velvet.

‘How I hate the sight of this colour,’ moaned Queen Ashana, stabbing her needle through the material with resentment. She looked pale and wan, and her fingernails were bitten to the quick. ‘I feel we have done nothing except sew this dreadful gown forever.’

‘We are much better being busy here than languishing in those terrible dungeons, and at least it takes our mind off wherever the children may be and what dangers they may be facing,’ Marnie soothed.

Queen Ashana looked a little shamefaced to be complaining when Princess Roana, Lily, Ethan and Saxon were facing unknown perils.

A loud bugle cry sounded from outside. Queen Ashana winced and pulled a face at the others. Marnie immediately shook out the crimson velvet and began sewing industriously. Lord Lazlac swept into the cottage, preceded by his two bodyguards.

‘Good morning, ladies, good morning, Ashana, my dear,’ Lord Lazlac purred. ‘How does the wedding gown fare?’

‘Very well,’ smiled Queen Ashana painfully. She held up the cloth for inspection. Lord Lazlac frowned, staring at the metres of flowing fabric.

‘I thought it would be nearly finished by now,’ Lord Lazlac grimaced. ‘I am sure that you had completed more sewing when I saw the gown three days ago? What have you been doing!’

‘Sadly the seams were not perfect,’ Marnie replied, feigning distress. ‘Her majesty was not pleased with the work so we had to unpick all the seams and start again. It has only slowed work down by a few days. Naturally her majesty wishes the gown to be absolutely perfect.’

Lord Lazlac swore nastily.

Willem was feeling much stronger now after days of labouring on the temple site. His muscles still screamed every morning but the stiffness was less every day. Cookie made sure the prisoners had at least one good meal a day, and they often found something delicious and nutritious hidden inside their slabs of bread.

Outwardly, Cookie was careful to treat all the prisoners the same, in a kindly but detached manner. She was careful not to talk to Willem every day, and to be as unobtrusive as possible. Cookie made sure that she spoke to plenty of other prisoners and allowed the guards to hear these innocuous conversations. ‘Hope you enjoy your lunch, laddie.’ ‘It’s a beautiful morning today, isn’t it? Although the Moonmother knows the kitchen garden could do with some rain.’ ‘Would you like another cup of water there, you surely look a wee parched?’ ‘Hot work for you lads out here.’

Yet every few days she would whisper an odd scrap of news to Willem. ‘The children found the sun and the moon and stars,’ Cookie murmured one day, while she bent doling water into his cup. ‘Friends are working in the woods and should come visiting soon,’ she whispered another day.

Not wanting to be noticed, Willem rarely answered, other than a murmured, ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ but he hugged the news inside like a much-loved treasure.

Cookie was always sure to report back to Marnie that Willem was still working on the site, that he looked healthier and stronger, that he was safe.

Governor Lazlac came to inspect the site each evening. The Garden of Sun and Moon was now a perfectly level patch of black-brown earth, with no sign of flowers, fountain, love seats, butterflies, bees, grass or paving.

Massive blocks of black basalt stone were delivered. Now the truly backbreaking work began – to shift, slide and heave the stone into place. To create foundations, floor, steps, walls and turrets from the fine, black rock. To fashion a soaring black temple to a foreign god. To make Governor Lazlac’s glorious dreams become a reality.

In the morning the children were woken by Leila shaking them. They could tell by the darkness in the tent that the sun had not yet risen. Yawning, stretching, muttering sleepily, the five children started to pack and help. Leila made tea, while Wilf, Saxon and Ethan dismantled the white felt dome. Lily and Roana bundled blankets, cushions, rugs and cooking utensils and carried them out to the sleds. Wilf’s father, Jared, packed the two sleds meticulously, obviously well practised at the task.

At last the sleds were ready. Lily and Roana groomed and saddled the five horses while Ethan and Saxon packed the saddle bags and packs. Wilf and his parents harnessed their own horses to the sleds. Wilf and Jonte were to herd the reindeer along the lake’s edge. At last the whole tribe was ready to go. The first sleds slid out across the snow with a hissing noise and a jingle of bells.

The ride was picturesque and companionable, with tribesfolk calling comments and greetings as they skated along on their skis, gliding effortlessly. Aisha enjoyed helping Wilf and Jonte herd the reindeer, barking and bossing the skittery animals. Every now and again, she ran back to check on Lily and Ethan, but she was loving the novelty of canine companionship and herding work.

Breakfast was eaten in the saddle – dried biscuits and smoked strips of reindeer meat with water from the water bottle, with a similar meal eaten at lunchtime. The cavalcade did not stop but meandered slowly and steadily along the valley floor. Children ran alongside the sleds to stretch their legs, climbed up on top of the sleds for a rest or a nap, or sat astride the shaggy, fat mountain ponies.

Leila had offered the children the opportunity to take turns riding on the sled if they needed to rest from the saddle, so all of them alternated throughout the day. It was relaxing to ride, cuddled down in furs and blankets and watching the scenery go by.

Towards dusk, the lead sleighs pulled over near a copse of trees. Children ran to gather firewood, while the adults all toiled to set up temporary shelters for the night – small tents of reindeer skin. Everyone was tired after the long day of travelling, so there was no storytelling, music or singing before bed, only a simple meal of chewy dried meat.

The next day was similar to the last. The children noticed that they were travelling deeper into the north, deeper into the snows, deeper into the wild. In the late afternoon, a shout went up. Lily, Saxon, Ethan and Roana trotted up to see what was happening. The forward scouts had spied the smoke of the camp at the tribal gathering.

Everyone sat up straighter, and the horses started to jog in anticipation.

This camp was much bigger than the one they had just left, with about eighty white domes set up already. The gathering was for all nine mountain tribes to celebrate the slow coming of spring, the receding of the snows and the growing strength of the sun. The camp looked quite orderly from a distance, with the sparkling white domes set up neatly in tribal groups, a huge communal circle cleared in the centre and the animals tethered close to their owners’ domes.

Closer to the camp, the sense of order disappeared, as children ducked and played, horses whinnied and pawed, reindeer startled and pranced, adults shouted and laughed, and dogs snuffled and barked. More domes were erected and organised, bonfires built, spits set up, games fields marked out. Cousins and old friends screamed, thumped and hugged. Children were pinched and squeezed, young men ogled and swaggered, maidens flirted and flounced, papas glowered and frowned, mamas nudged and chattered.

As Wilf’s tribe jogged into the camp, dozens of people came to help unpack, set up, greet and gossip. Roana, Ethan, Lily and Saxon felt self-conscious and out of place in their southern garb, on their tall, rangy hunters. Aisha crept through the throng, tail between her legs, ears down and eyebrows twitching.

Leila and Wilf nudged the children forward and guided them through the camp. They could feel curious stares on their backs. They could hear a ripple of whispers following them as the news of their venture trickled through the crowd.

That night there was a huge celebration to welcome all the tribes, with feasting, music, dancing and much laughter. Huge bonfires were lit. Whole deer and pigs were roasted over the coals. Flutes, drums and pipes rang through the night. Children played hide and seek in the shadows, squealing and giggling, way past their bedtimes. Maidens and youths danced and flirted. The older folk drank ale and cherry wine, conversing and eating by the fires.

Roana, Saxon, Ethan and Lily joined in everything – playing, feasting, dancing and talking. They had overcome their initial shyness and were made to feel welcome by everyone they met. It was midnight when they finally crawled off to bed.

The next morning, Wilf woke them up with a platter of toast and honey and big bowls of milky coffee. Outside, the wind buffeted the sides of the tent.

‘I have good news and bad news,’ Wilf announced. ‘The bad news is that the weather seer says we should delay our journey up the mountain until the wind drops in a couple of days. The good news is that you can join in the tribal games.’

All the tribes joined together during the day to play games and sport.

The children had toboggan races down the foothills, accompanied by wild cheering and hat waving. There were ski races, sled races and ice skating races, ski jumps and huge snowball fights.

Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana were encouraged to join in the ice skating, tobogganing and skiing. They fell over lots, and laughed along with everyone else when they landed hard on their bottoms again. The only activity where they were not hampered by their lack of experience was the snowball fights. They packed big cannon balls of cold, wet snow and flung them with deadly accuracy, causing shrieks of laughter and dismay from their victims.

‘Got you,’ screamed Saxon, leaping with delight, as one of his snowballs smashed square on someone’s nose. A return missile hit Saxon on the ear, disintegrating inside his collar.

Lunch was another social affair. Men barbequed sausages, ribs and steaks, which were handed around to everyone on round, flat bread. The four children wandered around the camp, licking their fingers, and chewing on sausage sandwiches. Aisha joined the other dogs by the fire to clean up the bones and scraps.

The biggest event of the day was a game called stickball, played in the afternoon on a big field that had been levelled and cleared of snow. It used a small leather ball, stuffed with straw, which was dyed bright scarlet so it showed up against the snow and mud. The tribes gathered on the sidelines, sitting on stools and blankets.

‘Each team is made up of the five best riders and horses from a tribe,’ Wilf explained. ‘The riders have to get the ball to their own base and shoot it through the goal posts. Each rider carries a long-handled net to scoop the ball up and throw to the other players on the team. There are four riders on the field and one who guards the goal posts to stop the other team from scoring. It is our favourite sport because it requires speed, agility and bravery from the horses, and superb riding skills, accuracy and courage from the riders. Wait until you see a game!’

The game was very exciting. Each team was identified by the colour of the wool plaited into the ponies’ manes and tails, and the colour of the jerkins worn by the rider. The shaggy, sturdy ponies galloped from one end of the field to the other, sending clods of muddy snow flying up with their hooves. Horses wheeled on their hind legs, turning on the spot. Riders battled for the ball, holding their reins in one hand, wielding their nets like weapons. One would knock the ball out of the opponents’ net, then scoop it up with their own, spinning around, racing for the far end of the field. Team members would block opponents from reaching the ball using their horses’ bodies. Ponies frequently crashed into each other and once nearly barrelled into the crowd.

It was terrifying, exhilarating and nerve-racking. The children found themselves screaming encouragement when a pony galloped away with the ball, and groaning in disappointment when the ball was lost.

‘It is amazing no-one has been badly hurt,’ whispered Roana, covering her eyes as two ponies crashed together, vying for the ball.

‘Those ponies are fantastic,’ added Ethan, wishing his father were here to appreciate the perfect accord between the horses and their riders.

‘There is occasionally a nasty fall, but no-one has ever been killed,’ Wilf explained matter-of-factly. ‘Most of the riders are too experienced for such accidents. I’m riding for our tribe tomorrow – I just can’t wait. I’ve been practising for weeks.’

‘It looks like so much fun,’ said Ethan wistfully. ‘I’d love to have a go.’

‘Would you?’ asked Wilf, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

After the first match was finished the children went to watch Wilf limber up on his pony. The pony was dappled grey, strong and sturdy, with green wool plaited into his mane and tail. Ethan watched carefully as Wilf scooped up the ball with a flick of his wrist then hurled it at his makeshift goal.

‘Do you want to try?’ asked Wilf, noting Ethan’s assessing gaze. Wilf jumped down from his pony, and showed the children how to wield the net, how to flick the ball to free it from the net and how to knock it free from an opponents’ net. Wilf gathered up a net for each of them so they could try. They had a mock match, running on their own two legs instead of riding, passing the ball to each other and aiming for the goal.

It was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Wilf coached them continuously, pointing out errors, tactics and hints, until they could pass, intercept and score with some proficiency.

That night they were all sitting by the fire, listening to an old woman telling hair-raising stories of snow trolls stealing babies from their mothers’ arms for their midsummer feasts. Wilf wriggled in between them, smiling conspiratorially.

‘I’ve organised it,’ he bragged.

‘Organised what?’ asked Saxon.

‘For you to play stickball tomorrow,’ Wilf announced. ‘In the youth tournament. With you four and me, we have enough for an extra team.’

‘Play in the tournament!’ exclaimed Ethan, grinning in delight. ‘Fantastic!’

‘Play stickball!’ retorted Lily in dismay. ‘What if one of us gets hurt? We have to climb up to the tower in a couple of days. We can’t do that if one of us has a broken leg! Or what if one of the horses was injured?’

‘Oh, come on, Lily,’ urged Ethan. ‘Don’t be a wet blanket! It will be exciting. We won’t get hurt. We’re all excellent riders, and the horses are fit. We don’t have to play like maniacs, just to have fun.’

‘It does look like fun,’ Saxon encouraged, ‘and it would be nice to try something we can actually do. I’m sick of these mountain folk laughing at me every time I slip on my backside. They think we’re a bunch of hopeless southerners!’

Everyone was silent for a moment as they thought over the idea.

‘We have not even tried playing on a real horse,’ Roana objected.

‘I thought about that,’ Wilf whispered. ‘We’ll get up early tomorrow and sneak off back down the valley a couple of kilometres, where we can practise without anyone seeing us. Come on, let’s just try it!’

‘All right then,’ Lily decided. ‘But at the first sign of it getting too dangerous, we pull out – agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ chorused the others.

They rejoined the festivities. Saxon began to entertain some of the other children, telling some of his favourite jokes and riddles. Soon all the adults were listening in too, trying to guess the answers.

‘There are two farmers sitting under a tree. One farmer is the son of the first farmer, but the first farmer is not the father of the second. How can this be?’ Saxon asked.

Foreheads were wrinkled, chins were rubbed and possible answers whispered back and forth.

‘It’s impossible,’ declared one older tribesman.

‘It’s a trick,’ another stated.

‘No,’ Saxon retorted. ‘The first farmer is his mother!’

He offered another riddle. ‘It is impossible to hold it for an hour, yet weighs nothing at all. What could it be?’

‘It couldn’t be feathers … perhaps water in your hand?’

‘No, water weighs something, and some would be left. What could it be?’

‘Come on, tell us, southerner. Is it snow?’

‘No, it’s your breath!’ roared Saxon, expelling a loud breath as he did it. ‘You know, you can’t hold your breath for an hour or you’d die, and it weighs nothing at all.’

The tribesfolk all collapsed in laughter, bemused by Saxon’s ridiculous jokes.

In Tira, Lord Lazlac burst into the gardener’s cottage, where Marnie and Queen Ashana were unpicking yet another seam of crimson velvet that they had just decided was not quite perfect. Two soldiers marched behind him, dragging another tall, dark-haired man, who was bleeding profusely from a cut over his eyebrow.

‘Willem,’ screamed Marnie, rushing to her injured husband. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’ Willem lifted his head and smiled reassuringly at Marnie to show he was still alive. His face was puffy and bruised, with one eye nearly swollen shut. Queen Ashana gasped in shock.

‘My dear,’ soothed Lord Lazlac. ‘Your poor friend here suffered an unfortunate accident while working on my temple. I just wanted to bring him to you to remind you that we will be married in two weeks, and I want that dress finished, perfect seams or no perfect seams. It seems to me that you all needed a little encouragement with your sewing. If there are any more delays, your friend here might just suffer another more serious accident.’

Marnie froze, her face a mask of shock and horror. Queen Ashana smiled thinly.

‘Of course the gown will be completed in time,’ she assured him. ‘We merely desired to ensure the gown was as stunning as your gorgeous design. Did we not, Marnie?’

Marnie nodded slowly, her eyes communicating wordlessly and frantically with her husband.

‘Good,’ Lord Lazlac purred. ‘The priests should arrive in a few days, the invitations have been delivered and preparations have begun for the feast. I don’t want any more delays.’

Queen Ashana forced a smile, picking up her needle and thread to show her compliance.

‘Take the prisoner back to the work site,’ instructed Lord Lazlac.

‘Please, may I tend to my husband’s wounds first?’ begged Marnie.

‘Certainly not,’ responded Lord Lazlac. ‘We have wasted enough time on him already. Get back to your work.’

Willem tried to stand on his own feet, to show Marnie he was not too badly hurt. The guards shoved him and dragged him roughly away, with Governor Lazlac following.

Queen Ashana and Marnie started sewing frantically.

‘Where are the children?’ wondered Marnie. ‘When will they be back?’

Early the next morning, the horses were groomed, saddled and bridled before most of the camp was awake. Mischief whinnied in distress as she was left behind with the mountain ponies in the yard. The children skirted the lake back to the south, crunching on crumbly biscuits and dried fruit. Wilf found a flat area, where the snow was light on the ground.

He opened a rolled blanket where he had hidden the long nets, ball and bandages. The bandages were wound around the horses’ fetlocks to protect them from gashes and strains.

When all was ready they started to play, two to a side with one as the goal keeper. It was fun. The sun bathed the valley in a golden glow, shimmering and glittering on the white snow banks. The sky soared overhead, deep blue and clear. Up on the mountain tops they could see wind whipping crystals of snow into the air, forming misty dancing clouds, but down in the valley it was sheltered and warm.

The horses skittered and twirled, enjoying learning the new skills, turning on a gold crescent, galloping, stopping, turning, barging and blocking. The air was cold and clear, full of invigorating oxygen and fresh clean smells. Birds soared overhead, twittering and chirping. All the children rode as though they were part of their horses, communicating moves as fast as thought waves.

While they had never played stickball before, they had many other skills that helped them learn quickly – riding, balance, quick reflexes, athleticism, accuracy and courage. By the end of the morning session, they were quite competent.

Wilf nodded his head. ‘I think we are ready to play.’ They walked the horses gently back to camp, rubbed them down and gave them a good feed. Then the children sat and watched another couple of games of stickball. They appreciated watching the skill of the riders even more, now that they had learned how to play.

After a couple of hours Wilf nudged the others.

‘It’s time to get ready,’ he whispered. ‘We need to bandage the horses’ fetlocks, and plait their manes and tails. And I have borrowed some vests for us to wear.’

There was a mutter of interest and surprise as Saxon, Ethan, Roana, Lily and Wilf rode their horses onto the field, wearing their sky-blue jerkins. All of them felt their stomachs contract with nerves. The horses felt the excitement, prancing and cavorting, arching their necks proudly and flagging their plaited tails.

The opposing team rode their ponies onto the field, their manes and tails plaited with crimson wool. A shout of encouragement went up from the crowd and a slow chant rumbled up: ‘Snow Wolves, Snow Wolves, Snow Wolves.’ The opposing team saluted the welcome by galloping around the field, their nets raised above their heads on the long stick handles.

Lily fumbled her net and dropped it into the mud. A snigger of laughter rippled around the field, and Lily’s face flamed as she slid off Nutmeg to retrieve her net. The referee waited until Lily had remounted before striking his bell to start the game.

The scarlet ball was tossed into the centre of the field. One of their opponents galloped down the field, circling around the ball before scooping it up, just to show off, and galloped back towards the northern goal post. Wilf, Ethan and Lily galloped after him, sending clods of snow flying in the air. Wilf barged the other pony, deftly knocking the ball out of the net, then scooping it up in his own. He leant so far out of his saddle when reaching for the ball that Roana felt sure he would fall to the ground.

In a second he was up, triumphantly bearing the scarlet ball. His pony spun on his haunches, then nimbly galloped the other way, dodging the opposition ponies. Saxon and Ethan were on his tail, blocking the attacking horses with warlike whoops. Before Wilf could aim for the southern goals, he was attacked with a vicious swipe from a stick, the ball stolen away.

‘Watch out, southerners,’ jeered one of the opposition. ‘Did Wilf forget your leading reins?’

‘Come on, southerners, you are supposed to catch the ball, not bounce it! What sort of overgrown cows are you riding anyway?’

‘Ignore them,’ cautioned Wilf. ‘Taunting is one of their tactics to make you angry and careless.’

At first Roana was nervous, skirting the action. Then the adrenalin kicked in and she was riding in the thick of the game, blocking, barging, rearing, crashing, passing, scooping and pitching with the others. The opposition were arrogant, cocky and contemptuous, but they soon gave up taunting the southerners, as they realised they really could ride well. For long minutes no-one scored, the ball racing up and down the field furiously, then the Snow Wolves pitched the ball over Saxon’s head, to fly through the goal posts. The Snow Wolves cheered and jeered, galloping around the field with their fists raised triumphantly.

Wilf was a skilled blocker, and he saved several potential goals by a pony’s whisker, causing the Snow Wolves to curse in frustration. However, when the half-time bell rang, the Snow Wolves were still leading by one goal to nil. At half time, the teams changed direction, so they were aiming for the opposite goal posts.

The bell sounded, the ball was flung into the centre once more and play resumed. Ethan nimbly cut in front of a Snow Wolf, heading off the smaller pony. He scooped the ball, wheeled around and Toffee was off, racing like the wind. Saxon cut off an opponent chasing him down. Another Snow Wolf swung in from the side. Ethan passed the ball to Wilf, who ducked around the milling confusion of horseflesh and cantered for the goal posts with Lily on his tail. A Snow Wolf rider cut in on Wilf so he passed the ball to Lily.

Lily deftly scooped the ball and galloped for the southern goal posts, straight for a Snow Wolf blocker. She swiftly swung the net around above her head a few times to build up momentum, then pitched it straight through the goal posts. A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

The Snow Wolves cursed and groaned, staring at Lily in disbelief. Ethan, Saxon, Roana and Wilf rode over, clapping Lily on the back and cheering in delight. All the players were concentrating keenly now. There was no more taunting or showing off from the Snow Wolves. Saxon saved another goal by deflecting the ball with his stick. Wilf nearly scored, but the ball smashed into the goal post, ricocheting off into the crowd.

With just a few minutes of play left, the Snow Wolves scored another goal, crashing the ball through the goals, taking them into the lead. The crowd cheered deafeningly, everyone excited about the tussle between mountain tribe and southerners. The scarlet ball was thrown into the centre one last time. A Snow Wolf scooped it up, nearly grazing the ground with his head. The pony wheeled and galloped off, long before his rider could regain the upright position. Roana and Saxon were right beside him, jostling and knocking. Roana jerked the ball out of the Snow Wolf’s net and scooped it up as it bounced away.

The sand in the hourglass trickled away, until there were only a few grains left. Roana passed the ball to Saxon as two ponies raced straight for her. Saxon saw a gap in the defence and raced for it, urging Caramel into a flat gallop down the outside. Ethan galloped down the other side to meet Saxon and defend him. A Snow Wolf beat him to it, barging into Caramel with a scream. Saxon sent the ball sailing over the Snow Wolf’s head, where Ethan caught it.

Still riding at a canter, Ethan swung the net above his head three times then pitched the ball straight for the goals. The ball sailed through just as the bell tolled for full time. Another goal scored by the southerners, making the game a tie. The cheers erupted as spectators ran onto the field, screaming and laughing. The horses stopped, sides panting and heaving, slick with sweat, with white foam frothing at their mouth. Their ears flicked back and forth as they snorted and pawed the ground. Lily and Ethan patted their horses’ necks, soothing them with their voices. Wilf cantered over and thumped them all on the back.

‘What a great game!’ Wilf exclaimed. ‘I didn’t hope for a tie. You all played superbly!’

The Snow Wolves rode over to offer their congratulations.

‘It’s rare to see young southerners who can ride like mountain tribes,’ growled one. ‘Most southerners do not have the mettle for mountain sports.’

The four children felt elated at their performance.

‘That was some of the best fun I’ve ever had,’ Ethan crowed. ‘Do you think we could introduce this game back home in Kenley?’

‘Why not?’ replied Saxon, grinning. ‘As long as you’re all on my team!’

The horses were walked up and down to cool off, then rubbed down and groomed, rugged up and fed armfuls of sweet dry hay in the yards.

That night there was much feasting, dancing, singing and laughing. Everyone was talking about the southerners tying with the Snow Wolves, and they received many accolades from the revelling mountain folk.

Dinner was large platters of roast pork, with strips of crunchy crackling and spicy apple sauce, with mounds of baked potatoes, pumpkin and cobs of corn. Wilf, Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan sat in a circle by the fire, sharing from a single platter, eating with their fingers. Aisha and Jonte lay beside them crunching on bones. The two dogs fell asleep, nose to nose, their paws entwined.

‘Look,’ giggled Roana. ‘Aisha and Jonte look like they’re holding paws.’ Aisha stirred at the sound of her name, her ear cocked and one eyebrow raised, but did not open her eyes.

‘At least her wound is recovering well with the extra rest,’ added Lily.

Leila came over to check on the children, bringing another helping of pork and apple sauce. ‘Lachlander, the Snow Wolf chief, wishes to see you all,’ Leila said. ‘I think he wishes to congratulate you on your stickball game today.’

Wilf looked perturbed. ‘The Snow Wolf chief is the head chief of the clan gathering this year. Each year, a different tribe holds the post. I wonder what he wants?’

‘Go along and you’ll soon find out,’ smiled Leila. ‘He won’t eat you.’

‘Given half a chance, I think he would,’ Wilf muttered.

The Snow Wolf chief was sitting around a separate bonfire with all the other chieftains, drinking ale and feasting.

‘Here they are,’ he boomed, chewing on a long rind of pork crackling. ‘The pesky southerners who shamed my young kinsmen.’ The other chieftains roared with laughter. ‘Well, you southerners certainly put on a good performance today, and you too, young Wilf. I am impressed by your bravery and skill. Not many youngsters, even among the mountain tribes, are skilled enough to ride in the stickball tournament.’

The children glowed with pride, murmuring their thanks.

The Snow Wolf chief stared at Roana quizzically.

‘The rumours I have heard are interesting,’ Lachlander continued. ‘I have heard that the black crows have imprisoned the young prince in the Tower of Snows, and that you four children are striving to rescue him. That you have travelled alone all the way from Tira, an epic journey in itself. I have heard rumours that make me think that you are not what you seem, and that you are, in fact, her royal highness Princess Roana, heir to the throne of Tiregian.’

A ripple of surprise echoed around the camp fire. Roana stiffened, then nodded gravely.

‘You are correct, sir, in everything you have surmised,’ Roana replied. ‘I am Princess Roana, and the Sedahs have imprisoned my brother, Prince Caspar, in the tower.’

‘Your father, the late king, would be very proud of you,’ Lachlander said. ‘I would like to offer you the help of the mountain tribes to rescue your brother. Wilf, tell us what you have planned already.’

The five children crowded closer, thrilled by the chief’s offer and eager to hear more.

Wilf briefly outlined his plans to take the four southerners up into the mountains on foot, behind the Tower of Snows, to spy on the Sedahs.

‘The five of us will climb up over the back of the mountain, from the east, wearing white hunting furs to camouflage us in the snow,’ Wilf explained. ‘The priests are more likely to be watching the track that comes from the west. We will watch the tower from behind, to see what we can learn about the black crow priests, and try to work out a way to get into the tower and help Roana’s brother escape.’ He glanced at Roana and she nodded, her face serious.

‘We will take two toboggans with us,’ Wilf continued. ‘So when we rescue him, we can escape quickly back down the mountain. It will take us more than a day to climb up to the tower, but we should hurtle down the mountain in no time.’

A murmur of interest rippled around the listening chieftains.

‘A good plan,’ agreed Lachlander. ‘A small group of you in white furs should be inconspicuous, and you have excellent snow craft, I have heard, Wilf. Have you thought about how to help them escape back to the south, to the green lands?’

‘We will have their horses ready here, and they can ride back south the way they came,’ Wilf answered.

‘We plan to hire a barge in Bryn, which can carry us swiftly down the river, past Trowbridge to just upriver from the Jigadee Falls,’ added Ethan.

The Snow Wolf chief nodded sagely, as he analysed the plan. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘but I think I have a better solution – ice boats.’

‘Ice boats?’ asked Lily.

‘Some of my people will wait for you at the bottom of the mountain on the lake with ice boats,’ Lachlander explained, ‘Boats with a sharp bone keel designed to skate on ice, powered by sails. If the wind is fair you can fly down the lake over one hundred kilometres by ice boat, which should get you well away from the black crows and halfway to Bryn. We can send some of our best men to meet you at the end of the lake with your horses. Then the horses will be fresh and ready to carry you to the barges.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ replied Ethan.

‘Wilf can guide you to the edge of the snow lands,’ Lachlander added. ‘Then you are on your own again.’

Everyone was quiet for a moment, hoping against hope that they would, in fact, make it to the bottom of the mountain, let alone back to Bryn.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Roana. ‘We appreciate your help and concern. Anything you can do to help us on our quest would be gratefully appreciated.’

‘My weather seer says that tomorrow would be an auspicious day for your journey up the mountain,’ Lachlander continued. ‘My men will set off, leading your horses and supplies to Lightning Crevasse, where you will meet them in the next few days. Another group will take the ice boats to the bottom of the mountain below the Tower of Snows. Both groups will wait for you for three days. If you have not come then, we will send a search party for you.’

There was not much else to discuss, so they bowed to all the chieftains and set off to Wilf’s dome to talk, plan and sleep. Leila stayed up late preparing clothes, rugs and food. In the morning she kitted them out with white camouflage furs, snow shoes, warm fur gloves, packs of food and rugs. Each child was given a tightly fitting woollen cap of bright red and blue to wear under their white hoods.

‘The mountain tribe folk wear white furs for hunting expeditions, when we want to move invisibly through the snows,’ Wilf explained. ‘At other times, we wear brightly coloured garments so we are easy to find in the snow if we get lost or fall into a crevasse.’

Wilf found white leather socks for the two dogs to protect their paws from the cold and give them more traction in the snow. Then he dressed the dogs in white jackets that tied around their necks and bellies. Aisha shook herself in disgust, unaccustomed to the strange sensation of wearing clothes.

‘Jonte always wears these when we go on long expeditions,’ Wilf said. ‘They will be a bit big for Aisha, but I’ll lace them up tightly.’

The children packed their own belongings into the saddle bags and prepared the horses for their journey south. Charcoal was disgusted to be packed up in her wicker basket and strapped onto Mischief’s back for the journey south. Even Lily agreed that it was best to leave Charcoal behind – the mountain was no place for a black and white cat.

In the empty taproom of the White Horse Inn, Cookie, Albert and Fox were having a hurried conversation. Mia sat on the table, meticulously eating slices of dried golden pear with her wrinkled fingers.

‘The Sedah priests have arrived from the north,’ Cookie whispered. ‘Lord Lazlac has given orders for the final preparations for the wedding and coronation ceremonies, and I am flat out preparing the feast. He wants twenty different courses!’

Albert drummed his fingers on the table.

‘We can’t wait any longer,’ Albert exclaimed. ‘We must start bringing the rebels closer to Tira. My sources tell me that the rebels are training quite well now, although they are short of weapons. Most of them are farmers and fisherfolk who have never held a sword or a bow in their lives. They are probably no match for the experienced Sedah soldiers, but if we have surprise on our side …’

‘The queen is adamant that she does not want a rebel attack while the Sedahs hold Prince Caspar,’ Cookie argued. ‘She told me to remind you that you and all the rebel forces are still under her command, and she orders you to obey her.’

Fox shrugged impatiently. He was not used to taking orders from anyone else. Mia gibbered and chatted her contribution, waving her sticky brown paws.

‘While the queen orders us not to attack, there is no harm in preparing for it,’ Fox retorted, stroking Mia’s head. ‘If, by some miracle, the children find Prince Caspar and bring him back to Tira, we must be ready.’

Albert nodded. ‘Perhaps it would be best, Fox, if you went to the rebel camp and supervised the final training,’ he suggested. ‘I know of no better person to advise them on fighting and stealth strategies.’

Fox laughed in acknowledgement. As a smuggler he was an excellent swordsman and archer, as well as an expert in travelling secretly.

‘Happily,’ Fox agreed. ‘I’m growing tired of plotting and planning with you, Albert. It’d be good to have a sword in my hand once more.’

‘We can bring the rebel forces to the forests closer to Tira, just in case,’ Albert decided, ignoring Fox’s jibe. ‘I will brief my spy network so everything is ready. Cookie – you must reassure the queen we are doing all we can, but that we will not attack while Prince Caspar is in danger.’

Cookie nodded, her round face crinkled with worry.

‘Let’s get moving, then,’ suggested Fox, scooping Mia up onto his shoulder and buckling on his sword.

Cookie and Albert rose too, their minds whirring with plans and lists of things to do. The forced royal wedding was looming perilously close.

When the laden horses had been led away, the five children donned their snow shoes and set off to trek up into the mountains, guided by Wilf and Jonte. The ascent was long, steep and tiring. Even with the snow shoes, they slipped and skidded and slid, falling frequently.

At first, they enjoyed the ascent, watching the landscape, the birds, the tiny animals venturing out into the icy white world. Deep footprints in the snow gave them clues to the creatures living in the snow lands – tiny claw marks, gentle scuffs, and large dangerous-looking pawprints of wolves.

As the morning wore on, tiredness set in and the muscles began to flag. In the middle of the day – when they were only halfway up the mountain – the sun softened the snow, making it even harder to climb. They each took it in turn to drag the two toboggans, the sleds leaving deep tracks in the snow.

‘Let’s hope our friend Sniffer isn’t following us,’ Ethan joked. ‘He’d have no trouble following our trail.’

‘Don’t,’ shivered Lily, glancing back over her shoulder at the deep tracks behind them. ‘Let’s hope Sniffer is far behind us.’

Slowly, gradually, the ascent began to be a trial of muscles, willpower, breath and exhaustion. Progress was made in millimetres. Wilf alone was used to climbing in the snow. He cajoled them forward with merry tales, songs and words of encouragement. Rest breaks were required more and more frequently.

Aisha and Jonte struggled in the snow with no snow shoes. Their thin, wiry legs sank deep in the snow, tiring them with the effort of climbing higher up the steep slope. Wilf began to worry about the many dangers of the mountain – snow trolls, avalanches, crevasses, snow giants, and the black crows who awaited them at the tower.

As the children clambered along a narrow game track, Roana slipped and slid off the track on her side, her body hurtling down the steep slope at startling speed. Roana screamed loudly, then fell over the lip of a cliff three metres below, down and out of sight. The scream was cut horribly, frighteningly short.

‘Roana,’ screamed Lily. ‘Roana.’

The silence was eerie.

‘Roana,’ yelled Ethan. ‘Are you all right?’

There was no reply. Aisha barked a warning out over the valley. It echoed into the silence. Wilf pulled out a rope from his toboggan and unwound it. He tied one end of the rope to a gnarled dead tree root protruding from the bank, and the other to his waist. Saxon went to help him, double testing the knots.

‘I’ll climb down to the top of the cliff to see what I can see,’ Wilf stated calmly.

‘Roana,’ shouted Lily, her heart plummeting to the valley floor. ‘Where are you?’

A faint groan sounded from below the cliff top.

‘I heard her,’ cried Ethan, scrambling to the edge.

Together Ethan, Saxon and Lily lowered Wilf down over the cliff edge.

‘I see her,’ Wilf called back. ‘She is only a few metres below me, caught on a branch buried in snow. Roana, can you hear me?’

‘I am all right,’ she muttered, clinging desperately to her slender life-saver. Below her the sheer cliff dropped over thirty metres, a certain death.

Wilf was slowly lowered down to the tree branch on the rope. Here he gingerly wedged himself on the stronger tree trunk so he did not snap the delicate-looking branch with his weight. He untied the rope from his own waist and knotted it around Roana’s. Now they could both give a sigh of relief.

‘Heave her up,’ yelled Wilf to the others up on the path. Slowly and carefully Roana was hauled up the cliff face, over the lip, up the slope and back onto the path, where she collapsed heavily on the ground. There was no time to check Roana. The rope was untied and slithered back down the cliff to Wilf, still perched precariously in the tree. In a few moments he was dragged back up the cliff, and they were all safe once more on the path, scared and shaken.

After that Wilf made sure all the children were securely tied together with a long rope. He even tied Aisha and Jonte’s collars on separate ropes, knotted to the main rope.

The sun began to set in a blaze of golds, pinks and violets, firing the snow with colour.

‘We should make a camp for the night,’ Wilf instructed. ‘I had hoped to reach the summit by dusk, but we were slower than I anticipated. We will just have to camp here below this ridge, which might give us a little protection.’

Wilf directed operations, sending the girls to collect firewood, still tied together with ropes around their waists, while the boys set up the round white felt dome that Wilf had brought on the toboggan. It was securely fastened with long iron pegs that reached down through the snow to the hard earth below. An overlapping flap protected the entrance to the tent.

Soon they had a cosy shelter. The flames of the small fire burned merrily, dispelling the enormity of that huge mountainside. The children dined on biscuits and water, which they shared with the two dogs. Jonte looked crestfallen at this meagre meal.

‘You know there are sea shells on the summit of these mountains,’ Wilf said. ‘You can find them in high summer. Once upon a time these mountains were at the bottom of the sea. The legend is that the snow giants battled and fought so long and hard that the very ground shook and heaved, until it bulged into a huge mountain range, which would forever be covered in snow.’

Looking out at the lonely mountain, it was hard to imagine it had once been under the sea. It was much easier to imagine snow giants rampaging over the land than fish and whales swimming over it. They shivered together in a huddle of dogs and children and rugs and furs, trying to keep warm and sleep.

In the middle of the night, Ethan was woken by a sniffing sound. He sat straight upright, his heart in his mouth. Something brushed against the side of the soft felt dome, bulging the side inwards. Ethan did not dare to breathe.

Saxon woke too as a warm body brushed past his on the outside of the tent. He moved away hurriedly to the centre where Lily and Roana slept, waking them with his sudden movement. Soon all five, with Jonte and Aisha, were sitting upright, listening to the sounds of the body moving around and around their tent.

They could feel warm breath brushing the outside of the felt. They could hear deep rhythmic breathing and the odd snuffle of a scent drawn deep into the lungs. There was a soft crunching of the icy snow outside and a gentle brushing of body or bodies on felt.

A loud bellowing roar froze their hearts and sank their stomachs. The five children huddled together in the centre of the dome, as far from the rounded sides as they could manage. Aisha shivered and cuddled closer, with Jonte beside her, his eyes wide and ears pricked. Wilf and Ethan kept their hands on the dogs’ necks to keep them still.

Wilf listened carefully, analysing the movement and sound.

‘It’s not wolves,’ he whispered. ‘It could be snow lions. Don’t move. Don’t make a noise. If we stay still they won’t breach the dome.’

The children stayed frozen – their ears keen, their eyes trying to pierce through the gloom, their hearts pounding and tongues dry. There was a frenzied tearing noise outside the flap. The creatures sounded as though they were bickering over something.

The creatures circled and sniffed and squabbled for what seemed like hours. Lily’s head lolled in exhaustion. Aisha relaxed and went to sleep. Ethan and Saxon started to rock precariously in their fatigue. Roana breathed deeply and quickly, her hand fiddling incessantly with her amethyst locket. Wilf alone sat still and upright, his eyes following the vague shadows on the dome wall. At last the bodies seemed to go away and the noise stilled.

‘Thank the Moon Goddess,’ moaned Roana, collapsing flat on her back. ‘I thought they would stay all nigh–’

A loud roar rent the darkness. A heavy paw struck the tent, its claws scratching fine tears in the felt. Aisha woke immediately, barking furiously. She ran to the dome flap, her hackles and one paw raised. Jonte rose beside her, echoing her bark and stance. Lily smothered a shriek, stuffing her fists to her mouth.

Another paw struck the dome, sending it shuddering to one side.

‘We are discovered,’ whispered Wilf furiously, drawing his dagger. He rose to a crouch and crept to the flap, warning the dogs to stay quiet. Ethan rose behind him, carefully stringing his bow and nocking an arrow. As Wilf drew back the flap, the dogs surged forward, their noses twitching and their ears pricked. At the dome entrance Wilf stepped over a mangled mass of skin and cold liquid.

Roana slid back the glass shade and lit the lantern with the tinderbox, warming the dome with a cozy red glow. The four children all reluctantly followed Wilf out into the snow.

‘My water bottle,’ Lily whispered, glancing at the remains of her torn leather flask.

‘The snow lions,’ breathed Ethan, staring mesmerised at the shadowy beasts lurking just beyond the range of the lantern light. A deep snarl reverberated, along with the menacing swipe of a lashing tail. There were two lions – a male and a female. The male had a massive ruff of shaggy white fur, framing his broad face and tawny eyes. The female was a slighter build, her fur thick and white, without a mane. The two animals stared inquisitively at the children, their tails lashing slowly. The male shook his mane, ruffling it to full size, and crouched large and menacing, ready to pounce. The female moved forward slowly and cautiously.

‘Whatever happens, don’t run,’ warned Wilf quietly, clutching his dagger tightly. ‘They may rush us, but they shouldn’t attack if we stay firm.’

‘You said they would not breach the dome,’ whispered Roana fiercely.

‘I told you not to move,’ retorted Wilf over his shoulder. The tail lashed more violently. Roana stepped back hurriedly. ‘Don’t move!’ reiterated Wilf urgently.

The female bounded forward, tawny eyes glowing and white fur shimmering indistinctly against the snow. Roana breathed deeply in fear, but did not move. Aisha bounded forward in retaliation, barking deeply in her throat. The feline shadow paused, then glissaded through the air, roaring in return. Aisha leapt forward then feinted back, narrowly missing a razor-sharp claw. Jonte followed, barking and feinting. The shadow paused, confused by this sudden onslaught. She lashed out viciously at Aisha, claws extended, ready to kill. Aisha leapt back daintily. Ethan’s heart pounded, seeing how close the claws had come to his beloved dog. He pulled back the string on his bow and took aim, fear fighting his admiration for this formidable yet magnificent enemy.

The two snow lions registered the two fierce dogs, and the crowd of humans armed and determined, and stopped. The two shadows snuffled the wind, turned and evaporated into the darkness. The children slumped with relief.

‘They’re gone,’ announced Wilf, dropping his dagger to his side.

‘Good girl, Aisha,’ grinned Lily, patting Aisha’s head vigorously. ‘You were so brave.’

‘You too, Jonte,’ agreed Roana, rubbing Jonte between the ears.

‘Let’s get some sleep,’ added Ethan. ‘This has been far too much action for one night.’

They all returned to the dome, now slightly lopsided and a little torn on one side, and were soon fast asleep. At sunrise the next morning, they stirred and broke camp, eager to reach the tower.

When they looked out, they realised that the summit of the mountain was surrounded by a sea of cloud. The sun shone down above the clouds, bathing the peak in gold and pink, and shimmering on the seething, mist below. It was an eerie outlook, as though the world below the mist had completely disappeared, leaving them alone in a tiny white world shrunk to the size of the jagged mountain peak. Golden eagles wheeled above their heads searching for prey. One dived suddenly, spiralling down, plummeting to earth, then slowly rose, struggling with the weight of some hapless prey.

Within an hour they had reached the summit. From above they could see the Tower of Snows, or the Tower of Sun and Moon, tucked just below the summit on the south-eastern side.

‘Now we have to move carefully,’ Wilf ordered. ‘They are unlikely to be watching the eastern summit but, just in case, we need to be completely silent and hidden. We will watch the tower from here, then move gradually downhill. We will keep watching the tower in case we can learn anything.’

The other children nodded. The tower below was a magnificent building. It was not just one tower, but a rectangular building with several turreted roofs, crowned by a taller main bell tower in the centre. It was really a small castle, fortified by the treacherous terrain and the snows that guarded the tower for half the year. Looking below, there was no sign of the spring thaw that was apparent further down the valley. The snow looked ready to stay for months.

Well beneath the tower they could see the glistening grey of the frozen lake, spreading across the valley floor. The children clambered down slowly and silently, until they came to a small copse of trees behind the tower. In their white furs, hoods and gloves, they melted into the snowy background. Here they sat and waited silently, one hand on the dogs’ backs to stop them from moving or barking.

The tower stood silent and forlorn, with deep snow drifts banked up about its base. The main entrance faced down to the valley, but at the rear of the tower were a couple of small doors. One of these had a smudge of footprints leading from the tower to an outbuilding set back against the mountainside.

They watched and waited for about half an hour.

‘We should go and check it out,’ suggested Ethan, in a low whisper. ‘Saxon and I can go while you three stay here with the dogs.’

There was some whispered disagreement as to who should go and who should stay, but Ethan insisted that Roana should stay safely in the copse until they had assessed the situation, and Wilf needed to keep Jonte out of sight with Aisha and Lily.

Saxon and Ethan crept from their hiding place, keeping the white fur hoods pulled low over their faces. They checked the tower’s back door, which was securely locked. Next they examined the outbuilding. This was unlocked and seemed to be a combined storehouse and barn. There was a coop for chickens and stalls where animals had recently been kept. Ethan guessed this was where the donkeys they had seen the priests riding had been stabled. There were bales of hay and sacks of grain, and a couple of toboggans hanging on the wall.

‘It would be a good idea to disable these toboggans,’ whispered Ethan. ‘We don’t want anyone following us on them.’

Saxon nodded. They found a couple of chisels on a workbench and carefully prised the toboggan runners away from the wooden struts on the base.

When they discovered nothing else of interest, they returned to the others hiding under the trees.

After an hour of cold, long waiting there was a sudden noise that whipped across the ice like a branch snapping. Everyone froze. It was the sound of a bolt being drawn back. Everyone sank deeper into the shadows. The back door creaked rustily, and opened out over the snow.

‘Let’s go,’ whispered Ethan. ‘We’ll see you soon, Wilf.’

Fox arrived at the rebel camp in the forest with a secret document, signed by Queen Ashana, appointing him as chief trainer of the rebel forces. He found a force of two hundred men – all keen but mostly inexperienced and rather disorganised. They had been training daily for weeks, but were woefully short on weapons. Most were training with swords made of timber, or with pitchforks and clubs.

Fox sent out raiding parties into the countryside to beg, borrow and steal iron implements – pitchforks, ploughs, scythes, even horseshoes. George the blacksmith built a makeshift forge in the camp, where the iron could be melted down and reworked into weapons – swords, arrow heads, spears and daggers. Fox scoured the countryside using his ingenuity and battle experience to find alternative weapons – anything that might be used to confuse, terrify, injure or bamboozle the enemy.

He set teams of rebels, men, women and children, to work on preparations – collecting timber for the forge fires, gathering raw materials that could be turned into weapons, gathering information, collecting food for the camp, making arrows and spears, carving bows, creating missiles.

The rebels set to work with a will, inspired by their new sense of direction and purpose. Fox taught teams of rebels to move quietly and unobtrusively, using shadows and natural obstacles to hide their passage. Their improvement was marked and rapid.

Fox was pleased. Stage one of their plan was working well, but there was still a long way to go.

The sun glittered on the snow, while the sky over the tower arced a cerulean blue. The children’s eyes were all focused on the small back door, which creaked slowly open.

An old woman hobbled out, holding a basket, leaving the door ajar. She shuffled through the snow to the outbuilding and went inside. Ethan, Saxon, Lily and Roana darted across the snow to the back door and slipped in, with Aisha at their heels. The door led to a dark scullery, with sinks and benches piled with dirty pots and dishes. To the right was a door leading to the kitchen, with high vaulted stone ceilings and a fire banked in the grate.

The children crept into a passage, past storage rooms and pantries. They checked each one, in case the prince was locked up in any of these rooms, but found nothing of interest. Their boots made a dull thudding on the hard stone floors, so they all unlaced their boots, and hid them in a large chest in the hallway. Aisha’s paws were protected by her leather socks, so she moved soundlessly in the echoey passage. The children came to a stout timber door, reinforced with ornate iron hinges and studs, which Ethan gently pushed open.

They were in the tower’s great hall, with its icy stone floor and granite walls. The ceiling soared three floors above them, with a wide stone staircase winding up the left-hand wall to the upper floors. On the right-hand wall were two timber galleries overlooking the hall. Directly ahead was the base of the main bell tower, with a huge bolted gate leading out the front of the castle.

The children tiptoed into the vast space, terrified someone would see them from one of the galleries or side chambers. On the right was the doorway to a vast dark library, with creamy leather books gleaming gently from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. On the left was the doorway to the reception chamber. The children peeped inside. There was a low fire burning in the grate and a small breakfast table set for four people beside it, but no-one there.

‘Caspar must be upstairs,’ Lily whispered.

‘Let’s split up in pairs,’ suggested Ethan. ‘We’ll search floor by floor. Be careful not to be seen.’

The four children crept towards the curving stairway, with its ornate stone balustrades and empty iron chandeliers. A shrill bell sounded from the kitchen. The children jumped then scurried back into the dark library to hide.

A moment later, they heard voices from the stairs. One sounded horribly, frighteningly familiar. Lily froze in terror. She thought she was going to vomit. She peeked through the crack beside the door. Walking down the stairs were two men, dressed in black. The man on the right, deep in conversation with the Sedah priest, was their dreaded enemy – Sniffer.

‘Sniffer’s here,’ mouthed Lily to the others. They all crowded around the door crack to hear.

‘It doesn’t look like the children you seek are coming to the tower after all,’ said the priest. ‘It is highly unlikely that mere children would survive such a perilous journey through the snows. They are probably lost in the foothills, or buried at the bottom of a crevasse.’

‘These children seem to be remarkably resilient and resourceful,’ contradicted Sniffer. ‘I was sure they would be here by now to try to rescue the prince and take him back to Tira. I found papers in their bags that included floor plans of the tower and notes on the building. I am certain they were heading this way.’

The children grimaced at each other behind the door. The priest gestured back up the stairs.

‘Well, as we discussed, we have kept the prince drugged for the last two days and locked in his chamber,’ the priest explained. ‘However, he needs to continue with his lessons. He is to be taken to Sedah in a couple of weeks and he still has much to learn. The child has been harder to teach than we anticipated. He will join us for breakfast this morning. My colleague is rousing him now.’

With this the two men entered the reception chamber and took seats at the far end by the fire. The children were about to creep from the library when a swishing movement from above made them freeze once more. A moment later a third man, another priest, strode downstairs and entered the reception chamber. The children could hear the men’s muted voices.

One by one, the four children and Aisha crept from the library door in their socks and scampered up the stairs to the gallery on the second floor.

‘The table was set for four, and there are three of them downstairs now. Prince Caspar is joining them soon, so we should have a few minutes to search without being interrupted,’ Ethan whispered.

The four split up to search rooms as quickly as they could. They found nothing on the second and third floors. Three chambers looked as though they were being occupied, but the rest were eerily empty, the furniture covered in dust cloths. On the third floor there was a tiny doorway, only large enough for a child to enter upright. The priests would need to stoop to go through it. Inside a narrow wooden staircase wound up into the body of the main tower. The four children and Aisha crept up here.

On the first level there was a door, ajar. Roana gently pushed it open. A tiny window let in a glimmer of sunlight. By this light they could see a small cell, rounded into the circle of the stone tower, with a narrow truckle bed pushed against the wall, and a side table, which held a silver medicine cup and a pitcher of water. Lying on the bed was a young boy dressed in long black robes. His pale blond hair was unkempt, and he stared vacantly at the ceiling.

‘Caspar?’ whispered Roana, tears pouring down her face. ‘Is it really you?’

The boy looked over, then glanced away, disinterested. His face was wan and his eyes redrimmed.

‘Caspar!’ exclaimed Roana, more loudly, moving to his bedside. ‘Caspar, it’s me, Roana. Your sister.’

The boy looked at her once more, raising his head slightly, but his eyes flickered over her short hair, her white furs and her sun-bronzed face, without recognition. He lapsed back onto the bed.

Roana was beside herself with grief. She sobbed brokenheartedly as she tried to shake some reaction from Prince Caspar. Lily caught her hands gently.

‘Look, Roana,’ Lily said, indicating the medicine cup. ‘He’s been drugged. He’s not himself.’

Together Lily and Roana raised Caspar into a sitting position. Lily splashed some icy water from the jug onto his face.

‘Come on,’ Ethan whispered. ‘We need to get out of here before someone comes back to take him to breakfast.’

Roana and Lily struggled to get Caspar to his feet. He was woozy and lightheaded, and collapsed back on the bed as soon as Lily dropped his arm. Lily picked up the medicine cup and sniffed it gingerly. She pointed to the sticky residue that showed how full the cup had been.

‘Look how much they have been giving him.’ Her voice shook with anger. ‘No wonder he can hardly stand.’

‘If he can’t stand, he can’t walk,’ Saxon added. ‘We’ll have to carry him.’

‘How in the Goddess’s name will we ever get him down the mountain?’ Roana asked, her voice breaking with despair.

‘Don’t worry, Roana,’ Ethan assured her. ‘We’ve come this far, and we’re not leaving without your brother. Come on, Sax, help me lift him.’

Saxon and Ethan lifted the frail boy between them, one arm draped over each of their shoulders. Lily and Roana prowled ahead, making sure the way was clear. They tiptoed down the narrow tower stairs, down the wide gallery to the top of the sweeping central staircase. Hearts hammering and mouths parched, the four children crept closer to the ground floor, and the chamber where Sniffer and two Sedah priests waited.

Caspar moaned, his head lolling.

‘Shush, darling Caspar,’ begged Roana. ‘We’ll have you safe soon.’

They hurried down the last of the stairs and could hear the men talking from the library.

‘Where is that dratted boy?’ came one voice. ‘If I have to climb all those stairs again to fetch him, he’ll be feeling the swipe of my cane.’ Roana stiffened with anger, and Caspar cringed, the dreaded voice cutting through the fug of his stupor.

Quietly and quickly the four children hurried through the hall, back towards the kitchen, half carrying, half dragging the prince of Tiregian, past the half-open door of the chamber where the black crows sat. Ethan and Saxon were both feeling the weight of their burden, despite his slight size. They put Caspar down and swapped sides, to take the weight on the opposite shoulder. Lily and Roana grabbed the four pairs of boots from where they had hidden them in the hall chest. The four children pulled them on, roughly lacing them tight.

They hurried towards the back door, almost running now. Roana threw open the door, holding it open for the boys. As Lily ran past the kitchen, she saw the startled face of the old woman look up from loading her large tea tray.

‘What the …?’ swore the woman, dropping the loaf of bread she held. Lily dragged the heavy kitchen door shut, then the back door. As Lily ran out into the snow after the others, she could hear the old woman yelling loudly from inside.

Wilf had run over to help Ethan and Saxon with Caspar. Wilf took Caspar on his back, and piggybacked him up to the copse of trees where their supplies were hidden. Jonte ran out to greet them all, barking a welcome.

Wilf had prepared the two toboggans, so they were packed ready to go. He threw Caspar’s inert body onto the back of one toboggan, covering him with a pile of furs. Roana climbed up beside him, cradling him with her body. At Wilf’s whistle Jonte jumped up behind, his tongue lolling with enjoyment. Wilf climbed onto the front of this toboggan, taking the steering rope with two hands, and kicked off with his legs, sending the toboggan careering towards the steep mountain slope.

From the castle behind came the sound of shouts and yells. Looking back, Ethan could see Sniffer running towards them, with two priests at his heels. The cook huffed behind them, calling suggestions. The priests turned and ran for the barn, where the sleds were stored, their flying robes stark shadows against the snow.

Hurriedly Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Aisha leapt onto the second toboggan with Saxon at the steering rope. Saxon and Ethan kicked off with a massive push, hurtling the loaded toboggan towards the valley floor, hundreds of metres below. Saxon concentrated on steering down the terrain ahead, while Ethan found his bow and aimed it, with nocked arrow, towards the black crows chasing after them. Ethan hooted with excitement as one priest, then another, hurtled forward onto their sleds only to crash ungracefully, black robes askew, as their sled fell apart, destroyed by Ethan’s earlier handiwork.

Sniffer saw the sled crash and the escaping toboggans, and paused momentarily to assess the situation. He ran back to the castle and disappeared, only to return a few moments later carrying a large tea tray. Within seconds he was chasing behind them on his wooden tea tray, his skinny legs folded up before him and his arms tucked in front.

Ethan screamed with frustration, his bow jerking wildly in the tumultuous downhill ride. ‘Sniffer’s chasing us,’ he yelled. ‘And I think he’s catching up!’

Saxon swerved the toboggan to the left, nearly unseating Aisha, who whined and staggered and flipped her ear inside out with displeasure. Lily held on grimly, clutching Aisha’s collar with one hand. On Sniffer’s tea tray, there was only one person – a light adult with good balance – while the toboggan held three children and a rather large dog. However, the children had the advantage of the steering rope, and the swivelling front runners, while the tea tray had no method of steering other than Sniffer’s legs and weight transfer.

The race was on. Children against adult. Tiregians against Sedah. White furs against black robes. As Sniffer gained ground Aisha growled and leaned towards the enemy, threatening to fall off the toboggan. Lily hauled her back. Saxon gained ground by swerving to the right, dodging a large snow-laden shrub and causing Sniffer to nearly upend the tea tray. He had to stop, stumble round the shrub and slide again, giving the toboggan valuable seconds. Wilf had taken a more direct route down, so had gained more than a hundred metres, with Prince Caspar and Princess Roana curled behind him. Sniffer suddenly realised he was following the wrong toboggan and headed straight downhill, hurtling over the snow at great speed. Sniffer thought that if he could just use his dagger to dispose of the boy steering the first toboggan, then the two royal children would be in his power.

Ethan realised the change in tack, and pulled his bowstring back, aiming carefully and releasing his arrow. It arced and raced, whistling through the chilly air, then landed truly, quivering in Sniffer’s thigh. Sniffer arched and screamed, his body ricocheting off the tea tray and landing in a crumpled heap, a stain of bright crimson spreading over the snow. Sniffer clutched at his leg and swore in pain. He tried to remount his tea tray, but it slipped and slid most disobediently under him.

‘Good shot,’ crowed Saxon, grinning over his shoulder, then turned back to the difficult task of steering the bucking toboggan down a seemingly sheer slope. Aisha snuffled the breeze, her ears flying back in the wind. Lily cuddled Aisha closer, relieved at the close call.

Though Wilf was naturally a more skilled tobogganist, so his sled flew straighter and more swiftly, the three southerners made the trip without major mishap and only a few minutes slower than the experienced Wilf. At the bottom of the mountain they finally slid onto the lake, hearts pounding with excitement, hair flying and cheeks shining. Wilf had already scanned the horizon and located the two ice boats. The five children pushed and shoved the toboggans, one containing the semi-conscious body of Prince Caspar, towards the distant ice boats while the two dogs slithered and slid in their socks on the dark grey ice.

‘Look,’ shouted Roana, gazing back over her shoulder. ‘It’s Sniffer!’

A hundred metres behind them they could see the black stooped figure of Sniffer, an arrow quivering from his thigh, sliding his way onto the ice on the now-battered tea tray.

‘Does that man never give up?’ demanded Saxon, slipping and slithering on the ice.

‘Apparently not,’ replied Ethan, greatly disappointed. ‘I aimed for his thigh because I wanted to disable him, not actually kill him.’

Wilf grunted. ‘It would have been better if you aimed for his heart.’

Ethan twisted to the rear. Their pursuer was obviously weakened but still determined to give chase. He too slipped on the ice, yet never slowed down. The children had the disadvantage of pushing two laden toboggans, while Sniffer, although injured, was now unencumbered. He gained steadily, the gap closing – one hundred metres, ninety, eighty, seventy, sixty, fifty metres.

‘Run harder,’ panted Wilf. ‘Not far now.’

A group of four tribesmen, including Wilf’s father, Jared, were waiting by the two ice boats, daggers drawn and faces grim. Large white sails flapped crisply in the winter breeze. The tribesmen ran forward to help. The gap narrowed. Forty, thirty, twenty metres.

Lily and Roana were panting strongly, their legs quivering with exertion and their mouths dry as dust. Aisha ran at Lily’s heels, then stopped and turned to face Sniffer. She growled a warning, then launched back towards their pursuer, hackles raised and teeth bared. Jonte followed, bounding across the ice. Sniffer stumbled then stopped, reluctant to race straight into the snarling pair of dogs.

The children reached the tribesmen safely, panting with relief, letting the toboggans go. Three of the tribesmen set off towards Sniffer, their daggers unsheathed, leaving Jared to help the children.

Sniffer paused, then turned and ran. The tribesmen let him go, more focused on helping the children escape than catching the strange Sedah pursuer. Lily and Wilf whistled sharply, calling Aisha and Jonte to join their families once more. The toboggans were pushed over to the ice boats tethered to a bush on the lake’s edge.

‘Well done, southerners,’ said Jared gravely. ‘Well done, Wilf. I’m proud of you. We did not expect you for quite some time, and we certainly were not sure that you would succeed in your quest.’

Wilf smiled proudly, hiding his embarrassment by fussing over a pack.

Jared reached down and tenderly lifted the unconscious prince onto the deck. All the gear was swiftly loaded onto one of the ice boats, after the five children. The two big dogs were ungracefully hoisted on deck.

The ice boats were quite compact, so it was squashy having everyone on board. Jared gave him last-minute instructions on steering and navigating the boat. Then the tribesmen pulled the ice boat out away from the bank, towards the centre of the frozen lake, and pointed the bow downwind.

The white sails filled with air, and the ice boat leapt forward, its bone keels skating across the ice.

The five children waved madly back at the tribesmen left behind, calling out words of thanks and farewell. The four tribesmen swung themselves up onto the remaining ice boat and followed behind for a while, before steering to the west to return to the main tribal camp.

The ice boat skimmed across the frozen surface of the lake, carried by a fair breeze. Wilf showed them how to steer the boat and how to tack, and gave them directions on how to reach Lightning Crevasse. It was very similar to steering a sailing dinghy, so the children took it in shifts of about an hour at a time, to steer and crew and rest. Lily and Roana fussed over Prince Caspar, who had fallen into a semi-conscious state, quivering and moaning.

‘He looks as though he is in shock,’ Lily decided. ‘We need to keep him warm, and try to give him lots of fluid.’

The tribesmen had brought flasks of water and supplies of dried food – smoked strips of reindeer meat, flat bread, nuts and desiccated cheese. Roana lay beside her brother, forcing sips of water between his lips and trying to keep him warm. Despite the furs, he was shivering uncontrollably.

As the hours passed, Prince Caspar started to thrash about and shout loudly.

‘I don’t have any herbs or medicines I can give him,’ worried Lily. ‘Everything is in the packs on the horses. When we get to Lightning Crevasse I can give him some chamomile tea to help him sleep.’

Roana tried to soothe him with her voice, telling him stories about their mother and the palace at Tira. She could not talk to him about their father yet. Roana’s voice seemed to calm the prince and he fell into a troubled sleep, occasionally thrashing with nightmares.

The other children talked in low voices, reliving their adventures, their escape and the amazing tenacity of Sniffer. When it grew dark, they decided to drop the sails in the centre of the lake and sleep until morning. It was a bad night’s sleep, with Caspar tossing and crying out, and the children conscious of the great snowy darkness around them. In the middle of the night everyone was woken by a crash.

‘Caspar, Caspar,’ screamed Roana. ‘Where are you?’

Caspar had woken and crawled off the deck and onto the ice, knocking over a pile of packs, then falling and sprawling on the ice. He struggled to his feet and tried to run, legs slipping and sliding under him. He fell again, knocking all the breath from his body. Roana leapt off the boat after him and hurried to his side.

‘It is all right, Caspar,’ she crooned. ‘You are safe now. You are with me, Roana, your sister.’

Caspar looked at her without recognition, his eyes wide with terror.

‘Where priests?’ he mumbled, almost incoherently. ‘Going Sedah?’

‘No, we are not going to Sedah,’ she soothed. ‘We are taking you home to Mama, to Tira.’

Caspar shook his head.

‘No,’ he replied emphatically. ‘Mama gone. Dadda gone. Roana gone.’

‘Mama’s not gone, Caspar,’ Roana murmured. ‘I came for you. We are going home now and everything is going to be all right.’

Saxon and Ethan helped half carry, half drag the limp prince back to the ice boat and settle him in his pile of furs. Aisha licked the prince gently on his face. He smiled, closed his eyes and settled back to sleep.

At dawn, the sails were hoisted once more, and the ice boat kept sailing southwards.

Caspar woke when the boat began to move. He looked about him with disbelief. ‘Medicine?’ he croaked.

‘No medicine, darling,’ replied Roana gently. ‘Have some water and some breakfast. It will make you feel better.’

‘Just a little at a time,’ Lily warned. ‘He has not eaten for a while, and we don’t want him to be sick.’

Caspar ate a little and had a few sips of water at regular intervals throughout the day. Gradually he brightened and was soon propped up, gazing about him and feeling the chilly wind on his face, but saying little. Aisha lay close by his side, to comfort him with her warm presence. Occasionally she licked him on the hand, or nudged him with her nose, as if he was a weak puppy who needed help to find his paws.

Late in the afternoon, Wilf pointed ahead to the south. The lake narrowed and reached its southerly shore. A merrily blazing fire and two white domed tents showed them where the tribesfolk were camping. A makeshift yard held the familiar forms of Nutmeg, Caramel, Toffee, Moonbeam and Mischief.

Lily slumped with relief.

‘We made it,’ she cried. The five children whooped and laughed with joy. Aisha and Jonte barked loudly. Caspar sat up, gazing at the camp in bemusement. He saw nothing about the strange white tents to elicit such festivity, but his fuggy brain was struggling to make sense of everything at the moment.

Two mountain tribesmen ran down to the shore to greet them and help them stow the ice boat and gear. In a few minutes they were all sitting on fur rugs beside the fireplace, eating steaming bowls of reindeer stew and explaining their adventures to the delighted tribesfolk. Even Caspar ate a bowl of stew with the most animation he had shown since his rescue.

The two dogs chewed on the sinewy bones, crunching and munching happily.

That night they all crawled into the second felt dome to sleep, ready to set off on their ride south first thing in the morning. Lily made chamomile tea for Prince Caspar to help him have a deep and healing sleep.

‘My medicine?’ asked Caspar eagerly when Lily brought him the cup of warm liquid.

‘This is not the same medicine that the priests gave you,’ explained Lily. ‘This is a good medicine to help you sleep and get better.’

Caspar looked disappointed but sipped the tea experimentally, then drank it down.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It tastes better than the medicine the priests gave me.’

Lily laughed. ‘It’s also better for you than whatever they made you drink.’ Roana listened eagerly to this small conversation, taking it as a sign that the drug was wearing off and that Caspar was improving.

Caspar turned shyly to Roana. ‘Are you really my sister? You look a little bit like Roana, but not much, and you sound like her, but different somehow …’

‘Yes,’ Roana replied. ‘I will prove it to you.’ Roana carefully pulled out the heart-shaped amethyst locket she wore around her neck.

‘Mama’s locket,’ Caspar sighed. Roana opened the catch to show Caspar the blonde and black locks of hair plaited together inside.

Caspar examined Roana’s short hair, her mountain tribe clothes and tanned face. ‘You have changed,’ he said gravely.

Roana gave him a fierce hug. ‘We have all changed, but life is like that.’

‘I am glad you came,’ Caspar decided.

‘How could I not?’ laughed Roana, ruffling up his hair. ‘You are a pest, but you are still my brother.’

Caspar smiled and settled down to sleep, Aisha curled up beside him.

In the morning, everyone rose before dawn to saddle the horses, fill the water bottles and sling the packs behind the saddles. Farewells and thankyous were exchanged with handshakes and hugs. The hardest part was to say goodbye to Wilf and Jonte, who had helped them beyond measure.

‘We will never forget you,’ Roana said. ‘I owe you more than I can ever say. Thank you. Thank you.’

Wilf blushed and shuffled, stroking Jonte’s head. ‘Any time,’ he grinned. ‘Ride safely, and don’t let Sniffer catch you. Any time you want another game of stickball, let me know.’

‘Stickball is the best,’ Ethan agreed.

‘Look at Aisha,’ Lily cried. Aisha and Jonte were playing down by the lakeside as though they knew it was their last game together. They darted and feinted, tumbled and rumbled, chased and raced, kicking up snow with their paws.

Ethan and Saxon helped Prince Caspar clamber up onto Mischief’s saddle, then Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana mounted their horses, waved goodbye and trotted down the path that led out of the valley and south to Bryn. Lily whistled for Aisha. Aisha paused in her play but did not follow, instead racing with Jonte along the lakeside, neck by neck, chasing a bird that was silly enough to swoop in front of them. Lily whistled again, then called impatiently, ‘Aisha, come.’

Aisha’s ears were flying as she raced. Jonte nuzzled her shoulder. Wilf added his voice to the summons, calling Jonte firmly, but was ignored as well.

‘Let’s just ride on,’ Ethan suggested. ‘She will follow in a moment.’

The five horses jogged on, while Aisha stayed behind and played. As they reached the bend in the path, which would leave the frozen lake behind, Lily whistled one last time. Aisha looked up and sighed, flipping her ear inside out. She nuzzled Jonte, licking him on the face, then turned and raced after the horses, as graceful as a deer.

The journey to Bryn took only two days, as the horses were fresh, the riders were keen, and the snow was lighter at the southern end of the valley. At this time of year in the far north, the days were long and the nights a few short hours of pale darkness. The children rose before dawn, eating breakfast in the saddle – stale flat bread and leathery water from the flasks. They rode all day, cantering, trotting, jogging, walking, then doing it all again. The children tried to change position in the saddle to ease their stiff and cramped muscles. At night, they rubbed down the horses and rolled themselves in blankets by a tiny fire, too tired to eat. It was an arduous journey.

The back of Lily’s neck prickled with the sensation that they were being followed. Sniffer was injured but still mobile, and he was out there, somewhere behind them to the north. They all knew he had an uncanny knack of finding them, or even guessing where they were going, and getting there first. They had not beaten Sniffer yet – far from it. Lily kicked her heels into Nutmeg’s sides, encouraging her back into a canter. The other horses followed enthusiastically.

Prince Caspar was still weak and disorientated but jogged in Mischief’s saddle without complaining.

At last they rounded a bend and could see the distant towers of Bryn, nestled in its green valley. Ethan shouted for joy, and urged Toffee into a faster canter.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Ethan cried. ‘Nearly back to civilisation.’

They clattered onto the cobbled roads of Bryn, exhausted but excited to reach another milestone on their journey. It was nearly dark, but instead of searching for an inn and a hearty, hot meal, the five children rode straight to the docks.

There they found only one bargeman stowing his gear. The others had long since headed home.

‘Ahoy there, captain,’ called Saxon. ‘We need a barge to take us south to Tira.’

‘Come back in the morning,’ the bargeman returned, packing up his kit. ‘We’ll talk business then. I have an important meeting at The Black Bull.’

‘We need to leave tonight,’ Saxon urged. He jingled Roana’s money pouch enticingly. ‘We can pay you well.’

The bargeman looked around at the five bedraggled children, the five sweaty horses, the forlorn dog and the black and white cat prowling curiously around the dock.

‘Sorry, kids,’ the bargeman replied, climbing off the barge. ‘Why don’t you go home to your mam? Are you running away? Don’t do it – whatever your mam’s said or done, the best place to be is at home.’

‘Our mam’s in Tira,’ Lily said softly. ‘We are running home, not running away.’

Prince Caspar sniffed loudly, blinking away tears of complete exhaustion. The bargeman’s face softened in sympathy.

‘Please help us,’ Ethan added. ‘I know we look like ragamuffins, but we have run into trouble with the Sedahs and just need to get back to Tira as soon as possible. We can pay you in gold for your trouble.’

The bargeman took a deep breath and dropped his kit back on the deck.

‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘We’ll leave tonight. Do you have any food?’

The children shook their heads.

‘Are you planning on taking those beasts of yours, or shall we sell them to the innkeeper?’

‘The horses come too,’ replied Lily firmly.

‘Okay, you’ll need to load the horses in the middle of the barge to keep the weight balanced,’ the bargeman ordered. ‘Stow your gear for’ard, and we can organise some food.’

Saxon went with the bargeman to the inn to organise and pay for supplies for all the humans and animals for the two-day trip. Each horse had to be carefully coaxed onto the rocking deck. Lily whispered and snickered soothingly in each animal’s ear as she led them down the gangplank, while Ethan cajoled and encouraged from behind. Mischief stepped on daintily, and Moonbeam snorted and cavorted in fear, her ears flat against her skull. The process took ages, but at last all five horses were safely tethered in the centre of the deck.

When that was done, the bargeman cast off and poled the barge out into the fast current in the middle of the river. The children huddled around a bucket of hot coals on the foredeck. As well as the mash and hay for the horses, Saxon had bought a cauldron of hot chicken and vegetable soup, loaves of fresh bread, butter, fruit and cheese, as well as meat scraps for Aisha and Charcoal.

They drank the soup from their mugs, using spoons to scoop up the hearty chunks of meat and vegetables. They were all too tired to talk and soon wrapped themselves in their blankets and fell asleep to the gentle motion of the River Bryn. Caspar fell asleep with Charcoal curled in his arms, and Roana beside him.

A thousand stars sprinkled the black velvet sky. A luminous gibbous moon sailed high overhead, transforming the river into a silver trail.

It took two days and three nights to float down the river. The journey seemed incredibly easy compared to the long hard ride north. The landscape slipped by in a blur of greens, golds, scarlets and browns – meadows tall with grass, orchards dropping drifts of blossom, the village of Trowbridge, lonely farms and thick forest. It was lovely to see colour again after the stark white of the snow lands. Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana took it in turns with the bargeman to steer and pole the barge during the long hours of daylight. They stopped for a few hours of sleep only when it was too dark to see.

Caspar slept most of the time, speaking rarely, waking only for meals. The sunshine, rest and fresh air stimulated his appetite, so at least he was eating well again. Roana looked after him solicitously, worrying about his pallor, his quietness, and the dark black circles under his eyes. He was not the mischievous, innocent child of a few months before.

‘Don’t worry, Roana,’ soothed Lily. ‘Sleep is probably the best thing for him now. He’s had a terrible ordeal.’

On the morning of the third day they woke at dawn, sleepily watching the sun peep over the horizon, staining the sky with a rich wash of scarlets and pinks.

‘We’re nearly there,’ the bargeman offered when he realised they were awake. ‘We should arrive at the docks in about an hour. Just in time for some toast and coffee for breakfast.’

The docks were located a short way upriver from the Jigadee Falls. When the barge pulled in, the children noticed a grubby-looking peasant woman dressed in rags, apparently asleep outside the dockyard shed. When the barge nudged up next to the marina, she stirred and glanced over at the barge load, then settled back to her nap.

The children quickly unloaded the horses and all their gear. Saxon and Roana saddled and loaded each horse. At last they were ready. Roana paid the bargeman his gold crescents and he hitched up two huge draughthorses for the long, slow haul back upriver.

Half an hour later, as the barge struggled upstream against the current, the bargeman noticed a light, fast canoe flying downstream. It was paddled by a small, stooped Sedah man, dressed in black. His face was pale and haggard, as though he had not slept in days.

How strange, the bargeman thought. That Sedah looks in a tearing hurry. I wonder what terrible mission he’s on.

He chirruped to his draughthorses to make them pull harder upriver, away from the menace.

Sniffer was concentrating on steering his flimsy craft in the fast flowing current. His eyes ached with tiredness as they scanned the banks on either side. They must be close now, he thought to himself.

At last he saw the dock, which was the last post on the River Bryn before it tumbled and crashed down the Jigadee Falls. With a deep sigh of exhaustion he paddled for the dock.

When the bargeman was out of earshot, the snoozing peasant woman woke up and strolled over to where Roana and Saxon were strapping packs behind Mischief’s saddle.

‘Lovely morning, ain’t it?’ she commented. ‘Looks like that horse of yours is foundering.’

Roana shot her a quick look, then glanced around cautiously. ‘No, she merely had a stone caught in her hoof,’ she replied, her heart beating rapidly.

‘Your highness,’ whispered the peasant woman. ‘Albert sent me to watch for you. There is grave danger in Tira. We must take you to safety. I will send a signal to Albert and he will meet us at the new rebel camp in the south.’

Roana nodded her understanding. Behind the dock shed, the peasant woman pulled a mirror out of her pocket. She used the mirror to catch the light from the sun, then flicked it away, so the mirror flashed a reflection of light. She did this three times in quick succession, paused, then repeated the procedure. On a distant hill there was an answering flash as a flame was struck and a bonfire lit. Kilometres to the south, another watcher saw the bonfire signal and lit another fire. In a few minutes, the fire signal had made its way down several bonfires, many kilometres to the south.

The final fire was spied by Jed, the stable boy, from the attic of the White Horse Inn. He ran downstairs as fast as he could to give the news to Master Drummond, who was supervising the unloading of some barrels of ale.

‘The bonfire’s alight, sir,’ Jed panted.

‘Thanks, Jed,’ Master Drummond smiled grimly. ‘Come to my office in a few minutes. I have something I need you to take to Cookie at the palace urgently. I will be out of town on business for a few days. If anyone asks, I am visiting a new vineyard to the east, which has some promising wine.’

When Jed had gone, Master Drummond went to the kitchen of the White Horse Inn and selected a boiled egg. He quickly made up a mixture of alum in vinegar. Using a quill, he scratched a brief message on the outside of the eggshell. He let the egg dry and checked it carefully, to make sure there was no sign of the invisible writing, then buried it at the bottom of a basket, filled with brown speckled eggs.

Jed hurried off to the palace with the basket of eggs. He was naturally searched thoroughly at the palace gates – his basket, pockets and clothes, even inside his cap.

‘Careful,’ he protested to the sentries. ‘Mistress Cookie will be mighty cross if any of these eggs gets broken.’

‘On your way then,’ ordered the guard on duty.

Jed delivered the basket of eggs to Cookie in the palace kitchens. Cookie took the eggs into the privacy of her pantry, where she carefully examined each one. She took each egg and spun it slowly on the bench, stopping it lightly with her fingertip, then removing her finger to see what happened. Most of the eggs kept slightly spinning, as the raw liquid inside kept moving.

One egg, however, spun much more quickly, then stopped completely when she removed her finger, so Cookie knew it was hard-boiled. She picked this egg up, cracked it gently then peeled away the shell to reveal the egg inside.

There, written in spidery letters on the white surface of the egg, were the words, Children returned safely. Cookie muffled an excited shriek. Her heart singing with joy, she quickly ate the egg, destroying the evidence.

Meanwhile, Albert saddled his fastest horse, and cantered for the eastern city gate. The guards took no notice of him.

Two hours later, Albert arrived in the new forest camp of the rebels, just a few kilometres from the city, his horse sweating and panting after its headlong gallop. Here Albert was overjoyed to find Ethan, Lily, Roana and Saxon sitting around a campfire eating bacon and egg sandwiches, drinking tea and chatting to Fox about their adventures. Sitting beside them was a young boy, dressed all in black, with white blond hair standing up in tufts.

‘Prince Caspar,’ breathed Albert. ‘You did it. You found him!’

‘Master Drummond,’ cried Roana joyfully, jumping to her feet. Everyone leapt up, hugging and talking all at once.

‘I have news,’ Albert said seriously. ‘In two days, on the night before the full moon, Lord Lazlac plans to force your mother to marry him.’

Princess Roana and Prince Caspar went pale with shock.

‘M-marry him?’ stuttered Roana. ‘But that is impossible. Mama would never marry that murdering barbarian.’

‘He threatened to kill Prince Caspar if she refused,’ Albert explained.

‘But we have Caspar safely here,’ crowed Roana. ‘She can refuse now.’

Albert nodded gravely.

‘It is true that Caspar is safe, thanks to you four,’ Albert agreed. ‘But Lord Lazlac has threatened the lives of all the prisoners, including Lily and Ethan’s parents. The battle is not over yet. We need to make plans to storm the palace.’

A ripple of fear shimmered around the camp fire.

‘Let’s discuss our options in a moment,’ Albert suggested. ‘I must also tell you, we think we know where the Sun Sword is now, but we have been unable to retrieve it. One of my spies followed one of Lazlac’s men in the middle of the night and saw him secretly throw a large sword down a rubbish well in the south of Tira. We lowered one of our men down the well into a huge cavern filled with rubbish, but he was unable to find the sword. He was pulled back shaking with fright, muttering about the horrible creatures lurking down there.’

All four children immediately thought back to the cavern full of rubbish that they had discovered underneath the city of Tira.

‘I think we know the cavern you mean,’ said Ethan, his face alight with excitement.

‘I think we know the horrible creatures he saw too,’ added Lily with a rueful smile.

Albert, Fox and the children stayed up late into the night sharing knowledge, making plans, writing lists of equipment, drawing maps, arguing tactics, revising, refining, improving and finalising their strategy.

Ethan’s mind flashed back to the tactical meeting in the caverns near Kenley, when the children had been completely ignored and dismissed. Now their ideas were listened to and discussed respectfully. By midnight everyone was happy that they had decided on a good plan.

Sniffer dragged himself out of the canoe onto the dock. He did not bother to moor the canoe. It was sucked out into the current, then swept downstream towards the rising mist and muted thunder of the Jigadee Falls, where it fell two hundred and fifty metres down the falls and was smashed into tiny fragments.

Sniffer lay on the warm timber of the dock for a moment with his eyes closed, soaking up the heat of the sun on his damp clothes and aching body. Finally he rose with a groan. He had a bloodied rag wrapped tightly around the arrow wound on his leg.

His eyes flickered around the dock area. There was nothing much to see on the splintered timber boards, but a few metres away in the dust of the track, he could see a scuffle of prints. Automatically Sniffer went to investigate. Five horses had passed this way very recently, moving quickly. There were other prints overlaying the hoofprints. One was that of a large dog, while the most recent set was of a person on foot. Judging by the shape of the prints, it was a woman.

Sniffer followed the prints at a slow pace. He was exhausted and in pain. He came to the fork in the track, the left-hand track leading to the forest, while the right-hand track led back to Tira in the south. The hoofprints led to the right, heading south. Sniffer studied the hoofprints for a few moments, considering his options. He took a deep breath, then made a decision. Limping heavily, he started walking.

Lily and Roana strolled through the forest carrying baskets and daggers, with Aisha snooping at every rabbit hole and crack. Lily’s eyes darted around her, checking the hundreds of different plant species growing in the clearings, under fallen logs and beside the stream. Lily spied a low-growing ground-covering plant with shiny dark green leaves. Curiously Aisha gambolled over to investigate.

‘No, Aisha,’ warned Lily sternly. ‘Leave that one well alone.’ Aisha obediently left the plant and raced across the clearing, chasing a bee.

‘Adder’s Tongue, also known as snakeroot,’ Lily murmured, with satisfaction. Carefully she dug up the creeping roots and leaves, keeping a fistful of dirt clinging to the roots. Gently she wrapped the whole plant in a damp cloth and gave it to Roana to lay in her basket.

After two hours of searching, the girls had two baskets full of herbs and leaves.

‘I hope that’s enough,’ Lily said. ‘This will hopefully make a powerful brew.’

Back at the camp, the final preparations were being made. There were now twenty-four hours left before the marriage ceremony. It was time to start moving.

One of Albert’s spies – a pretty young woman in a crisp white apron and mob cap – carried the baskets of herbs into Tira and up to the palace. She was stopped and searched several times – security was tight on the day of the governor’s wedding to the former queen.

She smiled sweetly at each sentry, revealing a dimple in her cheek and a cheeky sparkle in her eye. Happily she removed the wet cloth covering the basket and showed off the plants she carried.

‘Wild thyme, marjoram and forest mushrooms,’ Jess explained. ‘For the palace kitchens. The ’erbs from the garden ain’t good enough for the wedding feast. The wild ones from the forest ’ave a special flavour, ’ead cook says. I’m sure I couldn’t tell the difference but that’s royalty for you, ain’t it?’

The Sedah guards snorted in disgust and let her through. It was with a sigh of relief that Jess delivered the basket finally to Cookie, who was shouting orders at an army of pot boys, scullery maids, apprentices and spit boys.

‘’Ere they are, Mistress Cookie,’ Jess shouted cheerily, so all could hear her. ‘The forest ’erbs you ordered for the soup – wild thyme and forest mushrooms.’ Cookie looked at the disguised messenger sharply, then at the unusual plants peeping from the basket. They were unlike any herbs Cookie had ever cooked with.

‘Thank you kindly,’ Cookie responded, whisking the basket away before anyone with any herb lore could notice them. ‘I’ll lock those in the pantry until I’m ready for them.’

Jess bobbed a curtsey and disappeared into the crowd, quickly forgotten by guards, servants and lackeys in the business of the wedding preparations. Also quickly forgotten was a young page who brought Cookie a message. It was a recipe for a spicy soup, which apparently Lord Lazlac wished prepared for the wedding feast.

‘I wish he’d told me sooner,’ muttered Cookie angrily under her breath, until she recognised the distinctive loopy handwriting of her brother. The recipe read:

Simmer chicken bones with carrots, celery, garlic and onions for several hours to make good, rich stock.

Strain stock and set aside.

Fry chopped peppers, red chillis and forest mushrooms in butter.

Wash wild thyme to remove soil from roots. Finely chop rootstock and leaves and add to stock.

Simmer for one hour.

Serve with double cream and lemon juice.

Cookie memorised the recipe and tucked it away, noting the reference to lemon juice. Later in the privacy of her room, she held the recipe over a candle flame. The heat from the flame singed the paper and gradually a second set of words appeared in the margin, in pale brown script. A secret message had been written on the page with lemon juice, which was invisible until it was held over a flame. The brown letters read:

Cookie,

Make the soup with herbs and serve at the wedding but let no-one on our side taste them. Ask Marnie about adding the other herbs to the cherry wine.

Be brave – we are on our way with Caspar, Roana and the children.

Albert.

Cookie threw the scrap of paper into the hot embers of the fire, where it burst into flames and was gone. Cookie started work on the new soup course with renewed fervour, chopping the herbs herself and setting the stock to simmer on the coals.

Later she washed her hands very carefully and went to talk to Marnie about cherry wine for the feast the next day.

The nearly full moon hung high in the sky. A band of twenty-odd men and five children slipped through the forest, avoiding the pools of clear, white moonlight, searching for the shadows of trees and rocks.

Their leader was Fox himself, his red hair tied back in a ponytail, Mia crouching silently on his shoulder. Fox wore his smuggler’s clothes – black shirt, breeches, boots and cloak – to make him nearly invisible in the shadows. By his side crept Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan, once again wearing their smuggler’s clothes, and Prince Caspar. Aisha loped along in the darkness, her ears cocked for danger and her nose snuffling the scents of the night.

Under Fox’s orders, the men carried their weapons and pitchforks wrapped in cloth to stop them jingling. The rebels were dressed in the uniforms of Sedah soldiers, the uniforms that had been confiscated from the prisoners in the forest. One of the rebels was George, the burly blacksmith from Kenley. He also carried a sack containing some of the tools of his trade. Several of the rebels carried small barrels, which they hefted on their backs.

The silent group crept south, past the eastern bridge to Tira, slinking through the forest to give them cover from the bright moonlight. At last they came to the clifftops above the River Bryn, close to where it crashed into the sea. They could hear the sound of the water thundering and rumbling many metres below, and smell the salt of the sea spray. The noise was comforting as it completely hid any sound they might be making.

With some difficulty in the flat light of the moon, the four children found the place where they had crossed the river eight weeks before, on their way into the hidden tunnels under Tira. The rope across the gorge was still in place, firmly tied to a tree trunk on the eastern side and knotted to a tree root on the western side. Ethan had based the flying slide on one their father Willem had built for them in the barn the year before. Ethan shivered as he thought of his father imprisoned in the dungeons below the palace. He mentally shook himself to bring him back to the task at hand, and tugged the rope firmly to check it was still secure.

Ethan took off his belt, tying a long, thin cord to it. He threw the belt over the thicker cable, buckling it to make a loop.

‘We crossed the river by sliding across the rope, using a belt,’ whispered Ethan, holding onto the looped belt. He ran a few paces, lifting his feet off the ground so he slithered a couple of metres along the cliff top to demonstrate. Fox nodded, grinning with appreciation. ‘The entrance to the tunnel is at the base of the cliffs on the other side,’ Ethan explained, waving his arm across the black gorge.

Fox hung a belt from the rope and lifted his feet off the ground, testing its weight. The rope sagged and creaked but the knots still held. ‘Good,’ replied Fox. ‘It looks like it is still holding well, although I think for the adults it is safer if we use two belts for extra strength. I’ll cross first. I want you five children exactly in the middle of the party, so you are well protected on both sides of the gorge.’

They all nodded their agreement, knowing it was futile to argue with Fox. Ten rebel soldiers took their turns to slide across the chasm and gather on the other side, each time tugging the thin rope three times to signal that they were safely across and the belt could be hauled back. The process seemed to take forever. The rounded moon slid slowly across the sky as time escaped. The children jiggled with impatience, their eyes scanning the distant walls of Tira, hoping there were no observant Sedah soldiers spying from afar.

At last it was Roana’s turn, followed by Lily, Aisha in a horse blanket sling, then Ethan. Saxon had not crossed the chasm by rope slide last time. He had dropped down the cliff, dangling on the end of the rope, then swum across the swollen river to tie the rope securely on the opposite bank. When it was his turn, Saxon took a run-up, holding tightly to the looped belt, racing straight towards the cliff edge. For a split second he wanted to scrabble backwards onto the safety of the solid cliff, but it was too late.

With a clatter of falling pebbles, Saxon was flying through the air, all his weight dangling from his arms. The wind whistled past his ears, the river thundered closer and then the pale, shingly beach was flying up to meet his feet. Saxon had to bite his lip to stop himself from whooping out loud for joy. He landed with a dull thud, his long legs cycling in wide circles to keep him upright. A huge grin spread across his face. He tugged on the thin rope three times, then turned to the others. ‘That sure beats swimming across,’ Saxon whispered. ‘It was fantastic.’

Ethan grinned in response. ‘Absolutely.’

Fox was the next to fly over, with Prince Caspar strapped to his back. There was another long, slow wait, while the remaining rebels crossed over with all the equipment. When the last man and barrel were safely on the western side, Fox took his dagger and sawed through the heavy rope, destroying the flying slide.

‘We don’t want any unwelcome visitors, like your friend Sniffer, following us over here,’ Fox explained. The children watched regretfully as the rope was caught by the river and swept away. ‘Now lead on and show me where this secret entrance is.’

Roana led Fox and the others to the small cave entrance that led into the secret tunnels below Tira. The entrance had been blocked by a rockfall and it had taken hours for the children to clear a way in, moving hundreds of rocks, one by one. Now the entrance was still open, although it was far too low for the adults to squeeze through. More time was wasted as the rebels set to work enlarging the hole.

Fox set others to work gathering branches and driftwood from the shaly beach, which would be used to cover the hole behind them when they went through. At last Fox was satisfied with the hole.

‘We’ll go first, so the children can show the way,’ decided Fox, indicating the four children and Aisha. ‘We’ll go in single file. I want Roana and Caspar right behind me.’

They followed Fox into the cave mouth, and everyone had to crawl for long agonising minutes. The rebels had made the opening slightly larger, but it was too difficult to move the rock fall that partially obstructed the rest of the tunnel. Aisha was the only one who could move unimpeded. At last they came out into the higher cave behind, which smelt strange and sharp and musky. Roana wrinkled her nose in distaste. She could not remember the smell from the last time they were here. Fox struck his tinder box and lit the small lantern he carried. A cheery flame leapt into life, lighting the centre of the cave with a bobbing circle of warmth.

An ear-piercing shriek sounded loudly, echoing around the cave. A flapping mass of leathery black clawed and scrabbled towards them, brushing their faces, tangling in their hair, whooshing around their bodies. Caspar threw himself to the ground. Lily and Roana screamed involuntarily, dropping in a crouch and covering their heads. Ethan and Saxon jumped, clutching each other in panic, their hearts pounding. Aisha barked loudly, chasing the shadows with raised hackles and bared teeth, her tail clamped firmly between her legs. Mia chattered angrily, jumping up and down on Fox’s shoulder and pulling his ponytail hard.

‘Will everyone calm down?’ Fox whispered urgently. ‘It’s only a colony of bats we’ve disturbed. This noise is enough to wake every Sedah soldier between here and Bryn.’

The children looked a little shamefaced at being frightened by the bats. Lily and Ethan calmed Aisha down with a whispered command. Mia started combing her soft fur with her tiny fingers, muttering sulkily to herself. The bats swooped around the cave then swept towards the tunnel, but they could not get out past the long line of rebels blocking the way out. At last the bats decided to settle back in the shadows, hanging upside down from their rocky roosts.

‘There were no bats here last time,’ explained Lily.

‘They must have found their way in through the entrance we so kindly opened for them,’ replied Ethan with a grin.

‘I wonder what else might have made its way in here?’ shuddered Roana. ‘It was bad enough last time with cockrokes and rats and that horrible hobgoblin.’

‘I think you mean cockroaches, your highness,’ teased Saxon. ‘I know you have had little to do with humble cockroaches in your palatial abode. Don’t worry, we are well prepared this time.’ Saxon patted his bulging pack.

‘Not to mention our heavily armed escort,’ added Ethan. ‘I think twenty soldiers should be sufficient to help us deal with a plague of cockroaches and rats.’

At last all of the rebels were inside the cave, and the entrance had been carefully hidden with branches. A number of lanterns were lit so everyone could see their way clearly.

They started to walk in single file, glad to be able to stretch their legs, following Fox’s lantern as it gradually wound its way uphill.

‘Here is the fork in the tunnel,’ Roana called. The left tunnel leading to the palace cellars meandered downhill, while the tunnel to the right rose steeply straight ahead. ‘We need to go to the right,’ Roana directed. ‘That way leads to a vast cavern where the rubbish is thrown from Tira above. We think that is where the sword was thrown.’

Aisha snuffled the air wafting down from the tunnel. She could already smell what the children knew was ahead. The cavalcade set off for the cavern on the right. Soon they came to a flight of steep narrow steps that twisted and turned as they climbed.

‘There’s the smell!’ exclaimed Lily, wrinkling her nose in disgust. A wave of revolting stench wafted down the tunnel. ‘We’re nearly there.’

The smell grew stronger and stronger as they climbed. The children were prepared this time and quickly pulled scarves up over their noses and mouths to deaden the stench. Rivulets ran down the walls and steps, forming slimy puddles.

At last, the steps finished and the tunnel levelled out again. Lily took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. She wasn’t sure if it helped knowing what was ahead, or if it made it harder.

Fox held up the lantern to illuminate the tunnel walls ahead. The walls seemed to ripple and shimmer in the lantern light. Even the floor and ceiling seemed to be moving. Roana tightened the scarf around her hair and mouth.

‘It’s best if we run here,’ Ethan suggested. ‘But be careful not to fall, the floor is slippery.’

The order was relayed back to the rebels behind. One by one, the children took a deep breath and ran, their feet crunching and slipping on the scuttling carpet beneath their feet. Aisha barked madly, snapping at the walls. Roana held Caspar’s hand to help him run.

Thousands of black and brown cockroaches hurtled up and down the walls, ceiling and floor of the tunnel, fleeing from the light. They ran up legs and dropped from the ceiling, but everyone was prepared with tight leggings and head coverings.

It only took a few moments until they reached their destination, bursting out of the tunnel into an enormous cave. The stench was much worse than in the tunnel, even with the scarves wound tightly around their noses and mouths. Ahead of them was the rubbish tip of Tira – a vast cavern filled with a gigantic mountain of putrid garbage. Worse than the smell was the sight revealed by their lanterns – the mountain was covered in thousands of swarming, scavenging, scuttling rats.

Roana tried to think of sweet, friendly Percy the rat, which had saved their skins on Jake the Garbageman’s cart. It didn’t help. She still hated rats.

The rebels raced in behind them, taking positions. Somehow that did help, knowing that they were not alone, facing the mountain of rats. The rats stilled when they saw the bright glow of the lanterns. They turned to face the interlopers, their eyes glowing red in the reflected light. Like a river, the rats turned and flowed down the mountain, racing towards the humans, their little legs scrabbling, their whiskers twitching and their tails lashing.

Lily felt fear rise into her mouth as sharp as bile. She took a deep breath and steadied her shaking hands.

‘Ready,’ called Fox. The rebels and children took their positions, in pairs, preparing their weapons. ‘Aim.’ The rats swarmed closer, thousands of them rushing on relentlessly. ‘Fire.’

One of each pair held a burning torch. The other partner controlled a small wooden barrel, fitted with a hand pump. Each barrel held strong alcohol. As it was pumped in a powerful spray, it ignited, shooting roaring flames several metres ahead. The cavern glowed in the red blaze of spurting fire, lighting the humans’ faces with a weird red light.

The dark-dwelling rats were blinded by the fire, and many sizzled in its flames. But rats still scuttled closer, whiskers twitching and teeth snapping. The rebel soldiers pumped feverishly, feeding the flames with more alcohol vapour. More rats blazed in the flames, while the flood of rats behind pushed hundreds of the rodents to their deaths. After a few moments the heat and smoke and fire were unbearable. At last the surviving rats realised they were beaten and scampered for the deepest shadows on the far side of the cavern.

Their exodus left the mountain of rubbish free. Scaring the rats away was the easy part. Now they had to search every square metre of the rubbish heap. It was a bit like searching the proverbial hayrick for a pin, although Lily thought perhaps that task would be a lot more pleasant than searching a rubbish mountain for a sword.

Fox divided everyone up into teams and ordered them to search the mountain in a grid pattern, methodically and scrupulously. The rebel soldiers were ordered to ring the base of the mountain and slowly work their way towards the peaks. Roana, Lily, Saxon, and Ethan were ordered to work higher up the slopes, as they were lighter, and Fox felt it was safer in the centre, surrounded by troops. Fox co-ordinated the search, keeping Caspar close by his side. Red rat eyes could still be seen from the deepest corners of the cavern and occasionally a horde would surge forth to attack, only to be sizzled by Fox’s flame pumps.

The searchers scrabbled through cabbage leaves, smashed crockery, pumpkin peelings, rags, broken furniture, offal, broken bottles, discarded boots and smashed crates. They used pitchforks to turn over piles of debris. The work was tedious and extremely slow. The mountain at its peak was metres deep, and the sword could be hidden beneath this layer or the next.

As they worked, the darkness in the cavern gradually paled, until at last they could see grey shafts of light appearing through cracks above. It was Queen Ashana’s wedding day and time was running out.

It was midmorning and Queen Ashana was taking a bath. The hot water was sprinkled with rose petals and chamomile flowers and floating with bubbles. A maid servant washed her hair and massaged her neck. The muscles were as tight as steel rods.

Cookie personally delivered a ewer of fresh milk to soften and whiten the queen’s complexion. Queen Ashana waved away her maid servants so she could speak to Cookie alone.

‘Albert is back. He says the children have returned from the north,’ whispered Cookie. ‘They have the prince safely with them.’

‘Thank the blessed Moon Goddess,’ whispered Queen Ashana, clutching the side of the bath with soapy fingers.

‘Courage, your highness,’ Cookie whispered. ‘Albert is gathering the rebels to the city.’

‘Are you sure?’ whispered Queen Ashana urgently. ‘Are you sure my children are safe?’

‘Albert says they are close by, your highness,’ Cookie assured her, before hurrying back to the kitchens to finalise the wedding feast.

Queen Ashana sank her head deep under the water, her eyes closed. She had a throbbing headache.

During the morning, the usual gaggle of peasants queued on the bridge to pass through the city gates. Farmers, fisherfolk, carpenters, smithies and craftsmen waited to sell their goods and offer their services to the city folk. They brought sacks of potatoes, herds of cows, baskets of fish, tools, caged chickens and carts of produce. Horses stamped, donkeys snorted, housewives giggled, farmers chatted. During the day, a stream of countryfolk wandered in and out of the city conducting their business. There was even more of a buzz at the bridge than usual, for today was the day of the Royal Wedding. The day when Governor Lazlac of Sedah was to wed Ashana, the former Queen of Tiregian. Of course the peasants were keen to visit Tira to watch the festivities.

The Sedah sentries were endlessly bored with checking the goings-on of peasants and merchants. Desultorily they checked sacks and carts, but they were more interested in harassing the wealthy looking merchants to see if they could confiscate anything of value. They hardly noticed as one by one, over the course of the day, a rebel slipped in disguised as a farmer or cooper or seamstress or wheelwright or milkmaid.

Quietly and unobtrusively the ‘peasants’ made their way to several safe houses around the city where they were to await further orders.

The weapons had to be smuggled in separately, buried in cartloads of lettuce and carrots. Albert Drummond personally checked each cartload and each safe house, ensuring that everyone had arrived. He reiterated his orders then went to check on Cookie and the palace kitchens.

In the palace, servants ran hither and thither in a carefully orchestrated strategy of organised chaos.

The Great Hall was hung with banners and garlanded with flowers. Long tables were set up with white linen tablecloths, heavy silver and gold cutlery, huge candelabras, ornate salt cellars and damask napkins. Lord Lazlac had ordered many of the palace treasures to be uncrated for the feast. At one end was a dais, with a long bridal table and two thrones. Red, the colour of Sedah weddings, was everywhere – red velvet drapes hung from the sixmetre ceilings, while the benches and thrones were swathed with cushions the colour of fresh blood.

Maid servants and page boys scurried, sprinkling lavender water and rose petals, polishing the cutlery until their faces were mirrored in the blades.

In one of the bed chambers Queen Ashana was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who primped, powdered and perfumed the reluctant bride. Queen Ashana wore the blood-red Sedah bridal gown that Governor Lazlac had designed. Her face was ashen, devoid of colour. One of the ladies powdered her cheeks with rouge and coloured her lips with crimson. She looked like a lifeless doll, her blue eyes large and tearless, her hair coaxed into dozens of ornate ringlets, pinned with pearls.

Marnie bustled everywhere, sick with anxiety. Queen Ashana had warned her that Cookie and Albert had organised a force of rebel soldiers that were standing by, but they did not know any of the details.

Cookie popped her head around the door.

‘Under no circumstances would I recommend that you try the soup, your highness,’ warned Cookie. ‘It is far too spicy for your delicate stomach. Save your appetite for the roast duck with orange sauce, which I know you adore.’

Queen Ashana smiled wanly.

The final touch was the fine red wedding veil that swathed the queen from head to toe.

‘May the Moonmother bless you and keep you safe, your highness,’ murmured Marnie with an encouraging smile as she tweaked the veil into place.

Governor Lazlac was freshly shaven, his hair cut extremely short, and he was dressed in crimson ceremonial robes that swept to the ground. He surveyed himself in the mirror approvingly.

A loud knock sounded on the door.

‘Come in,’ called the governor, turning away from the mirror.

Burgis entered, accompanied by his unusual scent. Governor Lazlac wrinkled his nose in annoyance.

‘Yes?’ he queried.

‘Sir, Sniffer has just returned from the north,’ Burgis cried enthusiastically. ‘He says he has news of the greatest importance!’

Governor Lazlac snorted, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his robes.

‘Not now,’ snapped Lord Lazlac. ‘I am to be married in an hour. Everything else can wait.’

‘But sir,’ interjected Burgis. ‘Sniffer says that –’

‘I said not now,’ roared Governor Lazlac. ‘Sniffer can bring me his news in the morning. He has certainly taken his time returning with it so another few hours won’t hurt.’

Burgis saluted and left the room, wondering what news it was that Sniffer had brought from the north. Governor Lazlac did not waste time on that thought. He was too busy dreaming of his coronation.

Downstairs in the barracks, Sniffer sat at the mess table, a trencher of food in front of him. His bandaged leg throbbed and his brain whirred with all the news he had been unable to tell Governor Lazlac. He was too exhausted to eat.

Lieutenant Foulash sauntered in, dressed in his finest uniform. Sniffer dragged himself up and limped to the Sedah officer, clutching at his arm.

‘Sir,’ Sniffer pleaded, ‘I’ve terrible news from the north. Prince Caspar has escaped the Sedah priests, with the princess and the other children, and they’re heading for Tira. Captain Malish and his soldiers and Mortma have been captured by rebels and are prisoners in the forests north of here. I tried to tell Governor Lazlac, but he’s too busy. We have to do something.’

Lieutenant Foulash smiled. He could profit greatly from this information. He thought back to the severe reprimand he had received from Captain Malish when the Tiregian prisoners had escaped from the barn in the forests of Kenley. He thought back to a hundred insults and punishments he had suffered from his superior. Now Captain Malish had failed and Lieutenant Foulash would be the one to save the day.

‘Good work, Sniffer,’ congratulated Lieutenant Foulash. ‘I will look after everything from here. We will set off with a raiding party first thing in the morning to rescue Captain Malish and Mortma, and we can search every house, inn and hovel until we find the pesky brats. Don’t worry, I’ll organise everything in the morning.’

‘But sir,’ Sniffer argued, ‘the children are on their way to Tira now – they may even be here already. Those children are up to something mysterious. I fear they may spoil all our plans.’

Lieutenant Foulash patted Sniffer on the shoulder, removing his desperate grasp from his uniform sleeve.

‘You look exhausted,’ soothed Lieutenant Foulash. ‘Why don’t you go and have a sleep? The royal wedding and coronation are in a couple of hours. The palace is crawling with Sedah soldiers. Nothing can go wrong now.’

Sniffer obediently left his dinner and went to his bunk, where he fell into a deep slumber.

Scouring the mountain of litter, the children worked feverishly. Roana could feel the gems glowing and pulsing in the hem of her green riding cloak. The sword must be here somewhere.

The four children climbed to the peak of the rubbish mountain, holding up lanterns to illuminate the litter piles before them. The surface underneath their feet was shifting and unstable, so it was hard to climb. They had been searching for hours and were exhausted by the smell, the endless work, the lack of sleep, the darkness and the enormity of their quest. They could almost hear the minutes ticking away in their heads, and still they had found nothing.

Roana sighed, pinching her nose through the scarf. It was now almost sodden with the condensation from her breath. One rock at a time, one rock at a time, Roana thought to herself, remembering the mantra she had learnt weeks ago when they were moving hundreds of rocks to find the entrance to these tunnels. It reminded her to keep chipping away, and not to give up when the task seemed too enormous.

‘Look,’ Lily whispered, pointing over to the right.

Something moved in the corner of their vision, something white. The children spun around, their eyes straining in the dim light. Ahead of them on the next peak of rubbish was a figure, a white figure. Actually it was two figures. Skeletons. Human skeletons. One adult sized, one child sized. The two skeletons were jerking, jigging, waving, almost dancing on the spot.

The children screamed involuntarily, almost dropping their lanterns in fright. The lanterns made eerie leaping shadows that loomed and leered. Lily could hear her heart thudding erratically in her eardrums.

At the sound of their screams Fox left Caspar with George and bounded towards the children, his cutlass in his hands. Ethan whipped his bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow fired through the skeleton’s chest, where the heart would be if it were alive. The skeleton danced more violently, but did not move towards them. Two more arrows fired swiftly – one was caught between the rib cage, dangling uselessly, while the other bounced off a rib bone and fell to the ground.

Fox jumped in front of Roana, shielding her with his body, cutlass in one hand, dirk in the other. He scanned the valleys and peaks in front of him, searching for danger.

Aisha leapt towards the skeletons, her nose quivering and her ears cocked, but she wasn’t growling and her hackles weren’t raised.

The skeletons jerked ever more frantically, waving their arms about threateningly. Saxon lifted his lantern higher, his sword in his right hand.

‘Look,’ Saxon whispered, pointing with his sword. ‘There is a string or something attached to the hand.’

Now that Saxon had mentioned it, everyone could see a slight gleam of lantern light reflecting off something in a very faint line. Aisha had reached the skeletons now. She sniffed inquisitively. The skeletons kept dancing frenetically. Aisha jumped up on one, knocking it flying. The skeleton jangled back to its feet, a bit lopsided.

‘Aisha, leave it,’ called Lily. Reluctantly Aisha stopped sniffing the smaller figure and returned to heel. The four children and Fox moved slowly and carefully towards the two skeletons, weapons ready and eyes peeled. The skeletons jerked and leapt wildly. Just as the children came within a metre of them, they suddenly fell lifeless to the ground. Ethan dropped on one knee to examine the bones.

‘They’re human bones all right,’ said Fox, poking the rib cage with his cutlass.

‘But someone or something was helping them to jig,’ Ethan added, lifting a fine black twine, which made the child’s small hand wave up and down.

‘The strings are looped over that black pole,’ cried Saxon, indicating a thin black pole, supported by two black posts, invisible from a distance in the dimness. ‘It works like a macabre puppet show. Now who would rig this up, and why?’

‘Someone who wanted to scare off unwanted visitors?’ Lily glanced around nervously.

‘Whoever it was must be very close by,’ Fox whispered, scanning the shadows for clues.

‘The strings seem to lead over there,’ observed Roana, pointing to a slightly raised ridge about six metres away.

‘Ethan and Saxon, I want you to take the princess and Lily back to Caspar and George, while I investigate,’ Fox ordered. ‘No, don’t argue,’ he added as Ethan opened his mouth to do exactly that.

Reluctantly, Ethan, Roana, Lily and Saxon turned to obey. They had not taken more than half a dozen steps when a high-pitched shriek sounded behind them. They whirled around in time to see a horde of a hundred or more small green creatures hurl themselves over the ridge. Each one was the size of a small child, with huge round eyes, large flapping ears and a pointy nose. Their skin was slimy like a frog and covered with warty protrusions. Each one held a weapon in its small webbed hands, raised above their heads menacingly.

‘Hobgoblins,’ shrieked Lily. ‘A whole army of them!’

Fox raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply, the signal to call his men to his side. The whistle reverberated around the huge cavern, calling the rebels to crawl and clamber as fast as they could up to the peak of the rubbish mountain. In their haste, many slipped and fell, sinking to their thighs in the unstable terrain.

The hobgoblins ran to the small group of children huddled behind Fox, their weapons waving and jabbing wildly. They carried scythes, cudgels, pike staffs, spears and daggers, all fashioned from the broken debris of the city above.

‘Weapons ready?’ called Fox. Ethan, Lily and Roana readied their bows and nocked their arrows obediently. Saxon hefted his sword. ‘Aim, fire.’

Ethan, Lily and Roana loosed a volley of arrows, aiming for the heart of the hobgoblin army. A few hobgoblins fell, shrieking in distress, but the majority ran on. The three children kept firing as fast as they could reload their arrows. The first of the rebels reached the group of children and surrounded them with a ring of muscled bodies and glinting weapons. George carried Caspar on his shoulders and deposited him safely in the centre of the human fort.

‘Look at that,’ yelled Roana, dropping her bow. As the hobgoblins ran closer, they could see a taller hobgoblin in the centre, urging on his army. This hobgoblin carried a different weapon, which he struggled to hold aloft. The king of the hobgoblins carried a massive sword, dull, slightly rusty, but formidable nonetheless. The sword they had travelled so far to find. The Sun Sword – denuded of its gems, its lustre and its power but beautiful all the same.

Roana swallowed, her heart surging with determination. They had to get that sword back. In a moment the army was upon them. Rebels hacked and fought with their swords. There was blood and screams and chaos and confusion. The king of the hobgoblins stayed towards the back, screaming unintelligible orders and urging his lackeys on.

Roana did not take her eyes off him as the battle raged and ebbed around her. The little hobgoblin king jumped up on a barrel, screaming with rage, spittle bubbling at his lips, waving his heavy sword precariously. Roana took careful aim. She breathed slowly and shot. The silver arrow spun through the air, above the battle, and found its mark. The hobgoblin king screamed and fell, the arrow pierced through his sword arm. The Sun Sword dropped below him.

With their king wounded, the tide of the battle was turned. One by one the hobgoblins dropped their weapons and scampered for the far ridge, leaving their injured comrades behind. Regardless of the retreating hobgoblins and the bodies lying all around her, Roana ran for the place where the wounded king lay. She grabbed a sword from a hurt rebel as she passed.

‘Roana. Princess,’ yelled Fox. ‘Stop. Come back!’

Roana ignored him and kept running, with Aisha close behind. Ethan, Saxon, Lily and Fox chased after her as fast as they could.

Roana stood over the fallen hobgoblin king, the sword pointing at his chest.

‘May I please have my father’s sword?’ Roana asked politely. The hobgoblin croaked and shrieked. The warty bubbles on his skin opened to release a bitter, burning acid with an acrid smell. The creature rolled over painfully, grabbed the massive sword with his uninjured arm and lunged at Roana, aiming for her heart. Roana’s hours of training with Fox kicked in automatically. She did not have time to think or analyse or plan. She simply darted forward, straight into the line of that lethal sword, and crashed the blade with her own. The wounded king was too weak to withstand the force of Roana’s blow, and he dropped the Sun Sword with a screech, rolling over and scuttling away after his defeated army.

Roana bent down and lifted the Sun Sword. Joy filled her heart as she felt the power of the sword surge through her hands and up her arms. She lifted the sword above her head, with tears of elation streaming down her face. Ethan, Lily and Saxon jumped around her, hugging her, squeezing her, slapping her on the back and dancing an ecstatic jig. Aisha barked wildly, leaping up, wagging her tail and licking everyone in sight.

‘We did it! We have the Sun Sword!’ squealed the four excited voices.

Everyone looked closely at the sword they had searched for so long and so hard. The blade was dull and pitted with spots of rust. Two ugly wounds showed where the Sun Gem and Moon Pearl had been wrenched free. Smaller pits marked the spots where the Star Diamonds had once sparkled. The handle was dirty and scorched from the hobgoblin acid.

‘It does not look much, does it?’ Roana offered, a touch crestfallen. ‘I doubt it has any power in this state.’

George the blacksmith pushed forward to examine the blade.

‘I think I can help you with that,’ George offered. ‘Of course I can’t do much about the missing gems, but I can polish up the blade and fix the handle. It won’t take me long at all.’

Everyone turned to George in excitement.

‘Oh, but I have the gems here,’ cried Roana in delight. ‘They are sewn into the hem of my cloak.’

There was shocked silence for a moment, then an excited babble from the rebels all around.

The party retreated to the cavern floor, where George directed a large, hot fire to be built, using any flammable material they could find. George did not have his bellows or anvil or any of his tools, so he had to make do with the treasures he could salvage from the rubbish around him.

While the fire was burning down to white hot coals, George set to work polishing the blade and handle. He started rubbing with a small, smooth pebble and some oil, which he gently scrubbed over the rust spots and acid scorches.

Roana jiggled from foot to foot. ‘George, hurry, please hurry,’ she begged.

‘Your highness, I’m going as fast as I can,’ George replied, inspecting the blade’s surface carefully. ‘You jiggling up and down won’t make it happen any faster.’

For the next stage George rubbed a mixture of sand and water over the blade with wet rags.

Roana marched up and down, impatient words bubbling in her throat.

‘Your highness, perhaps it’s best if you sit down and rest,’ Fox suggested with a chuckle. ‘You’re driving us all crazy and George might ruin that beautiful sword of yours.’

‘Come and cuddle Charcoal, Roana,’ Lily suggested. ‘You know that always calms you.’

Roana snorted in a very un-princesslike way, but sat down and scooped Charcoal into her lap for a soothing stroke. Charcoal purred happily, always keen for a cuddle.

Last, George used clean wet rags to make the blade and handle sparkle once more. It was not a perfect job, but it was a vast improvement. Then when the fire was ready he used the white-hot coals to soften and melt the gold of the gem settings.

George was not a goldsmith, so his work was not as fine as the court jeweller’s would have been, but he understood metallurgy and fire and his large hands were surprisingly capable of such delicate work. It took him two hours to set the gems back in the handle and finish the polishing. The others could do nothing but rest and watch and give their help when George needed it – fanning the fire, fetching more fuel, pouring the oil and rinsing the rags in the rivulets in the tunnel.

At last George was satisfied. The Sun Sword gleamed in the firelight, the Sun Gem ruby glowing like a blood-red heart. On the reverse side the Moon Pearl glinted with a luminous shimmer, surrounded by twinkling Star Diamonds.

Roana picked it up reverently. ‘Thank you, George,’ she breathed. A jolt of power surged through her body, filling her with courage, assurance, love and hope. Roana buckled on a belt and sheathed the sword in a plain leather scabbard she had borrowed from one of the rebels.

‘Let us go now and free my mother, Queen Ashana,’ said Roana with calm authority. ‘The Sedahs have had their way for far too long in our land.’

Roana led the way, followed by Ethan, Lily, Saxon, Caspar, Fox and George. The rebels followed Roana without question. They marched back down, past the moving walls of cockroaches, down the twisting steps along the passageway to where the tunnel forked.

Here they took the left-hand tunnel, which meandered downhill. After a few minutes the tunnel started to climb steeply, then turned to slippery steps. They climbed eagerly, knowing they were now only minutes from the end of their journey.

At last they came to the shallow arched niche on the right-hand side of the tunnel. Above the arch was a carved depiction of a sun, with rays flaming around it.

Without hesitation, Roana pushed the rounded sphere of the sun in the centre. The depressed sphere operated a lever, which released the back of the archway with a shuddering, grinding noise. The door slid aside to reveal a secret opening, leading directly into the storerooms below the palace. Roana held a finger to her lips to indicate total silence. The signal was passed back along the line of men. One by one they stepped through the opening and climbed into the dusty storeroom.

The palace’s reception hall was packed with Sedah soldiers, all dressed in their black dress uniforms, and a handful of Tiregian ladies dressed in silk gowns. Heavily armed guards stood about the hall, in case of any trouble from the conquered Tiregians. At one end stood the seven Sedah priests, waiting in their long black gowns. To the side was a small table with two crowns placed on it. One crown was large and gold and ornate, studded with jewels. The other crown was small and silver and quite modest.

A group of trumpets played a stirring fanfare. When the music stopped the two huge doors at the opposite end were flung open by uniformed page boys. A procession of page boys in pairs walked down the central corridor between the onlookers. The trumpets burst forth once more. Governor Lazlac strode into the hall, his waxy face burning with zealous satisfaction. He nodded to left and right as he marched up the corridor, to the cheers of the Sedah soldiers.

A few metres behind him floated a tall, regal figure completely draped in crimson. A young handmaiden led before her, as it was impossible for the queen to see more than a few steps in front of her, through the gauzy veil. Many of the Tiregian ladies were openly weeping as their queen was led through the crowd to her fate. The rear of the procession was more page boys, all dressed in the severe black of the Sedah livery.

Queen Ashana, as directed, stopped in front of the Sedah priests, at Lord Lazlac’s side.

The Head Priest stepped forward.

‘Do you, Governor Lazlac, come before me to wed this woman, Ashana, in the name of Krad?’ the priest intoned in a heavy, ceremonial voice.

‘In the name of Krad, I, Governor Lazlac, wish to marry this woman, Ashana,’ agreed Lord Lazlac.

The priest stepped forward and flung back the veil that hid the queen’s face. Queen Ashana looked at the priest steadily, her face proud and calm. The sound of loud sobs could be heard from the audience behind them.

‘Is this the said woman Ashana?’ asked the Head Priest. Lord Lazlac looked possessively at Queen Ashana, his face grimacing in his parody of a smile. The queen returned his scrutiny, but her face was cold and impassive.

‘It is she,’ Lord Lazlac crowed.

‘Then I bind this woman, Ashana, to you in marriage, in the name of Krad and his fearful Emperor Raef,’ the priest continued. Apparently it was not Sedah tradition to ask the bride if she wished to be married to the groom. The priest took a long crimson ribbon and bound it tightly around Queen Ashana’s wrist, then bound her right wrist to Lord Lazlac’s left wrist to symbolise the binding of the marriage.

‘Be it so,’ the Head Priest intoned. The Sedah’s cheering and wolf whistles drowned out the sound of sobbing.

‘In the name of his most fearful majesty Emperor Raef, I take this opportunity to crown you as the new king of Tiregian,’ the priest continued when the exuberant cheering had died down. He lifted the large ornate crown and placed it firmly on the groom’s head. ‘Henceforth, you shall be known as His Royal Highness King Lazlac of Tiregian, in the dominion of Sedah and the Nine Isles.’

The cheering rose to even higher levels. The priest turned to the bride and placed the silver crown on her head.

‘I hereby take this opportunity to crown you Queen Ashana, the new queen of Tiregian, in the dominion of Sedah and the Nine Isles.’

The queen swallowed. King Lazlac turned to his new bride and swept a low, flourishing bow. ‘My queen, shall we attend our wedding feast?’

Queen Ashana nodded and was led back down through the cheering black crowds, still bound to King Lazlac by the crimson ribbon. Sedah tradition was to keep the bride and groom bound together until the clock struck midnight, to symbolise their new marriage. The wedding party retired to the Great Hall and sat at the long bridal table. The cheerful guests followed and took their places at the other long tables.

Many guests came to offer their congratulations to the newly married couple, with much back-slapping, toasts of cherry wine and well-worn jokes. King Lazlac grimaced happily. His plan had succeeded – he was now King of Tiregian, and lord of all he surveyed, including the very beautiful Queen Ashana. He tugged playfully on the crimson ribbon that bound her to his wrist.

Queen Ashana bit her lip, staring down at the gold cutlery on the table. She was queen once more, but there was little joy in that.

Down in the guardroom in the dungeons, a group of seven Sedah guards grumpily played cards. They were disappointed to be missing out on the feast in the palace above, and they were naturally slightly mollified when four pretty maid servants came from the kitchens carrying a barrel of cherry wine.

‘King Lazlac sends his compliments and said to tell you to drink up to celebrate his wedding and coronation,’ Jess announced with a simpering smile and a flutter of eyelashes.

The seven guards complied happily, smashing their mugs together in a toast.

‘To King Lazlac and his beautiful new bride. Krad be praised.’

They drained the mugs in one gulp and filled them up again before the maid servants had even left the room.

Similar barrels were also being delivered to the Sedah sentries on the three city gates and to the soldiers on the palace gates. Today was a happy day for Sedah and for the new king. It was a day for celebrations.

In the Great Hall vast quantities of cherry wine and ale had already been consumed.

No-one noticed that the cherry wine tasted slightly different this evening, or that the ale was having a very rapid effect on the revellers.

Servants now scurried about serving huge steaming tureens of spicy wild mushroom soup. It was served with lashings of cream and wedges of lemon.

‘Try the soup, my sweet,’ suggested King Lazlac to Queen Ashana.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Queen Ashana replied with a forced smile. ‘But I am saving my appetite for the roast duck, which is simply superb.’

‘No, no,’ King Lazlac cried. ‘I insist. Serve the queen some soup.’

A servant immediately obeyed, placing a bowl of creamy grey soup in front of Queen Ashana.

‘Thank you kindly,’ she replied, obediently lifting the spoon to her lips. ‘Mmmm, quite delicious, although very spicy.’

King Lazlac nodded his satisfaction and returned to speaking to his advisors on his right-hand side. He did not notice that Queen Ashana did not actually taste the soup, simply playing with the spoon and occasionally lifting it to her lips.

Marnie was seated at one of the lower tables with a number of ladies-in-waiting and Sedah officers, but she occasionally wandered over to the bridal table to check on the queen and give her courage. Both of them felt sick with nerves. Would this evening never end?

Jess crept down into the guardroom, carrying a large bundle in one arm and a jug of warm water in the other. There she found seven sentries collapsed on the floor, snoring happily. She nodded to herself, put the jug and bundle down on the table and immediately hurried down towards the storerooms on the southern side of the underground complex.

She whistled a merry tune as she ran down the passageway. Fox heard the prearranged signal and popped his head out of the storeroom, where they were all waiting. Mia waved cheekily from his shoulder and blew Jess a kiss.

‘The marriage and coronation are finished and the feast has begun,’ Jess explained quickly. There was a sharp intake of breath from Roana, as she realised that her mother was now married to the despicable Lord Lazlac. ‘The guards are unconscious so we can release the prisoners from the dungeons,’ Jess continued. ‘Come this way.’

Fox and the rebels, disguised in Sedah uniforms, followed Jess back down the corridor to the central guardroom. The unconscious Sedah guards were relieved of their keys, their weapons and their uniforms. Fox changed into one of the black Sedah uniforms, fastening the armour tightly.

Roana looked longingly at the steps leading up to the palace.

‘First things first, Roana,’ Fox reminded her, buckling on a helmet. ‘These prisoners have been locked up for many weeks. We must set them free.’

The keys were divvied out by Fox, and then everyone helped to unlock the cells and warn the prisoners to be quiet.

Aisha picked up a scent she recognised and ran to sniff at the bottom of a cell door. Ethan and Lily ran to investigate, their hearts pounding with anticipation. They unlocked the door to discover a number of prisoners, including Willem, who was sitting in the corner completely shocked to find his prison door opened by his two children.

Willem was bruised and puffy around the face, but he was strong and fit from his work on the temple, and tanned a deep brown by the sun.

‘Dadda,’ cried Lily running across the cell to throw her arms around him. Aisha bounded over to lick him on the face. Willem still could not speak.

‘Are you all right, Dadda?’ begged Ethan in concern, searching his father’s face with one arm flung around his shoulder. He was terrified that the incarceration in the dungeons had taken its toll on his father’s wits.

Willem shook himself vigorously, then squeezed both children in a gigantic bear hug.

‘You are real,’ Willem breathed. ‘Thank the Sun Lord. I thought I’d finally gone mad and was just imagining you here.’ He reached over and tickled Aisha, who rolled on her back, exposing her white belly for a rub, her tail thumping the stone floor with glee.

‘Come on,’ called Fox from the doorway. ‘No time for family reunions. We have a battle to fight.’

Everyone jumped up and followed Fox out into the milling crowd. Roana and Saxon were tying a band of crimson ribbon onto the left arms of each of the rebels dressed in Sedah uniform.

‘This is how you will know who is a real Sedah soldier and who is a disguised Tiregian rebel,’ Saxon explained to the soldiers.

The real Sedah sentries were locked together in a cell in their underwear to sleep off the drugged cherry wine. Then all the prisoners were kitted out with weapons from the armoury. Willem was dressed in a Sedah uniform and helped himself to a fine bow and a quiver full of arrows. He strung the bow and carefully tested the draw weight. He felt a thrill of excitement surge through him to be holding a bow in his hands once more.

‘All the released prisoners should stay here hiding in the outer corridor,’ Fox ordered. ‘We will leave six of our men here disguised as Sedah soldiers, in case anyone comes down to check. The rest will come with me, including the children. Jess, where are those servant clothes?’

Jess opened the bundle she had been carrying, to reveal three black page boy outfits, two maid servant gowns and some clean rags.

‘Looks like it might be time for you to become a girl again, Roana?’ grinned Lily.

‘Cookie’s been trying to get me back in a dress for ages,’ agreed Roana, laughing, holding the dark skirts against her legs. ‘Actually I can’t wait to get out of these stinking clothes. I can still smell the garbage pit all around me.’

The children hurriedly washed their hands and faces with the warm water and cloths Jess had brought down, and then changed into the clothes.

Soon Ethan, Saxon and Caspar were wearing black shirts, jackets and breeches, with small tricorn hats. Lily and Roana were wearing dark blue dresses with full skirts, white petticoats, white aprons and white mob caps. Roana buckled the leather belt and leather scabbard, holding the Sun Sword around her narrow waist. She pinned the skirt around the scabbard to hide it.

‘Is that you, Roana? I’m so used to seeing you look like a boy that I can hardly recognise you,’ Lily laughed. ‘Your hair has grown quite a bit over the last few weeks, and it’s almost back to its old colour. It suits you.’

‘Welcome back, your highness,’ teased Ethan. ‘You are definitely moving up in the world.’

When everyone was ready they gathered in the guardroom – Fox, Willem, George, Ethan, Lily, Saxon, Roana, Caspar and the rebels disguised as Sedah soldiers.

‘Now remember your cover stories if we are stopped and questioned,’ Fox reminded them. ‘Let’s go and let Albert and the other rebels in at the palace gates.’

Cautiously and quietly they climbed up the circular steps that led into the bottom of the southwest tower. The great courtyard was bathed in silver moonlight. The nearly full moon was rising in the sky, illuminating the white towers of Tira in a silvery glow.

The group slid through the shadows with Aisha at their heels. At the palace gates they found a group of sentries fast asleep. The guards were quickly stripped, bound with rope and locked in the guardhouse. Fox unlocked the gate and hooted loudly like his ship’s namesake. The owl cry was repeated twice. An answering hoot came from the other side of the park. A few minutes later Albert Drummond appeared with a force of two hundred armed rebels, who crept quietly into the palace.

Sniffer woke suddenly from his nightmare, drenched in sweat. The cheeky faces of four Tiregian children and that dog hovered in his mind. In his dream, the children were together on a toboggan, with the dog and the cat, hurtling straight down the mountain of snow, laughing back at him. The scent of them wafted back to him tauntingly. He was on a toboggan only metres behind them, but no matter how fast he chased them, they were always tantalisingly just out of reach.

He rubbed his eyes, longing for a deep, long sleep. His leg throbbed and his head ached. But those children would not leave him alone, even in his dreams. A deep feeling of foreboding coursed through his body. He must warn Governor Lazlac, even if it was his wedding night. Reluctantly Sniffer climbed out of his bunk, pulled on his boots and hobbled across the central courtyard.

No-one challenged him as he passed. The palace seemed deserted, with nearly everyone congregated in the Great Hall for the feast. Sniffer walked faster. The children are here, he thought, hope racing through his blood. I know they are somewhere very near.

In the Great Hall, King Lazlac was not feeling his best. His head ached and he felt slightly nauseous. A strong cramp clenched his stomach. He glanced around the hall and realised that quite a few of his colleagues were looking a trifle pale. A number had stumbled off to the latrines, gripped with stomach cramps and nausea. Most of them did not come back. A dreadful smell wafted through the hall. King Lazlac felt an overpowering urge to visit the latrines himself, but he was firmly bound with crimson ribbon to his new queen.

King Lazlac suddenly felt bile rise in his throat and he started to vomit, covering himself in regurgitated wild toadstool soup and minced Adder’s Tongue. His gorgeous red velvet wedding clothes were soiled, his satin slippers splattered and his ornate crown dislodged. Queen Ashana glared at him in disgust, holding herself as far from her new consort as possible.

King Lazlac tried to rise but his head was muzzy and his vision blurred.

The herbs that Cookie had chopped into the soup included poisonous wild toadstools, not enough to kill but enough to make the consumer hallucinate, and Adder’s Tongue – a strong emetic and cathartic herb that induces vomiting and diarrhoea. Another powerful stomach spasm bent the new king almost double.

It was for this reason that he did not notice a number of soldiers dressed in Sedah uniforms who slipped into the Great Hall, each one with a crimson ribbon tied around his left arm. The new soldiers solicitously helped some of the incapacitated revellers away to recover. It was only later the revellers discovered they had been relieved of their weapons and locked inside the antechamber.

Sniffer slipped into the Great Hall. Something was not quite right. He smelled the pervading odour of vomit and latrines with a slight underlay of fear. His delicate nostrils caught another whiff, a very familiar cocktail of children and dog and a faint hint of lavender. Sniffer started to run towards the new king on his magnificent throne.

‘Governor Lazlac,’ Sniffer shouted. ‘I must warn you.’

When King Lazlac lifted his head at the shout, he realised a group of young servants and black-clad soldiers had gathered behind him. He raised his face imperiously.

‘Clean up this mess at once,’ King Lazlac ordered, a trifle shakily. Queen Ashana stared at him with huge eyes, her gaze darting to the crazed, stooped figure who was running towards them, then back to the servants behind her.

‘My pleasure,’ answered one of the servant girls, who had scandalously short hair. From somewhere she lifted a massive sword, flashing with reflected light, which she swung down menacingly. King Lazlac yelped in dismay. He stared at the sword. It looked terrifyingly, horrifyingly familiar. His heart nearly stopped beating in shock. This was impossible. He must be hallucinating.

‘They’re here,’ shouted Sniffer as a burly soldier in a Sedah uniform, with a crimson ribbon on his left arm, grasped him firmly with both arms. ‘The children are here already.’ All eyes turned to the wedding table.

The great sword descended, almost in slow motion. But the servant girl did not strike the newly crowned king, she merely used the blade to strike through the crimson ribbon that bound King Lazlac to Queen Ashana.

‘With this blade I sunder the false marriage of this vermin to my mother,’ cried Princess Roana, her eyes blazing with rage. ‘And with this blade I sunder your false claim to my father’s crown.’ Princess Roana used the sword to knock the gold crown from Lord Lazlac’s head down into the pile of vomit on the table.

‘In the name of the Sun Sword I claim Tiregian back for the Tiregians,’ Roana thundered.

The sword flashed and gleamed in the lamplight, its jewels dazzling.

Lord Lazlac was not giving up his crown without a fight. He screamed for his guards, grabbed up his befouled crown and rammed it back on his head, turning to the soldiers behind him.

‘Seize her, guards,’ King Lazlac shrieked. ‘Tear her limb by limb – I want her head cut from her body before my eyes.’

The guards, who were actually disguised Tiregian rebels, instead seized Lord Lazlac by the arms and relieved him of his ceremonial sword and dagger. Queen Ashana rose to her feet and flung herself towards Roana, standing behind her.

‘Look, Mama,’ Roana cried. ‘We brought Caspar home.’

Lily stepped forward from the back of the group, leading the pale and shaken Prince Caspar by the hand.

‘Caspar,’ cried Queen Ashana, her voice hoarse with tears. ‘My darling boy. Are you all right?’

Prince Caspar stepped forward tentatively, then ran as fast as he could right into his mother’s arms. Queen Ashana hugged him as though she would never let him go. When at last she stepped back to check his face, her red silk wedding dress was splattered with both their tears.

Meanwhile a battle raged around them. Most of the real Sedah soldiers were in a very sorry state, gripped by vomiting and diarrhoea, stomach cramps and dizzy heads. But of course many of them resisted, fighting back with cutlass and dagger. Albert Drummond was wounded by an enemy spear hurled across the room that buried itself in his thigh.

Candles and lanterns were knocked over, flames seared, blood spurted and crockery smashed. One of the long tables caught fire, blazing fiercely. On a side table was a large ice sculpture of the palace, surrounded by a fake ocean of seafood and shellfish. It was slowly dripping in the heat. A Sedah soldier tripped, sending the ice sculpture flying into smithereens, spilling slippery shellfish and ice splinters over the floor. Burgis ran to help his lord and sprawled metres across the floor, sliding on the sharp oyster shells and ice shards, where he was rescued by a Tiregian rebel.

Lieutenant Foulash had eaten little of the soup, as it was too spicy for him. He drew his cutlass and clambered onto the bridal table, racing to rescue his commander. Fox drew his own sword and leapt in front of him, gracefully sidestepping fine bone china soup bowls, empty tureens, knocked over goblets and pools of vomit. Lieutenant Foulash gave a roar of indignation and galloped for Fox, swiping for his neck.

Mia jumped from Fox’s shoulder and swung up Lily’s arm onto her head, jabbering in rage. Fox answered Foulash’s challenge by glissading forward, as graceful as a dancer. His blue eyes glittered with battle fervour as he parried and feinted, thrusted and blocked, his red ponytail swinging. Around the hall, other pairs of soldiers were fighting and screaming, amid the spot fires. Fox and Lieutenant Foulash seemed evenly matched, and the duel flashed back and forth for many long minutes. Lieutenant Foulash fought strongly, sweating and panting in the heat.

Ethan and Saxon watched fearfully from beside the table, anxious to help Fox but not wanting to get in his way.

At last, Fox seemed to hesitate and was forced backwards. Lieutenant Foulash gave a scream of triumph and lunged forward. He drove his cutlass towards Fox’s chest, slicing Fox’s black shirt, and releasing a torrent of crimson blood. Lily screamed. Lieutenant Foulash grinned his triumph, for a brief moment balancing on just his front foot. Fox hooked one boot around his opponent’s leg and jerked him right off his feet, jabbing his sword at the fallen man’s throat.

‘A swordsman should always glide – you must keep both feet on the ground at all times,’ instructed Fox, ignoring the flow of blood trickling down his front. ‘Shouldn’t you, Sax?’

‘Always,’ grinned Saxon.

Mia jumped up and down on the fallen Sedah soldier, chattering with excitement. Lieutenant Foulash moaned with shock.

‘If you’ve quite finished, Fox,’ scolded Jess, ‘do you think we could bind up that wound for you, before you bleed to death?’

At last the remaining Sedah soldiers were subdued and, along with their leader, the dethroned King Lazlac, taken down in chains to be locked in the dungeons. There was no time to rest or celebrate. Groups of rebels were despatched to every gate in the city, the port and the garrison. The Tiregian uprising was such a surprise and the preparation so meticulous that there was surprisingly little bloodshed.

By late afternoon the next day, all of the Sedah soldiers in Tiregian had either surrendered or been conquered. The dungeons under the palace were full once more, but this time with the foreign invaders.

It was Midsummer’s Day, the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, when the last Sedah soldier was despatched. Once more true ruler of her realm, Queen Ashana gave orders for a great victory celebration to be held that night, throughout the land – with traditional midsummer bonfires, music, feasts, singing and dancing.

Cookie was beside herself having to prepare a second feast so close to the other ruined wedding banquet. Queen Ashana assured her there was no need for such a lavish spread.

The four children – Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana – had been up late into the night and were exhausted. They were each given private chambers, with vast four-poster beds, scalding hot baths and clean nightclothes. Aisha, too, was totally weary, curled up on the rug beside Lily’s bed. Only Charcoal was awake, exploring the corridors of the palace by night, scrounging scraps under Cookie’s kitchen table and chasing mice in the corridor.

The children slept most of Midsummer’s Day and it was nearly dusk when they finally awoke.

Lily, Saxon and Ethan could not believe the luxury of the palace chambers they were given. Each one woke to another hot bath and clean, festive clothes laid out on a chair, which Cookie had begged and borrowed from the former courtiers of the palace. After their bath there was a servant to help them dress and do their hair.

The weeks of fear and anxiety and worry sloughed off in the hot bath like the dirt from the caverns. They felt fresh and alive once more. It was Midsummer’s Eve, a night for one of the greatest celebrations in Tiregian history.

It was already dark when the four children gathered downstairs, with Aisha by their side and Charcoal in Lily’s arms. They smiled shyly at each other, hardly recognising each other in their court finery.

Roana and Lily wore long dresses of finest silk in pale violet and green, with rich white lace at the neck and sleeves. Lily’s hair was carefully coaxed into long ringlets, while Roana’s shorter wavy hair was held back with a silver coronet. Ethan and Saxon wore white linen shirts, breeches and blue jackets. They were supposed to be wearing neatly tied cravats, but both had tugged and pulled at them until they were loose and hanging slightly askew.

A page boy announced their presence at the door.

‘Her royal highness, Princess Roana, with her honoured friends Lily, Ethan and Saxon of Kenley.’

The children entered the large crowded dining room. Candelabra hung from the ceiling, blazing with candles. Most of the guests were already gathered at the long tables, dressed in their finest silks in dozens of butterfly colours, sipping on crystal goblets filled with ruby cherry wine or golden apple cider. At the main table were seated Queen Ashana and Prince Caspar, Willem and Marnie, the wounded Fox and Jess, Albert and Cookie and George the farrier, with a number of the lords and ladies who had been captured with the queen.

A small group of musicians played violins, mandolins and flutes in the corner. Armfuls of fresh flowers from the gardens were arranged in crystal vases, and the windows were flung open to let in the sweet summer air.

‘Good evening, dearest Roana. Good evening, Lily, Ethan and Saxon,’ cried Queen Ashana. ‘Welcome to our Midsummer Eve’s feast. Come and join us.’

‘I hope you don’t mind that we brought Aisha,’ Lily apologised. ‘She has been with us through all the adventures and we couldn’t bear to be parted from her now.’

‘Not at all,’ laughed Queen Ashana. ‘I have become very fond of Aisha myself.’

The four children took their seats in the middle of the table, opposite their parents, and had their goblets filled with apple cider. Cookie was having the night off to celebrate, but she still watched anxiously as maid servants carried in platter after platter of food.

There were large trays of fresh oysters with lemon juice, bowls of king prawns still in their shells, roast duck with orange sauce, spitted beef and fricasseed chicken, red wine and mushroom sauce, green beans and asparagus in butter, summer salads, and sautéed vegetables. Potatoes were roasted in garlic and rosemary, or baked with bacon and cream. The smells of roasting meat and rich sauces wafted from each tray that passed, making mouths water and stomachs rumble.

The children had forgotten the last time they had eaten, and they realised they were absolutely starving. There was so much food it was hard to know what to choose. They all started with sweet, cold seafood, then moved onto crispy duck that melted in the mouth, creamy baked potato and crispy green beans. The apple cider fizzed and bubbled on their tongues. Lily sighed with happiness, stroking Aisha at her feet.

‘Save room,’ whispered Roana with a broad grin. ‘Cookie has made my favourite desserts – chocolate mousse and lime tart.’

Laughter rang around the tables, joyful music played and people chattered happily. When several courses had been cleared away Queen Ashana rose to her feet, and held up her hand for silence.

‘My dear friends,’ Queen Ashana began. ‘The last three months has been one of the darkest periods that Tiregian has ever faced. The Sedah invaded our realm and murdered my beloved husband, King Radnor.’

A ripple of sorrow shimmered around the room. Princess Roana, Prince Caspar and many others fought tears.

‘The Sedah seized our lands and all we held dear, kidnapping my son, imprisoning many of our subjects, stealing, burning and pillaging,’ Queen Ashana continued. ‘They outlawed our revered beliefs and brought over their own dark god. They stole our most sacred relic, the Sun Sword, and desecrated it.

‘Yet through our darkest days we were not defeated. Loyal subjects all over the country plotted and gathered and rebelled. Last night and today, the Sedah were overthrown entirely, and Tiregian is once again free. Yesterday the Sun Sword was found and made whole once more. I would like you all to rise and charge your glasses for a toast.’

At once every person in the room rose to their feet and filled their glasses, holding them aloft to catch the light in a glitter of ruby and gold.

‘A toast to four of Tiregian’s finest. To four children who braved countless dangers, who tried and tried and never gave up. To four children who succeeded where most adults would definitely have failed. To Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana. Our heartfelt thanks.’

‘Lily, Ethan, Saxon and her royal highness Princess Roana – our thanks,’ boomed a hundred voices around the room.

The children smiled sheepishly, embarrassed by the multitude of eyes upon them. Roana, more accustomed to attention, lifted the Sun Sword high above her head. The sword flashed in the candlelight, the gold hilt glinting, the Sun Gem glowing deep ruby, the Moon Pearl gleaming luminously and the Star Diamonds flashing. All eyes turned to that magnificent weapon.

‘To the Sun Sword,’ called Roana.

‘To the Sun Sword,’ cried a hundred voices, clinking glasses.

‘To Midsummer’s Eve,’ added Willem, raising his glass.

‘To Midsummer’s Eve,’ cheered the whole room, laughing and sipping.

‘The bonfires are alight,’ called a voice from near the window.

Ethan, Lily, Saxon and Roana rushed to the open doors onto the terrace. A huge full moon hung heavy in the sky. From the terrace they could see over Tira to the countryside in the east. Everywhere – in courtyards, laneways, gardens, meadows, riverbanks and hilltops – the people of Tiregian had built massive bonfires to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve and victory over the Sedah.

‘It’s beautiful,’ murmured Lily.

‘A night we will never ever forget,’ agreed Roana.

Behind them the musicians struck up a merry tune. The courtiers pushed back the chairs to dance. Willem and Marnie jumped to their feet to twirl in each other’s arms. Jess curtseyed as a tightly bandaged Fox offered her his arm, and Queen Ashana danced with her son. Cookie tapped her feet, satisfied that the feast had been a success, while Albert nursed his bandaged thigh and poured them both a well-earned glass of cider.

‘I can’t believe we did it,’ Ethan sighed, rubbing Aisha on the head between her ears.

‘I guess we can go home now,’ said Saxon wistfully, thinking of his father, who he had not seen for months.

‘But not yet,’ retorted Roana. ‘We still have some Midsummer celebrating to do yet, and do not forget Cookie’s chocolate mousse.’

The four friends laughed and turned back to the party, happy to joke and dance and feast once more.

Wearily, the party of five rode through the forest.

‘It’s not far now,’ smiled Marnie, encouragingly. ‘Not long and we’ll be home.’

‘Home,’ said Lily longingly.

Saxon dug his heels into Caramel’s sides, urging her into a faster trot. The others broke into a trot as well.

Half an hour later they jogged into Kenley, in the late afternoon sun. It was not the Kenley they had left behind nearly four months ago. Many of the cottages were ruins – piles of stones and blackened timber. Yet everywhere was the sign of industry, people bustling and working, building, hoeing, cleaning up.

An old woman was working in the ruins of her cottage, moving rubble. She paused, recognised the riders and stood up calling a loud greeting. A middle-aged man was working in a garden further up the lane. He saw the riders and came running.

‘Sax,’ he called. ‘Sax, my boy, is that really you?’

‘Dadda,’ yelled Saxon, tumbling down from Caramel’s back and into his father’s arms. Rodney the tailor wept with relief that his only son had returned home at last.

There were hugs and tears and thumps and greetings all around as the villagers realised that the Master of Horse and his family had returned, along with mischievous Saxon.

‘I have your pig, Willem,’ offered one farmer. ‘I found her wandering in the forest and brought her back.’

‘Your cows are fine, down in your meadow,’ offered another. ‘But I think the foxes caught all your chickens and ducks, Marnie.’

Village news from the last four months was shared – who had died, who had been born, who had suffered during the invasion. At last their neighbours and friends drifted off to their work. Rodney took Saxon home to hear tales of their adventures.

Finally Willem, Marnie, Ethan and Lily stood before their own cottage. The once-enchanting home was now nothing but a pile of rubble. They slid from their horses to stand at the lopsided gate, hanging on one hinge. The forget-me-nevers and gillyflowers had long since faded and dropped their seeds, and the lavender and rosemary were battered and crushed but still sweet-scented.

‘They burnt it,’ cried Ethan, his face pale with fury. ‘The Sedahs burnt our home.’

‘We’ve lost everything,’ wailed Lily, tears pouring down her face. ‘Everything is gone.’

Marnie stood silent, her face set with determination and her eyes bright with tears as she surveyed the ruin of her home and garden.

Willem drew them all into the shelter of his arms.

‘We haven’t lost everything,’ soothed Willem. ‘Everything precious in life is right here – our family, our friends and neighbours. The garden will grow again, it already is. We can rebuild the house, but at least we are all safe together once more.’

Aisha wagged her tail vigorously, thumping the ground and licking everyone in turn.

Marnie, Lily and Ethan smiled through their tears. Willem was right. The garden was already regrowing, with fresh new shoots pushing up through the rubble to greet the summer sun.

‘It’s so long since we’ve slept in a proper bed, I don’t think I could sleep properly anyway,’ joked Lily. ‘I guess it’s a blanket by the camp fire for a few more weeks at least.’

‘It’s summer and it will be ages before the weather turns cold,’ added Marnie.

‘And I bet the cellar under the barn is still intact,’ Ethan remembered. ‘I hid the trapdoor under a pile of manure so the Sedahs wouldn’t find it.’

‘That’s my clever boy,’ laughed Willem. ‘Let’s go and take a look.’

A month later, Queen Ashana arrived at Kenley with her children, Princess Roana and Prince Caspar, and a small group of Royal Guards.

She gravely surveyed the village, complimenting the villagers on the rebuilding work and making notes of ways she could offer help. After her tour, she came to tea with Willem and Marnie, along with Saxon and Rodney. Willem, Marnie, Ethan and Lily were living in the one stone room they had managed to rebuild so far.

It was only small but Willem and Ethan had built a roughly hewn table and two benches, while Lily had picked some wildflowers held in an old tin cup. Marnie made tea served in a chipped assortment of teacups, with cold lemon and apple pie.

‘I want to visit the clearing,’ Queen Ashana explained. ‘The clearing where Radnor died and it all began. I would really appreciate it if you would come with us.’

‘Of course, your majesty,’ agreed Willem. ‘It would be our honour.’

‘Thank you,’ smiled Queen Ashana. ‘Marnie, this pie is delicious.’

‘And what news of the Sedah, your majesty?’ asked Marnie. ‘Have you had a reply from Emperor Raef after your offer to exchange the Sedah prisoners for the stolen treasure of Tiregian?’

‘His reply was implorably rude,’ Queen Ashana responded. ‘He refused to consider the exchange and insisted that we were welcome to keep the useless rabble of soldiers and priests. He wrote that if he saw them again he would only punish the entire force for their incompetence, and he certainly was not paying for the displeasure.’

‘Will you release the prisoners then?’ asked Willem.

‘Surely you couldn’t release Lord Lazlac, or that terrible Sniffer or Lord Mortimer?’ shivered Marnie.

‘No. Of course not,’ replied Queen Ashana. ‘I have the Sedah prisoners working on rebuilding the homes that they destroyed in Tira and the surrounding villages. When that is completed I have two special projects in mind for Lord Lazlac, Sniffer and their men.’ Queen Ashana smiled mischievously. ‘I thought Lord Lazlac could help pull down that monstrous temple he built and replant my rose garden. Sniffer, on the other hand, could remove that rubbish dump in the cavern. It is unhygienic having plagues of rats, cockroaches and hobgoblins living under the city.’

‘Wouldn’t the smell down there drive him crazy!’ joked Saxon.

The four children giggled with delight at the thought.

The adults continued to discuss politics, revenge, war and restitution.

‘Roana, did we tell you that Aisha had puppies?’ whispered Lily enthusiastically. ‘Come and have a look.’

The four children tiptoed quietly over to a large box in the far corner.

Aisha was snuggled down with nine dark gold puppies, all wriggling and squirming. She wrinkled her eyebrows at Roana in greeting, but did not climb out of the box. Charcoal peered into the box curiously, wondering at the mewling, suckling creatures, then turned her back and stalked away.

‘Oh, they are gorgeous,’ crooned Roana. ‘What a beautiful mother you are, Aisha.’

‘They are a week old,’ explained Ethan. ‘She had ten, but one died a few days ago.’

‘Ten! So many! But I did not even know Aisha was having puppies?’ asked Roana.

‘Neither did we,’ laughed Lily. ‘All we knew was that Aisha seemed very tired and a bit sick, but we were all so busy with the journey home and rebuilding. Then Mama noticed Aisha seemed to be putting on weight, and next thing we know – ten puppies born a week ago.’

‘We think Jonte is the father,’ added Ethan. ‘They did seem rather smitten with each other.’

‘Oh, they are just so beautiful,’ Roana exclaimed.

‘We thought you might like one?’ asked Ethan.

‘Oh, could I?’ shrieked Roana in excitement. ‘I would love an Aisha puppy – a little girl, as clever and brave as her mama.’

‘Sax is taking a little boy,’ said Lily.

‘I thought I’d call him Wilf – a warrior of the snows,’ explained Saxon.

‘Perfect,’ approved Roana. ‘So perfect. I will have to think of a wonderful name for my little girl.’

It was late afternoon when the small group rode out through the forest of Kenley to the clearing where the attack on Tiregian had first taken place. Early spring had become late summer. The bulbs and wildflowers had flourished and died. The sun shone warmly and the birds sang overhead. It was subtly different yet the same.

Memories of that dreadful day crowded in. They rode past the spot where Ethan had hidden Roana in the underbrush, the place where he had found Roana lying unconscious in the mud, the fork where Sniffer had picked up her trail, and at last the clearing where the royal ceremony had been interrupted so many months ago.

Queen Ashana sat on her snow-white horse, her head hanging in grief.

‘It was here that your father fell,’ she told her children. Queen Ashana carried a bouquet of flowers, which she dropped on the spot where her husband had died. Roana grimly clutched the hilt of the Sun Sword, hanging in its scabbard at her waist.

The sun was sinking slowly in the west, flushing the horizon with crimson and filling the clearing with a rich golden light. The forest beyond filled with dark shadows.

A crash in the underbrush startled them, reminding them of the other disturbance in this spot the last time they were here. Willem stopped, holding up his hand for silence. Everyone else halted as well. There was a sound like thunder, low and rolling. Hoofbeats!

A blaze of white flew into the clearing in front of them. It stopped. It was a white horse, like Moonbeam only twice the size. The huge horse stood in the middle of the clearing and turned to look at them quizzically.

The wild white stallion! The elusive white horse that was the object of the annual Royal Hunt at the Spring Equinox. Some village folk swore he was a unicorn, or a fabulous winged horse. There he stood, his muscles rippling in the dappled light. The stallion snorted, flaring his velvet nostrils wide. He tossed his flowing white mane, the tufted forelock falling over one brown eye.

The stallion sniffed the smell of the humans standing still on the forest track and the smell of their horses. He neighed a challenge, warning them all that he was the undisputed king of the forest. Nutmeg, Caramel, Moonbeam and Toffee pranced and sidled, drawn by the wild call. Lily, Ethan, Roana and Saxon held the reins fast, holding their horses in.

The stallion reared up on his hind legs, his shiny black hooves flashing and pawing the air in challenge. He danced on his hind legs, gracefully balancing for what seemed like long minutes. The party of humans could hardly breathe at the grace and beauty of this wild horse.

Finally the spell was broken, and the stallion sent a ringing neigh through the forest. The mares answered his call. A herd of two hundred of Tiregian’s finest hacks, ponies, hunters and carriage horses streamed through the forest galloping as one. The river of warm horseflesh streamed across the track and off into the shadows of the forest on the other side. The stallion turned to look at the humans once more, neighing defiantly, then galloped off after his herd.

Everyone was silent for a moment, overcome by the beauty of the scene.

‘The horses are safe,’ sighed Lily happily. ‘The Sedahs didn’t get them.’

Willem laughed uproariously. ‘Not only that, my darling. Most of those mares are looking a tad rounder than when I left them five months ago. I’d say that wild stallion has done his job, and there’s a hundred or more moon foals, waiting to be born next spring. We’ll have a huge job rounding them up in the wild and bringing them into the stables before winter.’

‘And a busy job delivering a hundred baby moon foals!’ cried Marnie exuberantly.

Everyone grinned in excitement and happiness. In the east, a golden disk shimmered on the horizon, reflecting the sun’s glory. Slowly, majestically, a huge golden moon rose in the purple sky. A single star gleamed overhead.

Roana drew the Sun Sword and held it above her head, pointing at the moon. ‘To a bountiful harvest and to many, many moon foals. May the Moon Goddess bless them all and keep them safe.’

Belinda has worked as a writer and public relations consultant for nearly twenty years. Her overseas adventures inspired her travel stories for the West Australian newspaper and Out & About With Kids magazine, amongst others.

Belinda comes from a very literary family, with a history of Australian writers stretching back 180 years – her great-great-great-great grandmother Charlotte Atkinson published the first Australian children’s book in 1841, and her sister Kate Forsyth and brother Nick Humphrey are both published writers. Belinda’s passion for children’s books was reignited when she had her own three children and began telling and writing stories for Nick, Emily and Lachlan. Belinda is currently writing her next book for children.

Belinda lives in a tumbledown cottage overlooking the sea in Sydney with her husband Rob, three gorgeous children and lots of animals, including a beautiful Rhodesian Ridgeback called Asha (the real-life inspiration for Aisha).

BOOK ONE IN THE SUN SWORD TRILOGY

After their village is attacked, a young brother and sister set off on a dangerous quest to save their captured family and friends – and free their land from the Sedah invaders. Where are Ethan and Lily’s parents being held? And where have the Sun Sword and its magical gems been hidden?

Joined by their friend Saxon and the determined Princess Roana, Ethan and Lily must solve puzzles and riddles, escape legendary sea monsters and outwit bandits along the way. But the greatest threat to the children is the sinister Sedah tracker, Sniffer, who is close on their trail …

Can the four friends find the sun gem – before the Sedah can find them?

Out now!

BOOK TWO IN THE SUN SWORD TRILOGY

Ethan, Lily, Saxon and Roana have cracked the code, only to find that the Moon Pearl is being sent on a Sedah warship back to the land of the invaders. The only hope for Tiregian is for the four children to give chase in order to save the precious stone.

The fisherfolk can help. So can Saxon’s mysterious acquaintance, Fox, a disreputable smuggler who will do anything for a pouch full of Roana’s gold. But the sea is far more dangerous than the land. There are sea monsters, wild storms, greedy pirates, and the sheer power of the ocean itself – not to mention the deadly warship they are chasing.

Will Fox’s stealthy black sloop, The Owl, carry them to safety, or will the Moon Pearl remain in the hands of their enemy? And even if they make it home alive, will Sniffer be waiting for them?

Out now!