7: Old Friends, New Dangers

Taja woke first. She lay still for a few seconds until the dreary chanting reminded her where she was. At the same time, she became aware that someone or something was moving to her left. When she opened her eyes to see what it was, a grubby hand closed over her mouth.

“Shh! Don’t say nothing, lady!”

She obeyed the command more out of surprise than fear. No one had ever spoken to her like this before – the term “lady” was almost unheard of in Della Tallis – and the hand that now withdrew respectfully from her face was small, much smaller than an adult’s.

Cyrus, exhausted by the turmoil of the previous day, remained sound asleep. The stranger bent down and gently shook his shoulder. “Wake up, mister! Wake up!” Cyrus opened his eyes. What was going on? He blinked, glanced across at Taja, then peered up at the figure bending over him.

Although clouds filtered the full brilliance of the moon, there was sufficient light for Cyrus to make out a small, lean figure with a ball of black curly hair. He recognised him at once. It was the boy with the impish expression who, at Ozlam’s command, had taken away their weapons to be burned.

The boy raised a finger to his lips and, with his other hand, beckoned Cyrus and Taja closer. “Want to get out?” he whispered.

Cyrus nodded, instinctively trusting the lad’s eager tone. Taja was more cautious, “Who are you?” she hissed. “Is this some trick, because if it is – ”

The boy shook his head vigorously. “We got no time,” he said, his face suddenly furrowed with anxiety. “If we gets out, I’ll explain. Promise. But we got to move quick.” He made as if to stand.

Taja stopped him. “We? Are you coming with us?”

“Of course! You can’t get out without me – and I can’t get nowhere outside without you. See? You in or not?”

Taja looked across at Cyrus. “Well?”

“Please!” the boy urged in a tone that had changed suddenly from confident to pleading.

“Alright,” said Cyrus. “Come on, Taja. Anything’s better than staying here, isn’t it?” He turned to the boy. “And what about our friend?”

“Which one?”

“Navid, the man who was with us when we came in. The one with the long shaggy hair.”

“Oh, him! You think he wants to come too?” Cyrus nodded. “OK. I’ll see what I can do. Follow me. We’s mice, OK?”

Cyrus looked at Taja and smiled. The situation, although perilous, was also most bizarre.

As they passed through the door and advanced cautiously along the side of the building, Cyrus struggled to make sense of what was happening. Why was there no one around? Where were the guards? How could this eccentric boy get them through that deadly fence? For one accustomed to taking charge, he felt unsettlingly powerless, carried along by a current of strange events over which he had no control.

At the edge of the hut in which they had been held, the boy paused. Indicating to them to stay where they were, he sprinted across a dusty courtyard to what looked like a veranda. Taja and Cyrus watched as he inched along in front of it for a few paces before disappearing. In the gloom, Taja felt for Cyrus’ hand and gave it a squeeze. He responded half-heartedly, wishing she would keep her hands to herself. The situation was complicated enough as it was.

Moments later, the boy came padding back across the courtyard. He shook his head. “Can’t get to your friend,” he whispered. “Guarded.”

Cyrus’ spirits sank once more. They had been lifted slightly by the thought of meeting up with Navid, though he might not be able to persuade him to join them – but now even that was impossible. He sighed and followed the others to the end of the building, across what seemed to be a street, and into the shadows of a windowless barn. The sound of the chanting was getting louder. The mystery deepened when the boy whispered “Gova” and signalled to them to look round the wall they were leaning against.

Taja went first, then Cyrus. There, some fifty paces away, was what looked like an enormous piece of shiny glass. In front of it, sitting cross-legged on the ground, was one of the Magi. From his mouth came the endless, mournful wail of the chant.

Cyrus stared for a few seconds then turned back to the boy. To his surprise, the lad’s face was split by a wide grin. He raised two fingers to his head and tapped it. “Mad!” he mouthed. “Mad Magi!”

They continued until the shape of Gova Hall loomed out of the darkness ahead. The boy led them stealthily along the nearest side as far as the broad entrance. Here he stood and listened for a moment before pulling open the right-hand door. Then he slipped inside, beckoning them to follow.

The interior smelt of dried flowers. At the far end, raised on a wooden stand carved with symbols of the sun, a single candle burned. Its yellow light shimmered eerily across the crude images on the walls. The boy went down on his knees and, just below where Roxanne had seen the enamel notice with faded writing on it, began scrabbling around on the floor. Taja and Cyrus stared in astonishment as, very slowly and carefully, he raised a hinged concrete panel to reveal a dark hole beneath it.

The boy pointed to the opening. “Go on!”

Taja, who was nearer to the hole than Cyrus, hesitated. “Is it some sort of cell, a prison?”

The boy shook his head. “Prison? Don’t be daft, lady! It’s a tunnel!”

Taja shrugged and lowered herself into the opening. Cyrus indicated to the boy to go next. He was sure the lad was honest, but all the same…Didn’t the Children of Gova get rid of people by burying them alive? They may even have disposed of Roxanne in this very pit.

The boy shook his head. “You’re the important one, mister. I’ll shut the door after me.”

“No. Sorry, boy. To be on the safe side, you go in front of me.” When Cyrus folded his arms to show he meant what he said, the boy took a step towards the hole.

Before either of them realised what was happening, a tall figure sprang out from behind Cyrus and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. It was Ozlam!

“Stop, my child!” he ordered in a furious whisper. “This is a terrible heresy you commit! Oh my dear child, you have betrayed me and the secrets of the Great Gova!”

The boy struggled to free himself. “Get off me, Ozlam! I ain’t your child! And I hate you and I hate your stupid Gova!”

The exchange lit up the darkened landscape of Cyrus’ mind like a flash of summer lightning. Two things became clear immediately. Whoever he was, the boy was on their side; and Ozlam knew about the tunnel but wanted to keep it a secret. Why else would he whisper instead of calling for help?

The boy’s pitiful remarks stirred Cyrus into action. He launched himself at Ozlam, wrenching his hands off the child and pushing him heavily backwards. The High Father recovered his balance and felt for something inside the folds of his robe.

“No weapons, eh?” mocked Cyrus as the bully drew out a glimmering blade.

The man’s mouth arched into an unholy sneer. “Only for killing heretical and ungrateful vermin!”

Battle experience had taught Cyrus how to sum up an opponent in an instant. This one, he realised, was neither brave nor a fighter. Muttering over his shoulder, “Get in the tunnel, boy!” he advanced across the hall. After all he had been through, he finally had a chance to express his pent up fury in action.

Ozlam was slashing at the air in a futile effort at intimidation when Cyrus’ foot slammed into his hand. The knife spun in a broad arc and clattered to the floor. The kick was instantly followed by a deft combination of punches. The first hammered into Ozlam’s jaw, jerking his head backwards. The second thudded into his stomach, emptying the air from his lungs and folding him up like a penknife.

The final blow, delivered with the side of the hand, cracked into the back of Ozlam’s neck. Without a sound, he sank senseless to the floor. Moments later, Cyrus and the boy had climbed through the hatchway, closed the trapdoor after them and were fumbling their way along the cobweb-tangled walls of the tunnel. They had gone no more than a couple of hundred paces before the boy stopped, took an object from a ledge and handed it to Cyrus. Feeling with his fingers in the blackness, he recognized the familiar outline immediately. His spear! The lad had not only rescued them – he had managed to save their weapons, too. He really was a most extraordinary character!

With Taja leading the way, they edged along the musty-smelling passage for a considerable distance. Every now and again Cyrus paused to listen for the sound of pursuit. Nothing. Cyrus wondered how Ozlam was explaining his injuries, and the disappearance of his prisoners and one of his precious boys. Even he would find it difficult to lie his way out of that one.

The tunnel’s exit was ingenious. Over the last one hundred paces the passage sloped steeply upwards until it came to a halt at the foot of an iron-runged ladder. This rose inside a tall, vertical shaft closed at the top by a heavy trapdoor. Pushing his way through and closing it behind him, Cyrus found himself on a platform high up in a tree made of fibreglass and concrete. The model was so well built that despite a century’s weathering, it remained almost indistinguishable from the natural trees around it.

Holding onto a rope handrail that led to the broad bough of an adjacent oak, Cyrus, Taja and the boy climbed into its branches and slithered down the trunk to the ground. Their young guide then confirmed what Cyrus and Taja already suspected: they were well beyond the murderous perimeter of the Gova settlement. When they had thanked him repeatedly for saving them, they searched out a sheltered hollow, checked it for snakes and lay down to rest.

Before going to sleep, the Tallins insisted that their new friend explain what was going on. The boy’s story, told simply and without self-glorification, sparkled with intelligence, kindness and remarkable courage. It also brought a smile to Cyrus’ face and allowed him to close his eyes with a glimmer of hope in his bruised heart.

Timur, too, had been the recipient of startling news from the mouth of a youngster. Its bearer was the favoured message-carrier whom the Malik had singled out as a possible heir apparent.

“Zeds!” gasped the young man, struggling for breath after running halfway down the hill in search of his master. “Giv seen Zeds!”

Timur’s brow furrowed like dirty snow. Zeds? Of course the fool could see Zeds! “What Zeds?” he asked, restraining himself from striking the youth for his stupidity.

“Enemy Zeds, Malik! Not Grozny!”

The creases on Timur’s brow deepened. Interference from another Zed tribe was the last thing he needed. It was difficult enough keeping his numbheaded warriors in some sort of line when there were no distractions. If they had to contend with other Zeds as well, it would be beyond even his ferocious powers of control. He needed detail.

“Where are these Zeds, Giv? Point!”

“Er, leff!” cried Giv proudly, sticking out the correct arm like a salute in the direction of the shallow valley below.

At least they’re not behind us, thought Timur. “Good, Giv. You have the makings of a mind. Now, see if you can use it again. This might not be easy, but how many are there?”

The youth’s grin was replaced by a pained expression that betrayed his difficulty in grasping the question. Like all common Zeds, he was unable to count.

Timur tried again. “How many bad Zeds?” He held up three long white fingers. “This many?”

Giv shook his head. “No, Malik. More bad Zeds.” He held up both his hands with all the fingers outstretched. “Hundred!”

“Make up your mind, ratvomit!” screeched Timur, whose patience was fraying rapidly as the potential danger of the situation became apparent. “Ten fingers are not a hundred!” He held up his own hands, the digits extended like asparagus sticks. “This is ten. Got it, leadhead? Ten.”

“Giv see ten bad Zeds over leff,” the lad explained carefully, pointing again towards the river.

Timur nodded. “Learning fast, Giv. Well, let’s see what can be done about them.”

When Timur reached the top of the hill from which Giv had come, he found his men in a state of high excitement. Delighted by the prospect of action, they were jumping about, punching each other and brandishing their weapons in the air. Their leader realised at once that he wouldn’t be able to deny their animal craving for action. He peered down the slope. Yes, Giv was almost right. Some fifteen hundred paces away was a small group of men – he could see nine – who appeared to be hurrying away from him. Their peculiar assortment of weapons and lack of clothing marked them as Zeds.

“Want go kill!” grunted a tall man with a dark hole where his left eye had been. “Zeds want go kill!”

“Listen to me!” yelled Timur. “Listen!” The men gradually fell silent. “You men here, only you may go and kill those Zeds! Just you! Repeat!”

“Just you!” echoed the mob. Misunderstanding the command, three or four warriors started to move.

“Stop!” screamed Timur. “Batbrains! Wait for the orders of your Malik. Giv, you tell the men on the left, and Jamshid, you tell the men on the right” – to make sure he was understood, he indicated both directions as he spoke – “that they must stay in the line. Understand? Stay in the line! Repeat!”

“Stay in the line,” they chorused eagerly.

“Brilliant! Now go!”

As Giv and Captain Jamshid ran off, Timur turned once again to the men clustered around him. “Now, you brainless bloodshedders, go and get those Zeds! Ready…charge!”

With a medley of savage war cries, the band of some forty Zed warriors rushed madly down the hill. It was at this point that Timur’s strategy collapsed. The Zeds at the bottom of the hill, fleeing from what was clearly a much larger force, broke into a run and veered away to the right. This brought them within sight of another group of Timur’s men. Before Jamshid arrived with orders to stay put, this force of about forty abandoned their positions and joined the furious charge of their confederates.

Seeing what was about to descend on them, the targeted Zeds hesitated for a few seconds then doubled back to Timur’s left. The same pattern of indiscipline was repeated on this flank. Without waiting for orders, the frenzied warriors screamed with delight at the sight of potential victims and hurtled down the slope after them. By now well over one hundred men – nearly all the Grozny Zeds’ military force – were careering out of control in pursuit of a rapidly retreating enemy.

Timur groaned. For the moment there was nothing he could do as most of his men were already out of earshot. It would probably take them the rest of the day to catch their prey, kill it and bring what was left of the bodies back to him. When they did so, however, someone was going to pay for this indiscipline. Pay a very painful price indeed.

Cyrus was dreaming. He was lying on soft grass back in Della Tallis. Ozlam was talking to Roxanne. He leaned across and whispered something in her ear. She laughed, tossing back her hair to reveal the Zed tattoo. The High Father opened his mouth in a joyless smile and ran his finger over the cruel scar. When she did not object, he took her hand, raised her from the ground and started to lead her away.

“No! Roxy! Don’t go! Please don’t go!” It was dream-speech. Cyrus didn’t know whether he was really talking or not.

“I won’t go again, Cy.”

Again? What did that mean? Floating between sleeping and waking, Cyrus opened his eyes. Ozlam had gone, but not Roxanne…Roxanne? He was suddenly wide awake.

Memories of the previous night slipped into focus: the boy, the musty tunnel, the hollow where they had gone to sleep. He remembered, too, what the boy had told them. He was sure Roxanne had managed to get away…

Cyrus didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He stood up and walked slowly over to where she was standing beside the boy. This was a greater miracle than anything Gova was supposed to have done. Wrapping his arms around the woman who had changed the purpose and meaning of his life, he held her to him. “Oh, Roxy!” he whispered, his face buried in her thick dark hair. “Oh, Roxy, I really do – ”

“How sweet! How childishly, pathetically sweet!” Taja’s voice was thick with more than sarcasm. “I thought we were on a mission to find the Soterion, Cyrus, not a lover.”

Keeping hold of Roxanne’s hand, Cyrus took a step back. “Listen, Taja. We are in the middle of a crucial and very difficult operation. It has been painful and will probably get worse – ”

“So we must concentrate on the task in hand and not let personal feelings get in the way.” Taja’s eyes were black and furious.

“Precisely, Taja,” replied Cyrus slowly, meeting her gaze and holding it. “We must not let personal feelings get in the way.”

It was the boy who brought the exchange to a halt. “Excuse me,” he interrupted, “I don’t know nothing about this personal feelings stuff, but shouldn’t we be getting on with something else?”

Roxanne put an arm round his thin shoulders. “Thank you for reminding us, Sammy. But I think there’s a bit of explaining to do first, don’t you?”

The emergency tunnel, which ran from the hall to the concrete tree over a thousand paces away, had been built into the structure of the Gova settlement at the same time as the electric fence. Its purpose was to allow entry and exit if the gates malfunctioned. The position of the hatch in the hall was indicated by an enamel sign – the one Roxanne had started reading. When Ozlam noticed her doing this, it gave him another reason to get rid of her: she knew his secret.

As literacy had died out soon after the community’s foundation, the sign had lost its meaning. Furthermore, as the tunnel was never used and the floor of the hall became covered with thick layers of dust, within thirty years the very existence of the escape route was forgotten.

It had been rediscovered by the literate refugee Constants who, when sheltering among the Children of Gova, had mocked their unscientific cult. Frinaspa, the High Father of the time, had ordered the iconoclasts’ swift burial for heresy and kept the knowledge of the tunnel to himself. He passed it on only to his successor.

The High Fathers who followed found the secret extremely useful. To stop anyone abandoning the settlement, they came up with the practice of throwing the insulation from the handles over the fence. This left the levers as deadly as the surrounding wire and struts. The Fathers, or occasionally a trusted Magus, then used the tunnel to sneak out under the cover of darkness to recover the insulation. Its restoration, they explained, was one of Gova’s miracles.

This dishonest ritual continued unchanged until the time of Ozlam’s predecessor, Torpekai. Both he and Ozlam shared the same unpleasant characteristics: they were cowards and strongly disliked women. Neither man fathered children. Instead, they surrounded themselves with a group of favoured boys whom they educated – as Taja had correctly guessed – to be the future Magi. The secret of the tunnel was revealed to one of these lads so that he, and not the High Father or a Magus, ran the risk of going beyond the fence to collect the insulation. Ozlam’s great mistake was in his choice of boy.

The lad’s full name was Sammy Songova, although he never referred to himself as that. “Songova” was the surname given to all future Magi – and he hated it. Fearless, bright, lively and scrupulously honest, Sammy was a born rebel.

Although the “electricity heresy” of twenty-eight years previously had been wiped out, some of the Children still felt their leaders were not being quite straight with them. A few even went so far as secretly to question the whole Gova idea. It was only a story, they said, invented to maintain the tyrannical overlordship of the High Father and the Magi. Among these dissenters were Sammy and his young friends, the self-named “No-Goves”.

When Sammy heard of Ozlam’s order to execute the newly arrived Constant lady with the kindly eyes, he determined to help her – and free himself at the same time. His aim was to lead her and her friends out on the same night. So they would not be at the mercy of Zeds beyond the fence, he had not destroyed their weapons, as Ozlam had commanded, but hidden them in the tunnel and burned some old wooden posts as substitutes.

Sammy got his timing wrong. While he was sliding back the bolt on the door of Roxanne’s prison, he heard someone approaching. It was a Magus on his way to take over the night-time chant. As Sammy was backing away from the door, the man looked at him suspiciously: community rules said everyone had to stay in their dormitories from dusk to dawn. Fortunately, the Magus passed by without comment. He must have assumed that Sammy, Ozlam’s favourite, was on his way to see him.

“I can imagine how you felt, Sammy,” said Roxanne, “when you came back after the man had gone and discovered the bolt of my prison closed again and me missing!”

The boy grinned. “I tell you, lady, I thought maybe you’d gone up in smoke! But I had a sneaky look at the trapdoor in the hall. The dirt around it had been moved so I knew someone had opened it. Smart lady, I thought to myself. She’s got away alright.”

Cyrus glanced across at Taja. While she was listening to the story as keenly as himself, it was clear from her disappointed expression she found it painful. A short while ago, although a captive, she had been alone with him. Now Roxanne was back, her hopes had been dashed once more. But she could wait, she told herself. Her time may yet come.

As soon as the coast was clear, Roxanne was explaining, she had let herself out of the prison chamber and made a quick plan of action. The first move was to rescue Corby, whose whining she had heard over the sound of the chanting. That done, she planned to use the dog to help her find Cyrus, Taja and Navid. She had not gone more than five steps before she realised the idea wouldn’t work: Corby’s loud snuffling would wake the whole settlement in no time.

Reluctantly, she decided it was best to leave immediately – assuming that the tunnel was still intact and led somewhere safe – and return the next day to collect the others. She reckoned she could work out where they were by watching the settlement during daylight.

Roxanne looked at Cyrus rather sheepishly. “No, I didn’t abandon you, Cy. I simply reckoned it was better to get out than be caught. You see, I thought I was the only one who knew about the tunnel.

“The plan didn’t work, anyway. When I got up here, I found the tree surrounded by Zeds.” She frowned. “They were obviously looking for us, probably heading for that bridge I mentioned. I went back into the tunnel, where I’d left Corby, and the two of us hid there all day. We were famished and thirsty. Poor Corby’s tongue was hanging out so far I thought it would drop off!”

Roxanne stooped and patted the dog’s broad flank. “When the Zeds had gone, I hauled him up to the tunnel entrance by his collar. Almost strangled you, didn’t I?” she said playfully, scratching the top of his head. “Sorry, old thing, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

The creature looked up at her with huge eyes as if to say, “Well, I suppose so.”

“The moment I got him on the ground, he shot off to find water, just as he did when he sniffed out that stream after the ambush.”

The rest of the tale was soon told. Refreshed with water from a muddy hollow and her hunger satisfied with wild fruits, Roxanne lay down to sleep with Corby at her side. Shortly before dawn, she was woken by his damp nose pushing against her face. He seemed to want to go somewhere. At first light, Roxanne let him have his way and followed him to the hollow where she found Cyrus, Taja and Sammy fast asleep.

The whole story now came together. Once it was discovered that Roxanne and Corby had vanished, rumours began to circulate among the Children of Gova. The Magus who had bumped into Sammy in the middle of the night told others what he had seen. By mid-morning, the boy felt people were watching him wherever he went. He now needed to free the remaining Constants and get away himself.

“So, here we all are,” Sammy concluded cheerily. “I’ll miss my mates, sure. But I tell you, anything’s better than being stuck in that wicked place. That Ozlam, he’s really nasty, he is.”

“I’m sure he is, Sammy,” said Cyrus, “and I can’t tell you how grateful we are for what you have done. However, we mustn’t forget that poor Navid, my Defender companion, is still inside.”

“It was his choice,” cut in Taja. The edge had returned to her voice, Cyrus noted. What extraordinary self-control she had! She sounded tougher, more determined than ever.

“Yes, but he made that choice when he thought the mission was over and Corby was dead. If he could see us now – and Corby – I bet he’d want to come back.”

Taja shrugged. “Maybe. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Excuse me, lady,” interrupted Sammy, “there is something. I’ll go and get him!”

A heated conversation followed, but in the end Sammy had his way. He knew where Navid was and assured them he could smuggle him out. As soon as it was dark, he said goodbye to his new friends and re-entered the tunnel. As proof to Navid that his companions and his beloved Corby were alive and well, in his pocket he carried the dog’s leather collar and a ring Cyrus had inherited from his father.

Sammy was gone half the night. When he reappeared, followed by a rather guilty-looking Navid, even Taja allowed herself to smile. Roxanne embraced Sammy and called him a hero. Cyrus shook his friend warmly by the hand and assured him he had no need to apologise for what had gone on. Not to miss out on the rejoicing, Corby ran around licking every hand within reach. By the time all the laughing, congratulating and story-swapping had finished, dawn was already breaking. Taking up their weapons, the Constants set off once more in the direction of the River No-Man.

Having lost several days, the mission was eager to move quickly. Knowing that Timur and his Zeds were somewhere ahead, apparently going the same way, they proceeded with extreme caution. They were surprised, therefore, when towards evening on the third day they arrived at the ruined bridge on the banks of the No-Man without having seen or heard anything of the enemy.

As Timur had feared, it had taken his warriors the better part of a day to chase down their enemy. The six slower runners were swiftly overhauled and hacked to death. The remaining three proved harder to catch. Having run in a group for a few thousand paces, they separated and headed off in different directions. This led to a ferocious argument among the pursuers, who eventually divided themselves into three groups. They did not corner the last man until nightfall. As was their custom, he was not slaughtered, as the others had been, but bound and saved for the grizzly ritual of the spit.

Timur had left his position on the hill in order to follow his undisciplined men and save time. That was why, when the Constants skirted round the same hill a day later, they came across nothing to suggest that the Grozny Zeds had ever been there.

The advance of the Grozny Zeds was further slowed by victory celebrations, including the ceremonial spit feast, and the whipping and mutilation of those he held responsible for leaving their positions without his permission. The fighting men also had to wait for the rest of the tribe – the dogs, children, breeding slaves and other menials – to catch them up. Thus two days had passed before Timur re-established his line and resumed sweeping across the countryside between himself and the river.

After a brief discussion, Cyrus, Roxanne, Taja, Navid and Sammy decided to cross the No-Man that evening. They would be safer on the other side, they reasoned, because the Zed hunting dogs wouldn’t be able to negotiate ten paces of unsupported rusty rail and would have to be swung across the gap in some sort of sling. Keen to make up for what he had done in the Gova community, Navid volunteered to go first. He had a good sense of balance, he assured them, and could walk along a single line without difficulty.

The river bank was very still. There was no breeze and the only sounds were the gentle swirl of the grey-green waters far below the bridge and the occasional harsh cry of a rook. The iron walkway on the first span of the bridge remained intact and Navid’s footsteps sounded unnaturally loud as he made his way cautiously across it.

On reaching the end of the solid platform, he stopped and looked down. “Hey!” he called. “Someone’s knocked a bit off here. Marks are new. Looks like they’ve been trying to smash it up.”

Cyrus glanced around, sensing danger. The silence was ominous. “Careful, Nav!” he shouted. “Don’t carry on unless you’re absolutely certain it’s OK.”

“No problem, Cy. Here we go!”

Navid stepped onto the steel rail and stood there for a few seconds, gathering himself. As he began to inch forward, a loud twang echoed from the opposite bank. A moment later, something clanged onto the ironwork behind him.

“Eh? What’s that?” Navid paused, swaying gently over the abyss.

Sammy pointed across the river. “Look! There’s a bloke on the other side!”

“Navid!” screamed Cyrus. “Get back!”

A second arrow rattled against the crumbling ironwork. Navid jumped off the rail and ran back down the walkway to the safety of the bank. “So what do we do now?” he panted.

“OK, we stay here and keep an eye on the bridge to make sure whoever’s over there doesn’t sneak up on us when it gets dark,” said Cyrus. “We can decide on our next move in the morning.”

“Nice idea, Cyrus,” said Taja calmly, “but I think you’ll find the morning will be too late. Listen!”

Through the still of the evening came the sound they had all been dreading. The terrifying baying of hounds. Timur had them cornered, precisely as he had planned: as flies in a jar, they were trapped.