‘We can’t spare a sizeable number to go after her,’ Karr told them. ‘In fact, I can’t see that we’re in a position to send anybody, whoever needs rescuing.’ He looked genuinely pained. ‘I’m sorry, but defending this place has to come first.’

‘Of course,’ Serrah replied. ‘But you’ve no objection to us going?’

‘I have, actually. I don’t want to risk losing you both. But I know that what I say won’t make the slightest difference. Just promise me that if things look too hopeless you’ll abandon the idea and get back here.’

‘We will.’

Goyter waved in a groom leading a pair of horses. Across the saddle of each was a breastplate and helm.

‘I’m not wearing those,’ Caldason stated.

‘You need all the help you can get,’ Goyter insisted. ‘Both of you. And the armour’s surprisingly lightweight. Now hurry up and get into it.’

Caldason surrendered and hefted the breastplate. Serrah was already in hers. Several people clustered around to help tie their stays.

‘I’ve something else that might be useful,’ Phoenix said, showing them a small black cube on his palm.

‘What is it?’ Caldason asked.

‘A personal deflection shield. It’s got enough of a range to cover both of you, providing you stay together, and it’ll protect against most edged weapons or projectiles. Have either of you used one before?’

‘Never,’ Caldason said.

‘A few times,’ Serrah acknowledged. She was fastening the strap on her helmet.

‘Then it can be in your care,’ the magician decided, handing it to her. ‘But don’t forget that it’s short-lived.’

‘How short?’

‘About ten minutes.’

‘Can we get a move on?’ Caldason pleaded.

They mounted their horses and the gates were opened.

‘Gods speed!’ Karr shouted.

Caldason and Serrah galloped out. The gates closed behind them with a mellow thud.

The enemy foot soldiers kept their distance, contenting themselves with jeers and threatening gestures.

‘Looks like there isn’t too much in the way of cavalry about yet,’ Serrah said.

‘The few we saw seemed more interested in catching Pallidea. Come on, she went this way.’ He spurred his horse.

They rode further inland, towards a cluster of abandoned amusement houses and pleasure domes, remnants from the days when the Diamond Isle was at its height as a resort for the rich. At first, they saw nothing but semi-ruined buildings overgrown with weeds and creepers. Then there was movement in the clutter.

Serrah and Reeth spotted riders milling amongst the ruins, swords drawn, slashing at the undergrowth. As yet, they hadn’t been seen themselves.

‘What shall we do?’ Serrah mouthed.

Before he could answer, the decision was taken for them. There was a commotion ahead. A figure broke cover and dashed their way, her flowing red hair unmistakable.

‘Hang on, Reeth!’ Serrah yelled. She slapped the tiny black cube against her thigh, cracking it like a raw egg and casting the spell. As the near invisible glamour spread to cloak them, a tingle ran through their flesh. ‘Remember, stay close!’

They took off towards Pallidea, and found themselves riding into a barrage of arrows. The bolts ricocheted off the protective shield, some snapping in two with the force of impact, as Caldason and Serrah raced on.

Pallidea’s horse had been downed and she was limping from the fall, yet she moved like an athlete. A pack of riders were behind her, and gaining fast.

Serrah and Caldason pounded in. He leaned from his saddle, arm outstretched. Pallidea grasped it, and with a mighty effort, Caldason heaved her up and onto his mount. All the while, both horses were describing an arc, so that as Pallidea was anchoring down, the two beasts had already turned and were heading back in the direction they’d come.

The manoeuvre gave the enemy a chance to narrow the gap. Now it was a chase, pure and simple, with arrows continuing to glance off the protective cloak. Serrah and Reeth spurred on their mounts, and started to gain a lead.

Then the glamour shield ran out.

They only knew because an arrow plunged into the back leg of Serrah’s horse. The animal whinnied, stumbled and went down. Serrah was pitched headlong and bounced across the frozen ground.

Caldason pulled up and slid from his horse, signalling Pallidea to stay put. Taking in Serrah, the injured horse and the charging pursuers, he made an instant decision.

‘Go!’ he yelled.

Pallidea was shocked. ‘No, Reeth! I couldn’t poss-’

‘Get to the redoubt! We’ll be fine! Go, go, go!’ He slapped her horse and it bolted away.

Serrah was on hands and knees, shaking her head to clear it.

‘You all right, love?’

‘I…yes.’

He hauled her to her feet. ‘Then get ready to move.’

The first of the empire riders were bearing down on them. Caldason plucked a snub-bladed knife from his belt and flung it. The blade struck the foremost cavalryman square in the chest. His fall caused a moment of chaos for those following. A rider was unhorsed. Several others had to swerve sharply.

Caldason’s gaze flicked towards the redoubt. Pallidea was well on her way to reaching its gates, and horsemen were charging out to defend her.

But Pallidea had been lucky. A number of enemy troopers were moving across the plain, cutting off Reeth and Serrah’s way to the redoubt.

‘This way!’ he bellowed, snatching her arm.

They headed for another cluster of ruins, dominated by a tower, weaving as they ran. At their rear, hooves thundered, and arrows, spears and even a hatchet were lobbed. A shaft clipped the side of Serrah’s breastplate and she felt the blow like a punch. Reeth tugged at her, keeping her moving.

The tower seemed to be the only halfway substantial building in their path. They made for it, praying its door would prove unfastened. Long moments later, gasping from the effort, they arrived at the tower’s base, and were relieved beyond measure to find the door ajar. They slammed it behind them practically in their pursuers’ faces, quickly securing it with an iron bar.

The place was a watchtower, part stone, part timber, but it hadn’t been built as a defence, or even for any overtly practical purpose. Like so much on the island, it was ornamental; a prop to enhance someone’s fantasy vacation. As such, it wouldn’t withstand a determined assault for long. Even now the door shook under a battering, and was unlikely to hold.

They looked around. There was nothing but rickety wooden stairs leading to the tower’s summit, and Serrah and Caldason began running up them. The stairs creaked and swayed, while below, the pounding at the door grew more violent.

As they reached the second flight, the door’s restraining bar buckled and splinters flew. They kept climbing, and by the time they clambered up the last flight, they were breathing heavily.

At the top of the tower was a belfry, where a frame supported an iron bell large enough for a buffalo to wallow in. It hung above an open trap. Waist-high stone walls enclosed the belfry’s four sides, and there was a wooden crown above, but otherwise it was open to the elements. A bitter wind cut through, bringing a smattering of snowflakes.

‘They’re going to have that door down any second,’ Serrah said.

‘I’ve been in worse defensive positions.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, not by much.’

The door was holed. Looking down, they could see the tips of spears, and probing hands searching for the bar.

‘What do we do?’

‘Stand well back,’ he told her.

One hand against the bell frame, he scaled the wobbly banister. Then he drew his broadsword. At a stretch, he swiped at the stout rope holding up the bell. The blow bit into the rope, but didn’t sever it, and he struck again, gouging deeper. Strands popped as the fibres grew taut.

There was a rise in the level of noise from downstairs. The last remnants of the door were kicked in.