He looked up anxiously at the tower that housed Rannick’s eyrie. The high window was black and dead. Had Aaren and the others succeeded in killing him? Or had he killed them and was even now coming to take vengeance on those who had abetted the attempted assassination?
Before he could ponder these alternatives however, a cry brought his attention back to the immediate fray. His heart sank. Several figures were emerging from the darker reaches of the courtyard. Sheer weight of numbers could overwhelm them now, even without weapons, or Rannick’s aid.
‘Keep together,’ he shouted to his companions. ‘It’s our only chance.’
But there was something unusual about these new arrivals.
‘They’re women,’ a surprised voice said nearby, answering Gryss’s unspoken question.
And, as if in confirmation, a shrill voice rang out, and the women released by Yehna began to launch themselves at Nilsson’s men. Gryss and the others watched in bewilderment for a moment until they realized that many of the women were armed and that several of the men, taken by surprise again, had been badly injured.
Impulsively Gryss’s impromptu force broke ranks and charged forward into the battle. No combat was engaged, however, for even as they were running forward, part of the castle roof burst open with a tumultuous crash, and blazing timbers were hurled high into the night sky. All fighting in the courtyard ceased, as friend and enemy stood open-mouthed, gazing at this spectacle.
But terrifying though it was, this was as nothing compared to what followed. For as further sections of the roof burst into flames, a terrible screaming began to fill the air.
Someone struck Gryss’s arm. He turned to see Ya-kob, dishevelled and bleeding, his eyes wide and his hand pointing. He was shouting too, but even standing so close, Gryss could scarcely hear him above the noise. He looked in the direction that Yakob was pointing.
Galloping towards them across the courtyard was Rannick on his demented steed. His mouth was gaping wide but the scream that was coming from it seemed too awful to have been created inside any living thing. Worse than the noise, though, were the bright flames flowing around him and dancing in his wake. They ran like dust devils along the ground, leaving glowing, smouldering trails until they struck the walls and blossomed upwards and outwards like grotesque flowers.
Gryss, however, barely noted this. His dominant concern was the dreadful focus of Rannick’s will that he could feel. ‘Run,’ he shouted, unheard and unnecessar-ily, for even the oldest among them had suddenly rediscovered the agility of their youth at the sight of this monstrous charge.
But Rannick’s intent lay elsewhere, and he ignored the scattering figures as he rode through them. At the gate, his horse leapt over the broken cart effortlessly, flames tracing out his passing, arcing behind him like some fearful rainbow.
As his scream faded into the distance, it was over-topped by the noise of the flames in the courtyard. Almost the entire castle roof was now ablaze, flames and smoke cascading up into the night. But so too, it seemed, were the very walls of the castle, as flames which should have spluttered into nothingness against their cold stone clambered eagerly over them, their sinister light spreading and devouring.
None of the combatants lingered to watch however. Those who were still standing, dashed past the cart and through the gate to form a silent, watching group out in the darkness, all of them too stunned to pursue their original intentions. As they watched, the cart and its scattered contents in the gateway burst into flames, but this was of little note against the sight of Rannick’s unnatural fire, crawling along the walls and rising up the towers.
Something buffeted Gryss.
‘Where are they?’ an urgent voice shouted at him. He turned round to find himself looking into Marna’s distraught face as she leaned forward from the saddle of a large horse. She was holding three other horses by a long rein.
‘Who?’ he said.
‘Aaren and the others,’ Marna shouted angrily. ‘This wasn’t meant to happen. Where are they?’
The other wheel of the cart collapsed, sending up a great shower of sparks. Gryss gesticulated helplessly. ‘I don’t know,’ he shouted back. ‘I haven’t seen them. If they got in, then…’ He waved towards the inferno.
‘And Rannick?’ Marna shouted, reaching out and shaking Gryss’s shoulder as if he were some inattentive child. ‘Is he dead?’
Gryss pointed. ‘No. He rode off. It was awful. Didn’t you hear him?’
Marna straightened up and gazed at the blazing gateway, flame-shadowed lines of pain and doubt etched deep into her face. Then she leaned forward again and put her arm around Gryss’s neck dragging him off balance with a passionate embrace.
‘Tell my father I love him, and I’m sorry,’ she said, then with a loud cry she drove her heels into the horse.
Before Gryss could protest, the four horses had leapt past him and were charging towards the burning gateway, Marna frantically urging them on. He found voice only as he saw them silhouetted against the flames lighting the gateway.
‘Marna! No!’ he cried, though his voice cracked as all four horses leapt the blazing remains of the cart and disappeared into the brightness beyond.
Scarcely a horsewoman, let alone a jumper, Marna released the rein leading the other three horses, and clung on to her own mount with both arms as it leapt through the gateway. The impact of the landing jolted her, but the sight that greeted her set such discomfort at naught. The light in the courtyard was brighter than a summer’s day, and it seemed that not one part of the castle’s stonework was free from the clamouring flames. The heat was suffocating and terrifying. She felt herself gasping for breath.
Even as she gazed about her, the walls of one of the buildings collapsed with a ground shaking impact, amid a triumphant roar of flames. Somehow she recovered the leading rein of the three horses before their burgeoning panic overcame whatever will it was she had inspired them with. She gazed around desperately, calling out at the top of her voice. But she could hardly hear herself above the din.
Her horse spun round and round and began to rear, almost unseating her, but she managed to cling on to both it and the rein of the others. She could feel the heat scorching her skin however, worse than anything she had ever known through working too long in the summer fields, and it came to her that she had commit-ted a folly that would probably kill her.
But despite the awful scream forming inside her, she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Surely, they couldn’t be dead. Not such people…
Then through the glaring heat she saw four figures come tumbling out of a doorway. Without any bidding from her, the horses turned towards them. Faces blackened, and clothes smouldering, the four warriors clambered on to their horses, Levrik mounting Marna’s horse and taking the reins. She offered no resistance.
As she looked at the gateway however, she saw that the flames were all around it and that it was changing shape.
She knew that Levrik’s horse was driving forward, urged on by the enigmatic soldier’s cold unhindering will and she was aware of the other three beside them, moving as one. But as they galloped towards the gate it seemed to her that it was retreating from them, so slow was their progress. Then they were leaping over the remains of the burning cart, and the air was full of the sound of the blazing stones of the great arch crashing down behind them.
The cold night, with its scents and its normality, folded itself magically about her. Many hands reached out to support her as she slithered down from the horse, but she struggled free from them.
‘Which way did Rannick go?’ she heard Levrik ask-ing.