The Margrave by Catherine Fisher Page A

months! Have you got that sort of time to waste?”
    “She’s right,” Quist muttered.
    “You think I should leave my command? Desert all our men?” It was impossible to tell whether she was angry now, or teasing them.
    “Listen to me.” Quist caught her elbows. “Horses are ready at the secret gate. We can ride straight to Maar. Whatever report you put in, I’ll back it. We can’t afford to be trapped here, not now we’ve got this chance. Someone else might find the boy, and we’ll have lost everything!”
    Scala stared at him. She seemed amused; her lips curled in suppressed laughter. “You’ve changed, lover. You’re getting as ruthless as the best of us.”
    “I’ve had a good teacher.”
    They were silent, till Carys snapped, “Well? Or we’ll never get out.”
    For answer Scala swung to the desk; she grabbed a packet of papers from one drawer and a strongbox from another. Quist caught a dark cloak from a hook and swung it around her. Then they were running.
    The corridors were deserted now, and shadowy. Flame light reflected through arrow-slits and the acrid, choking stench of smoke was everywhere. They raced down the stairs, past the prisoners’ cells, then turned a corner and stopped. All the doors were unlocked.
    And barring their way, with a sword far too big for him and a bunch of keys, was the spotty boy.

    GALEN DUCKED as a fire-arrow slashed over his head. “Hurry!” he said, reaching down. Raffi felt the strong grip on his sleeve, hauling him rapidly over the battlements. Breathless, he crawled to the inner edge and looked down.
    It was a battle. The gates were wide, and as he stared another set of inner gates crashed down. The invaders were hard to see in the dark confusion of flame and shadow, but they were well-armed and seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Fire-arrows fell like rain; the noise of yelling and the clatter of metal almost deafened him.
    The Sekoi flung itself down behind him. “Now what! She could be anywhere!”
    “She’s important.” Galen pointed up through the smoke. “She’ll be in there.” The keep stood like a solid rectangular outcrop of rock. From all its battlements and galleries, parapets and arrow-slits, a hail of bolts was flying, and every few seconds a whistling wave of arrows slashed down into the turmoil below. Beacon fires blazed from its top. Huge wooden artillery fired with fierce discipline.
    Raffi’s mouth was dry. “We can’t get in there.”
    “We’ve gotten this far.” Galen scrambled up. “There’s one entrance—that narrow bridge.” He ran along the walkway; two Watchmen turned, but he shoved one aside ruthlessly and the Sekoi caught the other and had cracked the man’s head hard against the wall before Raffi could move. After that they were lucky. The fight in the courtyard was fierce; all the defense was concentrated there. Racing down a spiral staircase they forced open a door at the bottom and came into some dark kitchen entry, slippery with fat. All the torches had burned away except one; the Sekoi grabbed it as they passed, then flung it down with a snarl as it went out. At the end was an archway; they took a breath, then ran across the trampled mud, to the bridge.
    Raffi was terrified. The battle was raging all around; just behind him a Watchman fell with a screech and instantly had his throat cut by a tall man with a sword who swiveled on the Sekoi. The creature leaped back. “I’m no Watchman, friend!” The man spat, and swore, and vanished into the throng.
    Galen hauled Raffi away from the corpse. The bridge was only wide enough for one at a time; one torch burned on it. At the far end the portcullis was raised.
    “Something’s wrong. Why isn’t it watched?” The keeper sent a swift sense-line across. Then he said, “Wait.” Grabbing both rails, he crossed quickly, then turned. “It’s safe. Come on.”
    The Sekoi shoved Raffi on. He took three paces and then stopped.
    “Hurry!” Galen