A muffled, distant exclamation of surprise echoed back to them – the necromancer had heard Tabitha’s scream. Footsteps echoed across the great hall.
‘Go.’ The voice came from Tabitha, hoarse and strained, but herself once more. She got her shaking feet under her, though she still leaned heavily against Gwen. ‘Quickly, before he sees you. You have to leave me and go.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Gwen retorted, briefly and irrationally irritated by the girl’s martyrdom. ‘He’s just a witch, after all. Magic or no, people tend not to do very well with a sword sticking out of them.’
Isobelle added, ‘We aren’t going to leave you here.’
‘He’s not just a witch.’ Tabitha shook her head, ignoring Isobelle and gazing up at Gwen. Her gaze had softened, searching, sympathetic – strangely intimate, in a way that made Gwen rather want to take a step back before Isobelle noticed. But Tabitha held on to her arms and said quietly, ‘He has powers I’ve never seen before. He can raise things. Dead things.’
‘Hence the word “necromancer”,’ Gwen replied, brow furrowing.
Tabitha swallowed. ‘He can raise them from your mind.’
Gwen froze. Tabitha’s wide hazel eyes faded from view, replaced by that vast, malignant gold-rimmed slit of despair that haunted her nightmares. The decaying dragonthat rose, again and again; the cruel glare of jawbone and teeth that gleamed through the rotting skin.
Into the silence, Tabitha whispered, ‘You have to go. Gwen,youhave to go.’
Isobelle was watching them, standing utterly still, her face for once lacking its usual expressiveness. She didn’t ask what they were talking about; perhaps she guessed.
Quietly, Gwen said, ‘We can’t leave you here.’
‘We have until midwinter to find another way,’ Tabitha said, finally pulling away from Gwen, whose body was still rigid. ‘Maybe there’s someone else who can help – your friend with connections to the Order, or … or something else. His power isn’t endless. When he raises things, it drains him. Maybe he’ll be weaker, then.’
Gwen was trying to get her body to uncurl, bit by bit, muscle by muscle. When she spoke, her voice still sounded strange, as though a hand were wrapped around her throat. ‘I promise, we’ll find a way.’
Tabitha found a quiet smile, and though her eyes were still frightened, she nodded. ‘I know you’ll save me.’
Gwen let Isobelle pull her through the gap. Pausing, she looked back to see Tabitha emerge from their alcove, steps hurrying, leading the approaching necromancer away from their exit.
Gwen froze as the man stepped into view, his eyes on Tabitha. His blond hair just so, his genial face the exact opposite of what she would’ve expected to see.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Lord Bingleton.
Gwen didn’t hear Tabitha’s reply. She felt Isobelle stiffen and draw a shocked breath, having seen him too.
Lord Bingleton? That … that foolish puppy of a man is our all-powerful necromancer?
Never had Gwen been more comprehensively fooled.
How she got herself moving, she didn’t know, but when she finally came back to her senses, she was next to Isobelle on a rocky ledge, their backs pressed against the exterior tower walls. This part of the tower overlooked the sheer sea cliff, and far below them roiled the inky blackness of the night-time sea.
‘This is worse than the bottomless staircase,’ muttered Isobelle, holding on tightly to Gwen’s arm as she leaned forward slightly and looked over the edge at the rocky shoreline below.
They spent some time trying to climb sideways, looking to encircle the tower and get back to solid ground, but the way back up was sheer. They had two choices: back into the tower, or … down.
Gwen was almost grateful for the confused shock ricocheting around in her head as they began their descent down the cliff face, for wrapping her mind around Lord Bingleton’s villainy made it easier not to focus on the fact that one wrong move could send her – and Isobelle, too – plummeting to an almost certain death on the rocks.
As they neared the bottom of the cliffs, she realised she could see her handholds better. The cliffs blocked her view of the sky to the east, but dawn could not be far off.
Sudden exhaustion nearly claimed her, but she forced herself to keep moving. Every time she offered a hand up to Isobelle, the other girl’s touch reminded her to keep her wits about her. By the time Gwen felt her boots hit sand, she was ready to collapse with relief.
Isobelledidcollapse, down onto her hands and knees, shaking. ‘No more climbing,’ she panted. ‘I don’t care how many necromancers are after us. Please, no more climbing.’
‘No more climbing,’ Gwen agreed, dropping to her knees beside Isobelle. Now they were finished, she could feel her muscles shaking with a wrenching combination of relief, suppressed terror and effort. She reached out and squeezed Isobelle’s arm.
Isobelle let out a long, quaking sigh, and wrapped her arms around Gwen, leaning into her hard.
They were safe.
