He clambered precariously on to a water butt, steadied himself, and fitted an arrow to the bowstring. His experience instantly came into play, mechanical, cool. The bow flexed easily and he loosed the arrow straight at one of the Whisperers. It smashed into one side of his head and tore straight out of the other. The Whisperer tottered for a few seconds, as if coming to terms with the fact that his life was over, and then he crashed face down on to the stone.
The heads of the soldiers turned as one towards Matt, and then they set off for the fletcher's shop. Matt got another Whisperer, but by that time the remaining interlopers were well on the way to the gates and his view had been obscured by the jumble of rooftops pressed up tightly against the walls. Jumping from the butt, he joined the soldiers, who parted with a little grudging respect to allow him into their midst, and then they all set off in pursuit.
One Whisperer went down like a pincushion with fifteen arrows sticking out of him. Others followed, but the soldiers found it difficult to make progress over the bodies of their comrades who had paid the price for venturing too close to the pervasive, toxic emotions the Whisperers radiated.
Frustrated, Matt pushed his way back through the soldiers and ran up the street, taking a right turn through an alley until he located another route down towards the gates. The thoroughfare was completely empty, but he had to temper his run for fear of slipping and breaking his neck on the precipitous street. Finally the gates loomed up ahead of him and he fitted an arrow as he moved.
He turned a corner, ready to fire, and came straight up against a Whisperer.
The shock paralysed Matt for a second. Spears protruded from each of the Whisperer's shoulders, and the thing used them by pivoting at the waist to knock the bow from Matt's hands. The lethal tip of one of the spears narrowly missed taking one of Matt's eyes out as he threw himself backwards on to the ground.
As the Whisperer loomed over him, its shimmering purple eyes aglow, Matt felt the slow, damp creep of despair. His muscles ached; tiredness inched along his bones. He didn't have the energy to do anything but lie down, give up. The soldiers were too far away to help him. There was no point, in anything.
Yet even with his abilities shutting down, his instinct remained a powerful force. As his fingers closed on the fallen arrow, he was almost amazed to see it rising up in his hand, up and up, until it was driven into the eye of the stooping Whisperer. Matt rammed it deep into its brain then fell back wearily, but he had done enough. The despair ebbed away quickly and his strength and purpose returned.
The last remaining Whisperer was already at the gates, ready to open the intricate locking system. He was beyond the reach of the soldiers' arrows.
Matt jumped to his feet, put one foot between the shoulder blades of the fallen Whisperer and wrenched out one of the spears. In a fluid motion, he turned and hurled it. It smashed into the last Whisperer's hand, pinning it against the wood of the gate. A few seconds later, the whistle of arrows signalled an ending.
As the adrenalin seeped away, Matt sagged against a wall. He could hear the heavy trundle of the other Whisperers' mounts just beyond the gates.
His thoughts were echoed by the captain of the soldiers, who marched up to Matt holding the head of one of the Whisperers. He brandished the grisly trophy in Matt's face and said, 'This will not be the end of it.' And then he returned to his troops, the accusation hanging in the air with the hint of future menace. A plan was already forming in Caitlin's mind as she left the Sun, but she had no time to act on it before the captain of the guard and three others came sweeping up to her from one of the many side streets.
'Our Lord requests your presence,' the captain said in a manner that suggested it was not a request at all.
Caitlin was led briskly back to the palace and then along the miserable corridors to the same darkened room where Lugh sat in the same chair, staring into the blazing fire as if he had not moved since the last time she had seen him. As the guards retreated, Lugh acknowledged her with a morose glance and then returned his attention to the flames.
'There has been trouble at the walls,' he said. 'A breach by those who wait without.'
'Oh.'
'They come for you, Sister of Dragons. Your presence here compromises the security of the Court of Soul's Ease. This degree of threat is more than we can tolerate.'
'You're scared of them. I understand.'
He glared at her so suddenly and murderously that she backed away a step. But then he relented and waved her towards a chair on the other side of the fire. 'My race is above all, as always, for ever. Yet what these things represent is not to be taken lightly.'
Despite his words, his tone suggested deep fear kept tightly in check.
Caitlin sat. 'What do they represent?'
'You do not know?'
'No.'
'You do not know why they pursue you?'
She shook her head.
He held out his hands to the fire. Despite the stifling heat it radiated, he couldn't seem to get warm. 'Then it is not for me to say, Sister of Dragons.'
'But you could help-'
Lugh allowed himself a bitter laugh. 'The Extinction Shears are the only thing that could fend off what is coming, but their whereabouts is unknown.' He examined her intently.
'What is it?' she asked.
'It is intriguing to meet you, Sister of Dragons. You are known to us, from the old stories. The Broken Woman, one of the last generation of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons before your kind… become.'
'Become what?'
'Greater. One Fragile Creature exists who can bring everything together — the Far Lands and the Fixed Lands, Fragile Creatures and gods…' He slipped once more into a daze, so hypnotised by the fire that she couldn't tell if he thought this a good or bad thing. 'His destiny is unknown even to him. And it is the destiny of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons to bring him to the point where Existence turns.'
Caitlin recalled what Crowther had told her about the hope for the human race, and the war the gods were fighting over that ascension. 'There's someone who can help us achieve our potential?'
'Only one. His aid is essential.'
'Then we won't do it without him.' Her mind was racing; she had taken in so much since she had left her home; it all felt like a dream — fantastical things she could never have imagined, unknown worlds, and now schemes of such incredible import that it was almost impossible to take on board exactly what was at stake. 'Who is it?' she asked. 'If you know, please tell me.'
He gave a small, cruel smile, relishing what little power he had. 'That is not for me to say, either. But he will be drawn to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Existence will see to that.'
'He?' Caitlin mused. She jumped as something separated from Lugh's belt, where she had thought there was a buckle. It sprouted long spiderlike legs and scurried into the shadows beneath his chair. 'Ugh. What is that?'
'The Caraprix?' He thought for a long moment, as if he wasn't wholly sure of the answer himself. 'They are with us at all times. Sometimes they are almost… a comfort.'
Some kind of pet, Caitlin presumed. She returned her attention to Lugh; he wasn't going to answer questions about the mysterious saviour, but there was more pressing information that she needed. 'Answer one question, at least,' she said.
He gestured magnanimously.
'Where is the House of Pain?'
Her query surprised him, for he sat forwards in his chair and peered at her. 'You are searching for that place?' An unsettling note caught at his voice, and if Caitlin didn't know better she would have said it was fear.
'Where is it?'
'Far, far from the Court of Soul's Ease,' he said. 'North. Across the Forest of the Night, beyond the great river, past the Plain of Cairns. It lies on the very edge of the Far Lands, where all worlds meet — where, if you look correctly, you can see for ever.'