winding, underground tunnels. Sometimes they had to climb across savage vertical drops, and on several occasions they came to guard outposts: small wooden buildings, usually empty of everything except wooden cots without bedding. At least this meant they had firewood, and Kell broke up the cots and they burned them at night, as much for the comfort of living flames as for any real heat they produced.
On the fourth day, Kell stopped and tilted his head. Then looked to Saark. "You hear it?"
"Yes. You have exquisite hearing for a human," smiled Saark.
"Helps me to kill," grunted Kell, and carried on.
"What can you hear?" asked Nienna.
"Water. A river."
They continued for another hour, until the tunnel spat them out on a gentle rocky slope. It was littered with rubble, and a sloping shingle bank led gently into a wide, fast flowing and very deep underground torrent. Back by the tunnel entrance there was another guard outpost, which Kell approached warily, Ilanna ready in huge fists, and down along the shingle black moss grew, and black vines twisted and turned amongst the stones like narrow, skeletal fingers.
"I'm amazed anything grows down here," said Nienna, crunching down to the water's edge.
"Don't go too close," said Myriam, and placed her hand on Nienna's shoulder. "To fall in, that would be to die. The cold and ice would chill you in minutes."
Nienna twisted away from Myriam's grip. "I don't need your advice. I'm not stupid."
Myriam looked to Saark, who shrugged.
"It's empty," called Kell from the guard hut, then stepped inside. He emerged after a few minutes. "There are some supplies. A sack of grain and weapons."
"Swords?" said Saark.
"Aye," nodded Kell, and threw Saark a thin military rapier.
Saark caught the weapon, and swished it through the air several times. "Well balanced. Good steel." He lifted eyes and met Kell's gaze. "Maybe our luck is improving?"
"Yeah, well don't get too horny. This place is a dead end." He nodded to the river.
Saark glanced up and down the shingle slope, and saw Kell was right. The only access was via the river. Then he noticed a short jetty, in black wood, half rotten and listing to one side. It had been repaired with old rope, but threatened at any moment to crash into the river.
"I get the impression this place isn't used often," said Saark.
"I think the damn albinos have more things to worry about than us, lad. You remember back on Skaringa Dak? The sky going out like a candle? The appearance of those pretty boys, those Vampire Warlords?"
"I remember," said Saark. He glanced up and down the river, and shivered. Then he looked over to Myriam, then back to the thickly churning waters. He could see lumps of ice. "I know what you're going to suggest."
"You do?" Kell looked impressed.
"We have only one option."
"Which is?"
"The river." Saark's eyes were dark. "If we don't build it right, we'll drown, Kell."
"I know that, lad. But if we stay here, we'll either freeze or meet another group of Graal's arse-kissing gigolos. It's one of those risks we'll have to take."
"I'm not a boat-builder," said Saark, eyes narrowed, voice suddenly wary with suspicion. "What do you want me to do?"
"Go and cut that rope free from the old jetty. We'll need it for bindings. And I'll sort out some timber."
"What will I cut it with?"
"There's knives in the hut."
"Are they sharp?"
Kell stared at Saark. "I don't know , lad. Go and have a bloody look."
Muttering, Saark moved to the guard shack and peered in. It was dark, and damp, wood mouldering, the sack of grain rotten. Saark curled his lips into a sneer, and crept in as if afraid to touch anything. He found one of the knives, blade rusted, hilt unravelling, and stepped back out to the shingle. "This knife is rusty," he said.
Kell looked up. He sighed. "Just do your best, lad."
Saark moved to the jetty,