Free Last Battle of the Icemark by Stuart Hill Page B

dimly lit hall seemed to weave themselves into distinct shapes, then slowly dance around the walls like dirty cloth undulating and billowing in underwater currents. The ghosts of the citadel had at last come out to celebrate Halloween, but only those who cared to look closely would see them. Kirimin blinked and shook her mighty head; she must be getting tired, she thought. But she wasn’t ready to surrender to sleep yet; she still wanted to savour the delicious fear of the haunted darkness. And where better to find it than in the Great Forest? If she crept out now, she could be walking under the dark trees within a few minutes.
    On her silent Snow Leopard paws she padded down from the dais, across the hall and out into the night. Only twofigures in the dark cavernous space saw her go, and nudging each other they climbed to their feet and hurried to the stables. They knew exactly where she was going, and if they were going to keep up they’d need horses.
    Down in the city, in the small houses made cosy against the dark with candles and lamps and warm log fires, people were telling each other tales of hauntings and spectral visitors who knock on doors late at night, but few were prepared to seek out the real ghosts of Frostmarris, who watched the living from cellars and attics and lost secret rooms. Their tales were too true, and often too terrible, to be comfortable on Samhein night.
    Kirimin’s whispered tread passed their doors unnoticed as she made her way down to the gates, and soon she was flowing like a silent bank of mist through the entrance tunnel, and out into the night of stars and the breathless beauty of a new moon.

C HAPTER 7
    T he horses clipped and clopped through the silent streets, the sound echoing and clattering from the densely packed houses, seeming to make a cavalry of the two animals. Both riders wore black hooded cloaks, skeleton masks and a full panoply of strangely exotic armour, making them look like long-dead warriors who’d returned to earth in search of revenge. Anyone who dared to peep out of their windows on this Samhein night and saw them riding by would have hurriedly closed their shutters and called on the Goddess for protection.
    They reached the long entrance tunnel of the main gate and trotted briskly to the outside world. A freezing wind, with the clean scent of winter on its breath, eddied about them as they looked out over the Plain of Frostmarris.
    â€œThere she goes!” said Mekhmet as he caught a slight movement in the darkness.
    â€œWhere?” asked Sharley, scanning the dense tumble of shadows and blackness, but as he spoke, Kirimin’s huge form crossed a cart track that glowed dimly in the starlight, and she stood out in solid black relief. “Ah, yes. I see her.”
    They urged their mounts forward and were soon trotting across the plain, relying mainly on instinct to take them in the same direction as the Snow Leopard Princess.
    As far as possible they avoided riding along the road, not only because it reflected what little light there was and would make them stand out to any watching eye, but also because Suleiman’s and Jaspat’s hoofbeats rattled over the hard surface like hammer strokes in a busy forge. If they were going to get their revenge for the fright Kirimin gave them earlier, they needed to catch her unawares.
    After half an hour the eaves of the Great Forest loomed before them, and Sharley raised the pace slightly. Several jack-o’-lanterns still hung in the branches, their glowing eyes gazing eerily over the night as the two boys approached.
    â€œSurely any candles would have burned out hours ago?” said Mekhmet, voicing the worry that Sharley had been trying to ignore. “It’s been ages since anyone came from Frostmarris.”
    â€œPerhaps someone came along later,” said Sharley nervously. “Or perhaps people who live nearby lit them.”
    Mekhmet scanned the land around in search of any