horse. If I end up down there, you can pull me back up to the track.'
'I can go first, if you want me to.' Rampton looked back at Winterburne, his face was drawn and he was clearly concerned. 'I have no one to miss me.'
'No,' Winterburne said. 'I can't ask you to do this, my friend.'
He fed the rope around his waist and tied it in a knot, pulling the ends tight. When he was happy that it was as firm as it could be he stepped forward, patting his companion on his shoulder before moving along the path, hugging the rock face, his back tight against the wall.
The path, once plenty wide enough for horse and its rider, was now only a foot wide at most. He looked down. Foaming, dirty brown water flashed by, churning and boiling as it raced down what had become a lethal canyon fifteen or twenty feet below. Apart from the water, there could be anything hidden below the surface and there was no telling how the rocks had fallen either, they could be inches below, or they might be much more but from where he stood there was no way to tell. Hell, he thought to himself as he looked over the edge, the fall might not even be survivable.
Winterburne took another step, and then another. It crossed his mind to close his eyes, but he smirked as he thought how ridiculous he would have looked. It's going to be alright, he told himself, the path will hold for me.
His foot planted onto a large flat rock that poked out from beneath the scree and he pushed. It held and he leaned forward with his weight as he moved along. Then, without warning, the rock slipped from its position and his eyes widened as he felt his ankle turn, causing him to fall forward. Grabbing the rough rock face with his bare fingers, he tried to find a grip but the stone was wet and slimy from the morning's rain and offered him no hand-hold. He fell forward, bumping down onto the scree. It gave way as he hit it, sliding towards the water. He scrambled, trying to stop his forward momentum but it was too late, the ground heaved momentarily and then it dropped, slipping away into the water below.
The rope drew tight around his waist, and as suddenly as he had begun to drop, he stopped falling. Up above he could hear the sound of his horse whinnying as the force of his fall pulled against the beast's neck. He swung back and forth as he looked up, checking the rope. It had pulled tight against the edge of the rock as it stuck out from the face of the cliff, and he dangled helpless above the ravine no more than a few feet above the boiling water.
Rampton's face appeared over the edge of the cliff.
'Hold on!' he called down, 'I'll try to get the horse to back up along the path!'
Winterburne clung to the rope that had now been pulled up tightly around his armpits. He was helpless, he knew, and was completely dependent on Rampton to pull him to safety.
'Hurry up!' he called.
He jerked upwards as the horse tried to pull his weight back to the top, but then he stopped, and dropped a couple of inches. Something was catching. He looked up, following the lie of the rope as it pulled tight; from his position below the ledge he could see that it was caught in a crack between two larger stones, and worse that that it was already fraying as his swinging dragged it back and forth against the jagged edge.
He looked down at the water tumbling along the valley, white foam bubbling where it flowed across the rocks lay below the surface. He lurched upwards as Rampton tried again, and then he stopped. He glanced upwards, checking the rope, but it was snagged fast.
'Wait a moment!' he shouted up to Rampton.
Rampton's face peeked over the edge again.
'It's stuck fast!' he called down.
'I know!'
Winterburne looked around him, desperate for any inspiration as to a way out, but he had only moments to ponder his situation as the rock over which the rope passed tumbled from its seat, and then he dropped as the rope broke.
The fall seemed to last forever as the grey rocks flashed past him and after what felt like long seconds he plunged into the water. The cold hit him like a slap across the face as he sunk into the depths, then, almost instantly, he felt himself being carried along by the torrent. Somehow, he rose to the surface and gulped in a lungful of air.
He looked up as best he could, and thought, just for a second, that he glimpsed Rampton running back down the track, but then the man was gone as he was swept around the bend.
The river seemed to flow faster and faster as he tumbled through the water, his knees and arms scraping against the rocks and branches that lay just beneath the surface. He fought hard, trying to right himself, to try to see up ahead, but he had no control in the fast flowing water and he was being twisted and spun, out of all control.
Then, suddenly and without warning, there was only air, and water hanging all around him. He was falling again, he realised, over the edge of some natural waterfall made treacherous by the swollen river. The sky spun around him for what seemed like long seconds and then he was plunged deep down below the surface. His head hit something hard and the pain blinded him as he struggled to hold the air in his lungs.
As quickly as he had been immersed, he found himself on the surface again, carried away from the falls. The water moved slower here, and although he was still being pulled along by the river, his speed was less frantic.
The pain in his head returned and he lifted his hand to his forehead, touching the spot where he had hit it on the hidden rock. He pulled his fingers away. For a brief moment, he could see the blood on his fingers before the river washed his hand clean, then finally, in a wave of sickness and nausea, the world faded from his view, until all was blackness.
27
The Tenth Day of Hi-summer,
Imperial Year 2332
Courtenay made his way along the darkened corridor, the light from the windows projecting high up the wall as the sun lowered in the evening sky. The meeting in the council hall had been brief and Ysabel had passed through the business of the day quickly, waving away all but the most pressing of matters. ''Somehow,'' the Queen had said, ''none of this trivia seems important at the moment.'' Perhaps, Courtenay thought, she had been right.
The corridor leading away from the audience chamber was silent and empty; he had been the first to be dismissed from the meeting today. He approached the double doors at the opposite end of the hallway, their solid wood faces carved with intricate designs of shields and banners and heraldic motifs. Without warning they began to swing inwards, and, for a brief moment, Courtenay was taken aback. A man, dressed in the simple uniform of the Queen's household stepped through the doorway, and Courtenay, seeing that it was one of the pages, relaxed.
The page looked up as he saw Courtenay moving towards him along the corridor.
'Is the meeting finished so soon, My Lord?' he asked.
'All bar, the final ceremonies,' Courtenay said. 'The Queen dismissed all but the council, but I expect they will be done soon.'
The man looked disappointed.
'Then I'll wait outside,' he said.
It was not permitted for the uninvited to enter into a council meeting whilst it was in progress and Courtenay wondered why the man was so eager to enter.
'What is it?' he asked. 'Is it anything that I may be able to help with?'
'I have a message for the Queen, My Lord.'
The man held up a letter, a red seal fixing the envelope closed.
'The Queen's messenger brought it back with him from the Empire. It is from the Emperor.'
'The Emperor?'
Courtenay was surprised. Frederick must still be desperate to avoid conflict if he had seen fit to send a personal letter to Ysabel, he thought.
'Yes, My Lord. The soldier said that he had been given the envelope by Emperor Frederick himself, before being given safe passage back to the Commonwealth.'
'The Emperor gave him safe passage?'
'Yes, My Lord, according to the man's report.'
'Then it is important, and the Queen should have the letter immediately.'
'I am not permitted to enter,' the page replied.
He had a concerned look o
n his face, clearly perturbed that he could not easily fulfil his duty.
'No matter,' Courtenay said, 'I can see that she gets it.'
'I really should give it to her myself.'
Courtenay nodded. 'I understand. I just wondered whether I might perform the deed and free you up for your other duties.'
'I wouldn't want to trouble you.'
'It is no trouble, I would not offer if I thought it so.'
'That would be most generous, My Lord. If you are sure, then.'
'Trust me,' Courtenay replied, holding out his hand, 'I am sure.'
The page passed over the envelope and Courtenay turned it over looking at Frederick's seal. The imprint of the Imperial eagle was pressed deep into the wax.
'Thank you, My Lord.'
The page bowed, and turned, walking back to the double doors, still ajar. After he passed through, he turned and pulled them closed behind himself.
'No,' Courtenay said, under his breath, once he was alone again. 'Thank you.'
He glanced around him. No guards were ever positioned in this hallway, after all there was no other way out, and the windows were too high up to be a security threat from the outside world. He opened the envelope and pulled out the parchment, unfolding the paper. The writing was recognisable; Frederick had written the words in his own hand, and that in itself was remarkable.
Courtenay read the words, a thin smile crossing his lips. It seemed to him, then, that Frederick had now become desperate for Ysabel to believe him. Poor Frederick, he thought, a valiant effort at fostering a