run roughly southeast for the last few miles, was forced aside by a cliff of grey-white stone and baked red mud, the western rim of the mountains. It continued in the shadow of the rock face, while the land sloped steadily down on our right. A line of stubby trees cut off my view, which otherwise would have been spectacular in the pale dawn light.
Not that I felt much like sightseeing. Muena Palaiya meant the end of my acquaintance with the horse, which I was starting to grow attached to and — perhaps through slight delirium — had nicknamed 'Lucky'. There are few more serious crimes than horse-thievery in the Castoval; a man can steal another's wife or rob his gold and still hope for leniency from the law, but if he's caught on a horse that isn't his he may as well lock himself up and throw away the key. It wouldn't pay for me to try to ride into Muena Palaiya.
I waited until the way broadened out. I knew it would split beyond the next bend, with one fork continuing along the cliff to the gates of Muena Palaiya, and the other dipping lower to skirt the town on its west edge. An open, grassy area marked by the occasional tree lay before the gates, where travellers who couldn't afford the local hospitality were prone to camp. It offered little in the way of concealment, and I'd be visible approaching from the gates. I didn't want to have to answer any questions or risk meeting old acquaintances, most of whom would be likely to arrest me. I didn't want anyone to be able to identify me to Moaradrid's troops, either, or to confirm my presence in the town. Fortunately, I knew another way inside. If it was more difficult, it would be infinitely more discreet.
I dismounted just before the turn, with a grunt of discomfort, and patted the dejected horse hard on his rump. 'Be off, Lucky!' I slurred. 'Go, live your life. You're free!'
He stared at me with red-flecked eyes, then wandered to the far roadside and began cropping grass.
I realised I was feeling distinctly unwell. No doubt it was the combination of hard riding, scant food and water, blood loss and the general stresses of the night. My brow was sticky, my mouth was dry, and even short steps made my head swim. I tried to remind myself that it would feel far worse if Moaradrid's thugs hacked it off.
Parched bushes of washed-out olive green and a few small trees lined the side of the road meeting the cliff, offering plenty of cover. As I pushed through them I realised I could hear hoof beats again, and that the sound was becoming so familiar it hardly shocked me anymore. I forced myself to hurry. Once I'd passed the bend, I could see the north wall of Muena Palaiya as speckles of ivory through gaps in the foliage. I carried on, scrambling sometimes on hands and knees, though it was particularly painful to do so.
It was slow progress, and I suffered countless scratches, along with tears and briars in my cloak. The rumble of hooves behind me became steadily louder and then stopped, presumably as they inspected the area around my abandoned mount. A few minutes later, it began again with renewed vigour.
I'd skirted most of the way round the open area by then. I could clearly see the reinforced wooden gates, still closed at that hour, and could just discern the figure of a guard on the rampart above. He was looking down and pointing, not in my direction thankfully.
I'd also reached the point I was looking for, and decided to take a moment's break. It was a mistake. The instant I stopped crawling I sagged to the ground, overwhelmed by fatigue.
At least I had a good view from where I lay. Through a gap, I could see out onto the grassy plain before the gates, where riders were massing. There might have been fifty already, with more arriving in a constant stream. Would they attack Muena Palaiya? Even with the garrison undermanned, they'd be hard-pressed. Those walls were sturdy and easily defended.
Either way, I was in too much of a corner to consider changing my plans. Maybe they imagined I was already inside, but it was just as likely they'd decide to make a search of the area. I hauled myself to my feet and squeezed through the gap in the rocks behind me. It was alarmingly narrow at first. On the other side it opened out a little into a sort of slim crevasse. Familiarity guided my exhausted steps, for I'd been this way more than once before. It had been known then, in certain circles at least, as the side door to Muena Palaiya.
The path — if path it could be called — crawled up and around the cliff face, which was less sheer at that point, a tumble of huge stones and jutting rock formations. At best the route was a narrow seam of loose dirt between boulders. At worst it meant sliding down perilous slopes of shingle or clambering over trees that jutted from the cliff face. I was in no shape for the endeavour. I soon noticed that I was leaving a snail-trail of scarlet over the white stone; my shoulder was bleeding again. I imagined myself tumbling over the cliff edge in a faint, and then bewildered townsfolk gathering round my broken body. The journey seemed to go on forever.
What made the route so difficult, however, made it secure. There were only a few points where I was visible from the town below. When I eventually reached Back Way Rock, I was confident I'd made it there unseen.
I lay flat on my face. I felt dizzier, and very muddled. Where was I? What exactly was I supposed to be doing? I decided I'd ask Saltlick, who I could hear behind me, chewing a mouthful of foliage. Memories jarred back into place. I recognised the sough of wind through leaves for what it was. The feverishness receded a little.
I dragged myself to the edge of the crag, and looked over cautiously. The eastern wall of Muena Palaiya was built around and partly into the cliff face, and the advantage of Back Way Rock was that it projected a little way out over the parapet, beside a particularly gentle and uneven decline. It was possible to climb down from there and, with more exertion, back up. It was a well-kept secret amongst those of us who liked to come and go without interference. At least it had been the last time I was in Muena Palaiya; the guards might keep a permanent watch on it these days for all I knew.
There was no one to be seen nearby, or anywhere on the eastern stretch of wall. A glance to my right told me why. What must have been the entire remaining garrison were gathered in a row on the northern wall around the gate, their helmets and cheerful blue cloaks bright in the early sunlight, staring down at some spectacle below. I could hear raised voices too, now that I listened. Was Moaradrid's force attacking? Their weapons weren't drawn, but perhaps that was only a matter of time. I decided to make my move, while they were otherwise occupied and I was fairly lucid. I pulled myself over to the side, looked down, and regretted it. The wall seemed unfeasibly far below.
Perhaps they'd shrunk it? Or raised the rock?
No, that was the fever talking, just as the distorted distance existed only in my fuddled brain. Focusing, I could see the first 'step', a narrow outcropping worn by countless boots. I gritted my teeth, swung over, and managed to land a foot there whilst gripping the edge of the overhang. I looked for the second step once I was steady, and found that too.
Vertigo tugged at my brain. Sweat seemed to flow from my palms, making them slide wetly on their holds.
I couldn't remember where the third step was. I didn't dare look. I crouched, and lowered an exploratory foot. It found nothing but sheer, unbroken surface. I tried to pull it back, only to find that somehow I'd twisted around, my body angled away from the cliff.
I made to swing back, and my right hand slipped loose. I clawed frantically. My left foot slid free.
Scrabbling helplessly, I fell.
CHAPTER 6
I landed hard.
A part of my mind reported with grim satisfaction that I was dead. That was it, every bone in my body was shattered, probably a few organs had burst too. It had been a tolerable life, on the whole, but it was over now. You can't win them all.
Another part pointed out that it still hurt. It still hurt a lot. I hadn't even fallen that far, nor had I landed on my head. In short, there was no reason I should be dead.
Does there have to be reason, the first part wondered.
Yes, replied the second.
Really?
Absolutely.
Well then perhaps we're not.
I opened my eyes and groaned. Death might have been preferable, overall. I hurt in places I'd never known I
