Oracus came around to salty water lapping his face. When he opened his eyes, he realised he was floating on the ocean, face down beside Bandor on Catania’s broken dresser.

The memories from the palace all came back to him at once – Catania killing Alticon, Jowra almost destroying the palace… himself firing an arrow into his mother’s chest. He looked around for the palace but could see nothing except a few mountains in the distance with stormclouds churning above.

“How long have I been out?” he asked Bandor.

“An hour or so,” his Lion’s voice purred back at him. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Oracus said. “But my body is sore.”

Oracus looked down at himself and saw blood was seeping from the wound on his arm that Gravaz had dealt him. He felt pain in his back too, and in his legs where he had been trapped under rubble. He fidgeted to find comfort, but only succeeded in splashing himself with water.

“Do you think they managed to hold the city?” Oracus said hopefully.

“I think it was already defeated before we left,” Bandor admitted.

“Then do you think everyone got out safely?”

“I’m sure all the women and children are already in the mountains,” Bandor said. “But I don’t know where they will go.”

“To Afarra probably,” Oracus answered.

“The other side of Pharia. It’ll be a miracle if Jowra’s soldiers don’t intercept them on the way.”

A feeling of dread crept over Oracus’s body. Thousands of innocent people would be captured by Jowra because he and the other Riders had failed to defend Tallarin. And thousands of soldiers had already lost their lives because he hadn’t been able to protect them.

“I hope Kivali is with those who escaped,” he said.

“She was still alive when I came to help you. She’s tough, it’ll take a lot to kill her. And she won’t let anyone come to harm.”

“I should be with her,” Oracus said. “She’ll need help.”

“It isn’t worth worrying about,” Bandor said. “There’s nothing you can do. We’re adrift in the middle of the ocean and nobody is looking for us.”

“Then we need to get back to land. We should swim back to Tallarin.”

“The current has carried us all this way in an hour, Oracus. We’d never make it. And you’re injured too.”

“Then do we just drift until we die?”

“Maybe. But we’re heading west,” Bandor stated. “There’s a chance we’ll reach land eventually.”

“But there’s more of a chance we won’t.”

Oracus’s thoughts turned to Garrin and Afarra, and whether his friend knew Tallarin had fallen. What would Torvanon do when the news reached them – send his army to Melzor, or set up a defence and hope to survive?

“Do you think Jowra has other forces spare that he didn’t send to Tallarin?” he asked Bandor.

“Are you wondering if he’ll need to regroup before attacking Afarra?” Bandor enquired.

“I guess so,” Oracus admitted. “I hate the thought of Jowra taking control so swiftly. If we do make it back to land alive, I’d like to reach Afarra before all my friends are dead.”

“There’s no guarantee Jowra would defeat Afarra if he did attack,” Bandor said.

“Did you see the way Mammat broke down the wall at Tallarin?” Oracus replied. “He would step over Afarra’s wall and trample the buildings to dust.”

“But Torvanon is in Afarra. He’s a different proposition to the Riders Mammat faced in Tallarin.”

Oracus sighed deeply, and then laughed. “We talk of this like we’ve known it all our lives. It wasn’t so long ago that Garrin and I knew nothing of the land beyond Thessley. Now we’re losing a war we don’t truly understand.”

“The war isn’t lost yet,” Bandor argued. He shook his head and water flicked off his mane.

“Tallarin is Jowra’s, the rebellion has been halved, and we’re stuck out here without any way of getting home. I’d consider that losing.”

“Yes, Tallarin is defeated. And yes, the rebellion has taken a hit. But actually, I can see land over there.”

Oracus’s head snapped around and he peered towards where Bandor was looking. Sure enough, the once-endless horizon to the north-west was now disrupted by what he perceived to be a large group of black trees. A grin crossed his face, and then he patted Bandor affectionately on his head. “We’re not dead yet!” he exclaimed.

The flow of the ocean carried them towards land, and before long, they were fast approaching a pebbled shoreline hidden under a thin blanket of snow. A thick mist now hovered around them, and the water had turned icy cold. Oracus shivered whenever the waves licked his skin.

When the wooden dresser ran ashore, Oracus scraped his knees on the stones and groaned. He crawled up the beach alongside Bandor, trying to distance himself from the water he had been sure would kill him.

“Now that’s over, we just need to decide if we should go around or through,” Bandor said.

“Around or through what?” Oracus asked. But when he looked up, he saw what Bandor meant. They were faced by a forest of black trees that looked imposing in its magnificence.

“If we go through, maybe the trees will protect you from the cold,” Bandor suggested.

Oracus shuddered and crossed his arms to keep himself warm. “Good idea.”

“Can you stand?”

Oracus shook his head. “You’re going to have to carry me.” He pulled himself onto Bandor’s back and rested his head on his Lion’s mane. “I wish I could walk. Maybe then the cold wouldn’t feel so bitter.”

The shore was desolate in both directions for as far as the mist would allow them to see. It was quiet too, except for the lapping of waves on the pebbles. But when they stepped into the forest, an eerie silence enveloped them and all became dark.

Oracus tightened his grip around Bandor’s neck as the Lavorian crept cautiously through the trees. It was a forest unlike that which Oracus was familiar with; he would never have enjoyed hunting game in here. It was too still and haunting. He was glad he had Bandor to guide him, because alone he would never have found his way through.

For a time, Oracus used Bandor’s senses to observe his surroundings. Deep undergrowth shrouded the forest floor, while low-hanging branches covered with spikes reached for his face as Bandor advanced ever faster. Eventually though, Oracus succumbed to sleep as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

When he woke up, what may have been several hours had passed by. The darkness of the forest still lingered, but Bandor had come to a halt and his nose was pressed to the ground.

“What is it?” Oracus asked sleepily.

“I can smell something,” Bandor replied uneasily.

“Smell what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it a village?”

“No. Someone has been here,” he said, “A creature of some kind. I recognise the scent.”

Oracus tapped into Bandor’s senses again to try and help but couldn’t identify the smell. “I don’t know what it is either,” he said.

Bandor sniffed some more, lifted his head and stepped forwards. Then the ground around them swallowed them up.

It took Oracus a moment to realise he was hanging in a net above the forest floor. He had screamed at first, and now he was cursing at the pain he felt in his injured legs and back. “What is this?” he shouted.

“It’s a trap!” Bandor answered. And he immediately scratched at the netting with his claws.

When the netting ripped, Oracus and Bandor fell with a thud and Oracus screamed again. There was a rustle from a bush nearby, and Oracus had no more time to consider the pain he was in.

“It is a Human!” a deep voice bellowed from somewhere in the darkness.

Oracus’s eyes were wide with panic, and Bandor stood over him protectively.

“Sarvon will be happy and Valaroth will celebrate!” another voice boomed. And there were several approvals called out by more voices.

“Do it, Danzig,” the first voice ordered impatiently.

There was a hiss in the air prior to a tiny dart striking Oracus’s neck. For a second, he was relieved of all his pain. Then he was struck by dizziness and the darkness of the forest intensified.