courage she could muster and leaped through the Gate.
The tunnel was narrow enough to prevent the Shades and Stoman soldiers using their weight of numbers to their advantage. That and the sheer brutish strength of Darkmount and his stonesinging caused Nibbler to grow cocky.
‘Well, come on then if you think you’re hard enough!’ he called out in a sing-song. A flight of arrows whistled towards him. He casually burned them to a crisp. ‘Ha! Even my grandma could have done better than that! Is that all you’ve got? Do you want to stop for tea and biscuits?’
‘Winged One,’ interrupted Darkmount.
‘Er, yeah?’
‘You’re a Hatchling. You don’t know your grandmother.’
‘Well no, no I don’t. But it’s just a saying. You know, just to get into the feel of things.’
Darkmount shook his head. Tearing a lump of rock from the wall, he flung it down the tunnel, knocking a Shade and two Stomen off their feet.
A flash of golden light from behind caused the two of them to pause.
‘Was that …’ began Nibbler.
‘Yes, that was the Gate. She’s gone through.’
‘Does that mean –’
A chorus of Stonesong washed down the tunnel. The Shades and Stomen parted to make way for a line of angry-looking Stonesingers.
‘Enough questions,’ said Darkmount, hurling another lump of rock at his adversaries. ‘More flame.’
17
Hell
The mist felt wrong.
It was cold and clammy yet smelt like a hot greenhouse. The scent of lilies, freshly ploughed soil and the tang of exotic plants tickled at Charlie’s nose, which she knew couldn’t be right as the few things she could see were barren and lifeless. Sounds seemed to behave oddly too; one minute her footsteps would sound muffled, the next too loud. But what bugged her the most was the wind. It howled around her constantly. But she couldn’t feel it on her skin and the mist didn’t move at all.
Nothing behaved as it should.
Looking back Charlie could see the Gate and through it the faint outline of the cave beyond. It was like trying to peer into a bathroom mirror made foggy from condensation. Squaring her shoulders, she ventured deeper into the mist.
At first she was troubled by the idea that she might become lost, but the pathway was easy to follow. The same screaming statues that had lined the corridors were here too, their outstretched arms pointing the way, and it wasn’t long until Charlie found herself at the bridge.
It was a rope bridge, the kind that she had seen in travel magazines and documentaries. Rough wooden slats formed the walkway and the handrails were made from thick ropes. Unlit lanterns had been tied not only to the side of the bridge, but also to a guide line that hung overhead. As she planted her foot on the first slat, the closest lantern flickered alight, its oddly cheerful flame warming the mist with its glow.
Charlie gaped up at it foolishly. She peered along the bridge, then looked over her shoulder to check that someone wasn’t watching. But she was alone.
‘Huh,’ she muttered.
Shrugging, she took a couple of hesitant steps. More of the lanterns came alive, illuminating the bridge as though eager to show her the way.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, but, growing more confident, continued to make her way across. Something skittered past; she felt the weight of its passing on the handrail. The thick rope thrummed and vibrated beneath her palm. She spun round, trying to locate the source of movement. But there was nothing to see: only the fog, the lanterns and the eerie feeling that something was out there.
Then she felt it again. The vibrations in the handrail, the flash of shadow in the mist and the very definite sense that she was not alone. She took a firmer grip on the Hell Sword and crouched low. Waiting. Listening.
The bridge heaved upward. It felt as though some giant hand had grabbed the end and was whipping it up and down. Charlie squawked as she was flung through the air. She landed face-first on the wooden slats, one of them actually giving way so that her arm plunged through. Staring down into the mist, she resisted the urge to scream. Instead she wrapped her free arm round the handrail, heaved herself up and rode the shaking bridge. Charlie was certain she could see movement, but each time she whipped her head round to catch whatever was out there she was too late. All she saw was a ripple in the mist and a hint of passing shadow.
Something touched the back of