The road wasn’t much more than a track, but it had been raised and roughly guttered, and was broad enough for six to ride abreast. Past the buildings, the ridge was covered in a low heather, which looked rather too perfect for an assassin to hide in, though only a suicidal one would attempt a shot. They would be ridden down or shot themselves all too soon.

The river below and to their left was running fast, with a great deal of white water. The cloud of mist from the waterfall loomed up ahead, far larger and more imposing than it had seemed from the Paperwing, particularly as the western edge of the white expanse was now stained with red from the setting sun.

Set against the middle of this vast white backdrop, cradled between two arms of the river on the very lip of the massive waterfall, Clariel saw the Abhorsen’s House.

It was built upon a rocky island, enclosed on all sides by a high white wall. A tower loomed above the red-tiled roof of a large house, the top of a very tall fig tree visible behind it, hinting at the garden Tyriel had mentioned. There was a narrow wooden bridge from the riverbank across the now fast-rushing Ratterlin, a bridge built upon a line of low stones, each about four paces apart, that could only just be seen above the surface of the water.

In other circumstances, she might have been excited and amazed to see and visit such a place. But with the prospect of being trapped there for months, Clariel felt only dread that she would soon be confined behind high walls again.

The road continued along the ridge towards the Long Cliffs, where it turned westwards, but there was a narrow bridle path that diverted down towards the river and the bridge. The company sorted itself out into a single file, with Tyriel and Clariel in the middle, and they slowly descended. With every step, the roar of the waterfall grew louder. It was so loud by the time they reached the riverbank that Tyriel had to shout.

‘We leave the horses and everyone else here. Go ahead of me, and hold the handrail on the bridge. If you go in, there’ll be no saving you.’

Clariel could well believe that. The river was a mass of white here, streaming around the stones under the bridge and splashing the timbers in a great spate of furious energy.

The bridge itself didn’t look very secure or easy. It was only three planks wide, not much wider than Clariel’s two feet side by side. There was no handrail on one side, and the one on the waterfall side looked like it had been made with broom handles lashed together. The whole bridge looked very makeshift.

‘Are you sure it won’t fall apart?’ she shouted.