Something was moving inside the cloud of dust, something enormous, shouldering aside tons of stone like a human might kick off a constricting blanket. Where to run suddenly didn’t seem nearly as important as just being somewhere else. Alice had a clear shot down the slope of her boulder, and a solid leap would take her to another flat surface. But just ahead of her, Isaac struggled to pull himself up with his bandaged hands, long cloak flapping absurdly behind him, his thin arms shaking with the effort.

Alice said a word her father would have been shocked to hear and knelt on the lip of the rock, just above Isaac. She yanked the Swarm thread into her body and held out her hand.

‘Isaac!’

He risked a look over his shoulder, saw her hand, and clung even tighter to his perch.

‘It’s coming!’ Alice shouted. The rock-crushing sounds were getting louder. ‘Just – push off a little. You’ll make it!’

‘I . . .’ Isaac took one hand off the rock hesitantly, then grabbed it again when his foot slipped a couple of inches. ‘I can’t.’

Alice wanted to scream with frustration. She dropped flat on her stomach and reached out with both hands, and her fingers nearly brushed the back of his head. ‘Come on. Now!’

He reached for her again, and this time she grabbed his hand with both of hers and pulled. His footing slipped, pebbles sliding and clattering below him. For a moment he swung free, all his weight on Alice’s wrist. The edge of the rock dug deep into her forearm, and she was certain her bones would have snapped without the power of the Swarm hardening her flesh.

It didn’t lend her additional strength, though, and light as Isaac was, he was still too much for Alice to lift. Fortunately, the fear that had paralysed Isaac had washed out of him again, and he got his other hand on her elbow and braced his legs against the overhang. Between the two of them, Alice on her knees pulling backwards and Isaac climbing up hand over hand, they were able to get back over the edge and onto the rock. Isaac flopped down face-first, panting, and Alice ended up spread-eagled on her back beside him.

‘You . . .’ Isaac wheezed. ‘You saved . . .’

‘Again,’ Alice managed, fighting for breath. ‘Don’t mention it.’

The noises had stopped. Alice sat up cautiously, hoping whatever it was had gone back to sleep.

It hadn’t. The dust was settling, and there, in the centre of a crater of shattered boulders, was the Dragon.

If she’d seen a picture of it in a book, Alice thought she would have sniffed and said it didn’t look like her idea of a dragon. She liked dragons that were lithe and graceful, more like scaly cats with fairy wings, who could dart about and be clever and help little girls defeat vicious ogres and so on.