‘But the footprints can still be seen,’ said Dacre Silifant. ‘Moreover, it seems the girl has slowed down. Her strength is waning.’

‘As is ours,’ Rience tore off his hat and fanned himself with it.

‘Quiet,’ Silifant suddenly stopped. ‘Did you hear that? What was it?’

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

‘But I did… Like a scraping… A scraping on the ice… But not from there,’ Boreas Mun pointed at the fog, into which the trail was fading. ‘It seems to be over on the left, to the side…’

‘I heard it too,’ Tawny Owl confirmed, looking anxiously around. ‘But now it’s gone quiet. Dammit, I don’t like it. I don’t like it!’

‘The footprints!’ Rience said with wearied emphasis. ‘We can still see her footprints! Don’t you have eyes? She’s walking straight ahead! If she took even a single step to one side we’d know it from the trail! Quick march, we’ll have her soon! I give my word, we’ll see her in a moment—’

He broke off. Boreas Mun sighed so hard his lungs groaned. Tawny Owl cursed.

Ten paces in front of them, just before the limit of visibility bordered by the dense fog, the tracks ended. They vanished.

‘A pox on it!’

‘What is it?’

‘Has she taken flight or what?’

‘No.’ Boreas Mun shook his head. ‘She hasn’t. It’s worse.’

Rience swore crudely, pointing at scratches in the icy crust.

‘Skates,’ he growled, involuntarily clenching his fists. ‘She has skates… Now she’s darting across the ice like the wind… We won’t catch her! What, damn his eyes, has become of Bonhart? We won’t catch the maid without horses!’

Boreas Mun hawked loudly and sighed. Skellen slowly unbuttoned his sheepskin coat, uncovering a bandolier with a row of orions slung across his chest.

‘We won’t have to hunt her,’ he said coldly. ‘She’ll be the one hunting us. I’m afraid we won’t have long to wait.’

‘Have you gone mad?’

‘Bonhart anticipated this. That’s why he went back for his horse. He knew the girl would lure us into a trap. Beware! Listen for the grating of skates on ice!’

Dacre Silifant paled visibly despite his cheeks being flushed from the cold.

‘Fellows!’ he yelled. ‘Beware! Take heed! And gather together! Don’t get lost in the fog!’

‘Shut up!’ Tawny Owl roared. ‘Keep quiet! Absolute silence or we won’t hear…’

They heard. A short, strangled cry reached their ears from the fog to the left, from the furthest end of the line. And the sharp, rough grating of skates, making the hair stand on end like iron scoring glass. ‘Bert!’ Tawny Owl yelled. ‘Bert! What’s happening over there?’

They heard an unintelligible cry, and a moment later Bert Brigden emerged from the fog, fleeing pell-mell. As soon as he was near he slipped, fell over and slid across the ice on his stomach.

‘She got… Stigward,’ he panted out, struggling to get up. ‘She cut him down… as she flashed past… So swiftly… I barely saw her… She’s a witch…’