Even though Embla showed no sign of tiring, their trip across the Blasted Waste took longer than it had on Myrtle’s back. They passed a cold night, tramping onwards, and it was halfway through the next day when the Shield Mountains finally came into view.

‘That’s it!’ Liska yelled when she saw them. ‘We’re home! We’re finally home!’

They all clambered up to Embla’s broad shoulders to stare as the misty peaks grew closer and closer. Was their home still safe? Had the forces of Noxis and Bitterblight taken over? From this distance it was impossible to tell.

‘Hey,’ Liska said as she waited for the mountains to get near enough to see properly. ‘I’ve just thought – how are we going to get Embla inside? She’ll never fit into the secret passage we used.’

‘There used to be a proper entrance,’ said Elowen. ‘At the north of the city. I believe they bricked it up a few centuries ago, but I’m sure we could persuade them to open it. The mages of Arborven need to know there is a world outside their mountains, after all.’

‘At the north?’ Liska said. ‘By the Noon Fort?’

‘Yes. The fortress was actually built as the gatehouse.’

Liska felt another buzz of excitement. That meant her family would be the first to see her arrive. On the shoulders of a treekeeper, of all things.

It seemed to take forever but finally they neared the long slope that led to the mountains. Liska stared up at the patch of mist that hid her home, searching for signs of burning or tumbled wreckage.

There were gouges in the earth all around, and patches of dry, seared gloop that must have come from the rot creatures. But no shapewalker bodies, thank the Tree, and no pieces of shattered brickwork.

‘Do you think we won the battle?’ Lug asked, mirroring her thoughts.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘If we wait here, a patrol should spot us and investigate. Then we’ll find out.’

Embla carried on striding, right up to the granite face of the mountain itself. It was raked with scratches, pummelled and chipped. The site of a fierce and recent struggle.

They stood there watching the swirling fog, expecting a manticore or griffyx to come swooping down. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

‘Nobody’s coming,’ said Liska finally. Just admitting it made her feel physically sick. ‘Something must have happened to them after all. We’re too late.’

‘Wait,’ said Fishbone. He was sitting on Embla’s head, ears twitching from side to side. ‘Do you hear that?’

Liska strained her own ears, which weren’t nearly as sharp as her fox ones. She thought she could pick out a dull sound, like a storm blowing through the forest. Or perhaps many voices roaring all at once.

‘Is that . . .?’

‘A crowd of humies,’ said Fishbone. ‘A big one. Off to the west.’