Mark Chadbourn - The Silver Skull

Glancing behind, Will could just make out the silhouettes of their pursuers against the star-dappled sky as they crested a ridge: three of them on horseback, riding as if hell were at their backs. Will had known the Enemy would attempt to prevent his journey at some point, but when the riders had appeared from the trees in the carriage's wake four miles back, their arrival had still felt like a winter storm.

Cloaks billowing behind them like bat wings, the riders moved inexorably closer. Recalling the maps he had memorised before their journey began more than seven days ago, he peered into the dark landscape flashing by to try to get his bearings. Away in the valley was the River Esk, and he could see the bulk of Rosslyn Castle rising up from the dense forest. That meant Edinburgh was only six miles away, but the riders would have caught them long before then.

He threw himself back inside the carriage where Nathaniel clung on for dear life. "Spanish or highwaymen?" Nathaniel asked.

"Being a poor fellow, you have nothing to offer either, so do not alarm yourself."

"I suppose you will be playing the hero at some point." He sniffed. "Have some regard for my life while you seek to bolster your own fame."

"Nat, you are first and foremost in my mind, as always."

The carriage careered to the left as the road followed the contours of the hill. Once again the left wheels lifted, this time so high it seemed the carriage was going over. Bags and cases flew around the interior, and Nathaniel crashed across the leather seats. As the wheels went down, it threw him back the other way.

"Damnation!" he shouted. "I could drive this carriage better myself!" Exhausted and hungry, his temper had deteriorated during the long journey from London, on which they had stopped only briefly to change horses and eat, sleeping in the carriage as it bounced north along the lanes of England.

"We will soon be in Edinburgh, Nat, where there will be all the wine, women, and hot food you desire."

"You think about yourself. All I want is a good bed and a long sleep."

Always a hairbreadth away from a disastrous crash, the carriage plunged on, around the steep sides of hills, through dense woodlands, where it felt as if they were floating in a sea of black, and then across the valley floor where the moon painted a silver trail ahead of them. Finally they began the ascent of the hills that rimmed Edinburgh.

The deafening storm of the horses' hooves had become the familiar music of their journey, so they were acutely aware when the note changed: the disturbing syncopation of more hooves had joined the steady beat.

From the space beneath the seat, Will removed a length of rope from among the tools the driver stored within the carriage and tied one end to his wrist, leaving the other to trail free.

"Nat, I ask this of you now: whatever happens, do not look out of the windows," Will said.

"Why? You are afraid I will see you fall like a jester upon your bony rump?"

"Heed me now, Nat. This is important."

Nathaniel recognised the tone in his master's voice and nodded. "Whatever you plan, take care."

"Those who take care never experience all the wonders life has to offer." Will pushed his head outside where the wind tore at his hair and made him deaf. The nearest rider was just behind the rear wheels of the carriage and to one side. Though the face was lost to shadows, Will could see the fire of the eyes burning through the dark. He had noted the strange, shifting quality of the eyes' inner light before-sometimes green, sometimes gold, sometimes red like now-and though he had no idea what it meant, it confirmed their unnatural nature.

As the rider drew nearer still, he leaned down across his saddle and reached out an arm towards the wheel. Will couldn't see what he was holding, if anything, but as his fingers closed on the rapidly spinning wood, sparks danced around the iron sheath and the wheel began to wobble from side to side. Already leaping wildly, the carriage vibrated as if it would tear itself apart. Inside, Nathaniel cursed loudly.

Grimacing, the driver cast a glance back, his knuckles white on the reins. "The axle will break," he bellowed. "At this speed, we will all die."

Grasping the roof rail, Will hauled himself out of the window, placing one foot on the sill to push himself onto the roof. The carriage bounced so furiously that only the strength in his arm prevented him from being torn off.

The other two riders were close on the other side of the carriage, riding so effortlessly it appeared they were exerting no energy.

Gripping until his knuckles hurt, Will crashed repeatedly on the carriage roof, or was dragged back down the side by the ferocious winds buffeting him.

The carriage rattled into another area of dense woodland, the branches so low overhead that Will had to press himself against the carriage roof to avoid impact. The trees were so tight that the nearest rider was forced to break off from exerting his influence on the wheel and to drop behind the carriage.

Taking advantage of the brief respite, Will gained purchase with the toes of his boots and held himself fast within the area defined by the rail. With an effort, he tied the free end of the rope at his wrist to the rail, an anchor that would keep him from being thrown off the carriage. But he knew that if he fell it would drag him into the wheels.

When the carriage burst out of the wood, Will hooked his toes under the rail and carefully raised himself upright. The wind tore at him even more fiercely, and although the rope allowed him to steady himself, he had to keep shifting his weight to maintain his balance.

As the rider closed in on the wheel again, Will drew his sword. Gripping the rope with his left hand, he hung out over the void and sliced down. The rider dropped back to avoid the blow.

Within a second, the rider had drawn his own sword. Pulling his mount alongside, he launched a series of duelling strokes, attempting to slash through the rope that held Will fast.

Will adapted quickly to his new situation. The rope allowed him the kind of mobility he could never achieve on solid ground, so that he could lean out almost horizontally to the carriage or swing around in a half circle to strike from another angle. His sword became an arc of reflected moonlight flashing back and forth to parry every blow the rider made.

Recognising his inability to break through Will's defence, the rider dropped back a way before stepping up easily to balance on the saddle. Still clutching the reins in one hand, he drove the horse forwards before leaping for the carriage, slashing as he flew through the air.

Stumbling back on one knee, Will brought his sword up high to take the brunt of the attacker's blow. Even up close, the attacker's face was lost in shadow as if it drew all light from the vicinity.

Driving back upright, Will attempted to concentrate his attack before the Enemy swordsman could gain a foothold. Yet despite the carriage's velocity across the rutted road, his opponent kept his balance with ease. His sword darted towards Will's heart, his throat, the supporting rope, switching his attack rapidly as they roved round and round the carriage roof.

Just as Will thought he was gaining the upper hand, the carriage crashed over a fallen branch in the road and all four wheels left the ground. When it slammed back down, Will was thrown onto his back.

Seizing the moment, the Enemy swordsman thrust down with his sword. Will tore his head to one side at the last moment, the blade driving a fraction past his ear and through the carriage roof. Nathaniel's cry of surprise rang out.

Before the Enemy could withdraw his sword, Will thrust his weight onto his shoulders and jabbed his feet into his opponent's gut. The impact flipped the Enemy swordsman over the end of the carriage into the road.