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was raising his hands when a section of the stone wall rumbled away to reveal a previously hidden door, and a young man came running out, waving his arms over his head.
    ‘Sorry, sorry! Do not be afraid. These are just our gate guardians.’
    Wydrin glanced back at the stone monsters. They were enormous, each over ten feet tall, but now that the young man had appeared they were still, apparently as attentive as dogs.
    ‘They’re your what?’ She waved a sword at them. ‘Can’t you just have a fat old man in leather armour like everyone else?’
    The man laughed as he jogged over to them. He had black hair tied back into a small knot on the back of his head, and he had warm copper skin and narrow, dark eyes. He wore thick furs and moved easily in them, as though he wore them every day of his life. As he got closer he waved again, looking from face to face.
    ‘You are the Black Feather Three, yes?’ He stopped, and Wydrin saw that he wore special wide boots, the better for running on the snow. ‘Lord Frith, Sir Sebastian, and the Copper Cat of Crosshaven?’
    ‘That’s us all right,’ said Wydrin. She put Glassheart away, feeling faintly foolish. ‘But what are those?’
    The young man turned back to the wall and waved, ignoring her question, and at once the thick granite walls split down the middle and began to draw away from each other, rumbling back to reveal the settlement beyond.
    ‘Please, follow me,’ he said, as the stone monsters settled back onto their haunches. ‘My aunt is very anxious to meet with you.’
    Inside the walls, Skaldshollow was a bustling warren of stone and smoke. Buildings of black, white and grey granite crowded everywhere, and in the distance Frith could see dwellings that had been carved directly into the flesh of the mountain itself. The men and women of Skaldshollow wore thick furs, much like the man who had brought them inside, as well as jewellery carved from glittery quartz and animal bone. The stone creatures were here too; slightly smaller than the enormous guardians on the gate, moving along the crowded streets like fat beetles in a nest of ants. When they were still, they were utterly still, seeming to merge into the landscape, and then, at a word or a gesture from one of the locals, they would lumber suddenly into life, green eyes flashing in the washed-out daylight. Frith flexed his fingers, feeling the Edenier churning within. What was this place, where the stones walked?
    ‘You say they’re called werkens?’ asked Wydrin.
    The young man who had greeted them at the gate had introduced himself as Bors Nox before arranging for their small mountain ponies to be stabled. Now he led them through winding streets, heading into the centre of the settlement.
    ‘These are earth-werkens,’ Bors replied, holding up a hand to halt their progress as a giant stone creature thundered past, dragging a cart full of hessian sacks behind it. ‘We make them from the rock in the heart of the mountain. As you can see, they make fine carthorses, guardians, even war mounts.’
    ‘Are they alive?’ asked Sebastian.
    ‘Oh no,’ Bors led them across the street. ‘They have a semblance of life, of course, because of the Edeian in the rock and their connection to us but they are no more alive than a fungus.’
    ‘You know about Edeian?’ Frith couldn’t quite keep the surprise from his voice.
    Bors shrugged. ‘Of course. Our lands are riddled with the old magic.’
    ‘And we are here because you have experienced a theft?’ Frith prompted. There were too many mysteries in this place, too many questions.
We could be stuck here forever trying to unravel it
, thought Frith, and with that came an image of Blackwood Keep and its small graveyard, the earth damp and dark. His home would be full of people again by now, the floors scrubbed clean of blood. Just waiting for him to come back and take up his father’s empty throne.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Bors. ‘Our means to waken the werkens has