By Royal Command by Charlie Higson

burning, his nostrils filled with the smell of the snow.
    And then there was a change.
    The rope turned at an angle and went off sideways into the snow wall. He checked. No. He hadn’t made a mistake. He tugged at it. It had felt like a lifeline, guiding him to the surface, but now he was confused. Should he follow the rope or go up? And could he even go up if the rope was buried down under the snow?
    As he yanked at it, his head bumped against the top of his tunnel and a shower of snow rained down on him. Coughing and spluttering, he cleared it away and it was then that he realised that he could see stars.
    A million of them. Sitting in a velvet black sky. He had never seen them so bright.
    And this magical, clean, fresh air. He had almost forgotten how good it tasted.
    And the smell of pine.
    He laughed and howled at the moon, his small voice echoing off down the valley. He was alive. He was free.
    But what of Miles…?
    What would he find on the other end of the rope?

8
    Goodnight, Vienna
     
    James hauled himself out of the hole and slumped on to the snow. He lay there for a long while. Feeling the fire in his cramped muscles slowly subside. Gathering his strength.
    It was night, which meant that there would be no search parties out looking for them.
    The sky was clear, but it could easily start snowing again. He didn’t know if he could go any further tonight. He would have to find Miles and then decide what to do.
    ‘Come on, lazy-bones,’ he said, hauling himself on to his knees. ‘Get up and start looking.’ All his muscles screamed in protest as he fought to stand, and, when he finally managed to get to his feet, he stood there swaying, dizzy and nauseous.
    He took hold of the rope in his trembling hands and pulled. At first it resisted then at last he felt it shift and spring up out of the snow. He knew that if Miles was buried as deeply as he had been then there’d be no hope of pulling him out. James would simply have to cut through the rope and go to find help. The only thing that gave him any strength was the fact that the rope hadn’t been more than about twenty feet long.
    He walked slowly forward, pulling the rope up as he went. After a few paces he felt it tighten. He dropped down and started to scoop up handfuls of snow, which was soft and powdery here. He dug down several inches until he felt something hard.
    It was Miles’s head. He was face down and utterly still. James cleared more snow away then used the rope to pull him free.
    His body was stiff and cold, but there was a faint pulse in his neck and he was still breathing.
    James couldn’t give up now. He had come this far. He had survived the fall. He had got out of his snowy grave. He would get down the mountain. And he would take Miles with him.
    The snow-slide had torn a small tree up from its roots and tumbled it over the cliff edge along with the boys. It lay in a twisted heap of broken branches. James picked out a long straight limb to use as a staff, then braced himself against the rope.
    The lights of Kitzbühel looked impossibly far away, but there were a few isolated farmhouses nearer with lights showing in their windows. James fixed his gaze on the nearest and started to walk, like a moth towards a flame, dragging the other boy behind him and digging the stick into the ground for support.
    The wind tugged at his clothing, searching out every gap. His face was stinging. His eyes were scrubbed raw. His sweat was freezing on his body, which was not a good sign. If his body temperature dropped too low he would pass out. It was hard going on the fresh snow – with each step his feet sank in almost up to his knees, and as his toes were numb he felt very unsteady. Miles moved like a dead weight behind him, and every now and then his body would get stuck, then suddenly jerk loose and James would fall, cursing, on to his face.
    The worst part was that the lights of the farmhouse didn’t seem to be getting any nearer. It was impossible to