by Kate Forsyth
By midmorning the castle was in sight, frowning down from the great height of its cliff. They had been alternating between a trot and a canter for the last few hours, so as not to exhaust the horses too much. Argent and Blackthorn were some distance in front, the others trailing behind.
Suddenly Rhiannon shouted and waved her arm. She could see three horses riding up the long green slope towards the road. One of the riders carried something before him. Everyone kicked their horses on to a new spurt of speed. There was a flash of a face as someone looked back at them, then the three horses broke into a gallop again. The race was on.
Up the steep, cobbled road the horses thundered, striking sparks from their steel-shod feet. Stride by stride Argent and Blackthorn closed the gap between them. The kidnappers reached the first switchback corner and took it fast, one of the horses almost slipping on the damp stones. Rhiannon dragged up Blackthorn’s head, urging her into the air. With a whinny, the mare spread out her wings, tucked up her legs and rose swiftly off the ground. She landed in the middle of the road above, turning to face the three riders galloping towards her. Rhiannon saw Lord Malvern, his face twisted into a grimace of fury and hate, the seneschal Irving, and the laird’s bodyguard, who cradled a small, cloak-wrapped figure in his arms.
Rhiannon unslung her bow and pulled an arrow from her quiver, setting it to her string and raising the bow high. She did not know who to aim for. If she shot the bodyguard, Roden might be severely injured in the fall. Yet she wanted desperately to save the boy for Nina. She had only a few seconds. In a moment the horses would be upon her. Rhiannon took a deep breath, aimed for Lord Malvern, and let the arrow go.
It sang out into the air. Lord Malvern cringed back, his horse faltering in its headlong gallop. Scant seconds before the arrow found its mark in his shoulder, his seneschal Irving brought his horse plunging across the road, throwing himself before his lord. The arrow caught him in the throat, and he went down under the horses’ thundering hooves.
Lord Malvern managed to heave himself back in the saddle, and spurred his horse on, tumbling the seneschal’s body aside. Blackthorn reared, then, with a great thrust of her hindquarters, managed to leap into the air just as the bodyguard’s huge charger galloped past underneath her. Rhiannon leant down and made a grab for Roden, but the bodyguard had the little boy in too tight a grip. All she managed to do was drag the cloak from his head so she could see his bright curls, and the pale curve of a cheek. His eyes were closed and he breathed stertorously. The wind from Blackthorn’s steadily beating wings caused the bodyguard’s cloak to toss and twist wildly. Only this saved Rhiannon, for the bodyguard had his sword in his other hand, and as she reached down for Roden he brought it up in a great whistling swipe that would have taken off Rhiannon’s head if the sword had not got caught in his cloak. As it was the sword nicked her arm, causing her to cry out in pain. She dragged Blackthorn’s head up, and the mare rose higher, her wings beating strongly. The bodyguard galloped on, Lord Malvern close behind, and Blackthorn came down to land lightly on the road again.
Rhiannon grasped her arm, trying to stop the blood. Argent came galloping up and she shouted, ‘Go! Go! They have Roden, I saw him.’
‘Ye all right?’ Lewen shouted as the grey stallion raced past.
‘Aye, aye, just go!’ Rhiannon looked down at her injured arm and saw she had taken a nasty swipe. Cursing under her breath, she took her shirt between her teeth and tore away a strip, which she clumsily wound round and round the gash. She had to bend her arm to tie the ends into a knot and this caused her such intense pain she almost swooned. For a moment she leant forward, resting her head on Blackthorn’s mane, trying to fight off the dizziness. Blackthorn stood steady, though her chest heaved and her legs trembled. The dizziness passed, and Rhiannon tucked her injured arm against her body and urged Blackthorn on. At first the mare baulked, exhausted by the effort of her flight, but Rhiannon insisted and so the tired mare broke into a canter, following Lewen and Argent.
She heard hooves behind her, and then Iven was beside her, astride the brown gelding. ‘Are ye badly hurt?’ he said. She shook her head. ‘I hate this slug! I wish I had my auld war-charger. Then Lord Malvern would ken what a real horse can do.’
‘Saw Roden,’ Rhiannon panted. ‘Tried to shoot … the laird down … Irving took the arrow.’
‘Aye, I saw. It was a brave try. Come on! We must get them afore they reach the gatehouse.’
Iven spurred his horse on, and Blackthorn leapt to match the gelding’s stride. Rhiannon was too weak and dizzy to direct her. She just hung on grimly, trying to protect her wounded arm from the worst of the jolts.
Back and forth the road climbed up the cliff, like a great stony snake. Often the sound of the kidnappers’ hooves was so tantalisingly close, it felt as if they could reach up their hand and topple their horses by seizing their hock. Iven drew ahead, and Nina rode up behind, barefoot and clad only in a nightgown, her hair wild. She shouted a question to Rhiannon, who was too winded to reply. Nina shot her a look of deep concern but did not stop, racing on to catch up with her husband. Rhiannon’s impromptu bandage was now red with blood, and her hands were slick with it. Suddenly Blackthorn’s withers rose up and hit Rhiannon in the face. Blackness overwhelmed her, and she fell. She hit the cobblestones hard, rolled over and over, and came to a rest against the wall.
Rhiannon lay still for a moment, trying to get her breath. Her arm throbbed unbearably. A dark whiskery face bent down to nudge her and blow a worried query. Rhiannon laughed shakily, wiped her eyes and, clinging to Blackthorn’s mane, hauled herself upright again. This time she sat for a moment, waiting for the red waves of pain to recede. Ye’re no’ thinking, she told herself. Ye have a winged horse. Use her!
Behind her she could hear Cameron approaching fast. She clambered up the wall and remounted Blackthorn, being too weak to vault up onto her back the way she usually did. Then she set Blackthorn at the wall. The winged mare took a few strides, leapt over the obstacle and spread her wings. They soared into the air, right above Cameron’s startled head. Lulu, clinging still to Cameron’s belt, gibbered and cringed. The valley tilted away below them, sunlit and golden. Blackthorn veered, beat her wings rhythmically, and began to rise.
Up, up, they went, passing one level of the road after another. They passed Iven and Nina, who were both whipping their foundering horses on mercilessly. They passed Lewen, crouched on Argent’s neck, the stallion galloping on tirelessly. Then, just round the next corner, they passed the foam-flecked, blowing mounts of Lord Malvern and his bodyguard. The lord drew his sword and slashed at them as they flew past, but Blackthorn swerved nimbly so he missed. Rhiannon could only hope the lord had not seen how very nearly she had been unseated by the sudden move.
They landed on the road just outside the gatehouse. The gates were wide open, yawning blackly, but there was no sign of the gatekeeper. Rhiannon slid off Blackthorn’s back, and leant against her for a moment, taking strength from her warm, sweaty flank. Then she straightened herself, turning to look at the road. At the far end, Lord Malvern and his bodyguard were just turning the corner and coming towards her. Both their horses were badly winded, barely managing a canter. It was cruel to whip them on, and Rhiannon told the horses so, as they came wild-eyed and foam-flecked towards her. Ye deserve better masters than this, she said silently. How dare they whip ye and spur ye and drive ye to gallop up such a cruel, steep hill as this. Ye are Horse. Ye are not their slave. Stand still. Refuse to run anymore.
For a moment she thought she had failed, for the horses came on at the same headlong pace, their nostrils flaring red, their eyes rimmed with white. Then the bodyguard’s horse suddenly came to a juddering halt, legs splayed, head hanging. Though the big, grey-bearded man whipped it with his reins and slapped it with the flat of his sword, it refused to budge. Suddenly its legs folded and it sank down in the middle of the road. The bodyguard jumped off, the unconscious child lolling in his arms, and dragged at the bridle,
trying to force it on. Meanwhile, Lord Malvern’s horse was rearing and plunging, refusing to go forwards. He slashed at it with his sword, and it reared so precipitately the lord was thrown from its back. Rhiannon whooped with joy, and so did Lewen, who had turned the corner and was galloping up the cobbled hill towards the foundered horses. Nina and Iven were close behind him.
The bodyguard glanced back at him, then dropped the reins and began to run up the road towards the gatehouse, Roden’s arms and legs flopping wildly. Lord Malvern rolled, got to his feet and began to run too. Both men had naked swords in their hands, and murder in their eyes. Rhiannon set an arrow to her bow with shaking fingers. Again her aim wavered between them. She did not want to risk shooting Roden, but if she shot down Lord Malvern, the bodyguard would be upon her, with the open gate only a few strides past her. She tried to steady her breathing, and shot the bodyguard in the thigh. He cried out in agony, but although his stride faltered and broke, he did not stop, lurching forward with the feathered haft of the arrow sticking out of his leg. Rhiannon shot him again in the same spot, and then, in desperation, in the other leg. He fell, Roden rolling out of his arms. Lord Malvern bent, caught up the little boy, and ran on. He was too close now for Rhiannon to shoot him down. She drew her slim black dagger from her boot and flung it at him. To her horror he simply raised one hand and the dagger spun away harmlessly. Then he raised his sword and swiped at her. Blackthorn reared and he shrank back instinctively, allowing Rhiannon to roll away under his sword. Then the winged horse bent her head and charged him. One of her long, sharp horns slashed him across the face. He screamed and dropped his sword, putting his hand up to cover the gash. Rhiannon reached out a hand to try to trip him, but he stumbled past her and through the gates, Roden still clasped against his chest. The massive gates clanged shut behind him.
Rhiannon sat up slowly, sick with disappointment.
Argent came to a blowing halt a few feet away, and Lewen jumped down and came to help her up.
‘He got past,’ Rhiannon said, her voice thick.
‘Ye almost had him,’ Lewen said. ‘It was so close.’
‘Now what?’ she asked, tears stinging her eyes.
‘We go in and get him out,’ Lewen said, looking up at the immense wall towering over their heads. Rhiannon heaved a sigh that came from the very pit of her chest cavity.
‘First, we question the bodyguard,’ Lewen said, letting go of Rhiannon’s arm as she leant against the wall. He drew his knife and walked back down the road towards the bodyguard. The man was clutching his shattered leg, his face twisted in pain. He looked at Lewen’s set, determined face, then back down the road, to where Nina and Iven were cantering up towards them, Cameron close behind. With a great effort he staggered to his feet, and then, before Lewen could stop him, dragged himself up onto the wall and launched himself into the dizzying space on the far side. They heard a thin wail, and then a sickening bone-crunching thud. Soon after, there came another, more distant thud, and then another. Then there was only silence.
Grey with horror, Lewen ran and looked over the wall. Then he turned back and sank to his haunches, his dagger dropping from his hand. Iven and Nina flung themselves off their horses and ran to look too. Nina was weeping.
‘I guess he dinna want to be questioned,’ Rhiannon said through the roaring in her head, then she slid down the wall till she too was sitting. Nina ran to her side.
‘Rhiannon, Rhiannon,’ she sobbed. ‘Och, ye were so close! I really thought ye’d saved him.’
‘I tried,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Nay, nay, ye did so well, ye were so brave, so clever,’ Nina wept. ‘Och, my laddie, my babe. We were so close!’
Rhiannon dropped her head onto her arms.
‘Ye’re sorely hurt,’ Nina said, dashing the tears from her face. ‘Let me look at your arm. Och, I have naught here, naught to ease the pain or stop the bleeding. What a hare-brained, madcap rescue this is, me barefoot and in my nightgown, and only a sword and a few daggers between the lot o’ us. How are we meant to storm the castle like this?’ Her tears began to flow again, but she unwrapped Rhiannon’s arm deftly, examined the ugly wound with compressed brows, and then bound it up again with clean cloth torn from her nightgown. Her bandage was far more effective than Rhiannon’s.
‘I shall have to fly over the wall,’ Rhiannon said slowly, cradling her arm against her. ‘It’s the only way to get in.’
‘But ye’re injured,’ Nina pointed out, taking her shawl off and fashioning Rhiannon a gorgeous, many-coloured sling. ‘And Roden could be hidden anywhere inside that castle.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Iven said reluctantly. ‘Unless …’
‘Blackthorn is mine,’ Rhiannon said. ‘She willna carry anyone else.’
‘No’ even me?’ Lewen said.
‘Ye’re too heavy for her,’ Rhiannon said.
Lewen acknowledged the truth of this. It was a rare horse that could carry his weight.
Nina sat back on her heels. ‘It’s the only way,’ she said. ‘But can I let ye do it? What if they shoot ye down? I’d never forgive myself.’
‘Better I die here, flying on my horse’s back, trying to save Roden, than at the end of the hangman’s rope,’ Rhiannon said wryly. She managed to stand up.
Cameron was hanging back, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Lulu, who had ridden the whole way clinging to Cameron’s belt, darted forward and seized Rhiannon’s blood-slick hand in her tiny, leathery paw. She jumped up and down, gibbering, waving up at the castle with her other paw.
‘She wants to go with ye,’ Nina said. ‘She wants to help ye find Roden.’
Rhiannon looked at the little arak doubtfully.
‘She has a very precise sense o’ smell,’ Nina said. ‘And she can climb anything. Happen she can help ye find Roden? For ye may be able to fly over the walls, Rhiannon, but how are ye to find my lad once ye’re inside?’
‘I do no’ think Blackthorn will like it,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Lulu’s awfully smelly.’
‘She willna mind,’ Nina said eagerly. ‘Oh, please, Rhiannon. Ye do no’ ken Lulu. She’s very clever, and quick, and nimble, and she adores Roden. She’ll help ye, I ken she will.’
‘All right,’ Rhiannon said. She looked up at the stone bulwark again and could not help a little shiver.
‘I dinna even have water for ye and Blackthorn to drink,’ Nina said remorsefully. ‘No’ a crumb to eat. After such a hard ride too!’
‘That’s all right,’ Rhiannon said absently. ‘I am used to being hungry.’
She whickered to Blackthorn, who whickered back, and led the mare over to the wall so she could mount. Before she could clamber up onto the wall, Lewen was beside her, lifting her in his strong arms and throwing her up onto the mare’s back. She smiled at him, and he held up his hand to her. When she took it he drew her down so he could kiss her.
‘Be careful, my love,’ he said. ‘Come back safely.’
‘O’ course I will,’ she replied with an attempt at her usual jaunty manner. He unslung his quiver of arrows and passed it up to her. It was full of arrows fletched with shining, iridescent-green feathers. ‘I have a Talent with wood, ye ken. I made all these arrows with my own hand, and they will always fly true. Take them.’
‘I will, but no’ because I need enchanted arrows to shoot true,’ she said with a flash of her dimple.
‘I ken, it’s just …’
She nodded and passed him her own quiver with its handful of clumsily whittled arrows. ‘Yours are much bonnier, I’ll be glad to take them,’ she said cheekily. ‘Thank ye.’
Iven stepped up to give her his hand. ‘Thank ye, Rhiannon,’ he said gravely. ‘Bring Roden back to us.’
‘I will,’ she said gamely. ‘What will ye do now? Where shall I meet ye?’
‘We will go now and bang on that door until someone lets us in.’ Iven said. ‘It’s all I can think o’ doing. In the meantime, let us hope the reeve from Linlithgorn is on his way.
If Malvern refuses us permission to search the castle, surely he canna refuse the reeve?’
‘Laird Malvern rules this land as if he were a prionnsa and this were his kingdom,’ Nina said unhappily. ‘I’m sure he will have no hesitation in refusing the reeve, and I doubt the reeve will have the courage to insist. After all, he does no’ ken who we are and he would ken and respect the laird all too well, I think. All the laird has to do is deny everything.’
‘He’ll have trouble explaining the gash across his face,’ Rhiannon said grimly. ‘I think Blackthorn put out his eye.’
‘We can but hope,’ Iven said and stepped back, so Nina could come and embrace Rhiannon.
‘Ye have power, lassie,’ the witch said to her intently. ‘I have sensed it in ye, and ye used it here, to bring the laird’s horses to their knees. Trust in yourself, and draw upon it in need. It shallna let ye down.’
Rhiannon nodded sceptically, then waved her hand to Cameron. ‘Bye, laddie!’ she said. ‘See ye soon.’
‘Good luck!’ Cameron replied. ‘I hope ye find Roden.’ He hesitated a moment, then said in a rush, ‘That was amazing what ye did afore, with the horses and all, I mean.’ As Rhiannon shrugged and smiled, he continued, ‘I’m sorry I punched ye. Ye ken, yesterday.’
Rhiannon touched the yellowing bruise on her temple. ‘Well, I’m sorry I kneed ye in the balls,’ she replied.
Cameron grinned, though his brown cheek coloured. ‘So am I,’ he said.
Nina passed up Lulu, who clung to Rhiannon’s waist with her skinny, hairy arms, gibbering a little and bouncing up and down with excitement. Blackthorn shied and spread her wings, dancing sideways.
‘Shhhh,’ Rhiannon said sternly to the little arak. ‘Thigearns do no’ bounce.’
Lulu immediately stopped bouncing, though Rhiannon could feel her quivering, whether with fear or excitement it was impossible to tell. She took a deep breath. She was trembling herself, and very definitely from fear. She smiled at the circle of upturned faces, determined they would not know how very scared she was, and then wheeled Blackthorn round and set her into a canter. After a few quick strides, the mare unfurled her blue-tipped wings and leapt into the air. The circle of faces fell behind.
