Escape From Wolfhaven Castle

by Kate Forsyth

  Quinn crept through, and Elanor followed. She found herself in a part of the castle she did not recognise. It was a round room, with a huge fireplace at one end, and narrow window-slits breaking up the stone walls. Once the secret door swung shut, it was impossible to see where it was. Elanor wondered how many other secret doors there were in the castle.

  Rushes covered the floor, and the walls were hung with all sorts of weapons. ‘The guard room,’ Tom whispered in surprise. ‘Quick, let’s arm ourselves while we can.’ He took down a dagger in a scabbard and tossed it to Quinn, who swiftly belted it to her waist, on the opposite side to her black witch’s knife. Tom found another dagger for Elanor.

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ she protested, pushing the dagger away with both hands.

  ‘You must,’ Quinn replied fiercely, taking the dagger from Tom and thrusting it into Elanor’s hands. ‘You may have to fight, my lady, else we’ll all be taken captive.’

  Ladies don’t fight, her governess said in her mind. But Elanor was doing many things of which her governess would not approve. She took the dagger and strapped it to her golden belt with shaking hands.

  Tom took a dagger for himself, and grabbed a coil of rope. Then, with an effort that made him grunt and grow red in the face, he bent and strung the longbow, and put an arrow to it.

  ‘Can you shoot?’ Quinn asked him.

  ‘Not very well,’ he answered. ‘Though every time I go to the forest I practise best I can, with an old bow and arrows I made myself.’ He raised the bow and arrow, and squinted along the arrow. ‘This is much better.’

  ‘Anything else we should take?’ Quinn asked. ‘We might have to fight our way out.’

  A shudder ran over Elanor.

  ‘You should have shoes, Quinn,’ Tom said, looking at the witch-girl’s bare feet. ‘The forest is filled with thorns, thistles and sharp stones.’

  Quinn raised her chin. ‘A witch draws power from the earth. I can never cut myself off from that.’

  ‘Fine. Can you do anything useful with that power? Summon a fireball or two, or make us invisible?’

  ‘Magic doesn’t work that way.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t. Well, then, what can you do?’

  ‘Lots of stuff,’ Quinn snapped. ‘Stuff a thickhead like you could never understand.’

  ‘Well, mutter a spell or two and get us out of here!’ Tom snapped back.

  Quinn’s face was white. ‘I wish I could. If only I was ready to find my witch’s staff … but until I do, I can do nothing. Oh, Tom, we need to go and see the Grand Teller. Arwen will know what to do.’

  ‘We can’t,’ he said shortly. ‘We need to get out of here as fast as we can.’

  Quinn and Tom stared at each other angrily, then she tossed back her thick mane of curly hair and began to run out of the room. ‘Coming?’ she mocked over her shoulder. Tom raced after her, and overtook her on the steps, Fergus bounding along beside him. Elanor followed timidly.

  As they hurried down the steps towards the inner ward, Quinn turned to Elanor, her narrow face full of sympathy. ‘I know you’re afraid,’ she whispered. ‘But fear is the worst of your enemies. Try and be brave.’

  Elanor swallowed hard, and nodded.

  As they descended the staircase, the sound of fighting grew louder. They came to the doorway and peeked out into the courtyard. Armoured knights battled against castle guards. The bog-men scuttled about, spears thrusting mercilessly. Mist roiled everywhere, turning orange here and there where flaming torches had been stuck in brackets on the walls.

  ‘We have to sneak past,’ Tom whispered. ‘Let’s head for the garden gate. I know where the spare key is kept.’

  They crept out the door and along the wall, keeping close together. Tom kept his hand on Fergus’s collar. They had almost reached the archway that led to the garden when Elanor saw a mass of Wolfhaven folk being herded through the inner keep towards the dungeons, guarded by unknown knights. They were bound together by chains, manacles gripping their wrists and ankles. Sir Kevyn was fighting every step of the way, four knights struggling to hold him back. The chamberlain was crawling along on his knees, imploring the bog-men to keep away. Mistress Pippin’s face was grim and bruised. She struggled to free herself of the two men who held her. Then, with horror, Elanor saw her own father, Lord Wolfgang, chained and manacled like the rest. ‘Father,’ she whimpered.

  At once, one of the bog-men raised his head and sniffed. His eyeless head swivelled towards her, then he began to run. Slap, slap, slap, went his feet on the stone. Sniff, sniff, sniff, went his flaring nostrils.

  ‘Tom,’ Elanor cried. ‘Help!’

  Tom bent his bow and sent an arrow whizzing into the bog-man’s shoulder. The creature simply pulled it out and kept running towards them. Quinn jumped in front of Elanor, pulling free her dagger and her black witch’s knife. Tom fitted another arrow to his bow.

  Then another boy leapt in front of the bog-man, and his sword flashed down. A withered arm spun away into the darkness. The bog-man lurched on, now armless. The boy made another desperate swipe. He sliced off one of the bog-man’s legs. The creature fell and could not rise, but wriggled forward, reaching for Elanor’s ankle. She screamed and scrambled away.

  On hearing her scream, all the bog-men’s heads whipped around. They began to lope towards her. The boy jumped in front of her, using his sword to chop off the crawling bog-man’s head. At last, the creature went still.

  Tom raised his bow, firing arrow after arrow into the bog-men. They simply pulled the arrows out and kept running. Quinn bent and picked up the spear the dead creature had dropped, and flung it as hard as she could. It went straight through the empty eye-socket of one of the attackers, and he fell silently. Fergus snarled and leapt, taking down another. The unknown boy’s sword flashed as he swiped it sideways. It got snagged in the neck of one of the bog-men. The boy grunted and tried to pull his sword free, but then more of the beasts were upon him, spears raised high. He lifted his shield, protecting his neck and shoulders. It was emblazoned with the writhing shape of a red dragon.

  Tom jumped up and pulled one of the flaming torches from the wall. He swiped it from side to side. The bog-men leapt back. Tom pursued them with the torch, and they retreated, giving Quinn time to help drag back the boy who had helped them fight. His hair gleamed red under the flare of the torches, and Elanor recognised him at once. He was Lord Sebastian Byrne, the squire who had tumbled into her bedchamber on the night she had met Tom.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Tom said, unenthusiastically.

  ‘You!’ Sebastian cried. ‘If I had known it was you, pot-boy, I wouldn’t have—’

  Just then, the torch in Tom’s hand began to splutter and smoke. The bog-men surged forward.

  Tom threw the dying torch in their faces. ‘Run!’

  Through the archway they raced, and along the narrow passageway into the inner ward. Bog-men loped after them, spears held high. The four children swerved, spun, ran and sidestepped, bog-men hot on their heels. It was like a mad game of mob-ball. Whenever they passed a torch, one or other of the children would grab it and fling it back at their relentless pursuers. Each time, the creatures flinched and retreated, but it only gained them a few seconds.

  As Elanor and Tom ran towards the shelter of the garden, they collided with someone in the darkness. He went down with a great clang, and dropped the sack he was carrying. Quinn ran up, a flaming torch in her hand. The light fell upon the pale face of Jack Spry, and glittered upon the silver plates and candlesticks that had rolled out of his sack. The boy scooped them back up and thrust them into his sack. ‘Watch where you’re going,’ he growled at Tom, before running off towards the garden gate.

  ‘Wait! They’re my father’s candlesticks!’ Elanor cried. But Jack Spry had disappeared into the darkness.

  A spear whizzed past Tom’s head. Quinn waved the flaming torch at the bog-men, keeping them back, as Sebastian swung his sword wildly. Fergus snarled and lunged. The smell of
the marshes was strong. The bog-men closed in on them once more, waiting for the torch to sizzle and go out.

  ‘What do we do?’ Elanor asked, the dagger shaking in her hands.

  ‘We’ll never make it to the gate,’ Tom panted.

  ‘The Grand Teller’s house,’ Quinn gasped. ‘This way!’

  They flung the torch into the bog-men’s faces then turned and ran towards the immense oak tree that grew like a gnarled giant in the centre of the garden. The tree’s branches were hung with tiny, paper lanterns, like fireflies.

  Suddenly a tiny door in the trunk of the tree swung open, casting out a fan of radiance. The Grand Teller stood there, beckoning them inside, her silver hair hanging loose down her back. Four children and one big dog raced past her. The Grand Teller then banged on the ground with her tall staff, and suddenly every paper lantern on the tree burst into flame. The bog-men fell back. The door slammed shut.

  Thud, thud, thud. Spears hammered the door. Elanor, looking around the small room inside the tree’s trunk, realised with horror that they were trapped.

  10

  THE GRAND TELLER’S TREE

  ‘Our only hope is to wake the sleeping heroes,’ the Grand Teller said, rummaging about on a high shelf.

  ‘What?’ Sebastian cried. ‘You can’t be serious. That’s just an old wives’ tale.’

  Arwen looked at him quizzically. ‘There’s much truth in old tales.’ She found a carved chest and began to lift it down. Sebastian went to help her, for he was taller than she was, even though he was only thirteen. ‘Thank you, Lord Sebastian,’ she said. ‘You may put the chest on the table.’

  Arwen looked at the group of children, crowded together in the tiny room. Tom was passing round the waterskin.

  ‘I meant what I said,’ Arwen urged. ‘Our only hope is to wake the sleeping heroes. There’s an old spell I’ve kept close for many years, in fear of just this day.’

  ‘What day?’ Tom demanded. ‘What’s happening? Who are those leathery creatures? And who is the tusked knight? Why are they attacking us?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the Grand Teller answered. ‘Enemies, that is for sure. I have had troubling omens this last moon, but nothing clear. I warned Lord Wolfgang, but he would not listen.’

  ‘How did they get in?’ Sebastian asked. ‘I thought the castle was impenetrable.’

  Arwen looked shrunken and old. ‘I fear treachery …’ she whispered under her breath.

  Another round of blows on the door echoed through the room. Sebastian’s spine stiffened. Those deadly creatures made him feel sick. They didn’t seem to care about having their arms and legs chopped off. And the way they sniffed the air! If he had not been a knight-in-training, Sebastian would have shuddered at the thought.

  The wolfhound ran to the door, growling. Then he barked loudly as another blow hit the wood. ‘Shhh, Fergus,’ Tom said, clicking his fingers. The wolfhound went to his side, growling low. Sebastian imagined the bog-men out there, with only a wooden door between their sharp spears and him. He was the only one who really knew how to fight. It would be up to him to hold them off, if they were to break in.

  He looked around, wondering if there was any way to escape. The room was roundish in shape, with gnarled and knobbly walls of living wood. Natural cavities and shelves were filled with books, boxes, and jars of seeds, feathers and shells. On the floor was a round hand-woven rug in reds and browns. A small stove was set against one curved wall, with a metal chimney rising up through the ceiling.

  Beside a rocking chair was an odd round basket made of willow twigs. A tabby cat stood on a cushion inside the basket, back arched, spitting in warning. Quinn picked it up, soothing its fur with one hand. She rocked the basket with one bare foot, saying to Tom, ‘This is mine, you know. It’s the basket I was found in.’

  ‘You must’ve been tiny,’ Tom said.

  She nodded, looking sad.

  An owl was perched on the chair’s back, its ear-tufts erect, its feathers ruffled. It stared at Sebastian with round, golden eyes and he stared back. He had never seen an owl so close.

  The only clear way out of the room was a ladder that led to a floor above. Sebastian wondered if there was any way out from there.

  The banging on the door intensified. Suddenly the wood cracked. The children all jumped.

  ‘Do not fear,’ the witch said, opening the chest. ‘The door will hold another minute or two. Now listen to me carefully. You must remember what the spell says.’ She unrolled an ancient-looking parchment and read it, in a voice that quavered.

  WHEN THE WOLF LIES DOWN WITH THE WOLFHOUND

  AND THE STONES OF THE CASTLE SING,

  THE SLEEPING HEROES SHALL WAKE FOR THE CROWN

  AND THE BELLS OF VICTORY RING.

  Elanor stared at the parchment. ‘But what does it mean? Wolves don’t lie down with wolfhounds.’ Fergus gave a small growl as if to say they certainly did not.

  ‘And stones don’t sing,’ Tom said. ‘Surely it’s just a nonsense rhyme, like the ones they sing to babies.’

  ‘There’s a lot of sense in nonsense rhymes,’ the Grand Teller said.

  ‘But how are we to make it happen, Arwen?’ Quinn asked. ‘We have a wolfhound.’ She patted Fergus on the head. ‘Do we just need to find a wolf? That shouldn’t be too hard.’

  ‘Making Fergus lie down next to a wolf will be,’ Tom said.

  ‘And how are we meant to make the stones sing?’ Sebastian demanded. ‘It’s a bag of moonshine!’

  Arwen continued reading, slowly.

  GRIFFIN FEATHER AND UNICORN’S HORN,

  SEA-SERPENT SCALE AND DRAGON’S TOOTH,

  BRING THEM TOGETHER AT FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN,

  AND YOU SHALL SEE THIS SPELL’S TRUTH.

  The children stared at her blankly.

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ Sebastian burst out. ‘There are no such things as dragons and griffins and unicorns and sea-serpents. They only exist in stories!’

  ‘Haven’t I told you already that there’s a lot of truth in old tales?’ asked Arwen. ‘Have you not been listening? You need to listen if you are to learn, Lord Sebastian.’

  He went red and crossed his arms. ‘It’s a wild goose chase you’re sending us on. An impossible quest!’

  ‘The world is full of magical things, waiting for us to greet them,’ the Grand Teller replied. ‘You shall not see them with a closed heart.’

  In the silence that followed, the banging on the door intensified. Someone out there had found an axe, and was chopping at a crack in the door. Fergus whimpered, his tail tucked between his legs.

  ‘Even if such beasts were real, how are we meant to catch them?’ Elanor said in a frightened voice.

  ‘If you are brave of heart, sharp of wit, strong of spirit and steadfast of purpose, there is nothing you cannot achieve,’ the Grand Teller answered. ‘But come. I cannot keep them out much longer. It is the darkest hour of the night and my strength is ebbing. I have some gifts for you.’

  Arwen quickly unknotted the oaken medallion she wore about her neck, carved with the face of an old man surrounded by leaves. She passed it to Quinn. ‘He is carved from bog-oak and is many thousands of years old. He will help you to be wise.’

  Quinn hung the medallion around her neck, as Arwen passed her the small bag of tell-stones. ‘Take care of them and bring them back to me,’ she said. Quinn nodded, her turquoise eyes bright with tears. Arwen then opened a chest and drew out a soft white shawl, lacy as a cobweb. ‘This is yours,’ she said. ‘You were found wrapped in it. It’s light, but it will keep you warm.’

  As Quinn gratefully accepted the shawl, the Grand Teller gave a ring to Elanor. ‘It’s a moonstone. It’s called the Traveller’s Stone for it protects those that travel, whether by night or day, by land or sea, or in their dreams. It will help keep you safe.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Elanor slipped the ring on, and the stone glowed, round as the eye of a daisy, and set in small silver petals.

  The Gran
d Teller then handed Sebastian a cloak-pin carved from golden-hued wood, in the shape of a dragon curled around a lump of amber. ‘This is carved from wood from the rowan tree,’ Arwen said. ‘Rowan wood is a powerful protection from evil.’

  Sebastian nodded and pinned the wooden dragon to his jacket.

  Finally, Arwen tossed Tom a small wooden flute. ‘It’s made from the wood of the elder tree,’ she began, but just then an axe chopped a great hole through the door.

  ‘Tom,’ she cried urgently, while rolling back her rug, ‘elder wood is very magical indeed. Use it wisely.’ Beneath the rug was a trapdoor. The old woman swung it open, revealing a set of steep steps leading down into darkness. She grabbed a lantern from the table and passed it to Tom, who thrust the flute into his pocket and snatched up his knapsack and bow and arrows. ‘The steps lead down to the harbour. Hurry! You must turn left, left, right, left, left, right, till you reach the Great Cave. Then just follow the water. Be careful. This mountain is riddled with dangerous caves and passageways. You do not want to get lost!’

  Tom climbed down the steps, whistling for Fergus, who bounded past him, almost knocking him over. Elanor followed, looking white and frightened. Sebastian turned to beckon Quinn to hurry. She was hesitating, looking back at the old witch, her knapsack slung over one shoulder. The door was breaking apart under the onslaught of axes.

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’

  ‘I’m too old for such adventures,’ Arwen said. ‘Besides, I must stay and see what I can do to help here. There’ll be people wounded, frightened—’

  ‘But the bog-men,’ Quinn pleaded, ‘they’ll hurt you.’

  ‘Not I,’ Arwen replied. ‘Go, my sweet girl. Remember what I have taught you. Remember the spell. Don’t fail me.’

  Quinn rubbed away her tears and climbed down the steps. Sebastian grasped his sword tightly, his shield hooked over one arm, and followed close behind her. The trapdoor thumped down above his head, and he was left groping his way down in darkness. Far below his feet, he could see the feeble glow of Tom’s lantern, shining through coiling snake-like roots.