The Moon Stealers Box Set. Books 1-4 (Fantasy Dystopian Books for Teenagers)

by Tim Flanagan

  The whispering voices continued to float in the air, circling around like wisps of smoke blown in the twists and turns of the wind.

  ‘We need to get to the Rocks of Goran as soon as possible. The Council must be told what the queen is planning,’ said Ralphina breaking the silence. Edgar wondered if his presence in this world was putting the children in danger. They had already lost Max and if Ralphina's sister was able to see his presence, it may give away the location of the Council of War. For the first time, Edgar wondered if he was doing the right thing. The back of his hand was also getting itchier where the Moon Stealer acid had splashed him. Although he kept a strap of cloth covering it, he had noticed that the last time he had washed it the wound had got bigger. Edgar knew that at some point he would die from the poison that had entered his body, but he didn't want it to be in the Underworld. If he died there, the bacteria would begin to infect that world too and he didn't want to be responsible for destroying a world and all of its inhabitants.

  Joe leant heavily on the thick wooden staff. He had lost interest in the whispering voices long ago and wanted to rest if possible. It had been a long day and he still felt weak from his sickness. Suddenly he noticed an increasingly powerful vibration rumbling up the shaft of the staff from the rocks beneath his feet. Unsure what it was he was actually feeling, he lifted himself off the staff and began to look around.

  Something big was coming towards them. Edgar had also noticed the approaching sound and raised his sword ready to defend them from whatever was approaching. They were exposed on the top of the rock with no cover for any of them to take, just the white trees and low dry grasses. The only option they had was to fight. Ralphina and Scarlet moved away from the Quaking Aspens and drew their swords as they ran back to join Joe, Edgar and Raelyn.

  They had no time to pull the hoods of their camouflage cloaks over their heads before a group of nine mounted soldiers burst from between the trees, their chestnut coloured horses snorting and wild, chewing at the metal bar between their teeth. Their hot breath formed clouds of mist in front of their faces as it mixed with the cool night air. Riding upon each horse sat a fearsome warrior clothed in brown carved leathers, long wavy hair cascaded from beneath a helmet and bounced on their shoulders in rhythm with the horses' gallop. Their dark eyes betrayed nothing of their intentions through the narrow slits of the visor. The mounts steered their horses to surround the group in a tight circle that left them with no way out. Each horseman then lowered his lance until the sharp point was level with their heads. Edgar and Ralphina lowered their swords; they stood no chance of winning this fight when the odds were so heavily against them.

  They were surrounded by a circle of snorting horses drawing in raspy breathes after their energetic sprint whilst thick heavy hooves pawed restlessly against the rocky ground. The air became tainted by the earthy smell of straw and mud as it drifted off the horse's hot muscular bodies. On the back of each rider Edgar could see a long shafted crossbow. He knew that even if they could get out of the circle, they wouldn’t be able to outrun the bolt from a crossbow.

  But, nothing happened.

  The lances remained level with their heads but none of the riders uttered a word to them. Edgar and Ralphina looked around the circle in confusion, expecting something to happen. At the sound of a steady clip clop of horse hooves on the stony ground they turned their gaze towards the white trunks of the Aspens where a great warhorse regally emerged. On top was the figure of a man sitting straight backed and proud in the saddle. He wore the same coloured leather clothes but the edging was inlaid with the most beautiful moss colour. His hair was also loosely curled to his shoulders and his helmet appeared taller and more ornate than the other mounted warriors. Beside the proud warhorse trotted a small young foal desperately trying to keep up with the larger horse’s strides. The rider of the foal was equally short and didn’t wear any protective armour. He was trying his hardest to look as strong and proud as the rider on the warhorse, but his eyes continually flicked excitedly from the other riders to the captives and his horse, betraying his inexperience. Slotted into a pocket at the side of the saddle was a thick wooden pole that the young boy steadied with his hand making sure that the pole displayed the banner that flapped in the wind above his head. The banner was a slim flag of rusty brown colour with golden horsehair threaded through. A green horse was sewn onto the flag, rearing up on its back legs and pawing at the air.

  As the warhorse came nearer to the circle, two of the riders automatically parted to allow him to enter the ring and stand in front of Edgar.

  ‘Do you not know that you should kneel before a king?' the warhorse rider asked. ‘Especially one that could have you killed in the blink of an eye.’

  Reluctantly they all began kneeling to one knee.

  ‘Now identify yourselves,’ demanded the king.

  Edgar, Ralphina and the children stood once more.

  ‘I am Sir Edgar Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel,’ Edgar replied, missing out the bit about being a knight of King Arthur, especially if this king was one loyal to the faerie queen. ‘These are children in my care,’ he indicated to Joe and Scarlet.

  ‘Your grace,’ Ralphina bowed her head when she addressed the king, ‘I am Ralphina, daughter of King Ulfric of the Golden Hall Caniards.’

  The king raised a gloved hand and gave a friendly smile. The horsemen lowered their lances.

  ‘Forgive me. All roads to the Rocks of Goran are closely watched and no chances are being taken. I am Martin Bayard, king of the free horsemen of the north. We were told you were on your way to join us, but as the days passed by, we began to worry you had been attacked. I volunteered to lead a party to find you and escort you back to our council.’

  ‘But how could you know we were coming, your grace?' asked Ralphina who couldn’t hide her surprise.

  ‘Much is known about your party, princess of the wolves; you are accompanied by many important people. Come,’ he signalled again with his hand and the circle of mounted warriors separated. ‘We must make for the Rocks immediately. Plans are already being drawn up which you will need to be part of.’

  They were lifted onto the backs of the other horses and held tightly as the horses rode through the night across the tops of the mountains towards the Rocks of Goran and the awaiting Council of War.

  18. The Rangers Attack

  They came in the night, silently clawing their way up the side of the mountain on hidden ropes and ladders like a swarm of ants taking over a mound. Under the shadow of darkness their blackened dirty clothes blended in with the moss and trees, their silhouetted shapes only visible when they scampered over lighter coloured rocks. They called themselves the Rangers - a group made up of local peasants that had lost their homes, families, crops, or coins and they were united against the faerie queen. At first, due to the lack of any sort of military experience, they had foraged what they could find from within the forest, sometimes stealing from towns or unsuccessfully attacking convoys along the

  Shadow Road. Arguments and fights often broke out leading to chaos and a lack of coordination. One day an elder from the Mossybank tribe, an ancient group of river hunters that had become homeless, joined them with several of his kinsmen. They began to organise the group, sharing the food, planning organised attacks and thefts, training every able bodied man in hunting and weaponry and making use of the skills that already existed within the group: carpentry, farming, metal work and cooking, until a civilised community of mixed beings existed, hidden within the caves of the forest. Earlier that day the Rangers' scouts had spotted the approaching convoy of donestre and watched from afar as they entered the Citadel. The Citadel of Fraegtore was too much of a temptation for travellers to rest at, falsely assuming they would be safe from attack once they were off the

  Shadow Road. The Rangers knew the secret paths into the dwarf’s Citadel and had their ropes hidden in the undergrowth ready to ascend the rocky sides. They had even laid hidden traps within the castle walls. The
last convoy of queen's messengers that had passed this way vanished overnight whilst the Rangers took their food, clothing and weapons. As the first group of Rangers arrived at the top of the ropes, more continued to climb upward in an ever growing stream of silent hunters. What they lacked in physical strength they made up for in numbers and for every donestre, there were at least twelve of the Rangers eager to take them down and steal their food and wealth from the queen. The scouts had told them there were two donestre guarding the large wooden doors at the front of the Citadel preventing any access from the single stone bridge that connected the land to the castle. Left unguarded the Rangers approached from the back, climbing silently over a short wall and flooded onto a stone platform which would once have been used for ceremonies and public events when the dwarfs lived there. In the centre was a low round granite table and pillars carved with interlocking vines supporting what would once have been the residence of the chief of this particular dwarf clan. The Rangers knew every part of the Citadel and used it as a trap to catch everyone that entered it like a spider in a web.

  The first party of attackers that went over the wall separated into two groups and continued climbing along a narrow stone staircase on either side of the ceremony platform to the top level of the wall. Cautiously and without a sound they crept along the top of the outer wall which looked down over the tiled roofs of the small buildings below. No donestre were patrolling the streets inside the castle, relying foolishly on the two guards at the entrance for their security. As they moved along the wall towards the front of the Citadel, they simultaneously began to notch an arrow into their bows. Aware of the donestres' keen smell and hearing they kept their distance from the hairy figures that crouched above the entrance doors looking out across the fog blurred

  Shadow Road on the mainland. The Rangers pulled their bows back tight, the string creaking slightly under the strain and tension, then, to the silent signal of the leader, their arrows were loose and hissing through the air to slam forcefully into the backs of the unsuspecting donestre guards. It was important for the Rangers to remove the guards as silently as possible and due to the number of arrows that struck them they had no time or breath in their lungs to raise an alarm. The only sound was the thud as one of the guards toppled off the wall and landed dead on the ground beside the stables within the castle walls. The other donestre slumped forward lifelessly against the rim of the outer wall. The Ranger’s firing squad then took up position along the wall above the entrance ready to unleash a wave of arrows down into the courtyard of the Citadel when the signal was given. The donestres' escape route from Fraegtore had now been cut off. The leader cupped his hands around his mouth and made a series of gentle cooing noises into the night air like an owl. Back on the Ceremony platform the Rangers crept forward beneath the stone pillars supporting the floor of the dwarf chief’s bedroom as silently as possible in their bare feet. The fog that hung over the castle would have hidden them from sight even if the donestre had posted guards all around the high walls but so far their entry into the castle had been reasonably uneventful. More of the Rangers climbed over the stony edge and onto the platform where they stood like statues listening intently waiting for a signal, knowing that their opposition tonight could kill them all with such ease, but they had the element of surprise and their attack was planned as if they were smoking a rabbit from a hole.

  Then they heard the sound of an owl calling in the night and they knew that the first phase of their attack was complete. In front of them were two small wooden doors that once they had been opened would allow them to access the street network and all areas of the castle. It would be at that point that the silence would be broken and the fighting would start for real. The last of the attack group climbed onto the stone expanse and waited with swords at the ready.

  Another group had entered the underground network of tunnels that the dwarfs had cut beneath the castle and abandoned. Following them would bring them into the main central building where they knew most of the donestre would be as it was the only building in Fraegtore that had higher ceilings than the dwarf houses. Another group of the Rangers crept along a roughly carved tunnel with blazing torches. The tunnel unexpectedly stopped and the only way out was a short ladder that reached upwards to a smooth stone vertical slab. The leader silently passed the torch to his colleague behind him and started climbing the ladder. At the top he gently slid the stone slab across so that a small crack appeared and he could look out into a large room. The room was the banqueting hall within the main central building and the stone slab was concealed within the fire surround that made up part of the huge stone fireplace. Within the room he could make out a number of donestre; most were asleep whilst three others continued to drink ale and gambled their coins at dice even though they were almost unconscious from drinking too much ale.

  The Ranger pulled the slab further across so that it was large enough to reach through then, from a small leather pouch that hung from his belt he removed a fist full of damp herbs. He pulled a fabric scarf up from around his neck so his mouth and nose were covered. Checking that no one was going to notice, the shadow at the top of the ladder reached out of the hole and threw a handful of herbs onto the smouldering fire the donestre had made earlier in the evening.

  Moving quickly, the stone was slid back into place and a rope that ran the length of the tunnel behind them was pulled sharply three times. The other end of the rope was connected to a small metal bell at the beginning of the tunnel where a handful of other Rangers waited in the undergrowth outside. A large horn was then blown releasing a hollow sound into the peaceful night air.

  The signal had been given.

  The Rangers on the ceremony platform pulled up their neck scarves and the doors into the town opened. On the wall above the entrance doors the firing squad pulled the strings on their bows tight, aiming their arrows at the empty street opposite ready for the fight that was about to start.

  Some of the donestre inside the banqueting hall woke suddenly to the eerie sound of the horn they had just heard, but for others their sense of smell alerted them to danger. The chamber was rapidly filling with a dense smoke that smelt dreadful and was already stinging their eyes making them blink blindly as they tried to rub away the tears. The air inside the chamber was beginning to get worse and the only way they could escape was to feel for the cold stone wall and follow it towards the exit.

  Outside the attacking Rangers were waiting, swords and bows ready to attack. The first donestre, blinded by tears, stumbled out of the building and was cut down by a number of arrows that slammed into his chest followed up by Rangers with swords. Another donestre came to the same end, but realising they were being attacked, the next came out holding a wooden table in front of him to shield himself from the arrows, but the Rangers were quick with their swords and stabbed at his exposed legs causing him to drop the table. The donestre quickly reached for his own sword but was cut down by another volley of arrows. Another lurched out of the building at the same time, still not able to see clearly by the smoke. He already had his sword drawn and was swinging it blindly at the Rangers who scattered and lost their organised formation. The Rangers soon regrouped and circled the donestre, who could not save himself from the strikes that came from every direction. He was soon hacked at by many axes and swords to join the other bodies that were beginning to pile up in front of the exit to the central building.

  Suddenly a group of donestre erupted together into the street with a frightening roar. There were too many for the archers to take down in one go. One of the donestre grabbed a Ranger and bit his neck with a sickening crunch whilst swinging his hooked blade which split open the stomach of another. He leapt off in the direction of the stables to find a horse and escape to safety but was cut down by a wall of arrows waiting to be released from above the entrance. As it slammed lifelessly against the ground, the donestre’s body looked like a miniature forest, dense with the number of wooden arrows that quivered in his chest.

>   Back at the central building two more donestre were fighting against several sword-wielding attackers at once. The archers among the group dared not fire in case they hit their own, so more swords and axes joined in cutting at them from every direction. For a short time the donestre fended off as many blows as they could but soon they were brought to their knees for the final strike of an axe across their necks.

  Silence fell within the walls of the Citadel of Fraegtore. The donestre had successfully been smoked out of the building and killed. Every part of their convoy would now be taken for the Rangers.

  The Rangers began to cheer the victory but a remaining donestre suddenly stepped out from the exit of the central building, the smoke now receding inside. Whilst his fellow donestre had been killed as soon as they left the building, he had taken a bucket of water and cast it over the fire in the banqueting hall, extinguishing the flames and smoke. His eyes no longer stung and his vision was clear from the tears. But the Ranger’s archers did not release their arrows. In front of him were two chained prisoners, the donestre’s sword was held so tightly against their throats that they were pressed tightly against the donestre’s body. Any attack from the Ranger’s would result in the death of the prisoners too. The donestre started walking backwards, taking the prisoners with him towards the stables with a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He kept his back tightly against the outer stone wall so that he could see what was in front of him as well as behind and he didn’t leave his back exposed. He edged along, spying the silhouettes of the firing squad on the wall above the entrance to the Citadel as well as his dead colleague that had tried to leave in the same direction. The Ranger’s swordsmen slowly moved forward never letting the donestre out of their sights but keeping a distance that wouldn’t provoke him to harm his prisoners.

  The donestre moved closer to the stable area all the time curling his top lip in a sneer, gloating that he was escaping. The Rangers knew that if he was left to escape the queen would know where they were and flush them out of the forest to kill them without a second thought. They could not allow him to leave. Under the tiled roof of the stable the horses were lined up making nervous sounds, aware of the smell of death and fear that surrounded them. With his free hand the donestre began to untie the leather strap of the nearest horse that was wound around the upright support of the stable roof. All arrows were aimed at the donestre and every attacker’s eyes waited for a chance to strike, but the donestre did not intend to give them the opportunity.