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

by Tim Flanagan

  Max didn’t dare to move. He could feel the warmth of the donestre’s hairy body against his back, whilst the sharp stinging of the blade against his throat made him push up against the donestre as far as he could go. A small trail of blood had already run down his neck beneath the cold metal clamp and was beginning to itch. He dare not call out or make any sudden movements otherwise he knew he would be dead.

  At the approach of the donestre the young unicorn in the stable had stood up and pulled away as far as the chain that was secured around the same upright pillar would allow. With the donestre watching for any sign off attack from the street in front as well as the wall above, he took no notice of the unicorn, which leapt forward with all the power in her back legs and charged her long horn through the donestre’s back and deep into the warm blood filled cavity of his chest. As she withdrew her horn, blood began to fall onto the floor, staining the straw; then the donestre’s body fell like a sack of potatoes against the ground releasing his last wet rattling gasp of air from his lungs.

  The Ranger’s swordsmen rushed forward and made sure the donestre was dead, then turned to Max and Littleskink, who didn’t know whether to be relieved that the donestre were all dead or scared that they were now someone else's prisoners.

  19. A Vanishing Act

  Now that the donestre had been destroyed and their plan to capture the convoy’s goods was complete, the Rangers began to climb excitedly over the crates of food that were being removed from the carriages at the side of the stable. One of the firing squad on the wall blew into a horn with a low blast which was answered from further away by a similar sound signalling the successful end of the attack. Within minutes the citadel was swarming with a mixture of humans, elves and small goblins. Women with babies began to appear as did the elderly. The swordsmen started gathering the armour and weapons that lay with the bodies of the donestre whilst the bowmen plucked arrows from the dead that they were able to use again. Although there was general chatter and excitement, there was also more work to be done. To Max it felt like he was back in the market at Morgan's Landing with so many people running around, each organised with a specific task to complete. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about Max and Littleskink, who had sat on the straw still attached at the neck by the clasps, watching the Rangers running about.

  ‘Well, at least we're not prisoners of the donestres any more.’ Littleskink had been unusually quiet until then, but now seemed to want to let it all out in one go. ‘donestre fur is not somethin' you want to rub yourself up against for too long. Do you know what this is?' he said, lifting up the tails of his red coat, ‘Only the best mixed silk coat money can buy, and all the way from the Isle of Plenty. Although strictly speakin' it wasn’t my money, but that’s not the point. Well, actually, if you want the truth I won it in a game of dice with a dwarf called Bog; that’s why it’s a shade too long for me. Unfortunate name - Bog. Fell out of a carriage when he was a baby and was brought up by Bogtrotters. Went on to become a respected trader in clothes and quite a wealthy, but grumpy, little dwarf. Anyway, this is goin' t' be an absolute devil to wash. donestre fur has a tendency to be oily. Not to mention smelly.’

  Once the crates of food and supplies had been removed from the carriages, the bodies of the donestre were loaded onto them and taken out of the citadel, but where, Max didn’t know and didn’t want to ask either. Within minutes Fraegtore was cleared of all traces of the donestre convoy except for the crates that remained in the stable area. Even the horses had been led away; Max wondered if they had been taken for food or for a more practical use. Several bowmen patrolled the outer wall keeping guard on their loot and being watchful for any other approaching convoys.

  Eventually an aged person arrived at the scene that seemed to carry some sort of authority within the group. The man was bent low with age, exposing a prominent hump at the top of his spine. To walk he leaned heavily on a twisted cane that looked like it could fracture or splinter at any moment. His skin, folded and wrinkled from long exposure to the sun, was darker than Max's. His face was oval in shape and his thick nose was flat against his head supporting the low eyebrows that shielded his squinting eyes. He shuffled across the floor to stand in front of Max and Littleskink, studying them with a wise and penetrating stare before addressing them.

  ‘Any prisoner of the faerie queen,’ he said slowly, taking breath and considering each word, ‘is welcome as one of our family. We will not harm you. You are free to go, or alternatively you may join us.’

  One of the group came forward with a set of keys they had found on the body of a donestre and unfastened the chain that bound Max to Littleskink, followed by their neck clasps. He then went over towards the unicorn, who backed off nervously against the wall, lowering her bloodied horn in a threatening way. The man with the keys backed away not wishing to end up like the donestre.

  ‘Wait,’ said Max, ‘let me do it.’ With a nod from the elderly man Max walked over to the unicorn with the keys and slowly released her from the neck chains as well as wiping the red stain from her soiled horn.

  ‘Who are you?' Max asked the elderly man.

  ‘We call ourselves the Rangers. United against the faerie queen we attack the convoys that travel the

  Shadow Road to feed our families, the sick and the homeless. She took our crops and eventually all of our coins, and when that was gone she took our homes and families. We have been made homeless by the queen so we have taken the wild for our home and live like our ancestors did, free and amongst the forest. We take back what we can from the convoys that travel the Shadow Road.’ Max realised that the Rangers were not a threat to either him or Littleskink, merely taking back what had been taken from them. He was beginning to feel guilty for wanting to get to the Twisted Tower and escape to his own world whilst leaving all the people here with no hope of escape and only starvation as their future. If Max and the other prisoners had reached the tower alive, he realised they would not have been treated well. For all he knew, Peter may no longer be alive and Max’s journey would have been pointless. At least for now, he had escaped the clutches of the donestre and was no longer a prisoner. But then, Max suddenly realised something wasn’t quite right.

  ‘What happened to the other prisoner?' Max asked the old man who turned to another elderly man standing next to him. They talked in quiet voices discussing between themselves.

  ‘You are correct,’ he replied to Max after a while. ‘There was another prisoner, a man in a grey coat. Our scouts saw him as you progressed along the

  Shadow Road. But there is no one else in the castle now except for you two and the Rangers.’ Max glanced over to the thick wooden pole where he remembered seeing the man being attached to before Max and Littleskink had left to find a warmer place to sleep. There were some scratch marks on the pole, but where it joined a network of smaller pieces of wood that formed a cobweb structure beneath the roof of the stable, Max could see that one of the supporting beams was hanging down.

  ‘He must have climbed up the post and somehow managed to loosen one of the smaller beams until he could slip his chains off it,’ said Max to no one in particular. The elderly man was now standing beside Max looking up as best he could considering his back was in such an awkward position. He turned away from Max and whispered something to the nearest swordsmen who took a couple of other men with him and left through the main gate.

  ‘My men will track him and see where he went,’ instructed the elderly man. He then looked more curiously at Max and Littleskink. ‘What do you know of your fellow prisoner?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much,’ replied Max, ‘he didn’t say anything to us in the carriage, just seemed to be chanting something.’

  ‘The donestre probably didn’t realise who it was they had in their cage. Some believe he was from another world, others that he is some sort of god in man form come to save us from the queen. Whatever you believe, he is something of a legend in the wild. The queen has lost a very valuable prize.’

 
‘You think he was the Grey Man?' Littleskink said in surprise. ‘But he was just old and covered in hair.’

  ‘The old hold a lot of power in wisdom,’ the elderly man laughed.

  ‘What are you talking about?' Max asked, confused by their conversation.

  ‘He’s new to the area,’ Littleskink said to the old man as an excuse for Max not knowing who the Grey Man was. ‘Legend says that the Grey Man arrived many years ago with the Grey Lady. He's always on the move, travelling around looking for somethin' but no one really knows what. He never says anything, but is always listening and forever watching. There have been many stories that tell of his magical abilities to heal the sick. Many towns have their own tales. He is truly skilled in ways our own healers could never understand. But no one truly knows him; he never stays in one place for long.’

  ‘What happened to the Grey Lady?' Max asked.

  ‘She was killed by the faerie queen years ago,’ informed the elderly man. ‘The Grey Lady had been summoned to assist at the birth of the first child to Lord Mordley, the queen’s cousin and a very powerful and rich man. The birth was difficult and the child was deformed and dead long before it had even been born. The mother lost too much blood during the birth and died later that night. Lord Mordley’s own healers said his wife could not have been saved, but he blamed the Grey Lady for the loss of his wife and child and declared her a witch sent from King Arthur. In fear, his cousin, the queen, cast a cursing spell on her, killing her instantly. Arriving at the castle, the Grey Man took his wife’s body away with him and buried it in the small village of Holmeswood Dean which was thought to be their home.’

  ‘Ever since then he's roamed the faerie world taking revenge on the queen wherever he could,’ said Littleskink, taking up the story. ‘He still heals the sick and is a friend to the common person, but he has also taken to poisonin' and learning the darker arts of medicine, and how to use a sword which he saves to use on supporters of the queen. Lord Mordley was the first to feel the Grey Man’s revenge. One night he vanished from his locked bedchamber and all they found in the mornin' was his finger pinned to the post of his bed by his own dagger. He’s like a ghost, hiding in the shadows; no one knows who he is or where he will appear next.’

  One of the Rangers returned to the side of the elderly man and whispered something to him.

  ‘It seems the Grey Man has left the castle and headed north east towards the Twisted Tower. My scouts say his trail was made some time ago, before we attacked. We will not pursue him; he is a friend to us all. As I said to you before, you are free to leave if you wish, but there are worse things than us around here during the night. So why not join us? Sleep around our fires then tomorrow we will feast.’

  20. Snakesback Pass

  The horsemen moved in two lines across the rocky ground, between the white trunks of the Aspen trees and into an ever increasing green area of land. The horses walked at a steady pace with Raelyn still keeping a little distance from the large bearded hooves of the horses. They continued in silence for some time. It seemed that in the king’s presence his men were not allowed to talk, not that it bothered Joe who still felt weary and tired after their climb and was glad of the rest. As his head became heavier with sleep it fell forward to press against the back of the horseman he was riding with, but even the discomfort of the hard leather casing that housed the wooden shaft of the crossbow pressing against his cheek could not prevent him from sleeping. Even as his body slumped into dream, his hands instinctively continued to grip around the horseman’s waist.

  No one rode on the warhorse with the king, who took the lead behind the young boy who carried his banner. As they moved through the night the trees became thicker, but the ground underfoot was still dry and stony following the level of the ground as it moved up and down. Most of the time they trod carefully when the ground beneath was uneven or slippery, but when it opened out and was more steady underfoot they broke into a trot to progress quicker. The Rocks of Goran appeared to be a lot higher than the rock face they had climbed from the marshes, but it wasn’t until they got closer that they could appreciate the sheer scale of it. It silhouetted as an immense black shadow against the night sky. They had been following a path that matched the rocky edge where the mountains stopped and fell into the thick green canopy of the trees below. There were no trees or greenery that covered the Rocks of Goran, just bare rocks stained and tarnished by rain and mineral leakage. In the light of the moon The Rocks were often said to resemble the stocky backbone and shoulder of a giant lying down to sleep amongst a bed of trees. The parade of horses didn’t slow as they continued onto the shoulder of the giant.

  As they advanced, Edgar could see the pink dawn sun starting to throw a warming light over the world, enabling him to pick out the tops of the trees in a forest below them. At the signal from the king, the procession of horses turned and started to descend a narrower path which had not really been made for the passage of horses, down the side of the giant’s shoulder. The horsemen automatically changed formation and went in single file down the path. The horses' hooves would occasionally slip over the dry surface, small stones rolled underfoot causing them to lose their grip. They moved cautiously, legs straining as they tried to keep their balance, placing each foot carefully to prevent a fall.

  ‘We are on top of the Rocks of Goran,’ announced King Bayard without looking behind him. ‘To the north the underground kingdom of the Goranian people stretches as far as you can see, whilst to the east you will see the point of the queen’s Twisted Tower. We are moving down the Snakesback Pass which leads off the rock and into the edge of the Forest of Bryn where the Snakesback Dore can be found. There are others of course which wouldn’t involve having to take this dangerous path, but time is against us and your presence will be required at the Council at the earliest possibility.’

  ‘What’s the dore?' asked Joe, waking up at the sound of voices.

  ‘A dore is a gateway from one kingdom to another,’ replied King Bayard. ‘There have always been mountain men inside the Rocks of Goran, hidden but safe within the mountain, a pure race of pale people who live in harmony with nature. The earth provides their shelter, the forest their food and the air their spirit. They have lived here since time began, witnessed the ever changing face of the world outside their mountain and seen kings and queens come and go from Ærid the Destroyer to Klin Huk the Pallid. No one has more wisdom than the Goraneans and to enter into their kingdom is a privilege and an honour. There are several entrances to their kingdom but every one requires the submission of blood and is protected by enchantments that no magic can overcome. The queen has tried but never been able to penetrate the mountain.’ The king of the free horsemen of the north paused and lowered his voice. ‘Her blood is tainted by evil,’ he whispered.

  They continued down Snakesback Pass, a natural path that had been created many years ago when the side of the mountain separated and slid away from the main body of the mountain, dropping the side down by about eight foot.

  Raelyn leapt effortlessly from one rock to another, descending the path with ease, but the horses did not find the path so easy to navigate. Scarlet could feel the muscles in the horse's hind legs quivering as it nervously moved forward, its head pointing lower than their behinds. With all their weight on the front legs it often resulted in the grinding of loose grit as it slid underneath the hard hooves of the horses, but each rider controlled their mount with amazing skill, steering them down the path using nothing more than the leather reins in one hand and a reassuring and gentle pat on the neck of their horse with the other.

  The path was bordered by boulders and rocks as well as the high side of the mountain on their left and a painful fall to their right. The path was occasionally cut across by some bindweed trying desperately to cling to the dry stone path and small veins of rain water that followed deep cuts in the rocks made from many years of water flowing as it made its way off the mountain down to the forest below. In small crevices and cracks wh
ere rainwater and dirt gathered, miniature ferns clung and mineral stalagmites grew up from the rock where water and rock salts dripped continuously from above forming wet slimy trails across the surface.

  Their progress was slow.

  Halfway down, one of the horsemen behind Scarlet lost his footing. The ground under the horse’s front leg gave way as it put its weight on it. Rock separated and crumbled sending a shower of loose dirt down towards the bottom of the mountain. The horse slipped, unable to get a grip on the ground, the horseman pulled on the reins trying to get his horse under control, backing it away from the edge. The horse behind stopped suddenly trying to prevent the one in front from knocking into him, but as it reversed, its back leg slipped and it twisted, the heavy weight of the horse and its rider pulling it down towards the canopy of the trees below, but not before hitting more rocks as it went. The first horse that had slipped was now pawing desperately at the ground trying to find a surface that wouldn’t move beneath his feet, but the more he tried the more the rider lost control. The increased vibration caused more of the path to sheer away. As another section moved away from the mountain side, the horse went with it, almost riding a section of path as it tumbled down the sharp rocky side. The path disintegrated under its hooves and the weight of horse and rider caused it to turn in the air, striking the boulders where the other rider had fallen.