Quest for the Sun Gem

by Belinda Murrell

  All the soldiers lifted their mugs and clanged them together in a celebration oath. ‘Krad be praised!’ they repeated.

  ‘If only my mother could see me now, she would be so proud,’ sighed another soldier, sinking lower onto his bench.

  ‘The infidel queen and her son have been moved to the Glory of Sedah this evening with most of the so-called Royal Guards. Not that they were much use at guarding royals!’ The soldiers all laughed and drained their cups in another toast.

  ‘The rest of the slaves will be moved to the ships in the morning. All is in place. Let us drink to sweet victory,’ pronounced the first speaker, sloshing more dark cherry wine into his mug.

  The mugs were clashed together again, with dark wine spilling over the table.

  A loud voice silenced the celebration. Ethan recognised the voice of Captain Malish.

  ‘That’s enough, you scoundrels,’ the captain barked. ‘We have much work to do in the morning. What would the priests say if they could see you now – drinking and laughing instead of praying and fighting! You are all too soft. I have a mind to report you to Governor Lazlac and watch his cat-of-nine-tails whip wipe the grins off your stupid faces.’

  There was a loud noise of chairs scraping and apologies mumbled. ‘Sorry, Captain, won’t happen again. Just retiring, sir.’

  Ethan turned away in disgust. His mind seethed with indignation, anger, desperation and fear. His parents and most of their friends were being taken as slaves in the morning. There must be something they could do to save them.

  He and Aisha crept back through the gardens and down to the stream. He sat in the shadow of a stone wall and tried to think. Half-formed plans started whirling through his mind.

  It’s no use, he thought angrily. We are just one boy and one girl, with no weapons, no help, no hope against an army of soldiers that even the Royal Guard could not repel.

  But we must do something! the other half of his brain retorted. We can’t just sit in a tree house doing nothing while our parents are taken away.

  Then an idea came to him. He remembered the barn and crept back to check on his handiwork.

  Inside the barn nearly everything was gone – the feed, animals, barrows and tools. All that was left was a mound of straw and manure. In the back of an empty stall he found a broken pitchfork and started work shovelling away the manure.

  After several minutes, sweat was pouring down into his eyes. He wiped it away with his shirt sleeve and kept shovelling. A dull thud and a painful shiver up his arm told him he had struck timber. Scrabbling down in the muck, he found an old iron ring.

  When Ethan pulled it, a trap door swung up, revealing a cellar below. He scrambled down the ladder into the darkness. With his fingers he found the familiar shape of the tinderbox on the shelf, and struck a flame to light a lantern.

  The cellar leapt into life in the light of the flame. Ethan sighed with satisfaction. The invaders had not found the cellar. He had hidden the trap door well.

  Down here were the family’s stores for the winter – crates of onions and potatoes, strings of garlic, jars of amber honey, bottles of preserved fruit, cherry wine, wheels of cheese, boxes of apples, racks of dried herbs, cured slabs of bacon and bottles and bottles of his mother’s herbal tinctures.

  On the wall were hung several hunting bows and quivers of arrows. There were two longbows – almost as tall as a man, for shooting in the open meadowland – and several shortbows for close-range shooting in the forest.

  Ethan touched his own shorter bow. Like all the bows Willem made, it was a beautiful weapon – carved from a single piece of yew timber, with a leather grip and a bow string of flax-linen. Ethan had painted the arrows green and yellow, decorated with his own design so that they were easily recognisable. The arrows were fletched with finest grey goose feathers, which Willem believed gave the greatest flight precision.

  Ethan’s mind flashed back to happy summer days spent with his father and Lily in the forest, learning how to shoot his arrows accurately. They had spent long hours practising – shooting over and over again at an old sack stuffed with rags.

  Competition among the village boys was fierce and many an afternoon was spent daring each other to hit targets that were increasingly smaller and further away. But these practice shots were nothing to the thrill of creeping through the forest, eyes and ears peeled, hunting for rabbits and deer.

  It was much, much more difficult to hit a small moving target like a rabbit. Ethan remembered his elation the first time he shot a small deer and proudly carried it home for dinner. That roasted venison was one of the best meals he had ever eaten.

  Ethan took his bow, with its quiver of arrows, lovingly down from the wall. He deftly strung the bow and tucked it over his shoulder. The familiar weight of the bow and quiver made him feel stronger and more confident.

  He shook himself mentally and made a quick list of what else they might need – food, tinderbox, rope, daggers, water bottles, candles, soap, cooking pot, blankets. On a low shelf he found leather saddle bags, which he packed to the brim with food and supplies.

  Finally Ethan gathered up Lily’s bow and quiver and added these to the pile. He hauled the bags up into the barn, closed the trap door, and carefully replaced the mound of dung and straw.

  With a new resolve and a heavy load, he decided to return to the tree house to make plans with his sister.

  Lily was sitting up anxiously, peering through the darkness, when he returned carrying the saddle bags of supplies. Ethan swung up into the branches of the tree, his jaw set and his mouth grim. In low murmurs the two discussed what Ethan had seen and heard. The princess lay still in the corner.

  ‘So we must go to the royal hunting lodge tonight, in the very deep of the night when most of the soldiers will be in their heaviest sleep,’ Lily whispered. ‘We need to find out where everyone is being kept.’

  ‘I’m not sure where they would put them,’ Ethan replied. ‘It’s just a hunting lodge, not a proper castle, so there are no dungeons. The Sedah soldiers will probably be sleeping in the royal quarters and courtiers’ rooms, with some in the guards’ quarters. They would probably put their prisoners somewhere easy to guard, somewhere all together.’

  ‘Perhaps the stables, or the storehouses?’ Lily wondered.

  ‘Yes, that would be perfect,’ Ethan exclaimed, eyes shining with hope. ‘Especially as we know the stables like our own cottage. I’ve mucked out the stalls there plenty of times!’

  ‘We have a few things in our favour,’ Lily said, ticking them off on her fingers. ‘You learnt a lot tonight from spying on those Sedahs. The invaders sound cocky. They expect no resistance. The last people they would expect to defy them are a couple of children.

  ‘We know the place – the forest, the stables, the secret paths. Some of the soldiers sound superstitious – frightened of strange spirits and ghouls. We have Aisha, our daggers, and our bows and arrows –’

  ‘Lily, you are not coming with me. It is too dangerous,’ Ethan interrupted. ‘Besides, you have to look after her.’ He shrugged his shoulder to the corner.

  ‘You can’t go alone,’ Lily retorted. ‘We will have a better chance if we work together. Besides, I have an idea. There will be guards, even in the middle of the night, but what if I took them some of that cherry wine they’re so fond of, sweetened with a large dash of Mama’s famous sleeping draught?’

  ‘Are you complete imbeciles?’ came a weak but still haughty voice from the corner. ‘What could you possibly be thinking of! Besides, you cannot leave me alone in this dreadful place.’

  The two looked over to see Princess Roana sitting up, her face even paler than usual, her hair a tangled mass of bloodied knots, her dress torn and filthy.

  ‘Princess, you are awake,’ Lily cried out. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘How do you think I feel?’ Princess Roana scowled. ‘I am stiff and sore and my head aches and I need a bath and some new clothes and some decent food and I just want to go home
.’ Her voice dissolved into a sob.

  Lily jumped up and went over to the princess with a damp cloth. ‘I know, I know. It has been terrible for you,’ she murmured soothingly.

  ‘What would you know about how horrendous it has been, you stupid girl! Oh, go away and leave me alone,’ exclaimed Princess Roana. ‘And take that stinking rag with you.’

  Lily stopped short, hurt. Ethan bristled, his face flaming with indignation.

  ‘How dare you speak to my sister like that! Lily has slaved for days caring for you, trying to make you comfortable – bathing your wounds, cooling your fever, feeding and cleaning you. And not even a word of thanks, you ungrateful, rude girl! Why should we care what happens to you? You have been nothing but trouble since we set eyes on you! Come on, Lily – let’s go and see how she fares without us.’

  Ethan picked up his pack and started climbing down the tree.

  ‘No, do not go. Do not leave me here. Stop! I order you to stop!’ Princess Roana bellowed in rage.

  ‘There is food in the saddle bag and water in the flask, your highness,’ Lily said stiffly, as she turned and followed her brother, tucking her dagger into her belt. ‘You have your bow and arrows to protect yourself. We will leave Moonbeam tethered below in case we don’t return.’

  ‘So far so good,’ whispered Lily. They slipped silently through the eerily quiet forest, bows at the ready. Years of hunting in the forest with Willem had taught them to move without cracking twigs, snapping branches, or even rustling fallen leaves. Their friends had always complained that they had an unfair advantage when playing hide and seek.

  First they headed back to their cottage in Kenley. Once again they had to slip silently past the guards on the bridge, and patiently shovel away the pile of manure hiding the trap door to the underground cellar. Down below they found a small barrel of their mother’s best cherry wine. Lily opened several bottles of Marnie’s precious sleeping draught, brewed from chamomile, poppy and valerian, and stirred them through the cherry wine.

  ‘I hope that’s enough,’ Lily whispered, sniffing the delicious cherry wine. ‘Perhaps another bottle for good luck.’

  ‘We had better take a couple of mugs as well,’ Ethan added, placing them carefully in his pack.

  An hour later, Ethan and Lily crept towards the hunting lodge, where the royal family came every spring and autumn to enjoy riding and hunting in the beautiful forests. It was an imposing rectangular building with square towers on the corners, set in a clearing in the forest.

  Guards stood to attention on either side of the massive studded doorway. Set off to the right was a smaller building that looked dark and deserted. The children crept through the trees to the rear of the lodge, Aisha gliding at their heels.

  Here was the large U-shaped stable complex where Willem worked as Royal Master of Horse. His job was to select, breed and train all the royal horses, as well as supervise the team of grooms, stableboys and farriers who looked after them.

  Willem was also widely regarded as one of the best hunters in Tiregian. He could track an animal for kilometres through the forest, moving silently and invisibly. His accuracy with bow and arrow was legendary. It was said Willem could shoot more than a dozen arrows per minute and could hit a darting rabbit from a galloping horse at two hundred metres.

  Ethan and Lily had spent many hours at the royal stables, helping their father groom and exercise the horses, clean tack and muck out stalls, so they knew the buildings well.

  The left building housed the carriages, tack rooms and forge. The right was a large barn where the hay and feed were stored. In between was a long double row of stalls, where up to one hundred royal horses could be stabled.

  To the right of the complex was a massive tree, whose branches brushed against the wall and roof to give shade to the horses and workers. Here also were the huge compost bins of manure and straw that the gardeners used to spread on the kitchen gardens.

  A pair of guards sat on chairs in the middle of the cobbled front courtyard, warming their hands by the small fire beside them, and playing dice. Tethered near the carriage house stood a pair of saddled horses, their heads hanging dejectedly, picking at a pile of hay.

  Ethan and Lily crouched in the shadows watching the guards to see what they could learn. After a while, the thinner guard yawned and stretched.

  ‘I’d better check on the prisoners.’ He shivered, reluctantly leaving the fire, and strode over to the huge barn on the right where the bales of hay were stored. He took a large key from his belt and unlocked the massive padlock, sliding open the barn door just a crack. He peered in at the darkness inside, then relocked the padlock and hurried back to the fire.

  ‘All sleeping like babes,’ he grunted to his companion. ‘I wish I was too!’

  They settled back to their dice game. In a few minutes, another guard strode over from the direction of the lodge. The two guards leapt to their feet, dropping the dice and saluting smartly.

  ‘Evening, men,’ said the visitor, holding his hand out to the blaze.

  ‘Good evening, Lieutenant Foulash,’ the two guards replied smartly.

  ‘All well?’

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Well and good, men, you will be relieved at dawn.’ Lieutenant Foulash turned and strode back to the lodge.

  ‘All well and good if you’re tucked up snug and warm in a bed,’ growled one guard to the other. His companion merely grunted and threw the dice again.

  Lily took a deep breath and gazed at Ethan. He nodded and crossed his fingers at her in a gesture of good luck. She gave him her bow and quiver, then hoisted the small barrel onto her hip and crept off through the darkness towards the lodge. Ethan stayed crouched where he was, his nerves stretched like a bowstring.

  Then out of the darkness hurried a small shadow, head bent, carrying a heavy burden.

  ‘Excuse me, sirs,’ called the shadow in a bright high voice. ‘Lieutenant Foulash sent me with some refreshment for you to keep away the cold night air.’

  It was Lily.

  ‘Who goes there!’ bellowed one of the guards, reaching for his sword.

  ‘’Tis only one of the village lasses sent by Lieutenant Foulash with an errand,’ squeaked Lily nervously.

  Don’t chatter too much, Lily thought to herself. Stay calm, look coy.

  She moved into the light of the fire. The guards relaxed when they saw her slight figure, struggling with the heavy barrel.

  ‘Well, what have we here then – a fair village maiden?’ joked one. He reached over to touch her curly honey-coloured hair with his thick sausage-like finger. Lily stepped back hurriedly, putting the barrel down by the fire.

  In the darkness, Ethan’s finger twitched on the bowstring, his arrow aimed at the guard who dared to touch his sister.

  ‘Here is some cherry wine from the village and a couple of mugs, sirs,’ Lily burbled. ‘I hope you enjoy it. Now I must be getting back to the kitchens.’ Lily bobbed a quick curtsey and scurried back towards the lodge.

  ‘Well, you certainly frightened that one away,’ guffawed the joking guard, as he popped the cork from the barrel and poured a mug full of dark red cherry wine. ‘Smells good … mmm, tastes good too. Well, here’s to Lieutenant Foulash – who would believe he would be so thoughtful, the old devil. Here you go. Drink up.’

  Lily and Ethan waited nervously in the dark for more than half an hour while the two guards guzzled mug after mug of cherry wine.

  ‘I really miss home,’ slurred the skinny guard, tears of emotion running down his face. The fat guard gave him a bear hug that nearly crushed the smaller guard.

  While the two guards were busy, Ethan crept over to where their two horses were tethered. He soothed them with his hands, then carefully felt under their saddle flaps for the leather girth that ran under each horse’s belly to hold the saddle tight. He started to unbuckle the girths on both sides of each horse.

  On the last buckle, though, his hands fumbled in the darkness, whether from
nerves or cold, and he dropped one end, causing the girth to jingle sharply on the cobblestones before he caught it.

  The guards looked up from their dice game.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ cried the skinny one, staring nervously into the blackness beyond the fire’s merry flame.

  ‘No – it was only the horses,’ said the fatter one, reluctant to leave his warm seat by the fire. ‘Pass me the wine barrel, will you?’

  Ethan hardly dared to breathe. With the two girths carefully stowed in his pack, he slipped back to where Lily waited in the shadows.

  He grinned at her and signalled with his thumb up. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned and disappeared into the shadows. Ethan followed her.

  Behind the stable block they took the chance to whisper to each other.

  ‘Let’s try the chute,’ Ethan murmured.

  They climbed around the side of the manure bins, carefully avoiding the deep muck below. Against the wall was a manure chute from the barn, with a hatch that was bolted shut. After the long winter, the bolt was rusty and stiff. Lily pulled out a bottle of oil from her pack and dribbled a few drops onto the bolt. They eventually wiggled it free and pulled up the hatch with a loud clunk. They froze in terror, but there was no response.

  Ethan peered through the hatchway.

  ‘Look,’ he cried in despair. ‘It’s completely blocked with bales of hay.’

  ‘Should we call out and wake up some of the people inside to move the hay?’ asked Lily, trying to push the bales away without success.

  ‘No, it’s too dangerous. They might make noise and alert the guards.’ They thought for a few minutes, scanning the outer wall for inspiration.

  ‘What about that little window right up under the eaves? I think we could just reach it by climbing up the old tree,’ Lily whispered.

  The branches of the huge tree brushed the walls and roof of the barn, almost hiding the tiny window in its foliage.

  ‘Let’s hope we can fit through it,’ replied Ethan with a grimace. ‘It looks awfully narrow, and very high. Hopefully there is plenty of hay underneath to soften the drop.’