by Farr, Cathy;
He tried to settle again but something else stung his temple.
‘What the…?’ he whispered crossly and sat up. Phinn raised his head as well. A third stinging tap right on the crown of Wil’s head made both he and Phinn look up.
‘Crronk!’
The familiar noise came from the top of the Black Rock high above them somewhere in the starless night sky. Phinn sat bolt upright on his haunches.
‘No, DROP!’’ Wil thought.
To his absolute amazement Phinn immediately lay down and dropped his chin back on the ground. He watched Wil intently.
‘Well I’ll be… that’s a first!” muttered Wil, casting his mind back to those frustrating hours in the sheepfold at Mistlegard when training sessions with Phinn had not gone to plan – well, not Wil’s plan anyway!
From above them, another impatient Crronk! echoed out of the dark and something dropped out of the sky, clipped the face of Black Rock loudly and landed right on top of him. Startled, he lunged to grab the missile before it rolled off his cloak and scrambled to his feet. At the same moment, Wil caught sight of Oswald. Lying nearest to him, the man was on his side staring directly at Wil.
Not knowing what else to do, Wil gave a weak smile and offered up what appeared to be a long, straight stick by way of an explanation as to why he was dancing about in the freezing moonlight. But Oswald just held his wide-eyed stare; then, after a few seconds he turned over and snored loudly.
Wil held his breath but no-one else stirred. He looked at Oswald again – the man’s deep, regular breathing suggested that he was fast asleep. Slightly spooked, Wil decided not to check if Oswald’s eyes were still open.
In the clear sky the twin moons shed a pale light across the sheer granite. In a few nights time they would be full – and, for a brief spell, would cross and shine as one huge silver orb. Wil wondered what the Alcama would be like in Saran. He remembered the last one in Mistlegard. It was his ninth or tenth spring and his parents had taken him to Garth Fengal’s home where the village had gathered for the event. Round and built of stone like all of the houses in the village, it was a good deal bigger than most. The central house was surrounded by a cluster of little extensions – almost like a troop of mushrooms. Set in its walls were tiny, recessed windows – into each of which had been placed a sheep’s skull illuminated by a candle. Wil’s mother had explained that if the candles burned all night they would all have good luck for the next seven years. Later that evening when Wil opened the door to get some more pear juice from the larder one of the candles had blown out – just over a year later Rexmoore’s men had come and taken Wil’s father away and Wil never saw him again.
A flutter of wings above his head jolted Wil out of his sad memory. He had the strongest feeling he was being watched and scoured the night in search of Pricilla. But in the darkness he had little hope of seeing the jet black raven, even if she was making her presence obvious. Wil’s curiosity was also now getting the better of him – he wanted to take a closer look at that stick. So, worried he might wake the others, Wil tiptoed around to the other side of the Black Rock. Phinn hauled himself to his feet and padded after his master.
‘So, what do you think we’ve got here, Phinn?’ whispered Wil. It was difficult to get a good look in the thin light, but the stick – or staff, if that’s what it was – felt surprisingly light. Phinn sniffed the curious object with interest. Wil closed his fingers around the smooth wood at the head – it was worn… and warm, as if the hand that had carried it for many years had only just given it up. The hairs on the back of Wil’s neck prickled. He folded his fingers around the wood and ran his free hand down its length. It narrowed almost to a point. In stark contrast, the tip was ice-cold – some sort of metal, Wil assumed; square with knife-sharp corners and a flat base. With the tip on the ground the head came up to Wil’s elbow.
Quickly deciding that the staff must have come from Lady Élanor via Pricilla, Wil immediately dismissed any suspicious thoughts – after all, she did have a habit of delivering things to him when he was out on the Fells, although what the purpose of this latest gift might be – he had no idea. Knowing Pricilla – that would become evident in time!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eagards!
Voices drifting through the darkness told Wil that everyone was awake and getting ready to leave. So, carrying the staff as nonchalantly as he could, he rejoined the others. Leon eyed him with suspicion.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Oh, you know... just needed a private moment.’
‘Oh, yer, er… right. Well, you’d better get packed up – we’re not waiting!’
Wil swept his cloak over his shoulders and pushed his flask down into his pack. Right at the bottom of the deep bag his fingers brushed against something soft. It felt like fine rope. Unfortunately with so much food crammed in on top of it, try as he might Wil was unable to get a closer look just at that moment. So, silently resolving to eat more, he pulled the drawstring tight.
Strapping the bag back onto Shadow’s saddle, it dawned on Wil that he wasn’t going to be able to carry both his crossbow and the newly-acquired staff without the risk of blinding Mortimer – and neither would fit into his bag.
‘What’ve you got there?’ Mortimer asked. His mood had greatly improved since they had met up with Leon and Oswald.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ answered Wil. He was failing to tie the staff to his bow.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s from Lady Élanor,’ he added in a low voice, not wanting Leon or Oswald to hear.
‘Oh! Well, if it’s half as useful as that first aid pack she gave you on the Moon Chase, it’ll be worth struggling to hang on to it!’ said Mortimer while Wil wound the strap of his bow around the staff. But when he tried to hang them both over his shoulder the staff just twirled to the ground. Wil tried again – the same thing happened. Irritation rising, he hooked the strap over his shoulder and rammed the staff through the fastenings – the cord snapped and bow and staff clattered to the ground. Leon and Oswald looked over. Wil gave them a casual wave.
‘Just dropped my bow!’
They nodded and resumed their own conversation.
‘Oh, well done, Wil! Look! You’ve broken it already!’
Mortimer was pointing down at the staff. It was lying on the ground, snapped in two places and bent almost into a triangle.
‘Oh, great!’ sighed Wil. Angry, he snatched up the broken staff. It snapped back into a perfectly straight, rigid rod.
‘Whoa!’ said Mortimer, stepping back. ‘How did you do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Wil. Very gently, he flexed the staff again – it bowed but did not break. With a frown he let it go. It hit the stone and flicked back into its triangular shape. Wil picked it up and squeezed the corners gently – the triangle folded into a neat bundle, about a third the length of the original staff.
‘Well, that should do it!’ He slid the staff neatly into his bag.
Mortimer raised his eyebrow, ‘Hmm, I have to admit, Wil, I’m struggling to find uses for a collapsible stick just at the moment!’
To Wil’s relief the journey through the reminder of the night, while swift and extremely uncomfortable, was at least uneventful. They even managed to cross the river on Tel Hireth without Seth falling in!
By dawn Mortimer seemed satisfied with progress and it didn’t take much for Oswald to persuade him that they should stop for a rest. It was obvious that everyone was flagging.
With sweat running down his face, Oswald was the first to dismount. He stood for quite some time with his hands on his knees, breathing very heavily, before he carefully lowered himself to the ground and leant back against a rock. He flexed his knees and winced.
Leon bent to speak to his father and while Wil wasn’t near enough to hear, Oswald’s bad-tempered answer gave Wil a clue as to what Leon might have said.
‘For the last time, boy – I’m absolutely fine!’
Oswald splashed water from
his flask onto a rag which he dabbed over his face and neck.
Looking slightly hurt, Leon turned away. He dragged a cloth bundle from his saddle pack and stomped off towards Mortimer, who was stationed under a tree. Mortimer was devouring one of Martha’s pasties; his broadsword and bow abandoned for the moment, leaning against the trunk behind him.
Grateful to feel solid ground under his feet, Wil idly wondered what filling Martha had put into Mortimer’s pasty as it was Wil’s guess that she had cooked to everyone’s individual tastes. With high expectations, he delved into his own pack and was not disappointed. His hand immediately found a slab of honey cake – one of his particular favourites – and, nestling against a boulder, he began his breakfast. Phinn flopped down beside him and immediately fell asleep.
‘The hounds’ll need a couple of hours to rest and eat,’ said Mortimer, sprinkling crumbs down his chest, ‘So once we’ve had some food we might as well all try to get some sleep.’
‘Good plan, Mort!’ said Leon and waved a stripped chicken leg in mock salute.
To Wil’s increasing frustration, Leon and Mortimer had become inseparable since Leon and his father had joined them. It was proving impossible for Wil to talk to Mortimer about Gisella – although he was forced to admit to himself that he had no idea how to broach the subject, or what to say once he had.
Wil’s failure to help Mortimer and Gisella reconcile their differences was doing nothing to quell his worries about how they were going to rescue Tally. Lady Élanor’s words kept coming back to him – ‘Not if you are not acting as one,’ she had warned. But with Leon and Oswald starting to bicker and no sign of Mortimer even breathing near Gisella, Wil felt that the prospect of them all working together was, at that moment, remote to say the least.
‘When do you think we’ll get to Armelia?’ Leon asked Mortimer through a mouthful of bread.
‘Well, we’re right above Skelmer Hollow now,’ said Mortimer. Wil felt his stomach drop into his boots – Skelmer Hollow was where Wil had fought for his life in the Moon Chase. Suddenly he didn’t want the rest of his breakfast.
Mortimer continued, oblivious of Wil’s alarm. ‘Once we get to the tip of Thesker Pyke we should be able to see Mort Craggs.’ He scoured the distant hills as if expecting to see the Craggs at any moment. ‘That’ll give us a better idea of when we’re likely to get to the city.’
‘So where’s the castle? Is it actually in Armelia?’ asked Seth. He and Gisella were sitting on a rocky ledge a little way off. Gisella had fixed her gaze out over the frost-coated grassland. Mortimer raised his pasty in Oswald’s direction.
‘Well, I don’t really know, but I’m hoping that Mr Beck here will be able to show us the way once we get to the Craggs!’
But Oswald’s surprised expression suggested that this was news to him.
‘What gave you that idea, boy?’
‘Well, I thought… well, you’ve been to Armelia before, haven’t you – as a member of the Majewizen?’
‘Gracious, no! There’s never been any need – I think Mortens went once or twice, but Rexmoore always sends his men out if he wants anything – I thought you knew that?’
‘Er, no, but … well… I thought you knew the city – that’s the only reason I agreed that you could come with us!’
Mortimer took another huge bite out of his pasty.
Without saying a word Oswald got to his feet and walked right up to Mortimer – the older man’s face had been red before, but now even his eyebrows were beetroot.
‘I was not aware that I needed your agreement!’ he said and turned away. Then he turned back and pointed directly at Mortimer.
‘Make no mistake, boy, the errors you made on that last Moon Chase will not be repeated while I am here!’
Mortimer swallowed hard. His eyes flicked to Leon who stared at the ground; then to Wil, who held his friend’s gaze but didn’t dare say anything. Then Mortimer opened his mouth to speak – the remains of his breakfast forgotten in his up-turned hand. But whatever he was about to say went unsaid.
A shrieking cry shattered the awkward silence.
‘No! Mortimer, LOOK OUT!”
The shout came from Gisella. But before Mortimer had time to raise his head a huge grey and black shape swooped down.
‘Eagards!’ yelled Seth.
But it was too late. One eagard grabbed at Mortimer’s wrist. He cried out. Blood gushed down his hand. The great bird wrapped its talons around Mortimer’s arm. Wil could see it was trying to get airborne again. Leon must have seen it too. He was on his feet in a flash. But, as if something had lifted and discarded him, Leon suddenly flipped backwards and lay flat on the ground with his arms over his head.
‘NO!’ Oswald yelled and ran to his son, oblivious of the eagard’s massive wings – each one easily the length of a full-grown man.
In the chaos of barking hounds and Mortimer’s agonized cries, Wil grabbed his bow and cursed – the bolts were no longer in his boot. He must have left them on the river bank after his chat with Gisella. All his others were packed away in his bag – but Rhoani and Shadow had bolted out onto the Fell as soon as the eagards had attacked. In desperation, Wil yanked his knife from his belt but Mia was now frantically leaping and snapping at the bird, making a clean throw impossible.
Wil could see Mortimer was trying to get to his sword. His desperate fingers brushed the hilt as the monstrous bird hauled him off his feet. With a metallic clang, the sword slid away, out of reach.
Mia threw herself up at the eagard’s neck but was knocked backwards by an easy beat of the bird’s giant wing. Gisella was standing on the ledge above Wil jabbing her finger to his left.
‘Wil – my bow – use my bow!’
Wil whirled around – Gisella’s bow was only a few feet from him and there in the stock, ready to load, lay a silver-tipped bolt.
‘You are truly wonderful, Gisella Fairfax,’ he muttered and dived for the bow. At the same moment two more eagards came out of the sky – only to be met by Farrow and Phinn. One pulled up just in time to avoid Farrow’s snapping jaws. But as it abruptly changed course and took off into the safety of the sky, it collided with Gisella and sent her tumbling out of sight.
The other eagard was less fortunate – Phinn snapped his jaws around its throat and dragged it efficiently to the ground where, with a gush of dark blood it slumped lifeless at the Fellhound’s feet.
But there was no time for praise. Wil looked around frantically but couldn’t see any sign of Gisella, and Mortimer was now being dragged away. Mia, back on her feet, was joined by Farrow. They charged after her master and with a lunge Mia grabbed a mouthful of tail feathers in her teeth and held fast.
Adrenalin seared through Wil’s veins. He dragged the bow string back until it clicked. An ear piercing screech made him look around. Hurtling straight towards him on an absolute collision course was the third eagard. It streaked through the sky with its wings set in a dive position – the image of a helpless mouse sprang into Wil’s mind. He took aim.
Then, just as he was about to shoot, with his bow ready Seth rose up between him and the stooping bird. Seth took aim. Wil yelled at the back of Seth’s head.
‘Seth, look out! Get out of the way! I can’t get a shot!’
He wasn’t sure if Seth had ignored him or just didn’t hear him but in the next breath Seth released his bolt. The bird screamed and went into a spiral. Seth ducked – Wil, however, didn’t.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Stitch in Time
Though very blurred, the sight of Gisella’s face and the feel of her cool hand on his arm eased the splitting headache that also greeted Wil when he woke up. He moved to sit up but felt Gisella’s hand resist his efforts. He lay back down.
‘I think it might be best if you stay there for a while, Wil. I’m still not sure you haven’t got a few broken ribs – the way that eagard ploughed into you. It’s a good job it was already dead!’
‘What? Is there a difference in being hit
by a dead Eagard to a live one then?’ croaked Wil. His aching ribs certainly told him that he’d been hit by something very heavy. Gisella shrugged.
‘I hope we don’t find out! At least you’re not going to have any scars.’
Ignoring Gisella’s protestations, Wil made a second, more successful attempt to haul himself up onto his elbow. Under the tree that Mortimer had been using as a back rest, Wil could see fuzzy shapes moving. He could hear Seth and Mortimer’s voices. To the left was a larger shape, sitting on its haunches – Mia or Farrow, Wil couldn’t say.
Blinking to try to clear his vision, Wil spotted Rhoani and Shadow, once more tethered to a tree closer to him. Next to them were more shapes – one lying on the ground next to the horses. He could hear Oswald talking in a low voice. His heart sank.
‘Oh no, Giz! They didn’t get Leon, did they?’
‘Yes, Wil. But it’s OK, he’s not dead – well, I think it’s OK.’ Gisella frowned. ‘He hasn’t come round yet and Oswald won’t let me near him. Honestly, Wil, I can’t imagine what he thinks I’m going to do!’
At the sound of Gisella’s voice, Seth looked over his shoulder.
‘Wil! Welcome back! I really thought you’d get out of the way. I couldn’t believe it when you didn’t duck!’
He nodded towards three black and white mounds.
As Wil’s eyes drifted in and out of focus he realised that the lifeless mounds were eagards. One was streaked with mud; one was caked in what, even through his misty vision, looked like drying blood and he was pretty sure the other didn’t have a head. Then he saw Phinn and Farrow – lying sphinx-like alongside their trophies. Wil beamed proudly.
‘Gosh! Well that wasn’t a bad morning’s work!’
But then Mortimer let out a low moan.
‘You OK?’ Wil called over, blinking hard.
Mortimer waved his arm. Wil could see something glistening crimson.
