CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk (The Wish trilogy)

by Russell Thomson

  Galloping hard past the tower the black of night enveloped her. The road ahead was rutted, the tracks formed by the heavy drays forcing Dolly to slow as the litter behind skittered from left and right. The road ran steadily uphill, the ground between her and safety mostly rough grazing for sheep and goats. Half a mile ahead the forest edge loomed, the impenetrable blackness of the tree line standing out against the dark starless sky. As she approached the dark line, Heavenly stopped for one final look back. Angry majic pulsed along the outer wall, the green threads of a weaver seeking out their prey..........Odium. At the sound of pursuit Heavenly reluctantly turned away and spurred the mare on. Those who followed came at full gallop, their pursuit urgent. It had taken barely five minutes for them to gather their force, travelling without caution or stealth, the sound of their thumping hooves carrying on the wind.

  Leaving the main forest road Heavenly turned north east, pressing on for a further half mile before eventually dismounting. Pursuit closed in. Turning Rusk off the narrowing way, Heavenly led the mare on at a run. The path she chose was no more than a game trail, the litter lolling from side to side, unsteady on the scrubby ground. The trail led down and across the face of a small hill, through a thicket of young birch and yellow oak before finally emerging into a small open glade surrounded by the ruins of a dry stone wall. In the centre of the glade stood a dark mass. Heavenly freed Rusk of her burden, lowering the litter to the ground before running on alone, a broad smile crossing her face as the tension of the pursuit eased. The dark mass moved as she approached, Hammer the giant messenger eagle of the king’s flight raising his head from the ground, the remnants of a deer carcass hanging limply from his beak, the bloody remains of his repast staining his face.

  Heavenly slowed her approached, stopping ten paces from the gigantic bird. She had first summoned Hammer and Harrow two days before, the silent call from her silver whistle causing them to rise from their evening roost high on the keep and gliding effortlessly north over the forest edge to the clearing. The whistle resembled two writhing snakes, its unique dual tone commanding the eagles to attend and obey. The whistle was a gift from her mother sister, a treasure that she had worn around her neck for over fifteen years. She had until today no cause to use it, nevertheless she remembered clearly her sisters instructions; blast only once, trust that the eagles hear the silent hale and wait patiently for their arrival. To her immense relief it had been a short wait, the bonded pair blanking out the moon as they circled to land. Duly instructed the pair returned to their roost. The deed was done, she had cast her die and now could only trust that Hammer and Harrow understood the unusual task being asked of them. They had.

  Hammer’s black eyes stared unblinkingly as she signalled her warrant, her swift hand gestures another legacy of her past. The giant bird nodded and bowed low in salute. With the in the rear stirrup and mounted Hammer’s back. The giant eagle stretched his wings wide before leaping skywards, the first violent thrust of its wings lifting them a full head height from the ground, the next doubling the distance and the third taking them over the tree tops before banking west across the deep forest. Far below, three horsemen entered the glade and cautiously surrounded the litter. Close by, Rusk grazed peacefully on the long grass, free to wander home, her part in the escape plan complete. The litter had served its purpose, a decoy, a padded sack swaddled in a blanket, the face staring blindly up at the night sky no more than a glazed clay death mask. Heavenly smiled, the hunters had lost their prize, their cries of anguish defeated by the wind.

  ‘Sword sister…………..come back.’

  As the eagle disappeared from sight Little Bird, Little Rabbit and Little Lamb wept. Their mother, sister mother and five siblings were dead and now, somewhere over the deep forest, their long lost sister royal was flying into a trap.

  ----

  At the sound of footsteps on the stair Odium paused, the Sword unsure now whether to engage, sheath his sword or withdraw. Odium stepped forward, hesitated and stepped back before finally turning towards the parapet door. He had barely turned the key and pulled the door ajar before a giant warrior entered the gate house, the man was well muscled and heavily armoured, the edges of his short sword and parry daggers both glowing bright with sickly green majic. Behind him stood Star Light Willow, tall, slim, elegantly dressed, beautiful, and dangerous, the smell of her powerful majic filling the air.

  Odium turned and ran, cursing himself, cursing the majic and cursing his own susceptibility. Royal crest weavers were rare, expensive, a talent only a very rich and powerful master could afford........well beyond the purse of Lord Heart of the Delta for sure. He had only ever seen one such Weaver before but knew enough not to challenge their majic with steel. He did not intend to do so now. If he had stayed in the gate room he would have engage the giant warrior, the delay caused by the fight sufficient to allow his mistress to subdue him with her threads of majic. Out here on the parapet, the roles reversed, the warrior would not engage, that was not his purpose, he was her bodyguard, an expert no doubt in close combat. Here, in the open air with a clean line of sight she would now take up the fight, a fight Odium wished to avoid.

  Odium pulled in vain as the first tendril of green majic bound him, the line wrapping itself tightly around his blade arm just above the wrist. A second filament quickly followed, this one tethering the elbow of his left arm preventing him from drawing out a star or dart. Odium gasped as the icy chill from the lines burnt through cloth and armour and bit into his bones, making fast the bond. The Weaver giggled like a girl as, with the slightest of wrist movements, she pulled on the majic lines, the two strands responding instantly, tensing. Odium felt the draw increase, his arms pulled above his head like a tethered puppet. A third line bound his calves, a tug bringing him to his knees, his pose one of unwilling supplication. Trussed, the Weaver and her man walked towards him, their pace unhurried. His talent was worthless, his sword useless, its honed edge not fashioned to cut a majic thread no matter a woven tendril. She had him on a leash, he was her cur and she could choose to punish him at leisure. With great effort, Odium pulled himself upright, his nerve steeling as he shaped his plan. If he was to die this night, it would be his choice not hers, she would not be given the pleasure of savouring his pain or smile down on him as she bled him slowly to death. He would escape her.

  As Star Light casually walked towards him it was clear her hold was effortless, the majic cast with ease from her smallest fingertip. The green strands were impossibly thin and strong, no thicker than a horse’s whisker but stronger than steel. Odium smiled, this was a demonstration of high talent………..show your prey only what you need to, a lesson he applied to his own sword.

  Grasping the head of the parapet Odium resisted her pull with all his strength the green majic chords flushing bright. ‘You will not stop her?’ spat the Sword, ‘she is gone and she will evade your weaves.’

  Star Light giggled, a twitch of her fingers effortlessly twisting his limbs against his will. ‘Silly Sword, I’ve not been sent here to stop Dolly’s escape with the boy.’ Her voice was soft and silky smooth. ‘On the contrary, my task is to make sure that the boy and your Bitch of the Veil escape. No dear Sword, tonight you have in your own small way ably but I suspect inadvertently assisted me. Can you guess how?’ The Weaver rubbed her palms together. ‘No, well since you are clearly not very sharp, let me tell you a little secret..........you have been fooled, your path determined by my own plans not yours. My troop cleared your path across the town but the taking of the gatehouse is your triumph and yours alone dear Sword..........it’s a pity you had to kill good wife Dolly’s kin to achieve your goal, nevertheless, I am most grateful, you fought well for my cause and now your bitch and the boy fly west.' giggled Star Light as she twisted the strands harder and harder. ‘Did your heart flutter when you unmasked them?’ The Weaver let out another gleeful giggle. ‘Bitches of the Veil, sister swords sent here to escort her to safety and stop dear Dolly running into a trap.......
...my trap.’ The Weaver let the words hang. ‘How ironic it is that the ones you killed were guarding the gate from me, not for me.’ Star Light could barely hide her glee. ‘Your spouse will travel west and at the appointed time I will be on hand to meet her and take the boy.' Odium tried hard not to look crestfallen. 'Oh yes dear Sword, I already know where she is going. I know her future better than she does and importantly for you, I also know your future. Do you want to know what it is, do you know what fate awaits you? ...............None..........just death.’

  'You are wrong,' spat Odium, 'only Dolly knows the path. She would not carelessly reveal it and she has been trained to keep their thoughts well guarded.'

  '....And I'm sure you take great comfort in that presumption dear Sword. Your faith makes my pleasure this night even greater. Unfortunately for dearest Dolly, my source is already on his way to the South Troll Midden to intercept her.’

  On her signal the giant warrior stepped forward, blade raised for the killing blow. Odium’s choices narrowed, neither one he relished, a quick death now or faint hope and a painful death soon? Odium chose. With a mighty effort he pulled himself up onto the parapet and tumbled over the edge. As he fell through the dark the slim tendrils pulled at him, twisting his arms, tearing the tendons in his elbow and pulling sword arm from the socket, his blade falling from his useless hand.

  The lines of majic slowed his fall, stretched, flushed bright and finally snapped. The final violent release sent Odium tumbling backwards, his limbs flailing as he fell the last dozen feet, his body slamming into the unforgiving ground. The landing was awkward, his crest colliding hard with the hard packed earth, his shoulder exploding with pain as his full weight landed on the already damaged joint. As the air exploded from his lungs, Odium held back his scream, he was alive and sorely hurt but he would fight another day. Without a good arm to support his weight and with blood flowing freely from his head wound, Odium struggled to his knees, grit his teeth and shuffled unsteadily to his feet. His instinct for survival remained strong, urging himself to keep walking even when the pain peaked and near felled him.

  His retreat to the hedgerow was not a cowardly act, he had been spared death this day, some day, in the future, he would have to make that choice again………. but not today. The ancient beech hedges that shielded the north side fields were bursting with fresh green growth, the ground beneath them layered with wrinkled brown leaves. The knurled roots of the hedge were home to rabbits and voles, their dens riddling the soft ground. Odium cautiously lowered himself into a large scrape, pressing his back into the loose soil. The ache in his head had spread, his eyesight blurring red, blood oozing steadily from his nose and ears. As he fell into unconsciousness, a black thought filled his mind...........he had failed the boy

  TEN: The Journey Begins

  On the roof of the tower house, his body tightly swaddled, Cloak awoke slowly from another dreamless poppy sleep and stared up at the starless night sky. The rails of his willow litter were strapped and buckled tightly to a stout cane frame the two curved side rails extending above his head to form a large hoop.

  With her legs extended and giant talons spread wide, Harrow swooped low over the rooftops, banking between the towers before gliding over the Tower of the Sword. Her passage was silent, her transit swift and stealthy. As her long talons clamped tightly around the hooped end of Cloak’s litter, the willow frame flexed, the cane creaking ominously as the giant eagle soared climbed clear of the town before banking west out over the Inner Sea.

  She had waited on her call for over a day and a night, far out on a craggy islet beyond the mouth of the delta and beyond any spying eyes. She was rested and had fed well on fat black seal, the lumbering beasts to slow to avoid her grasp, there rich meat a rare treat. Summoned by a Royal Child, Harrow was compelled to obey. It was her high purpose, a purpose she relished and loved. Harrow was proud, she lived only to serve the king and his kin, no one else could command her. As she flew, the great bird scanned the world beneath her. The northern coastline of the Inner Sea sped by, the silver flecked line of the breaking waves and the rhythmic sound of the sea breaking on the rocky shore providing her with easy markers to follow. The air over the coast was cool, it smelt of fish and beach weed and tasted of salt. She flew below the clouds but above the sight of man, her flight a short one, a mere fifteen leagues east and three north of the keep. A straight flight would have proven faster but stealth was required over speed. She could not soar as she would have wished, her flight was against the wind and without the sun to warm the air forcing Harrow to beat her wings regularly in order to maintain height.

  When dawn broke Harrow turned inland, the great eagle gliding over the dark canopy of the forest, stretching her neck and scanning the tree tops for her mark, a giant star tree beside which lay a tiny clearing. She disliked landing in forest and hated taking flight from such uncomfortably tight spaces but it was her mission and she would complete her task. Her landing would demand precision and whilst her sight was exceptional, her royal mistress would need good light to track her approach and position herself in time to capture her precious cargo. Ahead in the sky Hammer soared high above the mark, a black star in the dawn sky, a mere dot to a human but clear to her keen eye. They would return to their master’s parapet together, follow the coast and treating themselves to more fat seals on the way. For now, her duty was to deliver a cargo.

  Far below Heavenly waited patiently. Her flight had been a short one but the forty odd miles she had covered in less than an hour would take a man on horse two full days, the tracks through the forest rough, often confusing and only safely travelled at a walk or a trot. She had found the clearing almost ten years ago whilst out wandering the forest in search of rare roots and fungi. It was a pleasant sunny spot, a welcome relief from her days wandering in the deep shadows under the canopy. The mules that stood lazily in the makeshift corral had been led here two days before. She had paid Odium’s pet sneak Loam two full silvers for his troubles and had given him an assurance that a blind eye would be turned to a pending offence involving another man’s wife and theft of his dog. Another silver piece bought his silence, not a real issue, he was no fool and would not risk crossing The Sword.

  The brief flight by eagle from Delta Crossing to the clearing, had given her some respite, distancing her from those who pursued and denying them a fresh trail to follow. She would of course have preferred to fly by eagle all the way to the King’s Capital but her instructions were clear and she would comply as commanded, rendezvousing with the king’s bondsmen at the South Troll Midden.

  ---

  High over the clearing, the king’s giant messenger eagle banked and dived, the tethered cargo arcing and spinning below her. Harrow felt her cargo shift.

  Cloak awoke slowly, his deep dream sleep dissolving as his world revolved. Less than half awake and still half dreaming, Cloak felt as though he floated on air, his head spinning, his sense of balance strangely wrong. The air was damp and cold, a chill wind that made him draw his head deeper into his swaddling blankets. Cautiously opening one eye Cloak stared out into a world of swirling grey on grey. His breath formed a mist in front of him, the moisture gathering like tiny pearls on the curled edge of his blanket. As his senses cleared and his eyes finally focussed, his confusion increased. He stood near upright, his bed swaying to and fro beneath him. Above him, scudding clouds swept past and more.................an eagle, a massive war bird its beating wings like feathered sails, its talons the size of sickles gripping the cane hoop from which hung his bed. Cloak’s confusion evaporated. As his memories rekindled his fear surged causing his heart to race. Where was he? His bedding was wrapped tight, his arms bound to his side, his head and chest held back by strapping. Cloak turned his head slowly and craned his neck to improve his view but as he did so, a flash of pain and a wave nausea coursed through his body. Pressing his eyes tight shut, he made a wish and opened them again………it was not a dream, he was flying over a forested land, more ac
curately, he was hanging like a stitched carcass below an eagle, each beat of the giant bird’s wings causing his litter to twist and swivel. As the huge bird banked an intense vulnerability washed over him, forcing Cloak to squeeze his eyes tight shut and pray, pray and pray again. A minute passed and another before Cloak’s stomach settled and he opened both eyes. The rolling, twisting and turning was no better or worse but the closeness of the tree canopy below had certainly changed, they were getting lower.

  The opening in the forest canopy was small, no more than twenty paces across and thirty long, the ground covered in long grass that hid tripping roots and burrows. Harrow set her line, centred herself and dropped towards the clearing, stalling her flight and dropping vertically into the space, her long slender wing feathers twisting, bending and flaring to slow her fall. Below, Heavenly flinched at the force of the downdraft, the vortex of air tugging at her clothes and pulling her scarf from her neck. With the foot of the litter mere feet from the ground Harrow released her cargo, hammering her wings downwards to stop her descent and powering upwards, her wingtips snagging briefly on the rough ground, tearing at her long primary feathers. Unburdened, the giant eagle soared, powering above the tree line, through the dawn sky and up to the clouds, Hammer joining her, wheeling and dancing with her in celebration………..their mission was over.

  Stumbling under the weight of the litter and with her foot catching an errant root, Heavenly tumbled to the ground, the wicker bed slipping from her grasp and thumping down hard on its rails before tumbling onto its side. To her amazement, the rails of the litter had held, the flexible runners absorbing the force of the fall on to the uneven ground. Keen to make haste, Heavenly left Cloak where he lay and quickly crossing the clearing to where the mules stood tethered but with the scent of the great bird still strong in the air, the beasts doggedly refused to move.