by Farr, Cathy;
‘Well, I certainly do not agree, but I see I am out-voted - yet again!’ Madam Gaskhill spat. Then she turned on her heels and stormed through the parting crowd without another word. Garth and Master Gerald briefly exchanged glances but said nothing. Taking their silence as his cue, Wil took one more step towards Farrow and slid his sword very slowly from his belt.
‘Stand back everyone,’ he ordered as boldly as he could and looked back over his shoulder.
Wil already stood alone. Everyone else had beaten a hasty, and surprisingly quiet, retreat. He could see heads peering from behind broad tree trunks and over thick hedges. Others had shut themselves into their little round houses and poked only their noses out of narrow windows. Even Garth and Gerald had taken several lengthy paces backwards.
Wil swallowed hard and turned back to face the hound. It was only then that it occurred to him that he had never even had any dealings with the dogs around the village and he certainly had absolutely no idea how to go about controlling a Fellhound like Farrow. But, he decided – with Madam Gaskill’s words still ringing in his ears and the whole village looking on - this was definitely not the time to back down! So, with a very deep breath, he slowly reached up and as gently as he could, hauled the netted bundle down to the ground and set about the ropes that held her. He could see the angry wounds on Farrow’s flanks.
‘Steady now,’ he whispered – more to himself than to Farrow, parting the last two cords in one deft slice of his sharp blade.
At last, free of her bindings, Farrow leapt to her feet and closed her jaws around Wil’s arm. A woman screamed. Garth drew his sword.
‘It’s OK, I’m OK!’ Wil shouted. He held up his free hand. True, Farrow did have her massive mouth around his entire arm, but her hold was so gentle that he could barely feel her teeth on his skin. Without tightening her grip, she started to inch backwards.
‘I think she wants me to follow her,’ he shouted over his shoulder. The relief in his voice was plain to hear, but Garth and Gerald moved towards them with their swords drawn ready to strike.
Immediately, Farrow released Wil’s arm and charged back towards the forest. But she skidded to a halt just short of the trees and turned back. Her great tongue lolled out of her mouth. She stood there panting and slowly wagging her long, powerful tail.
‘Wait, Wil! You can’t go alone!’ called Master Gerald, as the boy set off after the animal.
‘There are bears and wild boar in there – let alone what you might be walking into! You’ve got to take someone with you. Peter… Gabe…. Quick! Fetch your bows and go with him.’
Two young men looked over a hedge in surprise, but Farrow couldn’t wait a moment longer. She had already disappeared. From the forest she let out an impatient bark - Wil could feel her anxiety. He knew that the boy’s life was ebbing away – there was no time to wait. So, tucking his sword back into his belt, he took off after Farrow.
‘No time Master Gerald; I don’t think she’s going to wait! Tell my mother that I’ll be back soon…... and tell her not to worry!’
CHAPTER TWO
Seeing is Believing
Farrow galloped on, drawing Wil ever deeper into the thick forest. He was surprised how quickly the trees closed in. Of course he had been into Mistle Forest many times, but had always kept to the side nearest to the village – and always as part of a much larger hunting party armed with crossbows and spears!
He stopped to get his bearings but in seconds Farrow came to find him. She cantered in circles around him before spinning on her haunches and launching off again into the mottled darkness. Panting already, he trotted behind her but, tall and fit as he was, there was no way he could match Farrow’s long strides.
At a fork in the path he halted and put his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Farrow had disappeared and he had no idea which way she’d gone. Remembering Master Gerald’s warning of bears and wild boar, he quickly ruled out shouting for her and instead stood and waited in the quiet gloom, hoping that she would come back for him. From somewhere in front of him came the unmistakable sound of the River Eem with its perilous waterfalls and leg-breaking rapids.
A sudden rustle to his left made Wil spin around and reach for his sword. Farrow leapt out of the middle of a thick bush and let out a deep bark – just one. He got the distinct impression that she was saying, ‘Come on! Why are you just standing there?’ Then she bounded off again.
But as Wil ran on, doubts started to creep into his mind. What if Farrow’s master wasn’t wounded? What if this was a trap? What if his dream had been just that – a dream? After all, as Madam Gaskhill had said - he had been wrong before!
Wil wasn’t sure if it was luck or planning on Farrow’s part, but as he reached the river he spotted a huge tree trunk that had fallen right across, forming a very convenient bridge. Unfortunately, encouraged by the clouds of fine mist from the tumbling waterfall below, a thick carpet of slimy moss covered the rotting bark and Wil had to cling on desperately to the remains of the tree’s spiky branches as he slithered his way across. By the time he reached the other side his breeches were dark green and soaked through.
‘Great!’ he said, wiping his filthy hands down his shirt. But Farrow barked again - making it clear there was no time to dry off.
At last, after a long time running - and much to Farrow’s displeasure, walking - the trees finally began to thin out. In the distance Wil could see sharp rays of late morning sunshine piercing through the woodland canopy. He slowed his pace once more and when he finally reached the edge of the forest he crouched, squinting out into the bright sunlight. The open landscape of Thesker Fell rolled out before him like a never-ending carpet of green, with one hill drifting into another - higher and further away - with another hill rolling towards the horizon behind that one.
As his eyes got used to the sudden brightness, Wil could see the odd gorse bush, a few windswept trees that looked like they had been combed sideways, and crows – a lot of crows! Farrow, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. Wil fought to catch his breath. Salty sweat stung his eyes. It trickled down his face and dripped off his nose onto his arm. With a wary glance over the hillside, he slid onto his stomach and hauled himself forwards on his elbows, all the time praying that no-one was waiting to jump him.
The sun streamed down onto the open ground but there was still no sign of Farrow. Wil started to get worried. Close by, half a dozen or so crows were pecking greedily at a bloody mound. It took Wil a moment before he realised it was a headless body. He retched and looked away quickly.
Finally Wil finally spotted Farrow, some way off, standing over a dark motionless bundle. With one last sweep along the edge of the forest and out across to the bright horizon Wil jumped to his feet and pelted as fast as he could towards the hound. Crows abandoned another two gory heaps in the grass - albeit temporarily - and scattered into the air - if his dream had been right, Wil knew that there would be a fourth body somewhere close by.
Before he got to her, Wil could hear Farrow panting at an alarming rate. The boy let out a low moan when Wil rolled him gently onto his back. Wil breathed a sigh of relief - at least the boy was still alive! Looking at the bloodstained face Wil could see that this was indeed the boy from his dream - and he certainly was in a bad way. The grass beneath the boy’s head was black with dried blood and it looked like the crows had started to peck at the cut on his head at some stage that morning, too!
Wil looked around in vain for some water and cursed under his breath. In his haste to follow Farrow it hadn’t occurred to him to bring any supplies - not even a flask! He was kneeling over the boy’s bloody body, trying to decide what to do next when a sudden, sharp blow struck him hard on the back of the head.
Wil woke with a gasp when a smack of ice-cold water hit him full in the face.
‘Finally back with us then?’ sneered a gravely voice next to his ear.
‘I knew that would wake him up, Cedric,’ crowed a second voice, reedy and nervo
us.
Wil blinked to clear the water from his eyes but double vision made it impossible to focus. His head pounded. If he screwed-up his eyes he could just make-out a blurred shape standing above him silhouetted against the light. He tried to sit up but a wave of dizziness washed over him and for the second time that day he thought he was going to be sick. Swallowing hard he dragged great gulps of air down into his lungs – the fog in his head started to lift and he tried to move his arms but immediately discovered that they were tied behind his back.
‘What the…?’ Wil groaned and slumped back on the ground.
The men ignored him. They were busy with the boy who still appeared to be unconscious. Farrow was lying quietly next to her master with her head flat on the grass between her paws as if she was waiting for news that he would be alright. Not far off, two saddled horses determinedly tugged at the tough Fell-land grass.
Wil lay uncomfortably with his back pressed up against a boulder and tried to take in what was happening. How long had he been unconscious? And why he was tied up? Surely these men couldn’t think that he had anything to do with this boy’s injuries? He struggled round to get a better look at the boy.
‘How’s he doing?’ he called – trying his best to sound cheerful and friendly. ‘I got here as quickly as I could, but…’
‘Silence, Boy!’ Cedric shouted without looking up. Wil watched him pour water from a leather flask onto a strip of cloth which he pressed over the deep cut on the boy’s head. ‘Its no use pretending – we know this is your work - yours and your dead friends! Five against one, hey? Very brave! Lord Rexmoore would be so proud!’
Wil hoped he was still dreaming. He tried to take in the man’s angry words.
‘I… I don’t know what you mean? Those men weren’t my friends. I don’t know who they are…were!’ he insisted, correcting himself at the sight of three crows squabbling over something pink and floppy, a little way off. ‘The hound came to my village for help… I stopped the Elders from killing her. She brought me here. These bodies were… they were dead already! I didn’t kill anyone. The boy had already been hurt!’
Cedric thumped a cork back into the flask and got to his feet. His ashen face was etched with worry. Suddenly he turned and strode towards Wil. He didn’t stop until his face was only inches away from Wil’s. Wil could smell Cedric’s hot sour breath as the man spoke.
‘You say that now you’re caught!’ The man snarled at him. Wil could feel droplets of spittle shower onto his cheek, ‘It’s not enough that Rexmoore sends his henchmen into our village to take our food as payment for his taxes, now he sends his men into our fields to kill our children!’
‘Really…I didn’t! I wasn’t with them. I hate Rexmoore just like you. I didn’t hurt the boy, I came to help. Please, you must believe me!’
‘Lies! You will sing a different tune when Lady Élanor gets hold of you. Her truth serum is very effective – if a little deadly!’ Cedric walked away cackling.
‘If my son dies, mind you,’ he shouted over his shoulder, ‘I’ll kill you myself!’
Wil gritted his teeth and desperately tried to stay calm. Why wouldn’t they believe him? He took a deep breath and tried again.
‘Look, I did not hurt your son. I came to help. The hound… Farrow led me here,’ he repeated slowly. The thin bindings were cutting painfully into his wrists and his elbows ached where they were twisted behind his back. But the men stubbornly ignored him and fixed their attentions on the injured boy.
Desperately, Wil tried a different tack.
‘OK. If I did attack your son, why hasn’t his hound torn out my throat, too? She certainly seems to have made short work of the others…and… why isn’t there any blood on my sword?’
Cedric stopped what he was doing.
Wil held his breath as the older man got to his feet and studied the hound. Wil could see him thinking. It was obvious that Farrow was badly hurt but would that have stopped her from killing everyone to protect her master?
‘Arbert, fetch me that blade,’ he ordered suddenly, pointing to Wil’s sword lying on the ground near the remains of a tiny campfire next to their own pack of supplies. Arbert jumped up and scuttled over to retrieve the weapon. His hand shook when he handed it to Cedric who inspected the blade carefully, holding it up into the sunlight to get a better look at its sharp edges. The bright sunlight bounced off the iron forcing Wil to shut his eyes. Eventually Cedric was forced to admit that Wil was right.
‘True, there is no blood on your sword, boy… but maybe you hid in the trees until after the fight – maybe you were just the look-out – or maybe you are a coward? Maybe… she just left you ‘til last?’
Cedric dug the point of the sharp weapon into Wil’s throat.
‘Yes, maybe you were next and we got here just in time – lucky you!’ he sneered and applied more pressure to the hilt of Wil’s sword. Wil pressed his back against the rock praying it would roll away and let him escape somehow. ‘Maybe you’ll wish she’d finished you off by the time we’re through with you, boy!’
Then, with a sudden mad laugh, he swung the sword high above his head, grabbed the hilt with both hands and plunged the weapon downwards with his full weight. Then he turned back to his son. The blade shuddered in the ground between Wil’s legs - his heart sank.
‘What are you going to do with me then?’ he whispered.
The evening midges were swarming. Wil trudged behind the horses, filthy and exhausted. With every step he took the thin rope that bound him bit into his wrists.
Cedric’s son lay across the saddle of one of the horses, a dark brown mare led by Arbert, limping and sweaty. Cedric sat astride the other horse, a fine black steed that pranced along at a half-trot, impatient at the slow pace.
Just as they rounded the base of yet another steep slope Farrow, who had been walking at her master’s side, suddenly bounded ahead up a worn dusty track towards a pair of huge wooden gates. Cedric jabbed at his horse’s mouth and watched the hound go. He made no attempt to call her back. At the solid barrier she stopped and barked once – the same huge, deep resounding bark that had drawn Wil through the forest earlier. It bounced back off the timbers and echoed out across the Fells.
A suspicious face peered through a tiny slot.
‘Halt, who goes there?’
‘Let us through, Eldridge. Open the gate and go fetch Lady Élanor. We’ve found Seth, he was attacked up on Tel Hireth – tell her that he and Farrow are badly injured. Then go tell the Order that we’ve got a guest!’ Cedric shouted. His horse pawed the ground and snorted loudly; Cedric grabbed-up his reins and held the animal in a stand as the gates creaked open slowly to let them in.
In the fading evening light people seemed to come from every dark corner and alley to get a look at the exhausted party stumbling into the wide courtyard. Behind them, Wil heard a soft boom and the sound of sliding timbers. He guessed he was now shut away from the world outside.
Arbert abandoned his horse’s reins and made straight for the water-trough. He ducked his whole head into the soupy-green water and then scooped-up handfuls, slurping noisily. His wet head glistened.
The mare followed. Still tethered to the mare’s saddle, Wil had no choice but to follow her to the long stone trough. He dipped his own hot face into the water and took gulped gratefully.
Farrow, though, made no effort to drink. She dropped to the ground with her long back pressed-up against the cold stone where she finally gave-in to pain and exhaustion.
Distant shouts echoed around narrow streets that were crammed with a mishmash of timber and stone houses. To his left, Wil could see a row of black and white houses and shops. They were leaning precariously towards the houses opposite, poised ready to stop the whole lot from toppling into the cobbled alley. The shouts were quickly followed by the patter of light feet. Wil looked down the alley - a young girl, her long skirt hitched high in her fists was pelting towards them. A mane of silver hair flowed out behind her and made the paleness
of her face almost translucent in the dusky light. Wasting no time with introductions she wrinkled her brow into a disapproving frown and rushed to examine the lifeless body lying across Arbert’s horse.
‘Get him down, will you? What happened? Seth, can you hear me? How long has he been like this? Has he said anything since you found him?’
Her stream of questions left no space for answers as she worked quickly. Cedric laid the young boy carefully onto a low wooden bench alongside the drinking trough next to Wil. Suddenly the pale girl stopped what she was doing and looked around, searching for something.
‘Where’s Farrow – quickly - let me see her – NOW!’ Although no more than about fourteen, the young girl’s passionate tone made everyone jump. Cedric led her to Farrow’s limp body, lying in the cool evening shadows – the day’s events had certainly taken their toll.
The girl dropped to her knees and carefully studied the gaping slashes across Farrow’s flanks. She pressed and prodded until she had examined every inch of the hound from nose to tail then she got to her feet, looking relieved and continued her work in silence.
Cedric’s expression suggested that he was not at all happy to see the girl.
‘Where’s Lady Élanor, Tally? This is a job for her – I asked for her – why hasn’t she come?’ Cedric demanded.
‘She’s with Bryn. Willow is having a very bad time – she’s lost one pup already and the other six are only just clinging to life,’ answered the girl testily, although Wil noticed that her urgent manner had calmed significantly since she had examined Farrow.
‘She sent me to administer first aid, which I can assure you, Cedric Tanner; I am quite capable of doing!’ She peered at Seth’s head wound with only mild interest as she spoke.
Slung across her shoulders was a cloth bag. Without another word, she dropped it on the ground and rummaged through its contents with both hands. Head bent low, she cursed under her breath as she searched.
