by Farr, Cathy;
‘Yes, Cedric - which makes me wonder why Farrow, clearly injured, but not badly enough to stop her from walking home when you came back with Seth – why did she not finish her job and kill the last of her master’s attackers? Surely, if this boy was a threat to Seth’s life she would have torn out his throat, as she did with the others? That is, after all, what she is trained to do – to protect her master at all costs – Yes?’
A few people in the gallery started discussing this proposal in hushed voices. Cedric looked to be considering Lady Élanor’s question but she didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Did the hound not sit quietly while you tended to the boy? In fact, was she not sat quietly as Wil was trying to help Seth as you arrived?’
Cedric was becoming visibly agitated but Lady Élanor continued her relentless barrage of questions.
‘Was it not the case that you saw the carnage on Tel Hireth and jumped to the wrong conclusion, Mister Tanner? Wil Calloway was not armed was he? He was not trying to kill your son, was he? Master Calloway was trying his best to help because that was what Seth’s devoted Fellhound had asked him to do - wasn’t it, Mister Tanner?’
‘NO!’ Cedric shouted, suddenly on his feet. ‘HE WAS TRYING TO KILL MY SON, MY ONLY SON! AND I STOPPED HIM!’
A shocked silence fell over the entire hall. Cedric stood shaking with anger - Wil sat shaking with trepidation.
Lady Élanor turned from the gallery and moved towards the long table, addressing the Order directly. Her soft slippers padded over the wooden boards of the hall as she walked.
‘As we all now know - and agree, your Worships - Seth and his hound, Farrow, were at Tel Hireth on Thesker Fell tending the deer. They were attacked by a group of men – whose reason for the assault can only be guessed at. Seth was badly injured in the attack despite Farrow’s valiant attempts to save him. So - and this is where we appear to disagree, your Worships - in desperation Farrow left Seth to find help. It was Farrow who led Wil Calloway to Tel Hireth yesterday morning, after she got to his village, Mistlegard, distressed and injured. In fact, Wil Calloway not only risked his own life by rushing into the unknown – alone - to help a stranger; but he also saved Farrow, a valuable Fellhound of Thesk, from being slaughtered by a village of frightened people who had never seen such an animal before. Today, your Worships, we should not be debating Wil Calloway‘s guilt or innocence, we should be celebrating his bravery!’
There was the faintest sign of a flush in Lady Élanor’s cheeks as she resumed her seat. Wil was now utterly confused. How did she know so much about what had happened the previous day?
Wil was trying to recall their conversation in the jail house when the Grand Wizen rapped the table with his hammer. The loud mumbling in the gallery immediately ceased as all eyes turned to the Order.
‘We have now heard from all parties I believe, Prosecutor? Lady Élanor?’
Both nodded.
‘Good!’ he said, hardly able to disguise his relief – it had been a trying morning. ‘We will now retire to consider our decision.’
As they stood, a voice at the back of the hall said, ‘All rise.’
Chairs scraped and boots thudded on the wooden floor. Everyone stood respectfully and remained silent until the last of the Wizens exited the room. But as the door clicked into place the gallery erupted. Everyone, it seemed, had their own views on the case they had just heard and were eager to share them with anyone who would listen.
Lady Élanor watched them - a wry smile flickered on her lips, but she said nothing.
‘So what happens now?’ whispered Wil.
‘They will discuss what they have heard and draw their conclusions. Once they agree they will come back and tell us what they have decided.’
‘And how long does that take?’
‘We sat here once for seven hours…. But I think, today, they will not take that long.’
‘What will happen to me when they come back out?’ asked Wil, not really wanting to hear the answer.
‘If they decide that you are guilty you will be judged and sentenced. If they decide you are innocent, you will be free to leave.’
‘What, er, what do you think they’ll decide?’
He rubbed his ice-cold hands slowly up and down his thighs, trying to stop his legs from shaking.
‘Saran has not had a hanging for a long time now – that could go against us.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The Verdict
After what seemed like an eternity Wil heard the door leading to the Order’s retiring room creak open. A hand appeared from within and beckoned the nearest court usher, who bustled over. Wil kept his eyes on the man who was listening intently. Wil saw him nod several times, but was unable to read the man’s passive expression. The hall, once more, was silent; everyone was waiting. Finally the usher’s eyes flicked towards Wil and he shook his head, then the door was closed once more. But only a moment later there was a loud rap from the other side of the same door and the usher jumped to attention.
‘All rise,’ he ordered.
The gallery was now packed to bursting. Everyone rose as the five wizens trooped back into the hall. One of them - a gaunt, eagle-like woman - shook her head as she sat down. Wil could feel the silence pressing in on him. A girl’s voice in his head whispered, ‘Breathe, Wil!’
The Grand Wizen broke the silence.
‘Wil Calloway, please stand,’ he said. There was no trace of the genial smile he had bestowed on Miss Prinze or Cedric earlier. Wil’s jumped up, but in his haste, he caught his chair and sent it crashing to the floor. The sound, in the quiet hall, was deafening.
‘Master Calloway, as you know you are charged with the attempted murder of Seth Tanner and also with the theft of forty-three deer. We have listened carefully to the Prosecutor and to the witnesses, and also to Lady Élanor who has kindly attended this hearing today to present your defence,’ he said, giving her a respectful nod which she acknowledged with the merest hint of a polite smile.
‘Following considerable deliberation, however, we, the Order of the Magewizen of Saran, are unable to reach absolute agreement as to your guilt or innocence.’
Loud boos broke out from the gallery. The usher called for silence but an audible grumble continued to rumble through the hall. The Grand Wizen raised his voice.
‘This leaves us with only one option,’ he announced. ‘You must take part in a test of our choosing… and… after much debate… we have decided that your test will be to participate in the Moon Chase when the twin moons are full in three nights time.’
‘NO!’ gasped Lady Élanor now even paler than before. ‘Morten – he knows nothing of the Chase! This is outrageous!’
Above them, the crowd gasped.
‘The outcome of which will decide whether you go free or hang as a murderer – if, that is, you survive,’ continued the Grand Wizen. He kept his eyes on Wil. ‘Until that time you will not leave Saran village or send word to anyone until the outcome of the Moon Chase is known.’
He threw, what looked to Wil, very much like a nervous glance at the eagle-like wizen and then announced, ‘In the meantime, you will be the responsibility of Lady Élanor. She may decide that you should remain in the jail-house or she may choose to accommodate you in her own home – we will leave that decision to her. I now call this Trial to a close!’
He rapped the little silver hammer firmly on the table and looked hastily around at the other wizens, ‘Lunch anyone?’
The Order trooped out efficiently. The gallery, though, took far longer to empty because people were keenly exchanging their own opinions on what had just happened. Wil remained seated while he struggled with the reality of what had just taken place.
‘What’s a Moon Chase?’ he asked Lady Élanor when, finally, they were alone.
The silver haired young woman looked back into his face - her own, a mix of outrage and utter mortification.
‘It is the reason the Fellhounds exist, Wil,’ she answered. ‘For m
any centuries the people of Thesk have depended on the Fells to graze their livestock. Without the deer and the sheep we would not be able to feed our children, clothe our families, buy grain or pay our taxes. Access to the Fells, however, does not come without a fight. Beyond Thesker Fell and Tel Hireth lies a barren land - Tel Harion – it is a remote and soulless place. We do not often venture there and those who have – many have never returned.’
‘What happened to them?’ asked Wil, not overly confident that he really wanted to know the answer. Lady Élanor’s slender shape reflected off the polished table, her light footsteps clearly audible now in the empty room. She walked over to the Grand Wizen’s seat and looked up at the heads mounted on the wall above her.
‘The Wraithe Wolves happened to them!’
‘Oh - wolves,’ said Wil with relief. ‘We have wolves in Mistle Forest – and wild boar - we hunt them, it’s great!’
But Lady Élanor shook her head.
‘I can assure you, young Wil Calloway – you will not have wolves like these! The Wraithe Wolves of Tel Harion are the most efficient predators you will ever have the misfortune to meet. They are ruthless and without fear – they do not kill for survival, they kill for fun and they will leave nothing alive once they attack.’
‘Oh…riiight… well remind me never to go up to Tel Harion then,’ said Wil gazing up at the terrifying trophies.
‘That, I am afraid, Wil, I cannot. The Order has declared that you must do just that - the Moon Chase is a wolf hunt.’
‘A what?…Why?’
‘Three days ago we lost another herd of deer – forty-eight hinds and a valuable stag - from the western edge of Tel Hireth near Thesker Fell – not far from where Cedric found you and Seth. It’s a long way south of Tel Harion and not a place we use often, but the grazing there is very good. Two days ago – the day before Seth and Farrow were attacked and the deer they were tending were stolen - one of the herdsmen found fresh droppings that could only have come from a Wraithe Wolf or a Fellhound – and there have not been any Fellhounds up there for many moons. We fear that a Wraithe Wolf, or a small pack, might have been drawn down possibly by the scent of a sick or injured hind. If that is the case the wolves will continue to move south now that they have the taste for fresh venison so they must be stopped before they kill again.’
Wil was incensed.
‘So, why was this not mentioned at my trial?’ he demanded. ‘Surely these Wraithe Wolves attacked Seth and Farrow – maybe they attacked those men as well? I saw their bodies – believe me – a wolf could easily have made that kind of mess!’
‘No Wil. That was the first thing that Tally checked – Farrow’s wounds were not caused by a Wraithe Wolf. If they had been neither Seth, nor Farrow would have been spared – her cuts were clean - made by a blade. My sister also rode out to examine the bodies of the dead men early this morning – they were killed by Farrow – we are sure of that. Fellhounds are trained to bring down their prey and go for the throat; Wraithe Wolves just attack and tear, there is no grace in their killing technique.’
Wil blinked – he had never thought of a “killing technique” as being graceful before!
As Lady Élanor spoke Wil studied the three heads. Each wolf had long dagger-like fangs – two sets, one behind the other!
‘And,’ Lady Élanor was saying, ‘Even if those men had been attacked by Wraithe Wolves that does not explain why they were there in the first place. I believe that they were there to steal the deer - most likely for Rexmoore.’
‘So… I’ve got to go on this Moon Chase – to find these wolves and kill them? Do I have to go on my own?’ Wil asked in alarm, as the prospect ploughed into his mind.
‘Goodness – No! You will accompany the Fellmen. As you have no experience of a Moon Chase and no training you must rely on your wits to keep you safe – that is your trial, Wil. I only pray that this Chase only finds a single wolf, rather than a pack!’
‘So will I have a Fellhound?’
‘No. Fellhounds are bred on this side of Thesk to defend people against Wraithe Wolves that inhabit Tel Harion. Our hounds are extremely precious, not frivolous luxuries; they are working animals that only have one master during their whole lives. In Saran, it is not unusual for a grief-stricken Fellhound to throw itself off Goatmed Scarp following the death of its master!’
‘Yes, but Seth has one! Can’t I borrow his – he won’t be using it, will he?’
‘Seth and Farrow have been training together for the past four years, Wil. It takes a long time to train a Fellhound. Seth is still learning to become a Fellman and Farrow is far too inexperienced to be taken by a complete novice.’
Wil’s mind was swimming.
‘And what’s going to happen to me ‘till then?’
‘You will stay at my home. I will tell you as much as I can during that time and you can help Tally with some of her chores – I can assure you, you will not be bored.’
‘So what’s to stop me from just running away? I’ve got nearly three days to escape!’
‘Because the Order will take any attempt by you to escape as an admission of your guilt. They will send the Fellmen and their hounds after you – and, Wil Calloway, I can assure you… they will catch you!’
Bright sunshine glistened on the wet cobbles when Lady Élanor led Wil out of the gloomy Great Hall and into the bustling square. The market was alive with chatter, no doubt triggered by the excitement of the trial, but as they passed by, the chattering melted into a malevolent hush. Stall-holders stopped shouting their wares and women gathered up small children, ushering them into houses and shutting doors quickly behind them; close by a blacksmith missed the glowing shoe he was shaping and smashed his hammer into his anvil with a resounding clang.
Spotting Wil coming up the street, a thin woman with hair plaited in two tight braids, abandoned her over-flowing vegetable stall. She marched over and spat into the dirt at Wil’s feet. Then a gruff shout came from the shadows behind the blacksmith’s shop, ‘MURDERER!’ and another badly aimed rotten tomato splattered on a door close by.
Lady Élanor led Wil past the rest of the stallholders, with only a few choice words from a rabbit seller. But as they neared a cart overflowing with a vast array of pots, pans and kitchen utensils, a grizzled-looking man with a huge wart on the end of his nose walked right up and stood in front of them. Wil braced himself. The ancient man looked at him for a few seconds, then reached up and planted his hand firmly on Wil’s shoulder.
‘I don’ know if yer guil’y or innocen’, boy, bur I wish you all the luck in the world. The Moon Chase is fer Fellmen and their ‘ounds – not fer young boys wi’ a sword – no matter ‘ow tall ‘ey are!’ he said and gripped Wil’s shoulder tightly. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he dropped his hand and retreated into a small cottage and closed the door softly.
‘It seems not everyone has judged you yet, Master Calloway!’ whispered Lady Élanor and with the gentlest touch on his elbow guided him away, up the hill towards a building that stood some way from the other houses.
CHAPTER SIX
Lovage Hall
Lady Élanor’s house was far bigger than any Wil had seen before. It was a tall timber-framed building with a thatched roof that appeared to be home to an array of wildlife.
As they got nearer, Wil spotted a little brown mouse foraging in the thatch above the doorway, quite unperturbed by their approach. A squeaky Tjak! Tjak! Tjak! drew Wil’s eyes higher up the roof where, resting right on the top of one of three chimneys, he could see a neat pile of sticks and moss. Suddenly a jackdaw jerked its head out from the precariously balanced bundle. It peered down at Wil and Lady Élanor and took off into the afternoon sky to join several more jackdaws that were flipping somersaults and throwing themselves into death defying tumbles through the air.
All around the garden and right up to the walls of the house, flower beds and borders were bursting with plants and flowers. Late as it was into the autumn, vibrant colours e
xploded from every patch of densely packed shrubbery. The afternoon air was almost overpowering with scents of sweet honeysuckle, grassy camomile and sweet strawberries, all mixed with pungent garlic, sharp fresh mint and soothing rosemary. Smells that should have been long out of season crammed into Wil’s nostrils and mingled with other heady scents that he could not name and had certainly never smelt before.
‘Welcome to Lovage Hall, Master Calloway. Please… come in.’
Lady Élanor pushed open the wooden door and waved Wil through the low doorway into a light, airy room with a high vaulted ceiling. Bunches of dried flowers and herbs hung from every length of timber within reach. In front of him stretched a long table, on which sat a bowl piled with shinny red and green apples.
At the other end of the room, above a wide fire place Wil could see a painting of a handsome man sitting with a young girl - a baby, swaddled in pink silk, was cuddled up in the man’s arms. All three had silver hair that shimmered out of the painting and the same pale blue eyes that seemed to follow Wil as he walked around the room. But the man’s were filled with sadness.
Opposite the table a vast pine dresser stood against a wall; its shelves were cluttered with tiny glass bottles, more bunches of herbs, candles, shabby well-leafed leather-bound volumes, a basket of eggs and three tightly-closed pine cones the size of small pumpkins. Perched on the corner of the dresser was an enormous black raven.
Wil stopped in his tracks. The magnificent bird let out a loud Prruk, Prruk! followed by a single metallic Tonk!
‘It’s alright, Pricilla,’ said Lady Élanor, smiling.
‘Crronk! Crronk!’ croaked Pricilla with her head on one side studying Wil.
‘Yes, this is the one you saw up on the Fell. The Order has decreed that he must take part in the next Moon Chase,’ answered Lady Élanor in a low, grave voice.
The bird let out another rasping ‘Crronk!’ and flapped its wings.
‘Yes, I know, which is why he is to stay here in the meantime,’ Lady Élanor told the raven quietly - then, more brightly, she turned to Wil.
