The Starkin Crown

by Kate Forsyth

  Peregrine was just beginning to relax when he heard a loud yammering and baying in the distance. Lord Montgomery uttered a low curse and beckoned them on to an even faster pace. One of the horses misjudged the leap over a fallen log and went crashing down. Lord Gilbert, the rider, was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn, but Lord Montgomery did not slow or turn back. On he galloped, the other riders quick on his heels. Peregrine followed, sick with worry for Lord Gilbert. He shot a look at Lord Montgomery’s grim face and did not speak. Peregrine knew the captain would never have left one of his men behind if it had not been for the necessity of getting Peregrine himself away safely.

  By dawn the flurries of snow had thickened to a storm, and they could gallop no more. Peregrine whistled to Blitz, who flew down to his wrist, his feathers fluffed against the cold. Peregrine hooded the falcon and tucked him inside his cloak, keeping his fist near his heart so that Blitz would hear his heartbeat and be warmed and comforted by it.

  He was well wrapped in his cloak, but the wind seemed to cut through the heavy layers of his clothes like a broadsword. Lord Montgomery roped them all together so no-one would be lost, and Stiga stayed close, stopping often on snow-laden branches so that the riders would not go blundering off the narrow pathway into the uncharted depths of the forest. They did not stop to rest all day, eating as best as they could in the saddle from supplies each rider carried in their saddlebags.

  The storm punched and bit and dragged at Peregrine, like a gang of bullies wielding clubs of ice. He gritted his jaw, pulled his hood about his face and endured. No-one had ever said adventures were comfortable.

  Queen Liliana stood by an arrow slit, gazing out at the snow-whirled darkness. She could see nothing, but she knew that the starkin army was even now creeping close about Stormlinn Castle, making camp on the frozen lake and among the dark pine trees.

  She whistled a few rising notes, and at once the high-pitched whine of the wind rose even higher. Snow hurtled from the sky. Queen Liliana clenched her hands together. Should she have waited till Robin was safely away before whistling up the wind? Although if she had waited, perhaps the starkin soldiers would have arrived sooner and caught him before he could escape. Peregrine had his bodyguards, all skilful at surviving in the wintry forest, and he had the Erlrune’s cloak, woven with all the magic at her disposal. He had his own wildkin Gifts, and his falcon and his bow and arrow. Surely he would be safe?

  Yet Queen Liliana could not rest. She worried about Stiga’s warning. Stiga had said the starkin girl had venom in her heart and in her hand. Lady Grizelda and her luggage had been searched carefully. Nothing apart from a few expensive follies had been found: silken underwear, pots of rouge and face powder, a vial of perfume, a set of jewelled goblets, a silver mirror and comb, rolls of the finest vellum, a long feathery quill and some ink, and belladonna eyedrops that Queen Liliana knew were used by court ladies to make their eyes seem bigger and brighter. The belladonna eyedrops had been thrown away, for they were made from the flowers of the deadly nightshade family and were indeed poisonous. The entire bottle would have to be drunk before it was dangerous, and even then probably would not do more than make the drinker very ill, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Perfume and powder, silk underwear and jewelled goblets. Who would pack such things for a dangerous ride through the Perilous Forest in winter? Lady Grizelda had not even packed a spoon or an eating knife. The girl was either a fool, or thought Prince Peregrine was one. Queen Liliana could only trust to her son’s own good sense, and to Jack and Stiga to keep an eye on him.

  ‘I have wished for him to stay safe,’ Queen Rozalina said softly behind her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Queen Liliana replied, turning to look at her cousin. They smiled wearily at each other.

  ‘I am not happy in my heart, though,’ Queen Rozalina went on. ‘I have such a sense of black foreboding’.

  Queen Liliana nodded, her face bleak. ‘I do too’.

  Queen Rozalina came to stand next to the arrow slit, tucking her hand through her kinswoman’s arm. ‘For us or for Peregrine?’

  ‘For us all,’ Queen Liliana answered.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Ambush

  AN EARLY DUSK WAS FALLING WHEN SUDDENLY, WITHOUT ANY warning whatsoever, an arrow whizzed out of the twilight forest and pierced Lord Leighton through the heart. He fell, his horse rearing in terror. Peregrine gasped in shock, and wheeled his horse about, searching the trees for their attacker.

  ‘Careful, your Highness!’ Jack called and spurred his horse in front of Peregrine, who had thrust Blitz onto his perch so he could unhook his own bow and notch an arrow to it.

  ‘Out of my way, Jack!’ Peregrine cried. ‘Do you want me to shoot you?’

  He spurred Sable forward, catching a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He raised his bow and shot it, quick as a thought, and there was a hoarse cry and someone fell heavily in the forest. More arrows were zooming past him, though. One caught Lord Montgomery through the throat. Blood sprayed, black against the white and grey landscape. Lord Montgomery fell, the bolt from his crossbow shooting uselessly up into the clouds. Grizelda screamed.

  Lord Hartmann immediately had his last two men crowding around Peregrine and Grizelda, protecting them with their bodies as they began to fire into the trees. More arrows zinged past, one grazing Lord Murray’s arm, another piercing Lord Bailey’s eye. Lord Murray swore, clapping his hand to his arm, while Lord Bailey fell with a dreadful scream, his horse bucking as the reins were tangled and dragged. Another arrow would have caught Peregrine in the breast if his tutor, Sir Medwin, had not urged his old mare in front of him, his elbows at right angles, his long robe flapping. The arrow took him straight through the heart. He fell without a sound.

  ‘Sir Medwin!’ Peregrine fired another arrow blindly and heard a satisfying scream, but their attackers were mere darting figures in the gloom and he could not see to aim. Tears stung his eyes and he dashed one arm across his face, looking for someone to shoot. The once pristine snow was stained with blood and churned with mud, as the horses reared, trying not to step on the bodies of the fallen men.

  ‘Lord Murray, ride on with his Highness! Get him out of here!’ Lord Hartmann shouted. ‘I’ll hold them off’.

  At once Lord Murray spurred his horse forward. Peregrine and Grizelda followed him, Jack galloping behind, his reins in one hand, his dagger in the other. Oskar raced after them, with Stiga soaring ahead. On his perch, Blitz spread his wings, shrieking and almost falling. With a quick jerk, Peregrine untied his jesses and his hood so he could fly. The falcon shot up into the black sky, shrieking with rage and terror.

  Down a steep slope they galloped, snow spraying up from the horses’ hooves, then wove through the black swaying trees, peering ahead and behind. Branches slapped Peregrine across the face. Behind them the sound of battle faded away. On they rode into a night whirling with snow, heads down, hearts sick with grief and misery at the loss of their companions. At last they could ride no longer. Lord Murray dug them an ice cave, where they lay huddled together, prince, soldier, squire and starkin girl, with no thought at all of decorum.

  Peregrine woke in the morning with a heavy heart and aching limbs. He lay silently for a moment, the shadow of dark nightmares pressing hard upon his spirits. As sleep ebbed away, he realised the nightmares were memories. He heard again the screams and shouts and horse whinnies, the whine of arrows, the clash of arms, the gurgle of Lord Montgomery’s last, dying breath. He saw again anonymous shadows darting through the crystal lattice of snow and trunk and twig and icicle, and the explosion of red against the whiteness as the arrow pierced Lord Leighton’s heart. He felt again the freeze of his own heart as Sir Medwin tumbled back from his horse like a broken marionette, his limbs crossed and tangled and limp.

  Peregrine moaned in pain.

  Jack immediately sat up, reaching for his dagger.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Peregrine said, his voice sounding strange and
unsteady. He smiled at Jack, but his mouth would not work properly. To his dismay, Peregrine realised his lips were trembling and his eyesight was blurred with tears. He got up awkwardly, his legs so stiff from their long and desperate ride that he could barely move them. He pushed his way outside and stood in the snow, taking deep breaths of air. It was so cold his lungs were stabbed with pain, and the bones behind his ears ached. But Peregrine welcomed the pain. He was alive. He was still breathing. The Merry Men had given their lives for him; he must go on.

  Jack crawled out of the ice cave, his square face unusually sombre.

  ‘Comets and stars, it’s freezing!’ Peregrine said, stamping his feet and rubbing his gloved hands together. Jack nodded, his arms crossed about his body.

  Snow drifted lightly in the air, looking like giants were having a pillow fight. The sky was low and dark and menacing. Peregrine’s breath streamed white in the frosty air.

  ‘Ow, I’m sore!’ he said, trying to speak lightly. ‘What a ride! We were lucky none of the horses broke their leg’.

  ‘Those starkin must’ve been looking out for us, your Highness,’ Jack said in a low voice. ‘Yet how did they know we would be trying to escape? We weren’t meant to know the starkin were coming’.

  ‘Scouts?’ Peregrine suggested. ‘I think they were well camouflaged, I could hardly see them at all in the dusk. Those arrows seemed to come from nowhere’.

  ‘Yet how could they have picked up our trail so quickly, sir? Even if they were on the lookout for someone trying to escape the castle, they can’t have known where the secret passage came out,’ Jack protested.

  Peregrine remembered how Grizelda’s dog had barked. Had the baying of the hounds been a prearranged signal to lead the soldiers straight to them? Or had it simply been an unlucky chance, the dog acting as his nature demanded?

  ‘I think it was planned,’ Jack said grimly when Peregrine told him his thoughts. ‘I think that starkin girl came to try and lure us out into the open. Remember how insistent she was that everyone flee?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Peregrine said. ‘Or perhaps the dog was just answering those of his kind. She certainly didn’t try to get away from us, or leave any signal. I was watching to see if she dropped one of those crimson gloves accidentally on purpose, but she didn’t’.

  As he spoke, Peregrine was scanning the dawn sky for any sign of his falcon, but there was no distinctive scythe-shaped wings soaring high above. He felt an immediate twinge of disquiet, for he had raised his falcon from a downy chick and was used to carrying him everywhere.

  Peregrine pulled off his gauntlets and thrust one numb hand into his pocket, withdrawing his flute of bone. He lifted it to his lips and played a single high, long note. Far away he heard a falcon screech and smiled in relief. Blitz had heard him.

  Behind him, the dog whined, his tail between his legs. Grizelda came out of the cave, grasping her heavy fur mantle close about her.

  ‘Oskar, piddle,’ she said and made a rotating gesture with one finger. At once the dog lifted his leg against a tree and relieved himself.

  ‘Is the poor dog not even allowed to pee without your permission?’ Jack demanded.

  She gave him a haughty glance. ‘No, he may not. I suppose you allow your dogs to do their business any old place they like. We of Zavaria prefer to control our hounds properly’.

  ‘I bet you do,’ Jack muttered.

  Lord Murray was already up and attending to the horses, who had been hitched under some trees nearby. They stood in snow to their fetlocks, their breath steaming gently in the cold air. Lord Murray looked white and tired under the dark bristle on his chin, and Peregrine suspected he had slept only a little, despite the silent guard of the owl who sat hunched on a branch nearby. The guard had wound a bandage about the wound on his arm, but it was stained dark with blood.

  ‘Good morning, your Highness,’ Lord Murray said. ‘We must ride on as soon as you have broken your fast. I dare not light a fire, so I’m afraid it’s cold rations this morning’.

  He had laid out a repast of bread and cheese and preserved fruits on a wooden tray nearby, and Jack tasted it all, before standing back and saying, ‘I think it’s fine, sir’.

  Peregrine sat down to eat, spreading his cloak over the tree stump and taking the tray onto his lap. ‘Will you not eat with me?’ he said to Grizelda, who was busy trying to tidy her hair with the help of a silver comb and mirror. ‘And you too, Jack. No need for court manners when we’re in the wilds, surely’.

  Jack hung back, saying, ‘Oh, no, sir, I’d much rather wait,’ but Grizelda came forward at once, saying, ‘Is this all there is? Surely we are not to eat like peasants?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, my lady, I seem to have mislaid our baggage train,’ Lord Murray said with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Along with most of our escort,’ Grizelda answered, laying some cheese on the hard, dark bread and nibbling at it daintily.

  Lord Murray went white, while Peregrine laid down his food, suddenly unable to eat a mouthful. ‘Do you think Lord Hartmann is all right?’ he asked Lord Murray anxiously. ‘Perhaps he beat off the attackers and is trying to catch up with us’.

  Lord Murray shook his head. ‘There were too many of them, sir. I saw at least six. I can only hope that he managed to stop anyone from following us. We must’ve left a pretty trail behind us, crashing through the forest like that. We must take care today, particularly now the snow has stopped’.

  ‘You think the starkin will still be on our trail?’ Peregrine stared at him in dismay.

  Lord Murray nodded. ‘They must know by now the prize that slipped through their fingers. If any of those starkin scum are still alive, they’ll be hot on our trail, I assure you, sir’.

  Grizelda said, ‘It is hardly polite of you to refer so to those of starkin blood, particularly when I am present!’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling very polite this morning,’ Lord Murray replied, beginning to buckle the packs to the horses’ saddles.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Jack growled, casting Grizelda such an accusing glance that she dropped her bread and cheese.

  ‘You cannot suspect me?’ she cried. ‘But I came … I was the one who warned you of their approach! You must believe me, I did not know of any ambush, nor how they found us so fast’. She looked from one face to another with imploring blue eyes, her hands clasped at her breast.

  Peregrine found it hard to meet her eyes. He stood up, gesturing to Jack to come and eat his fill. Jack made himself a hasty sandwich, while Lord Murray carefully packed away the remnants, throwing the crumbs under a bush.

  ‘Please believe me. I am sorry for the loss of your companions, but it is not my fault!’ Grizelda cried, her own bread and cheese forgotten.

  ‘Your dog barked,’ Jack said.

  ‘Dogs do,’ she answered swiftly. ‘I did not tell him to’.

  ‘He won’t even pee without you telling him to!’ Jack pointed out.

  ‘But that’s different. He’s been trained to never piddle inside, or anywhere we don’t want him to. You’ve got to do that if you live in a castle! Particularly if you have as many dogs as we do. Your Highness, don’t you agree?’

  Peregrine shrugged. ‘I guess so’. He lifted his flute to his lips and called to Blitz again.

  ‘And he’s been trained to stop barking when I tell him too, but I was gagged, I couldn’t tell him to stop, let alone to start!’ Grizelda’s colour was up, her eyes were brilliant with anger, and she stamped one small crimson boot for emphasis. Oskar raised his hackles and growled, obviously sensing his mistress’s anger.

  ‘Just don’t let him bark again,’ Lord Murray said, leading Sable to Peregrine. ‘We must try to keep ahead of any pursuit and leave no trail. Do you understand, my lady?’

  She nodded, looking mutinous. Lord Murray bent and cupped his hands for Peregrine to put his foot into, but Peregrine leapt up into the saddle without any help, saying, ‘Watch your arm, my lord! I would not want you to start bleeding afresh�
��.

  Lord Murray nodded and carefully harnessed Peregrine to his saddle. Grizelda watched in surprise, but was cast such a warning look by Peregrine that she asked no questions, though her fine golden brows drew together in a calculating look.

  Peregrine heard the faraway tinkle of the falcon’s bells. He held out his arm and Blitz came plummeting down, his feathers all ruffled by the wind, landing heavily on Peregrine’s wrist. Peregrine stroked his head lovingly and gave him a lump of raw meat from the wallet at his waist. ‘I was worried about you,’ he murmured. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  Blitz replied in his own harsh falcon language, and then Peregrine hooded him and tied his jesses to the perch. Lord Murray and Jack both mounted and began to ride out of the clearing.

  Grizelda looked at her own horse, left standing hitched to the tree, and then crossed her arms and tapped her foot angrily.

  ‘Jack,’ Peregrine said softly.

  His squire sighed noisily. He dismounted, unhitched the white mare and brought her to Grizelda. With an expression of stoic suffering, he cupped his hands and lifted her into the saddle. He then leapt nimbly back up into his own saddle, without even putting his foot in the stirrup.

  ‘Which way?’ Peregrine said to the owl, who had sat unblinking on her branch, watching them eat and pack with round, golden eyes.

  Stiga hooted softly and flew away through the forest. The four riders cantered after her, the tall white hound loping tirelessly behind.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lightning Attack

  THE ICY WIND RATTLED THE BARE BRANCHES AND SNOW whirled from the sky, but Peregrine could only be glad, for it quickly filled the deep impressions left by their horses’ hooves.