“There was no time.”
“But the Book of Lies, Starkey. Don’t you remember what it did to us?” Damon interjected.
“And to these three, as well,” Starkey responded emphatically. As soon as Damon heard this, whatever he had been going to say died on his lips.
“Bring the Book here, Marcel,” Starkey commanded.
As soon as Marcel held the Book out before him, Starkey spoke to it. “Lord Alwyn’s magic is waning. He won’t be Master of the Books for much longer. He would never have let this book fall into our hands if he were still the force he once was.”
The Book of Lies burned brighter than the sun above them. A loud gasp escaped from Eleanor.
“See? It is the truth, just as I suspected,” Starkey declared triumphantly.
“We must talk about this book later, Starkey,” announced Damon. “Put it away for now. I can’t bear to look at it.”
As Starkey did so, Eleanor spoke up. “Hopefully we won’t even need Alwyn’s book with what you have planned, Damon.”
“You’ll need soldiers, won’t you? I can fight for you,” Fergus offered excitedly, looking at his father.
He regretted it, though, when both Damon and Starkey laughed in his face. Humiliated, he went on the attack, “Where are you going to get these soldiers, then? It’ll take a whole army to defeat Pelham.”
“Yes, an army,” Damon replied calmly. “And that’s where we’re going now. To join it.”
“You mean you already have an army, waiting for us?” questioned Nicola.
Damon glanced at Starkey and Eleanor. “Does it matter what they know?” he asked.
“Go ahead, tell them. If Pelham’s soldiers catch us before we reach the border we’ll all die anyway,” said Eleanor, alarming the children with her matter-of-factness.
Damon began. “When I was younger, my mother urged me to test my courage in battle. Elster was at peace, as it has been for so long, so I travelled to Lenoth Crag and fought many battles until Queen Madeleine demanded I return to the palace. But by then I had helped a young chieftain named Zadenwolf to make himself King, the first king the mountain tribes have ever known. They’re a savage lot, who dwell in tents rather than towns and have little respect for authority. But they have accepted Zadenwolf as their leader and now they are slowly becoming civilised. It’s these men who will knock Pelham off his throne.”
The children could hardly contain their amazement.
Damon hesitated a moment, staring along the road into the far distance. “We head east from here until we leave Elster and enter the grasslands of Grenvey. Then, when we have travelled far enough, we will climb north into the mountains of Lenoth Crag.”
Hector returned at this point and they set off again, travelling towards the sun until finally it was directly overhead.
The children were beginning to doze when Hector called down urgently from his seat. “Starkey, there are riders ahead, coming towards us. They’re wearing red.”
“Pelham’s men!”
Starkey and Damon drew their swords. The ruby-handled dagger appeared in Starkey’s left hand.
“Stay inside the carriage,” he snapped at the children. “Especially you,” he added, with a meaningful glance towards Fergus, who looked almost disappointed. The other two just looked terrified.
“Hold there,” came the call from the leading soldier. “We’re looking for some children missing from the high country.”
“There’s only my master and mistress in this carriage,” Hector assured them coolly.
The creak of saddle leather told them that two of the soldiers were dismounting to look for themselves.
“As soon as they open the door…” whispered Starkey.
He was true to his own order. The unlucky soldier who pulled down on the handle died where he stood, a horrified look on his face and Starkey’s dagger through his heart.
Damon followed Starkey out of the carriage and together they rapidly cut down the second soldier with their swords. The two who remained were on horseback still, but the speed and savagery of the attack left them stunned. They were outnumbered as well, now that Hector had jumped down from his seat, also swinging his sword.
“Away!” hollered one of the soldiers. His companion didn’t need any more urging. They both turned their horses and fled.
“Stop them!” Damon shouted, but Starkey’s legs were no match for the frightened horses.
“We can’t let them escape!” Damon raged, his furious roar echoing into the distance.
It had barely died away when a soft thwang sounded above their heads. Before they could work out what it was, one of the fleeing soldiers jerked suddenly in his saddle and fell backwards over the horse’s rump.
Marcel turned to see Hector with his bow in hand, already fitting a second arrow to the string.
“Again, before the other one gets away!” Damon shouted urgently.
Hector took aim and let the arrow fly. Down, down, it came, on target it seemed, until the point buried itself in the road’s surface just paces behind the galloping horse.
“Try again!” he thundered.
“He’s out of range, Your Highness,” Hector replied.
Starkey let forth a savage curse. “He’s heading east, where we have to go. There’ll be more of Pelham’s men ahead. They’ll stop us before we can leave the Kingdom!”
“We can go ahead on foot, staying off the roads, Starkey,” Hector suggested.
“A hundred miles is a long way to walk, and by the time we’ve covered just one the countryside will be crawling with more of Pelham’s soldiers.”
“There is a shorter route,” said Damon in a rather ominous tone, turning to stare over his left shoulder.
Starkey’s eyes flashed to meet Damon’s, clearly trying to guess what he was talking about. It came to him suddenly, bringing a touch of doubt even to that unflinching gaze. “Shorter, yes, Your Highness, but impossible. No one has ever reached Lenoth Crag that way.”
“Which is precisely why Pelham will not send his men after us if we follow that route. From my days fighting with Zadenwolf I know of a little-used pass through the mountains into Lenoth Crag.”
Damon and Starkey and finally Eleanor stood staring into the distance. What were they looking at?
“The mountain!” cried Marcel, with sudden realisation. “But Starkey, don’t you remember that arrow? What if it wasn’t one of Pelham’s men? It might have been some kind of warning, to make sure we didn’t go any closer.”
Starkey ignored him. “Perhaps you’re right, Damon. We must go where Pelham’s men will never think to look for us. North, through the forest, via the only part of the escarpment that’s not too steep to climb.”
“But Starkey,” objected Hector, “the old stories. There are good reasons why no one has dared go near that mountain for hundreds of years.”
“Superstitions,” he retorted. “There may be nothing at all to fear on that mountain.”
Eleanor looked along the road where the dust from the fleeing horse had recently settled. “If we don’t take the risk, Pelham will make us prisoners. I’m not going back to the chamber,” she seethed. “I would rather die.”
“So would I,” said Damon, with equal vehemence.
“That settles the matter, then,” Starkey declared. “Back into the carriage. Hector, I’ll take the reins for a while. We can be at the foot of the mountain by nightfall. Tomorrow, we climb.”
Chapter 13
Long Beard
THEY REACHED THE BASE of the great escarpment just as the sun was setting. It can be a long, uneasy night when dawn promises such danger. Marcel might have lain awake through most of it if the day’s journey through the dusty farmlands had not been so exhausting. But before he knew it, the sun was stabbing at his eyes and it was morning.
They hid the carriage as best they could and released the weary horses from where they were tethered. The chest would have to be left behind, though Eleanor insisted upon her silve
r brush and mirror and Starkey was hardly going to abandon the Book of Lies. Their only other luggage was the sack of provisions, which Hector slung over his shoulder. Of all the wary faces that set off on the climb that morning, his was the most anxious.
The track Starkey found for climbing the cliff face had been made by wandering sheep. For human feet, it was narrow and treacherous. The weary struggle uphill, combined with the nameless dread that had settled on them all, made their trek twice as arduous as the descent three days earlier. Eleanor had exchanged her white gown for one of deep blue velvet, but its hem was quickly soiled. Her face wore an expression of disdain that clearly told them she found this upward toiling unfit for a princess.
Slowly, though, the valley began to recede below them and the air grew cooler, until finally they emerged on to the lower slopes of the mountain itself.
Hector put an arrow to his bow. That same sense that they were being watched took hold of Marcel.
“Careful you don’t shoot one of us with that,” Damon scolded him. “What’s so frightening about this place, anyway?”
He soon regretted those words when a rustling noise echoed through the trees. They looked up the steep slope on their left to see a stone, no bigger than a man’s fist, tumbling towards them.
A warning.
Soon after this, a second rock came crashing through the undergrowth, closer and more threatening.
Next there was a mighty roar, as frightening as Termagant’s growl. It resounded off the trees, so that it was impossible to judge where it had come from. Was it the mountain itself, calling down to them from its invisible summit?
“We have to go back,” asserted Hector, who looked ready to drop his sword and run.
“Hold your ground!” Starkey roared at him.
It was too late to run. The air was suddenly thick with arrows flying in every direction, and all they could do was wait to feel their deadly sting.
Eleanor pressed herself against the trunk of a tree. To her obvious relief, an arrow merely found the wedge of space between her splayed fingers. Another landed in the ground between Fergus’s feet. As for Marcel, he heard an arrow lodge in the tree above him. He even felt the faint breeze it created. When he dared reach up and touch it, he discovered that it had missed his scalp by less than an inch. Not one arrow had pierced human flesh.
He jumped with the rest, though, when Starkey called out, “Listen to me, whoever you are. We mean you no harm. We just want to travel round your mountain, to our allies in the kingdom of Lenoth Crag.”
Silence lingered like a moody ghost in that eerie corner of the forest. No one moved. They did not dare go forward. They would not go back.
Finally, another rock bounced lightly against a tree, rolled a little way then stopped hard up against an exposed root. It seemed like an announcement, and moments later a figure stood up, letting himself be seen in a patch of sunlight. He was no bigger than any of the little girls who lived with Mrs Timmins, although an impressive brown beard sprouted from his chin. His breeches and jacket were dark green – or were they a deep brown? It was hard to tell. Then he shifted slightly and was gone.
A closer rustling noise grabbed Marcel’s attention and there, only five feet from his elbow, stood another little figure, just like the first, and behind him another. Now there were three surrounding him, each with a bow in his hands and an arrow ready to fly. All three of those arrows were aimed straight at his heart. His whole body froze, and only his eyes dared to look around at the others. To his terror, he found that they had all been taken prisoner in the same way.
Who were these folk?
Even Eleanor had lost her tongue. So had Starkey and Damon. It was the terrified Hector who mouthed a single, trembling word. “Elves.”
At this, one of their captors spoke up cheerfully. “That’s right. We’re elves and you are trespassing,” he announced, in a voice that was strangely deep for one of his stature. “Not the first time either, for most of you. I’ve seen all but two of them before,” he informed his companions.
“Yes, the tall one in black was leading them,” added another. “On the far side of the mountain, it was.”
Fergus was close enough to Marcel to risk a few whispered words. “These are the ones who stalked us. But how can they just appear out of nowhere like that?”
Appear out of nowhere! Marcel knew someone else who had the same disconcerting habit. He looked more closely at the elves around him, at their nut-brown skin and wild unkempt hair, and marvelled at how much they reminded him of Bea. Yet for all their similarities, Bea had the gestures and the look of a human being which these elves somehow lacked.
Starkey broke the tension when he asked in his typically blunt style, “Which of you is leader?”
“Leader!” called an even deeper voice from the shadows. The humans’ eyes darted everywhere but they could not see who had spoken. “I am King of these proud folk, and an honour it is, too,” continued the voice, though the speaker still would not let himself be seen.
“King. Of course. Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty,” Starkey responded deferentially, ending with a gracious bow.
Marcel exchanged a surprised glance with Nicola and Fergus. Humility from Starkey?
“Majesty,” one of the elves whispered jeeringly. Then the word was repeated with a snigger by all of them.
Suddenly a new figure appeared among them. He carried no weapon, not even a sword hanging from his belt, which strained mightily to contain a massive stomach, disconcerting on a frame so small. But the most startling feature of this new arrival was his beard. Thick and uniformly grey, it stretched almost to his knees.
“My name is Long Beard,” he said, observing their stares, “and this is what makes me King of the Elves,” he added, stroking his impressive growth with a stubby-fingered hand. “A long beard means I have had many years to grow wise. When I die, the elf with the longest beard will take my place, and my name as well, just as I took it from the King before me. Make no mistake, though: my subjects might laugh when you call me ‘majesty’ but they will riddle you with arrows on one command from me.”
His voice had been light, almost friendly at first, but he ended seriously to show this was no idle threat. Nevertheless, he ordered the intimidating bows lowered. “Now,” he continued, in the same harsh tone, “why won’t you heed our warnings and leave, the way you came?”
“We can’t,” pleaded Starkey. “We’ll be taken prisoner if we go back.”
“That is no concern of ours. We don’t want you travelling through our lands.”
“But this is a desperate matter, King Long Beard,” Eleanor urged him. “It’s not just our lives at stake. The kingdom down there in the valley is crying out for help. I am Princess Eleanor and this is Prince Damon.” She motioned to her cousin. “We are the rightful rulers of Elster, and are seeking to regain our throne. Justice has deserted the Kingdom. People will die.”
“People, yes. It is a matter for human beings alone. We elves are happy and at peace, but only because we have kept ourselves separate from human affairs.”
Long Beard stood with folded arms and a firmly set jaw, waiting impatiently for them to retreat. The situation seemed hopeless.
It was then that a figure came to stand beside the Elf-king, a little figure Marcel recognised instantly.
“Bea!” he cried.
He was running towards her before the echo of his shout had died among the trees. Elves raised their bows in panic and aimed at this crazy human charging towards their king.
“Hold!” Long Beard ordered his warriors.
“Bea, Bea!” Marcel kept yelling, until he stopped only a step away from her and took both of her hands in his.
Marcel was suddenly aware of countless pairs of eyes upon him. His mother and the other adults were staring at him in astonishment. Even Nicola and Fergus were dumbfounded, since they too had not been told of Bea’s escape.
“What are you doing here?” Marcel asked Bea excite
dly. “I was sure you went back to Fallside.”
She gave a little laugh and shook her head. “I couldn’t go back to Lord Alwyn! Not with Termagant ready to bite me in half.”
“But when I came back to look for you, you’d disappeared. I thought you were afraid of the forest.”
“Afraid! No. I tried to tell you, Marcel. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I felt alive, at home, for the first time in my life.”
“Then you didn’t ride Gadfly back to Mrs Timmins’, like Starkey said?”
Starkey’s ears pricked up at the sound of his name and he finally understood. “So this is the little girl you mentioned, Marcel,” and he turned to recount the story to Damon and Eleanor.
In the meantime another thought had occurred to Marcel. “Bea, Gadfly… is she still out there, roaming around in the forest?”
“No, she’s here, with me. The elves don’t have much use for a horse. They wanted to eat her but I told them about… well, you know,” she concluded with a wink, in case anyone was listening. “Come on, I’ll take you to her now.”
She led the way across the rugged terrain of the mountainside until at last they arrived at a secluded clearing, where they found Gadfly contentedly cropping grass. She fixed Marcel with a look that said, About time you showed up.
He went over and affectionately smoothed her mane. Then he turned back to Bea, able to question her alone at last. “What happened back there in the forest?”
“I saw them, Marcel. They thought I wouldn’t, but I caught them out.”
“Who?”
“Two elves who were hunting a long way from this mountain. They were used to humans who can’t see into shadows, but they hadn’t counted on me.”
“Bea,” he murmured, barely believing what he was about to say. “You’re one of them. You are an elf.”
“Part of her is elfish,” Long Beard interrupted. He had followed them to the clearing on silent feet. “You are the famous Marcel, is that so? This one has told me a lot about you,” he said warmly, nodding towards Bea. “It is hard to make her speak of anything else. Cruel wizards, forgotten lives and a boy who saved her from a snarling monster.”
The Book of Lies Page 15
