The Wings of Ruksh

by Anne Forbes

  Sir James had found it an unsettling experience. Accustomed as he was to living in a large, thriving, prosperous city, it was a throat-catching experience to stand on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat and look through the thin, grey light of dawn at the pathetically small stretch of buildings that clung round the castle rock and hugged the ridge that tapered downhill towards the imposing palace and abbey at Holyrood below. Although it was early, wreaths of smoke drifted from a few chimneys and, below the castle rock, he glimpsed the old Nor Loch glinting in the first glimmer of light, with rough woodland stretching from its shores towards the distant, grey gleam of the Firth of Forth.

  When Rothlan and his party finally appeared on horseback from the mouth of the tunnel, there was a great cheer from the MacArthurs who had gathered on the hillside to see them leave. Tossing their proud heads nervously, the jet-black horses came to a stamping halt on the slopes of the hill and their grandeur made Sir James wish that he had, after all, agreed to go to Ardray.

  Feeling the breeze on his face, Rothlan pushed back the hood of his cloak and, resting a gloved hand on one of the strangely-curved pommels that rose horn-like from the front of the saddle, moved over to Sir James. “Keep an eye on Amgarad for me, won’t you?” he said, leaning over the horse’s neck. “The only thing that lets me leave him with an easy conscience is the fact that you know de Charillon! I’ve told Archie to keep you up-to-date with what’s going on at the consulate.”

  “I wish I were coming with you,” Sir James said enviously. “But don’t worry about Amgarad. I’ll not neglect him.”

  “Goodbye, Sir James,” Lady Ellan moved her horse forward.

  “Goodbye and good luck, Lady Ellan.” He turned to say goodbye to the Ranger and the rest of the group and, noticing that Mrs MacLean was looking upset now that the actual parting had come, put an arm round her comfortingly. “The children will be fine, Janet,” he said soothingly. “Everyone will look after them, don’t worry.”

  “I know,” she said, a sob catching in her throat.

  “Bye, Mum!” Neil called, pulling on the reins so that Chakra, his horse, reared and pranced. “We’ll be back soon!”

  “You won’t be going at all if I see you behaving like that again, Neil,” his father said, reprovingly. “Now calm down and act responsibly, for goodness sake!”

  Neil looked shamefaced. “Sorry, Dad,” he said. “It’s just all so … unreal, somehow.”

  Clara, her eyes shining with excitement, bent her head and kissed and hugged her mother. “Isn’t my horse wonderful?” she said, stroking the horse’s silken coat. “Her name’s Sephia. Isn’t that lovely? Lady Ellan’s is called Rihan, but Lord Rothlan’s,” she said, turning to look at the great black stallion that carried Lord Rothlan, “Lord Rothlan’s is called Rasta.”

  “You will take care, won’t you, Clara?” her mother spoke hastily. “Promise me!”

  Clara made a face. “Of course, I will, Mum,” she muttered. “I wish you wouldn’t keep fussing all the time! Look,” her face cleared suddenly, “we’re off now! Goodbye, Mum,” she urged her horse forward. “Goodbye, Sir James. Take care!”

  The MacArthur gave the signal for departure and quietly waved and nodded goodbye to Neil, Clara and their father as they followed Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan. Jaikie and Hamish brought up the rear and everyone was suddenly silent as the black horses of Ruksh picked their way down the steep hillside. All the riders were dressed in long, hooded cloaks made of a strange, greyish material that gave them a sinister, fearful appearance. Indeed, Rothlan had told Sir James earlier that the Sultan’s magic cloaks would not only protect them from hexes but, among other things, would also keep out rain and the most vicious cold. More importantly, by changing colour according to the background scenery, the cloaks would render them virtually invisible as they travelled.

  Suddenly feeling guilty that she had been so snappy with her mother, Clara twisted hurriedly in the saddle as they moved down the hill and waved at her frantically. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she called. “Take care and don’t worry! We’ll be back soon with the crown!”

  Kitor, a black crow roosting on a nearby crag, had woken up only a few minutes previously, roused from sleep by the sudden noise from the side of the hill. With a fast beating heart, he hopped cautiously closer to see what was going on and not only saw Clara as she turned in the saddle, but also heard what she said quite clearly. Such was his surprise that he almost fell over. There was no mistake about it! She had mentioned the crown! Although horrified at her words, relief flooded through him. After weeks of patrolling the hill with nothing to show for it, he at last had some information to give Prince Kalman.

  Peering anxiously over the edge of a nearby rock, Kitor was just in time to see the backs of the seven hooded horsemen as they disappeared downhill. His eyes glistened as he watched them go but many minutes were to pass before he dared make a move, and it was only when the MacArthurs had straggled back into the hill that he felt safe enough to launch himself over the green slopes of Arthur’s Seat, towards his master’s house.

  Shaken to the core at having almost slept through such an important event, Kitor hadn’t actually realized that he had been affected by the MacArthur’s time-spell and gave such a squawk of horror when he noticed that the Edinburgh skyline had fundamentally changed that he almost fell out of the sky. He fluttered round in dismay as he looked at the new, totally unfamiliar scenery. Not only had the bulk of Edinburgh completely vanished, but what was left of it seemed to lack what, to him, was an essential commodity. Surely, at this time of the morning, cars should have been out, crowding the roads and providing him with breakfast? His black eyes bulged with dismay. What on earth was going on? All of a sudden there seemed to be no roads; just dirt tracks and horses!

  It didn’t take Kitor more than a few minutes to work out that he had somehow landed in a completely different century and that his life of ease and comfort was over. No roads! No motor cars! No breakfast! The enormity of the situation took even less time to register, for Kitor was a bright bird, and with fast food in the shape of squashed rabbit and hedgehog already looming in his bird brain as delicacies of the past, he almost cried at the unfairness of it all. In fact, it was so long since he’d had to kill anything for food that he felt ever so slightly squeamish. A rabbit, perhaps? A small rabbit that wouldn’t put up too much of a fight?

  He landed on a buttress of rock that overlooked a grassy hollow where he knew rabbits sometimes played and thought vengefully of the MacArthurs. “The MacArthurs,” he muttered angrily. “They did this with their spells and their magic! I’ll … whoops!”

  The hill beneath him gave a sudden shudder and seemed to fragment before his eyes as the MacArthur’s spell wore out and brought Edinburgh back to the present. The grass rippled and then settled once more to stillness. Two baby rabbits popped out of their burrow and looked around in puzzled wonder but despite his hunger, Kitor ignored them for, as he looked towards the city, he not only saw that Edinburgh had returned intact but also heard that most wonderful of sounds — the roar of the morning traffic.

  Relief pulsed through him as he soared into the air and headed for the New Town and Prince Kalman; for, hungry though he was, the affairs of the prince came before the pleasures of searching the park roads for his breakfast.

  17. Ambush

  When they reached the level ground at the foot of Arthur’s Seat, Rothlan bore towards the north-west and for a while they cantered swiftly along dirt tracks that bordered cultivated strips of ground. Neil and Clara were glad of the high pommels on their strangely-curved saddles and held on to them tightly until they became more used to the even motion of the horses.

  Clusters of poor dwellings clung to the skirts of the city but, as the horses effortlessly ate up the miles, the hamlets gradually became fewer and more widely spread. It was only when they had reached the safety of thick woodland that Rothlan slowed the pace. Clara wrapped the long cloak more firmly round her as they cantered on, for wint
er was setting in and the weather was chill.

  Although the horses did not seem to tire both Neil and Clara soon found themselves losing interest in their surroundings as one stretch of woodland followed another. They did stop from time to time as they made their way steadily northwards, but always in a desolate part of the countryside and usually beside a stream so that the horses could drink.

  Neil started to feel hungry and, knowing the contents of the saddlebags that hung over each horse, longed for lunch! Rothlan must have read his thoughts for he pulled up as they reached the top of a steep hill and looked down on an open stretch of country.

  “Not far to go now,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll stop and have lunch by that river down there, can you see it?”

  Looking down, Neil could see the glint of water and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t far.

  “I don’t know about Neil and Clara but I’m starving,” laughed Lady Ellan. “All this exercise has given me an appetite!”

  They followed a winding path down the steep hill but it was a good half-hour before the stream was reached.

  “Here we are,” Rothlan said, tugging gently on the reins as they rode into a clearing, beside a gently flowing river. As Hamish and Jaikie dismounted, looping the reins over the saddles so that the horses could graze, Lady Ellan looked round appreciatively. The Ranger, too, nodded as he scanned the leafy glade in front of them. It was a pretty place with an even, grassy bank sloping towards the water.

  Clara’s legs buckled under her as she dismounted and she grabbed at the saddle for support. “Don’t worry,” her father smiled, “your muscles will toughen up as we go along. Come and have something to eat.”

  They ate hungrily as the fresh air had given them an appetite but there was plenty of food and it wasn’t long before they felt full. “I’ll keep what’s left for a snack later on,” Ellan said as Clara looked round, wondering what to do with the rubbish.

  Rothlan read her thoughts. “Pack it up and we’ll take it with us, Clara. It wouldn’t do to leave anything lying around that could betray us. You never know, we might be followed.”

  “Followed?” the Ranger looked startled. “You don’t think anyone will find us here, do you? It’s so isolated.”

  “We all use birds as messengers,” Rothlan answered. “Who’s to know if one of them is not quite what it seems.”

  “Have you been this way before?” asked Neil. “I mean, did you know this ford was here?” he gestured at the rippling water.

  “I’ve travelled this road many times,” Rothlan admitted, “which is why I found it so easy to bring you here by tracks that are rarely used.”

  Clara shivered. “It’s all right being with you,” she said, “but I’d hate to travel round on my own. It’s so lonely, isn’t it?”

  Lady Ellan frowned slightly as they made ready to leave. “This isn’t the twenty-first century, Clara,” she said, swinging herself into the saddle, “it’s the seventeenth, remember? Everyone here travels in groups. Robbers, I’m afraid, are a fact of life.”

  “Especially in the Highlands,” added Rothlan. “The hills are full of secret roads. Stealing sheep and cattle from neighbouring clans is almost a way of life.”

  Ellan smiled. “That’s different though. It’s a hobby as much as anything else,” she observed indulgently.

  Rothlan nodded in agreement, scanning the path ahead as he urged Rasta forward.

  Although neither Neil nor Clara were aware of it, he had been careful to keep a constant look-out as they made their way north and didn’t dare relax his vigilance; for although they had so far travelled unmolested, he knew that they hadn’t necessarily passed unseen. In this, he was right, for although few in number, the sight of the strangely-cloaked riders on their jet-black horses had given many a robber pause for thought. Not only did the horses themselves look as though they’d come straight out of the king’s own stables but there was something about the riders that made the bravest man shiver.

  Darkness was starting to fall when Rothlan swerved onto a track that was better used than most. They were among the hills now, in sheep country, and since lunchtime the horses had been climbing steadily. He knew that Neil and Clara were tiring by the way they slumped in the saddle. The track not only bypassed a small village but was also a more direct route to the shepherds’ hut that he had ear-marked as their refuge for the night.

  “Keep going,” he encouraged. “We haven’t far to go now.”

  Thank goodness, thought Clara wearily. She was tired and longed to stretch out and sleep. So far the only event of any consequence had been the sight of a couple of rotting sheep carcasses. The smell had almost turned her stomach and Neil had covered his nose with his cloak, muttering about the awful pong!

  Had they passed along the winding track a little later, they might well have missed the ambush. Indeed, the robbers that lay in wait for unwary travellers had been on the point of giving up their vigil when the tightly-knit band of riders appeared. As it was, the rough-looking bunch of men sitting astride small, but sturdy, ponies looked up with interest on hearing the thud of hooves. Neither was their leader, a gaunt, thin man with a shock of unkempt red hair, intimidated by their sinister appearance. He swung his mount round and watched as the band of cloaked horsemen made steady speed towards them. “Fine horses mean rich pickings,” he growled. “Let’s go!”

  With a great yell and a thunder of hooves, he and his men charged down the hill. Hearing the thud of hooves, Lord Rothlan looked up. “Robbers!” he shouted, warningly, “ride on, all of you!” He pulled his horse to one side and, as they passed, the sudden flash of a hex crackled in the gathering gloom.

  The robbers’ ambush was well planned for even as the horses lengthened their stride, hidden members of the band emerged from behind bushes at the side of the track and flung themselves at the horses’ bridles.

  Clara screamed, terrified, as a long-haired, bearded ruffian appeared at her side, hands outstretched. At any moment, she expected to feel his hands grasp her arms and pull her out of the saddle but, to her astonishment, nothing happened. The fellow, his face a sudden mask of fear and disbelief, was still there but somehow he just couldn’t reach her. It was as though a sheet of glass lay between them — except, of course, that there wasn’t — and although his legs were pounding the ground beside her she realized that he didn’t seem to be making any headway at all. Sephia, was steadily moving away from him — as were Neil and the others.

  Shaking with fright, she glanced upwards and saw that much the same thing seemed to be happening to the horsemen careering down the slope. With all the shouting and screaming that was going on, it took their leader some time to work out that although they were all galloping hell-for-leather down the hillside, they weren’t actually getting anywhere fast. His heart pounded in unaccustomed fear. In fact, they weren’t getting anywhere at all! The ground seemed to be moving under the horses’ hooves, right enough — he could see it with his own eyes — but the track at the bottom of the hill was as far away as it had been when they’d started.

  Pulling his horse up with a jerk, he watched in disbelief as the black horses pulled away unharmed and disappeared at a gallop round a bend in the track.

  The rest of the band pulled on their ponies’ reins and gathered fearfully round their leader. “What happened, Colin?” one of the robbers panted, panic-stricken, as they crowded round.

  “How did they stop us from getting down the hill?” demanded another, his voice scared and fearful.

  “Their leader must have been a magician …”

  The ruffian, who had tried to pull Clara off her horse, panted up. “No, no, they were witches,” he gasped. “There was a girl on that horse! She was a witch for sure! I couldn’t touch her, however hard I tried!”

  “They looked more like ghosts than witches,” shivered another. “Grey ghosts on black horses.”

  “Satan’s spawn,” hissed Colin fearfully. “And what are they doing here, that’s what I�
�d like to know!”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if it was the devil himself,” another cried forcefully, his face as white as a sheet. “Demons, that’s what they were!”

  “Rubbish, Angus,” their leader growled angrily. “Did you no’ see the flash of light? Yon was no’ the devil! They were magicians, I tell you, that’s what they were!”

  “You mean …”

  “I mean,” snarled Colin, “that we was hexed!”

  Some looked convinced and nodded agreement but the ripple of disbelief that ran through the rest of the crowd was palpable.

  Angus looked stubborn. “They were devils, I tell ye,” he shouted, looking round as though he expected Old Nick himself to be standing behind him. “Devils!” he repeated, his face contorted with fear. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, glancing at the circle of petrified faces, “but I’m getting out of here. This place is accursed!”

  And, as the men shifted uneasily in their saddles and looked fearfully down the track, the word “devil” hung dark and unspoken in the threatening shades of the night.

  18. As the Crow Flies

  Kitor flew over woods and fields, grumbling away to himself. In fact, to say he was not at all amused is putting it mildly. If he’d had an ounce of common sense, he told himself disgustedly, he’d have kept his mouth shut and told the prince nothing of the MacArthur’s time spell. As it was, the prince had listened to him with sharpened interest, passed a hand over him to gauge the length of the time-spell the MacArthur had cast and promptly sent him back to track down the seven mysterious horsemen!

  So, here he was, in the flipping seventeenth century again, with an empty belly and not a road in sight! The knowledge that he only had himself to blame for his predicament merely served to make his temper worse until he reminded himself that his fate could have been yet more terrible. After all, Kalman could have killed him. It was his own fault, he knew, for feeling guilty at having falling asleep while on duty, he had been tempted to embroider his story until, under the increasingly ironic gaze of the prince, his voice had finally stuttered and stammered to silence. Even now, he trembled at the memory as he had fully expected Kalman to blast him to smithereens there and then. He had seen the prince idly point a finger at other birds that had displeased him and to this day, their dying squawks of agony were imprinted on his brain. Especially, he thought, tears dimming his eyes, those of Cassia, a pretty crow that he had had an affection for. Resolutely, he thrust her from his memory and flew anxiously on. If he failed in this mission he might yet meet the same fate and fear surged through him at the thought.