The Whisperer

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The Whisperer Page 23

by Fiona McIntosh


  ‘Oh, but you are my prize, Griffin,’ Tyren replied, unhurried, ‘I might even let the dog have the centaur. It’s ready to rip him to shreds on command of Master Snark here.’

  Griff swallowed. ‘Why lose two acts to prove a point? You’ve caught us. The creatures are not to blame for the escape.’

  Three more riders arrived. There were eleven Stalkers in total, wearing the telltale red riding gloves, red feathers in their hats and dark capes. Griff picked out the leader, Snark, because his cape was lined with a deep red, whilst the rest had black linings in their capes.

  ‘Where’s Derven?’ Snark asked one of his men.

  ‘Just coming, he backtracked because he heard something.’

  Snark nodded. ‘Well, we’re all here bar one. Are these all you seek, Master Tyren?’ he asked, staring at Griff and his companions as though they were vermin.

  ‘One missing. The veercat,’ Tyren answered.

  ‘And you’ll never have him in your possession again,’ Tess hurled at him.

  He shrugged. ‘Not much of a loss. With luck he’ll likely die out here alone anyway. Veercats need packs to hunt successfully, don’t they?’

  She ignored him but Griff could feel her pain.

  ‘Thank you for your work, Master Snark,’ Tyren said appreciatively. ‘I hope this is the final time I need to employ your men for the task of tracking Miss Tess and her creatures.’

  ‘I take it you will keep them chained permanently from now on?’

  ‘And guarded constantly,’ Tyren replied. ‘Well, as I’m paying you for the extra help I think we should do the branding here, don’t you?’

  ‘Messy business and usually filled with the wretches’ screeches. Best now where no-one else can hear their screams. We’ll get a fire started; shouldn’t take long to heat up the branding irons. You said a large “T” is sufficient, didn’t you?’

  ‘That would be perfect. And I shall have it inked onto the boy and girl, too.’

  ‘We can do that for you as well.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Tyren asked innocently.

  ‘I’m afraid it does,’ Snark answered and got on with the business of organising his men.

  ‘Oh, good,’ Tyren replied and Griff heard a note of glee in his voice.

  Most of the men climbed down from their horses and tethered them, and then as an added precaution—not that their prisoners were planning to run—Snark had one of his men train a bow and arrow on them. The remainder untied their weapons, stretched, and took advantage of this time to rest and eat. A couple of them quickly built a fire and watered their mounts. Meanwhile a horrible silence was held until Tyren broke it.

  ‘Hungry?’ he asked Griff and Tess.

  ‘A little,’ Griff admitted. There was no point in taking Tess’s attitude and ignoring the man because it was only going to make it worse in the long run.

  ‘Good. You can stay that way. And I hope the branding really hurts your creature friends, Tess. If you think that califa looks pale now, wait until the Stalkers have finished burning my mark into her flesh,’ he said with genuine cruelty in his voice.

  ‘We’ll do the centaur first,’ Snark said, poking an iron into the fire that had already begun crackling.

  Griff wanted to go into the Silvering and talk directly to Davren, who appeared suddenly skittish and understandably so.

  ‘Is this beast going to give us trouble?’ Snark demanded.

  ‘What do you think?’ Tess replied, refusing to back down. Griff admired her pluck but he didn’t think it was helping their cause.

  ‘We’ll soon fix that,’ Snark replied, smiling nastily. ‘You did say it was alright, didn’t you, Master Tyren?’

  ‘Injure but not kill were my orders.’

  Griff felt his stomach clench with fear and then before anyone could say anything further, a silent signal was given and one of the men loosed an arrow into Davren’s side. The centaur reared up in pain, howling his anger and Tess screamed but she begged her creatures not to run or risk being injured. Davren was bleeding, his hide streaked with bright blood. Bravely he reached around and pulled the arrow out.

  ‘Ah, good, just a simple flesh wound. No real danger but it should quieten him down,’ Tyren said appreciatively to Snark. ‘And if he gives you any further problem, put another one in him—’

  He was interrupted from saying anything further by the arrival of a final Stalker. He was leading a horse.

  Snark looked up from heating his branding iron.

  ‘I found this tethered to a tree not far away, Master Snark,’ the man called Derven said.

  ‘Well, whose is it?’ Snark demanded.

  Everyone looked around baffled. Griff heard rustling and looked up into the tree.

  ‘Well, it has to be owned by someone. It hardly tied itself to the damn tree. Find who it belongs to!’ Snark ordered angrily. He’d barely finished speaking when three arrows whizzed by. Within a few blinks of the eye, three men went down screaming, with arrowheads in their thighs.

  ‘No need,’ said a fresh voice before its owner dropped with grace and agility from a branch above. He landed lightly near Griff, turning to stare at him with even more astonishment than Griff felt staring back at him.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ the man said. ‘It was only when you looked up I realised it was you,’ he murmured. With daunting speed before anyone could react to him, a further two arrows were loosed by the man into two more individuals. Five men were now writhing on the ground and cursing.

  Griff frowned but then chaos erupted and he had no time to ask the obvious question.

  ‘And who in Lo’s name are you?’ Snark snarled.

  ‘Let’s not bring our god into the unholy scene I look upon here, shall we?’ the man replied. ‘And never mind my name, sir. I don’t share it with bullies, let alone criminals and what you are about here is criminal business. Now call your dog off immediately.’ When no order was given, he sighed. ‘I can kill him or, better still,’ he said, shocking everyone at the speed he could retrieve an arrow and nock it, ‘I could kill you,’ he said, aiming it at Tyren, drawing his bow tightly.

  Griff watched Tyren bristle. ‘How dare you! I’ll have you know I own—’

  ‘No-one owns anyone in our realm, Master Tyren. Only you seem to think so. You and your thuggish sidekicks here. This is the last time the Stalkers will walk this land with any authority. Call off the beast or take the arrow, Tyren. Put the dog on its leash and tie it to a tree.’

  ‘Do it!’ Tyren ordered. ‘Now!’ he yelled at Snark.

  Snark sneered. ‘My men have the authority of the Crown.’ He gave the signal and the dog was tied up.

  The newcomer shook his head. ‘No, sir, they do not. Now that the Crown knows of your dark work, you will be disbanded and I don’t doubt your nasty group here will be rounded up and soundly punished. I see some solid floggings and lengthy gaol sentences coming up. As for you, Master Tyren, you will not escape heavy punishment for the brutal treatment I have witnessed.’

  Snark laughed again. ‘Er, whoever you are, apart from the obvious fact that you are seriously outnumbered, we’re the ones with weapons,’ he said, glancing at the man holding the bow. The others, Griff noted, wore swords at their sides.

  The stranger seemed untroubled. ‘In the time it takes your man over there to nock a single arrow, I will not only have killed him but likely you as well, Snark. Don’t risk it.’

  Snark laughed. ‘Shoot him!’ he ordered. ‘But don’t kill him.’

  But the Stalker got no further than reaching behind for an arrow. A knife whizzed through the air and landed dully at the stalker’s shoulder. Meanwhile Snark screamed and put a hand to his ear, blood suddenly pumping from the side of his head.

  ‘But I hadn’t forgotten about my knives,’ the stranger said. ‘Or these,’ he added, crossing his hands over his shoulders and retrieving two hidden swords from the cunningly concealed scabbards he wore at his back that Griff had seen the moment the man landed. Grif
f stole a glance at Tess, who was wide-eyed, her gaze shining with pleasure as much as disbelief. Even Davren wore a sly grin, his wound ignored for now. He nodded with obvious glee at Griff. No-one knew who this man was but none of them cared. He was their saviour.

  ‘My ear!’ Snark shrieked, pulling his hand away to reveal a bloodied mass where his ear had been.

  ‘Rest assured it doesn’t spoil your good looks, although I’ll be happy to balance up your head and cut off the other one,’ the man said.

  Griff felt a thrill to see Tyren’s eyes now filled with fear. Tyren was fine when he felt in control and was pushing people around with his threats. But now he was scared.

  The stranger must have sensed the same. ‘Don’t move, Master Tyren, I can throw a knife hard and fast and very accurately over long distances. I can fell you before you even get out of this clearing. Now get off your horse, you oversized bully, it surely needs a rest from your big arse weighing it down.’

  Tyren blinked. He struggled down from the saddle.

  ‘Quickly, boy,’ the stranger said quietly, ‘get their swords—count that you have twelve—and lay the hilts in the fire. They won’t be picking those up in a hurry. And be careful that they don’t grab you, use you as bargaining power. Be wary.’

  None of the men were inclined to risk further injury or loss of life and stayed still. Griff moved swiftly to do as he was told, quietly marvelling at the ingenuity of the man’s idea. Snark was still clutching the side of his head and wailing at the pain of his lost ear. Griff had to stop himself from laughing.

  ‘I’ll have your hide for this, Griff,’ Tyren muttered, for his hearing only, as he passed. The showmaster carried no weapon to Griff’s knowledge and he could easily dodge the podgy man, so he didn’t feel nearly so threatened any more. He wished he could speak to Lute right now and explain with glee the seemingly magical arrival of a gifted stranger.

  ‘Capes off, gentlemen, please,’ their new friend continued. ‘All remaining weapons into the fire and no-one else will get hurt,’ the as-yet un-named individual ordered. He pulled off his own hat, which had been pulled low over his face.

  ‘He’s outnumbered!’ Tyren yelled at the bleeding Snark. ‘Why don’t you tell your men to overwhelm him.’

  Griff laid the last of the weapons into the fire and noticed as he did so that the bravado had gone out of Snark. It was obvious he was in pain and feeling sorry for himself but the leader of the Stalkers seemed to have lost all sense of authority or ability to intimidate. Now he just looked like a hurt, ugly little man with no courage…only a vestige of the sort that comes with being in large groups and with someone at his mercy.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Tyren raged, his face as red as a ripe cherry.

  ‘I know who this is now,’ the head Stalker snarled, filled with bitterness, ‘and I know it’s not worth my life to challenge him. He can take us all on and not one of us would be left standing…and the worst part is, he wouldn’t kill us but we’d lose arms, legs, bits of ourselves. You’ve seen what he’s done to my ear. That’s nothing to what he’s capable of. No, I know this man and his reputation too well.’

  Griff returned to stand by the man’s side. He grinned up at him and the stranger frowned momentarily. He shook his head. ‘Take your friend, whoever she is, and scare off the horses as best you can, but first save one for each of you. Let the Stalkers at least have to look for their mounts. Quickly, Lute,’ he added.

  It was Griff’s turn to frown but the stranger had already looked away. Did he call me Lute? he wondered. How odd.

  ‘I demand to know your name,’ the showmaster said, filled with frustration.

  ‘It seems I’ve been recognised anyway, so it’s of little matter. You can ask your companion later. But you should know now that I am a servant of the Crown—just as Master Snark is—except his idea of service has become a little skewed.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone from the palace so your name would be meaningless to me anyway,’ Tyren spat.

  ‘But not to these men, it seems,’ the man replied evenly. ‘You have made a wise decision, Snark, especially as it would have given me immense pleasure to hurt more of you for what you have done to this magnificent creature here and for what you planned to do. Sadly I don’t have time to care about you, so you may now go and look for your horses. These two we shall keep,’ he said, his chin pointing at the pair that Tess and Griff held the reins to.

  ‘That’s theft,’ Snark threw back.

  ‘Go and complain to the King,’ the stranger replied, untroubled by the accusation. ‘Mount up,’ he continued, turning to Tess and Griff. ‘What about the centaur?’

  ‘He says he’ll manage,’ Tess answered.

  ‘He’s as brave as he is magnificent,’ the stranger said, looking at the centaur.

  To Griff’s surprise, and he knew Tess was taken aback too, Davren bowed low to the mystery man.

  Tess couldn’t hide her shock.

  Whether the stranger knew that a centaur bowing to a man was not done, Griff couldn’t tell, but he was pleased when the stranger returned the gesture, bowing equally low to the forest creature.

  ‘I’ll carry that one, shall I?’ he said, straightening and pointing at the sagar.

  ‘Hopefully he’ll let you,’ Tess said, smiling shyly and the man returned her smile.

  ‘Let’s see, shall we? Does he have a name?’

  ‘It’s Elph.’

  ‘Fancy a ride, Elph? Come on, big fellow, you look dead on your feet.’ No-one was surprised when Elph obliged to being handled by a stranger, and once sitting on the horse’s back, cradled by the man’s arms, he looked almost comfortable, and curiously small, against the tall newcomer.

  ‘I’m sure that’s a first,’ Griff said and picked up Helys, who was once again a soft pink. She was feeling safer already, he was pleased to see.

  ‘Was that a veercat I saw in the trees above me?’

  Griff grinned. ‘His name’s Rix.’

  ‘I can’t wait to hear your tales, my boy,’ the man said. ‘But for now, ride like the wind.’

  28

  They’d somehow reached the tiny beach, the cove that Bitter Olof spoke about was just around the tip of land that jutted out a short way into the sea. But their pursuers had also reached the beach, barely moments later, and right at the front of them was a smug Duke Janko, with three armed mercenaries and two dogs growling at their handlers to let them off their leashes.

  Lute wasn’t worried by the dogs. They were not fighting animals, simply trackers and were unlikely to attack them. He was, however, swallowing hard over the arrows trained on them. There weren’t that many men in truth—just the four—but there might as well have been four hundred because they were armed and his companions were not only unarmed but one was badly injured, and the other would be ineffective against these hardened fighters.

  ‘Hello, Lute,’ Janko said and his tone was syrupy. It made Lute’s flesh crawl. ‘My, my. When we found your red scarf I thought you were dead—’

  Ignoring the Duke, Bitter Olof turned to Lute with a look of great apology. ‘We were so close,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so sorry, your highness.’

  Lute took the dwarf’s lead and ignored Janko as obviously as Bitter Olof had. He knew his uncle wanted him dead and gone and he had no intention of listening to the man’s feigned simpering for a moment longer. He would be stoic and he would die as bravely as Pilo had. He looked at the dwarf. ‘Don’t be sorry. This is not your fault. It wasn’t even your fight. You’ve done everything you could to help me. No-one could ever question your loyalty to the Crown, Bitter Olof. I feel proud to have known you and if I had a sword I would knight you here and now for services to your King.’

  The dwarf gave him a bow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Janko snarled.

  At this Bitter Olof turned, his face a sneer. ‘I’m bowing to my King, you dolt.’ Lute was cheered to see the triumph on the dwarf’s face.

  Janko’s expressio
n darkened and his smugly smiling face turned angry as his lips thinned. ‘King? Here is your King!’ he yelled, jabbing himself in the chest. ‘You bow to me alone from hereon. You!’ he said, pointing to Little Thom, ‘Bow to me!’

  Little Thom looked up, letting out a tired sigh at the pompous, snarling man on the horse and without saying a word simply shook his head.

  ‘You dare to defy me?’ Janko howled.

  ‘Olof,’ Little Thom said wearily under his breath. ‘Stand behind me. You may have a chance to save our King.’

  The little man paused and then nodded at Lute with sad resignation. ‘Then this truly is farewell.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll get up to no good together in the next life,’ Little Thom replied, not taking his gaze off the riders, but in a voice tinged with sadness. ‘Be quick, his patience has ended, for there is no further sport in this for him.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Janko asked.

  ‘Run, Lute, straight into the sea but head for the point, swim beneath the surface if you can,’ Bitter Olof urged. ‘And don’t look behind. Go!’

  Lute ran and heard Janko give the fearful orders.

  ‘Kill them!’

  Splashing into the sea, he ran as hard as his legs could possibly propel him. Just before he dived into the waters he disobeyed Bitter Olof and glanced behind.

  And what he saw was Little Thom, in an effort that seemed beyond human capability, shielding their progress with his great frame for as long as he could stand, whilst the Duke’s men fired arrows into his back.

  ‘No-ooooo!’ Lute screamed and then the salty waters swallowed him.

  They’d ridden west on the fringe of the forest as fast as they could go. Tess assured them that Rix had faithfully followed high in the trees and it was nearing midday after a lot of hard, silent riding before the man had slowed them and led them deeper into the woods to a narrow brook that gurgled with a comforting sound.

  ‘We can water the horses here,’ he said, ‘and we could probably all use a rest. I’m presuming none of you have slept in hours.’

  ‘Or eaten,’ Griff admitted, sliding off his horse and helping Helys down. She and Elph instantly began to forage, whereas Davren and the horses moved directly to the water. Davren drank greedily and Tess followed suit, kneeling down to cup water in her hands and gulp it down. Her beautiful golden hair was wet from trailing in the brook and she looked bedraggled and weary. But her eyes were shining and he guessed it was with the pleasure of freedom.

 

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