The Snowy Tower

by Belinda Murrell

The country road followed the River Bryn, which wound its way lazily through the lush green valley like a fat brown snake. Clouds of yellow wildflowers swathed the bank. Occasionally the river would stir itself, rippling over shallow rapids with sparkling whitecaps dancing in the sun.

  The roadway was paved with flat grey stones, meandering through copses of trees, with wild red poppies growing along the roadside. Wide paddocks held black and white cows, their udders heavy with milk. Horses watched curiously over the fence, while their foals gambolled along on ridiculously long legs. Chocolate-faced sheep, heavy with white unshorn wool, slowly grazed while their tail-wagging lambs suckled blissfully.

  Ahead the smooth, rounded foothills rose in banks of rich green. Further to the north they could see the first mountains, rocky and wild, wreathed in drab green forest and grey cloud, and capped with dazzling white snow. Two tawny hawks soared on a cross current, searching for foolish rabbits or fieldmice.

  In the late afternoon the children rode into Trowbridge. Unlike the south, where many villages had been ransacked and burned, Trowbridge was deliciously peaceful, with no outward sign of the Sedah invasion.

  On the outskirts of the village, they dismounted and chose a small stone cottage, with a sprawling garden of lavender and roses, where three small children were playing hide-go-seek. Lily knocked on the door, which was opened by a kind-looking farmer’s wife, her arms dusted with flour.

  ‘Good evening, mistress,’ Lily said, with a warm smile. ‘We are travelling to the north and wondered if we could please purchase some supplies and perhaps a bed for the night in your barn? We will be leaving first thing in the morning.’

  The woman scanned the faces of the four children, weary from a long day in the saddle, and thought of her own precious brood.

  ‘Of course,’ agreed the farmer’s wife, smiling in empathy. ‘Come around the back.’

  In return for a few silver coins she gave them fresh bread and milk, tiny green cucumbers, tomatoes warm from the sun, pale pink ham, boiled eggs and crumbly yellow cheese, which they ate on a bench in her garden in the golden evening sunshine.

  The barn was warm and spacious, with a wide soft bed of last year’s hay.

  Aisha flopped into the hay in exhaustion, too tired to even turn around three times to flatten her bed. She covered her eyes with her paws and started to snore. Charcoal scampered coquettishly in the hay, smelling traces of mice and revelling in the freedom of moving after sleeping in her wicker basket all day.

  Ethan, Lily, Roana and Saxon tended to the horses, grooming them, picking out their hooves, feeding them oats. The children fell asleep breathing in the sweet smell of hay and horse sweat, and listening to the sounds of horses rustling and stamping.

  The cocky rooster woke them before dawn with his self-important yodel to welcome the Sun Lord. Everyone stirred to action, eager to be on the road once more. They washed under the icy cold gush of the garth pump. The farmer’s wife brought them fresh, warm bread, dripping with butter and honey, and steaming milky tea. She smiled with pleasure as the children gulped hungrily, licking their fingers in delight.

  She handed Lily a parcel wrapped in cloth, and tied up with string.

  ‘A morsel to eat on your journey to Bryn, my dears, and may the Moon Goddess light your way, every step of your travels,’ the farmer’s wife blessed them.

  The children smiled, comforted by the familiar proverb. Calling and waving their thanks and farewells, they clambered up into their saddles and clattered out onto the cobbled road. At Trowbridge, the road crossed the mighty River Bryn, over a gently arching sandstone bridge, then continued north on the western bank. A massive, gnarled and twisted ancient tree grew on the left side of the road, weeping down towards the rushing water.

  As they continued north, the countryside became wilder and cooler as the road gradually climbed towards the foothills of the Silent Mountains.

  It took two days of long riding – alternating walking, trotting and cantering – to reach the northern town of Bryn. They passed lonely farmhouses, and the occasional hamlet or village where they could buy supplies or a night in the hay. On the fast-flowing River Bryn, they passed barges floating away downriver, carrying cargo of logs and sacks of vegetables for market, or empty barges towed upriver by draughthorses straining against the current. The bargemen waved, calling out merry greetings.

  Bryn itself was a bustling town of elegant sandstone bell towers and grand public buildings with arched bridges spanning the river.

  They found a cheery bakery, following the wafting yeasty scents of hot bread and sweet pastry, and bought a large canvas bag bulging with food. The four children sat down on the river bank, with their bare feet dangling in the freezing snow melt water. Saxon passed over steaming hot meat pies and sausage rolls, the pastry golden and flaky. It was good to eat hot food once more.

  Aisha was much better and gulped her sausage roll down in one swallow. Her coat had regained its healthy red-gold gleam, her ears were cocked, and the wounds were healing beautifully, although her flank was still disfigured with a shiny, curved pink scar.

  They slept at the Black Bear Inn, down by the river quay, and were woken the next morning by the cries of the bargemen loading their cargoes in the pre-dawn glimmer.

  As the sun rose, its red rays lit up the hundreds of rolling peaks of the Silent Mountains stretching away endlessly to the north. Those closer were grim and green, while those higher and further were crowned with white snow and grey cloud. The children shivered as they saw how far they still had to travel. The innkeeper’s wife served them wooden bowls of steaming porridge, topped with cream and brown sugar, served with hot milky tea. The children all ate hungrily. They had no idea when they would eat hot food again.

  It took Sniffer two days to walk to Trowbridge. The trail was getting cold, as farmers’ carts and roving herds of livestock obliterated the tracks Sniffer was following.

  He slipped into the village in the late afternoon. Two farmers on their way home glowered at him suspiciously, disliking the look of the Sedah stranger.

  ‘Seen four children – three boys and a girl, with five horses, a dog and a cat?’ Sniffer asked them, jingling a pile of silver coins in his palm.

  ‘Lots of children in Trowbridge, lots of horses, dogs and cats too,’ snorted one farmer.

  ‘These ones are strangers from the south,’ Sniffer encouraged. ‘The girl has long curly blonde hair and brown eyes, about this tall. One of the boys is fair, and the others are a bit darker?’

  ‘We’ve had no strange children staying here,’ declared the farmer firmly.

  Sniffer spent the rest of the afternoon knocking on doors, jingling coins and intimidating villagers. No-one had seen or would admit to having seen the children. At one house, the farmer’s wife glanced away, shrugging and shaking her head.

  ‘What would four southern children be doing travelling on their own up here?’ she asked dismissively.

  Sniffer turned away, but something about the woman’s manner made him suspicious. When the door had closed, he skulked around the side of the house and into the garth. There was a large barn there. Sniffer opened the door and slunk inside. He breathed in the smell of sweet hay, farm animals and musty feed sacks. He felt a thrill of excitement. He was sure the children had been there.

  ‘Get out of my barn,’ came a high voice behind him. The farmer’s wife stood there with a pitchfork raised threateningly.

  ‘I was just looking for a place to spend the night,’ Sniffer said placatingly. ‘I have silver coins to pay for board.’

  ‘I don’t want your coins and I don’t want you in my barn,’ the farmer’s wife retorted, jabbing the pitchfork into the air, dangerously close to Sniffer’s head. ‘Just leave now.’

  Sniffer left hurriedly.

  At a lonely farm, just north of Trowbridge, he slipped into the stables and hastily saddled and bridled a large bay gelding. Sniffer opened all the stable doors, freeing the two other horses, and chased them out in
to the roadway at a gallop. The farmer and his wife came running from the kitchen at the commotion. By the time they caught the horses, Sniffer and the stolen gelding were gone.

  In the Tower of Sun and Moon, the seven priests of Krad were in conference around the smoky fire. The head priest held a missive from Governor Lazlac ordering the immediate return to Tira of five priests to conduct the ceremony for his marriage to Queen Ashana. The exhausted messenger had just arrived, having ridden almost non-stop from Tira on horseback, and was now eating a meal in the kitchen.

  ‘What of the boy?’ asked one black-robed priest.

  ‘He is to be left here until after the ceremony. Then Governor Lazlac will send a troop of soldiers to escort him to Sedah. You two will be able to handle him while we five return to Tira. The boy is completely subdued now, but just to make sure, perhaps you should increase the quantity of the drug he receives each day.’

  The priests nodded in agreement.

  ‘Let us begin preparations,’ the head priest suggested. ‘It is a long journey back to Tira.’

  He stood and shivered in the chilly air. ‘At least it will be warmer in the south.’

  ‘Krad be praised,’ they intoned automatically, rising to their feet.

  Upstairs in his freezing tower room, the boy tossed and turned in his troubled sleep, dreaming fitfully. In his nightmare the black-clad priest lunged at him, swishing his cane viciously. The boy screamed in fright, ‘Mama. Mama, where are you?’

  He awoke, drenched in sweat, despite the icy air. Consciousness flooded in, bringing with it a wave of despair. He thumped the pillow angrily, yet did not weep. Prince Caspar had no tears left.

  The next morning Caspar drank his brimming mug of foul medicine without a murmur. It burned his throat going down.

  The priests gave it to him every morning and evening. Originally he had fought the medicine, spitting and gagging, but the priests had held him down, holding his nose until he had swallowed it all. Now he no longer fought them – there was no point. The priests always won in the end.

  The boy watched disinterestedly as five of the priests put on their black travelling cloaks, pinned with the malevolent glowing eye of Emperor Raef, and prepared to depart. He bent obediently over his lessons and recited the Nine Laws of Krad. He did not even look up when the massive front gate swung shut and the heavy iron bolt was dropped once more.

  Albert Drummond was concerned. He had just received further intelligence from the rebels in the forest, via his hollow bung, that the children had disappeared and Sam was organising raiding parties to harass the Sedahs, which would ruin all his own carefully laid plans. He had also learned that the rebel training was not proceeding quite as well as he had hoped – the rebels were enthusiastic but under-resourced and disorganised. If it came to a fully fledged battle between the highly trained Sedah soldiers and the rebels, he feared they would come off much the worse.

  Then of course there was the looming wedding of Queen Ashana and Governor Lazlac – a potential disaster. Master Drummond was racked with stress – there was much to do.

  In the middle of the night he lay awake worrying, wondering how to solve the many challenges which faced him. There was not much he could do to help the four children so far away, but perhaps he could do something to improve the professionalism of the rebel forces so that when the children returned they were ready to strike. At three am, a potential solution came to him. He thought of just the man to help him – a man who was clever, resourceful, brave and sly. A man who would make a perfect spy.

  At dawn the next morning Albert was down at the village of Ainsley. A few discreet enquiries led him to the cliffs, where Fox was walking with a pretty woman in green silk skirts, whose name was Jess. Mia the monkey was swinging from Fox’s coat tails, chattering in jealous rage.

  Fox seemed disconcerted to be interrupted in what was obviously a tender farewell scene.

  ‘Good morning, Albert,’ greeted Fox. ‘You’re up early. Have you come to wave your hat in farewell to the Owl? We sail on the hour, heading for the east to collect a delicate cargo of summer silks.’

  ‘No,’ replied Albert, smiling warmly and lifting his hat to Jess. ‘I’ve come to offer you a nearly honest job. I need you, and the pay could well be excellent.’

  Fox grinned in curiosity. ‘It sounds intriguing, and I’m always on the lookout for new opportunities, especially those that pay well and are nearly honest!’

  Jess smacked Fox playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t tell me we might see an honest man of you yet!’

  ‘It’s possible, my dear,’ Fox conceded. ‘My latest exploits have made me rethink my priorities. Plus the Sedah soldiers are not big spenders when it comes to silk, so perhaps I need a new adventure after all.’

  Jess smiled. ‘I cannot imagine you without adventure in your life.’

  Albert grinned, relieved. ‘So I take it you are interested in my proposition? I need you to start immediately, working with me in her royal highness Queen Ashana’s special and highly covert employ. Come and report to me tomorrow at the White Horse Inn. Deal?’

  Fox spat in his palm. ‘Smuggler’s honour.’

  Albert hesitated just a moment, then spat in his own palm, shaking it vigorously with Fox’s. ‘Spy’s honour.’

  ‘I thought you said he would be nearly honest?’ Jess laughed.

  ‘How about you, Jess?’ retorted Albert. ‘Do you need a job too? I think we need all the help we can get.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jess smiled. ‘I think I’d make a very good spy.’

  For the next two days, Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan rode northwards, following the valley floor, with steep hills rising on either side. The cobbled road gradually faded to a faint cart track. When the light dimmed at dusk each night, they found a camping spot. Huddled around a small fire, they ate cold supplies before falling into an exhausted sleep, wrapped in their blankets. They would have liked to keep riding into the night but there was no moon, and the track was too faint to see by starlight.

  On the third day’s ride out of Bryn, they were riding through open fields. On either side of the track were huge round boulders, fissured and cracked, splotched with pale green lichen. The boulders were piled into stacks and towers, as if by the hands of some giant’s child. Dead trees twisted against the sky, their branches bleached and ghostly.

  ‘The Giant’s Marbles,’ commented Saxon, glancing at the crumpled map in his hand. ‘We are getting closer to the Silent Mountains.’

  ‘This place gives me the shivers,’ Lily whispered. Aisha agreed, listening carefully, all the hairs on her back standing straight and stiff. She growled a low warning.

  ‘Shhh,’ hissed Ethan, holding up his hand. Everyone stopped for a few minutes, hearts thudding and ears straining. Up ahead, they heard the sound of distant hooves. Ethan gestured urgently. Carefully, quietly they all slithered down from their saddles, and led the horses off the track.

  Ethan led Toffee up behind a large tower of boulders, twenty metres off the path. The others followed, Lily keeping her hand warningly on Aisha’s neck. Ethan crept back with a large branch and carefully swept the ground to hide their tracks.

  Louder now came the sound of hooves. Ethan dropped behind a fallen tree trunk covered in velvety moss, wrapped his green riding cloak around him, and pressed himself into the earth. Through the tangle of roots he peeped at the path.

  In a moment he saw a sight that made his heart tumble to his stomach in trepidation. Mounted on five sturdy donkeys rode five black-robed men. Thick black cowls covered their heads, shadowing their sallow faces. At their throats, their cloaks were fastened with a silver pin, depicting a glowing red eye, over two crossed silver cutlasses.

  Ethan breathed in sharply, shrinking down into the leaf mulch. Sedahs! Sedah priests.

  The leader carried a long leather whip. His eyes darted from left to right, silently searching the surrounding valley for signs of danger or ambush. His eyes lingered on the tree trunk where Ethan was hidin
g, and seemed to bore through the thick timber to the prostrate boy behind. Ethan closed his eyes, willing himself to be invisible, trying not to breath or move a millimetre.

  I am a rock, chanted Ethan to himself. I am nothing but a rock.

  The leader’s donkey shied and brayed, cavorting and bucking, sensing Aisha hiding close by. A sharp crack of the whip urged the donkey forward once more. The leader’s eyes flickered over the large boulder tower, where the others were hiding. His eyes searched the mossy crevices and flitted forward. The convoy clattered on slowly, wending their way down the track towards Bryn. Ethan lay still for many minutes, not daring to move in case he caused a noise that brought the Sedahs back.

  At last, he slowly rose and checked the path. There was no sign of the cavalcade of wraiths that had just passed by. Silently, the children remounted and urged the horses back onto the path. The horses walked quickly, sensing the children’s anxiety. After ten minutes they risked cantering, to move as quickly as possible away from the menacing Sedah priests.

  When at last they rode over the crest of the foothill, and slowed to a walk down the other side, they felt safe enough to talk.

  ‘What were Sedah priests doing all the way out here in the wilderness?’ Lily asked. ‘There is nothing but mountains and forest for kilometres.’

  ‘I wonder if they are travelling from the Tower of Sun and Moon, where my brother is being held?’ asked Roana anxiously. ‘Perhaps they were taking him back to Emperor Raef’s court. Perhaps we are already too late.’

  ‘There was definitely no sign of Prince Caspar with the priests,’ Ethan assured her. ‘There were five men on donkeys. I couldn’t really see their faces, but none of them were small enough to be a child.’

  ‘That may well be a lucky sign,’ said Saxon cheerily. ‘Perhaps those priests did come from the Tower of Sun and Moon, which may just mean that there are less priests there guarding your brother. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘It would indeed,’ smiled Roana, hope lifting the weight of anxiety from her heart. ‘But I wish I knew what they were doing, and if my brother is indeed safe and well.’