"Where did you get this, boy? I know this blade and its owner. He would not have willingly given this to anyone. How do you come to have it? Tell me now! And beware, the whole truth, for your life may depend upon it."
As he spoke, the sword arced through the air and rested a whisper distance from Peter's throat. Peter gulped with shock and fear.
"I, I, I found it." he stammered. "This afternoon on the trail there was a clearing. By the stream there was slaughter. A group had been torn apart by something. No one was alive. I was frightened and took the sword and bow. I didn't kill them. They were already dead."
"Slaughtered you say. How many were there? Quick now.! I must know!"
"I can't be sure. The bodies were torn apart. Six. Maybe seven. When I saw them whoever had done it was gone. I don't think it had happened long before, maybe early morning."
Ravenscort crumpled to the ground, dropping the sword. A look of despair filled his face and silently his body was racked with sobbing. After a time, he looked up and sadness replaced the anguish and pain.
"I believe you boy! Sit. I mean you no harm. That group were my friends, my companions. I left them early yesterday morning to scout the trail. There had been reports that the Fell were roaming and I wanted to check if it was true. From your report this was an attack by a different foe. If only I had stayed with them then maybe they would be alive."
"Or maybe you would have died too. They had been torn apart without warning. No weapons had been drawn. There was no sign of a struggle, just butchery. I am sorry for their loss, but I am grateful that you are here and I am no longer alone. I am sorry that I took your friend's sword. I meant no harm and no disrespect."
"Nay, lad! You did right. I would have done the same. You have Broderick's sword there," he gestured to the sword lying on the cave floor. "It is a noble blade with a long history, but that is for another time. Take it! It is yours, and let us hope that it proves a greater aid for you than it did for him. He was a brave and noble warrior and I feel that he would have wanted you to have it. He was a trusted friend and companion and I will miss his tales round the fire at night. I will grieve for him in time, but first I need to avenge him."
Ravenscort rose and started to clear the meal. He scrubbed the plates with sand and repacked his large travel bag. When finished, he built the fire up and returned to sit opposite Peter.
"Lad, if your friend has been taken, then I will help as best I can. I believe that your journey and mine share a common purpose, at least for the time being. Who, or whatever, has your friend Nightjar will be camped further along the trail and tomorrow we will track them down. If she is alive, then we will do what we can to free her, if not, then we will avenge her. Do you accept my help?"
"I will take any help I can get. I don't seem too overburdened with offers. I would be happy to accept your assistance. Thank you! Do you have any idea who has taken her?"
"I have some ideas, but I will say nothing until I see further evidence. Believe me when I tell you that there is great danger and great evil in Stonebeck Deep. I wouldn't give much for your chances of surviving the night alone. Now, you get some sleep and I will take watch. Take this cloak. It will keep off the night chill."
Ravenscort passed him a spare cloak from his travel pack and Peter gratefully took it. Even with the fire, the air was getting colder and the cloak offered some comfort as well as warmth. Despite the hard ground and the unusual sleeping circumstance, Peter fell almost instantly into a deep sleep.
He awoke and realised it was still night and he was being shaken. In the firelight he could see Ravenscort signalling, finger to his lips and sword in hand. He gestured for him to rise. Peter was confused and alarmed. What was happening? A cry rang through the night air and he heard a flapping sound. He drew his own sword instinctively and stood beside Ravenscort, staring out into the darkness. There was little moonlight as only a slim white smile of a moon hung in the sky above the trees. He heard another cry in the distance, and more flapping sounds. The cry was sharp and familiar. The cry repeated and a large birdlike silhouette appeared over the treetops. It hovered, turned and then headed away, disappearing beneath the tree canopy. For a brief moment, Peter saw the shape of a dark rider on its back. It was the rider from the glade that he and Nightjar had fled from. It was still after them. In moments, the hunter disappeared from view and the tension snapped.
"It is gone. At least for the time being. Evil is abroad, in truth. The Arnn are seldom seen and few encounter them and live. The Arnn and its rider are hunting and it is to be hoped that your friend and whoever has her, are secure tonight."
"The Arnn? I believe I have seen one before and with its rider."
"You have? Where boy?"
Peter quickly told of his meeting with Nightjar in the glade and how the giant bird-like creature he now knew as an Arnn, and its rider, had attacked and how Nightjar had fled with him to safety. Ravenscort listened with growing surprise and at the end he turned to Peter.
"Few ever escape an Arnn and Rider, as I suspect Broderick and his party learnt. It appears that they are hunting you and Nightjar. They are creatures of great evil. The Arnn were bred by Fell Craven, from carrion birds. He imbued them with great cunning and power, and twisted their form to the monstrous creature you have witnessed. Fell Craven's servants were bonded and the beasts allow only their paired rider to sit upon them. The bond is for life and only the death of one leads to a new pairing. They are gone, for now, at least. Return to your rest Peter. I will continue the watch until morning. Hopefully, we shall not be disturbed again."
Peter went back to the fire, and despite feeling as if he would never sleep again, he did. A dream filled slumber saw him through to first light and he was greeted with the smell of bacon cooking in a pan and the sounds of Ravenscort busying himself with the preparation. Feeling sore and confused, Peter stretched and tidied himself as best he could. There was no water to wash, no toothpaste, no shower, no change of clothes, so not a lot he could do. After emptying his bladder, he strapped his sword belt around his waist and checked the bow and quiver. He saw Ravenscort looking at him and as he passed Peter a plate of food he said,
"I must try and give you some lessons in how to use those, if you are to be of any use to me and yourself."
Peter drew the sword and despite it feeling heavy in his hand, there was a sense of rightness, almost as if it was matched to his grip. For a moment, he almost felt as if he were someone else, a glimpse of something from his past, a feeling of others. The sword blade was of polished steel with a woven pattern along its length. It was clearly sharp, and it glinted in the early light from the two suns. The pommel was a basket of woven silver filigree. It looked as if it should house something, but it was empty. The grip was of soft red leather, that had lost much of its colour due to being well handled. The quillon block was in the design of a bird with outstretched wings, its beak leading towards the pommel. Peter somehow could feel the age of the blade and the craft that had produced it. This was not a simple weapon. Great skill and time had gone into its making. He shook his head and thrust the blade back into the scabbard.
After eating a hasty breakfast, Ravenscort hoisted the travel pack onto his shoulders and they set off along the trail at a good pace. A long day lay ahead of them if they were to catch up with Nightjar's captives. Little was said as Peter struggled to maintain Ravenscort's pace through the morning. There was a short rest at midday for a quick cold meal and then they were back on the trail. After another long trek, Ravenscort stopped, knelt to the ground and turned to Peter.
"The first real sign we are catching up. From what I have seen so far, we are maybe two hours behind them. We should catch up by dusk."
"Do you know how many there are?"
"Not many. A large group would have left far more obvious signs. Maybe six or seven I would think. They are travelling light and at a pace. Clearly your friend is not slowing them down."
"Nightjar would be able to keep up. She is ve
ry fit."
"Well at least we know she is alive and that she is not being carried. Let's get on, we want to reach them before nightfall. We must pick up the pace now. I will let you know when we are approaching, as stealth will then be important. Can you do stealth?"
Peter felt a twinge of annoyance and merely nodded. The new pace was more of a trot and soon he was finding the going difficult. He had always been a fairly sporty boy with good athletic skills, but the constant pace over a long period was proving a challenge. Ravenscort seemed to have no similar difficulty. His movement was fluid and easy. He gave the appearance that he could continue for as long as needed and never fatigue.
The forest remained an endless view of trunks, canopy overhead and low bushes. There was still no sound of life and no signs of any living thing, which struck Peter as very odd. A wood such as this would be teeming with life in England. Insects, birds, small mammals would be obvious, but here the forest was silent and empty.
The light was just starting to dim, and shadows growing, when Ravenscort gestured for Peter to halt. His finger to his lips silenced any question from Peter. With a sign to remain, Ravenscort crept forward and disappeared from view. Peter held his breath waiting, but quickly caught it again as he realised Ravenscort was going to be a while. After what seemed like hours, Ravenscort reappeared. In a hushed voice he spoke.
"They are ahead, making camp. There are seven of them and the girl. She seems unharmed. We will have to wait until nearly dark to attempt to rescue her. Follow me, we need to get close to see how best to free her."
Slowly and silently they crept through the undergrowth. Ravenscort was silent, Peter less so, but apart from the odd look of irritation, they crept through the undergrowth to the edge of a clearing. There was a small spring and a shallow pool of fresh water. Lying in thick undergrowth, the pair watched the camp. The seven men were a motley crew; roughly dressed, filthy and unkempt. They were busy setting a fire and preparing to cook a meal. Their cloaks were grey, long and well worn, their clothes patched and holed. The only sign of good maintenance was their weapons: swords, axes, bows. All the band were well armed, their blades sharp, bows well strung and all had long knives in their belts. It was obvious their weapons were their stock in trade and that these seven would not surrender their prisoner easily, and clearly Nightjar was their prisoner.
Her arms were bound in front of her and one of the men was tying her ankles now that she was no longer required to travel. She seemed unharmed, but there was a bruise on her left cheek and her mouth was gagged.
Peter and Ravenscort watched the camp settle and with a sign from Ravenscort they retreated from their vantage point. When a sufficient distance away from the camp, Ravenscort whispered.
"We have a problem. These men know what they are about. I do not think I can take seven of them. If it comes to it, I will need you to play your part. Do you think you can do that?"
"I guess I have no choice. I must free Nightjar. She is the only one who seems able to help me sort out what is going on."
"It may not come to that. We will see if, with darkness, I can free her without detection. Come we must go back and wait!"
They headed back to the edge of the camp. By now, a fire was burning and food was under preparation. The party had started drinking and the conversation was loud and raucous. The light was dimming and the firelight began to dominate the scene.
Without warning, out of nowhere, there was a great flapping of wings. The murder fell upon the men. Scores of large black crows attacked, enveloping the men in a storm of black feathery bodies. With razor sharp beaks and claws the torrent swept in and caught the men unprepared. Cries of men and birds filled the air, as the birds fell onto the faces of the men. The birds went for the eyes and the men for their weapons. This proved to be a fatal error as, in the time it took to draw a sword, the birds ripped at the faces, clawed the eyes and rendered the men sightless before the swords or knives could be put to use. Blinded by blood, the men slashed wildly. Some crows were felled, but more swept in, incapacitating the men. In seconds the men were thrashing on the ground, blinded and within a surprisingly short time, the cries of anger had become cries of fear, cries of pain, sobbing and eventually there was silence. The birds did not stop. They covered the men in a black flood, ripping and gorging. Peter could barely keep his eyes on the slaughter. He wanted to run, but a hand on his shoulders pressed him to the ground.
"Stay still!" hissed Ravenscort, through gritted teeth.
For some reason the birds had not attacked Nightjar. She sat as she had been left, tied and vulnerable. Her eyes were wide as she looked on in horror. The birds continued feeding and after a while one hopped to where Nightjar sat. Its black silky head turned to one side and a yellow eye looked at her with deep, intelligent thought. Another bird joined it and then another. Clearly, they were unsure why this creature made no attempt to flee or fight. The feeding frenzy continued behind them and the crows returned to continue their gorging.
Eventually, the birds again seemed to show interest in Nightjar. First one then others hopped towards her. They still seemed wary, but grew in confidence as she made no attempt to fend them off. One hopped onto her legs and looked up into her face. Still no danger. Reassured, it sidled up towards her head. The plan was clear; eyes first and then the rest was easy. By now, another four birds had settled on her legs and it seemed others were soon to join.
As Peter lay there, horrified but unable to take his eyes off the scene, he realised that something was sticking into his leg. He reached into his jeans pocket and felt something hard and cold. He drew it out and a blinding incandescence shot from between his fingers. The beam of light seemed to have a life of its own and Peter could only watch as it lanced into the bird that was approaching Nightjar. There was a loud bang and the bird turned to a snowfall of black feathers. The beam moved of its own volition and struck the birds nearest to Nightjar with similar effect. The others had stopped feeding in alarm and, witnessing what was happening, they rose into the air as a flock, cawing and wheeling away from the blinding light. As suddenly as they had arrived, they left. The clearing became silent again and the blade of light from the stone withdrew and all was dark, except for the glow from the fire. The scene was dreadful, the massacre complete. Nightjar sat alone amidst the slaughter.
"By my life, boy! There is more to you than meets the eye!"
Ravenscort looked aghast at the mayhem and turned with a look of amazement at Peter.
"That was well done!"
The two quickly made their way to Nightjar's side. Peter was relieved to see that she was safe, apart from a few scrapes and bruises. Ravenscort drew his knife and freed the girl whilst Peter pulled the gag from her face. Nightjar looked up at him with a smile on her face. Peter bent to help pull her to her feet and held her arms in support. The two gazed into each other's faces for what seemed like a long time before Ravenscort cleared his throat with a big grin on his face. Peter quickly let go, dropping her arms, standing back embarrassed.
Nightjar seemed not to notice, but addressed Peter.
"Thank you, Moonchild. I knew you would prove worthy. Clearly, the stone knew too. And thank you stranger. I don't know who you are or why you are here, but I am forever in your debt."
"His name is Ravenscort and he is a trekker. Without his aid I would never have found you."
"I know of the trekkers and the work they do. They struggle against Fell Craven and his servants. You are lucky indeed, Peter Calender; or maybe it is not luck, but fate."
Nightjar rubbed feeling back into her numbed arms and legs.
Ravenscort, still with a grin on his face, replied,
"Whether fate or luck, it seems that we are bound together, at least for the moment! Clearly you two need someone to look after you!"
"I need no one to look after me, trekker! I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, so don't ever forget it!" Nightjar retorted. A look of anger on her face convinced Peter that she meant it
.
"Maybe I should tie you up and leave you for the Fell to return, seeing as you don't need looking after!" chided the trekker.
"No you can't!" Peter cried. "You can't!"
"No, Peter! I won't, but you need to watch her, she's feisty!"
The grin never left Ravenscort's face, and eventually Nightjar's stern look softened.
"But still I am in your debt, trekker. I will remember to make sure that I look after you!"
Ravenscort's face lit up in an even broader smile and Peter also grinned. Nightjar raised an eyebrow in response and the tension broke. For the first time since the death of his grandmother, Peter did not feel totally alone.
Chapter 5 - Aftermath
"We have got to get away from here and quickly!" chided Ravenscort. "The Fell may well return, or worse, the Arnn Rider may come. It is clearly searching for something or someone, and I think that someone could be you. I don't know what you did to the Fell, but the use of magic such as that would call the hunters like a beacon. We must go now!"
"Yes, let's make haste and be gone," said Nightjar, "but where to?"
"I know of a place where we may be safe tonight. Hurry! Follow me and keep up!"
Peter felt that he would be happier if Ravenscort actually knew they 'would' be safe rather than 'may be', but he didn't quibble. Almost running, the three set off away from the track and deeper into the forest. The trees had begun to close in and Peter noticed a definite change in the landscape. For a start, they began to move uphill. At first it was gentle, but then it became progressively steeper and rockier. The going got harder and Peter, of the three, was finding it a challenge. Large boulders started to appear between the trunks. Eventually the trees began to thin out and he began to catch glimpses of sky through the canopy. There was no talk, as they needed their energy as they began to scramble up steep craggy slopes. Hands were soon needed and it became more of a climb.
The Moonchild (The Moondial Book 1) Page 3