by Farr, Cathy;
‘Thought we’d better take the back route out of the Hall – I put extra cream and a good glug of gooseberry gin in that porridge to keep those two quiet for a while, but it never harms to be too careful!’
Then she clambered back down the little book staircase and clicked her fingers. Immediately little orange lights burst into life all along the passage walls on both sides.
‘Glow worms,’ she said with a satisfied smile and hitched her skirt up to reveal a pair of ancient boots and thick grey stockings. ‘Follow me – and don’t worry about the cobwebs – I keep meaning to pop in and give it a dust over but there’s never enough hours in the day for some jobs, don’t you find?’
Mortimer glanced at the cloak and boots Wil was still clutching – in the rush he hadn’t thought to put them on.
‘I hope you don’t need to go back for anything!’ said Mortimer and ducked through the low doorway after Martha without waiting for an answer. Wil hauled his boots on. His bag was back in his room, but deciding that it may not be a good idea to go back, he too ducked into the tunnel and ran after Mortimer and Martha.
As he caught up, Wil glanced back over his shoulder – the narrow tunnel was once more in silent darkness.
It had quickly become obvious that being taller than the dumpy little housekeeper (by quite a lot) was a distinct disadvantage. Wil heard a dull bump up ahead. Mortimer cursed; then Wil banged his head – probably on the same low beam. Thankfully, after only a few more minutes Wil could see daylight, but by then his mouth was full of gritty cobwebs.
Dusty and not a little bad tempered, Wil and Mortimer stepped out into the lobby of Lovage Hall’s infirmary – right opposite the door into the ward.
Untangling a particularly thick cobweb from his eyebrows, Wil heard Lady Élanor’s voice. It had the same tone his mother always used if she was talking to someone either very ill or very old.
‘There – you have a rest now. Perhaps that third bowl of porridge wasn’t such a good idea after all.’
Wil peered through the barely open door into the ward. A chain-mail clad man clutching his stomach was staggering towards an empty bed – his face had a decidedly green hue. Opposite, another man was lying on his side sucking his thumb. Already sleeping peacefully, his other arm was tucked under his chin. Wil jerked away from the door, he had been right – there was no hand at the end of the man’s arm. Mortimer gave Wil a questioning glance but Wil shook his head and said nothing.
Martha hauled open the heavy oak doors that led out into the beech wood and chuckled.
‘Sounds like the gin worked! Come on, Bryn’s waiting for us.’
Bryn was indeed waiting – together with Seth and Gisella.
‘Where are the others?’ demanded Mortimer, his expression suddenly thunderous. To Wil’s surprise Mortimer completely ignored Gisella.
Gisella threw Wil a fleeting glance that gave absolutely nothing away and turned her attention to a pure white Fellhound standing at her side. Around the hound’s neck was a broad iron collar which Gisella seemed to find terribly interesting.
Completely thrown, Wil felt suddenly awkward.
Seth, however, didn’t seem to notice the frosty atmosphere and launched into an excited gabble.
“Rexmoore’s men took them – they’re all over the village, Mort! They’re arresting anyone who even looks like a Fellman! I heard one of them asking about you, Wil. Martha woke me up and told me to come and meet you here – she told me we’re going to rescue Tally. D’you think Farrow looks good? Her ear’s miles better now.’ Seth patted the flank of another Fellhound, grey and bigger than the first, that sat head-height next to him. ‘I’ve just seen Phinn – he’s massive! What’ve you been feeding him?’
While Seth continued to chat away, seemingly oblivious of any danger they might be facing, Farrow got to her feet and wagged her long tail lazily. She had a neat split almost down the length of her right ear – a scar from the fight that nearly cost Wil his own life. She was wearing a collar much like the white hound – a collar Wil knew that had once saved her life.
Despite a growing feeling of anxiety at Mortimer’s sudden change of mood, a strong sense of joy swept over Wil as the huge hound ambled towards him – at least she was pleased to see him.
‘Is Phinn alright, Bryn?’ said Wil, at the same time trying to catch Gisella’s eye. But Gisella kept her attention stubbornly fixed on the white Fellhound.
‘Ey, e’s bin chasin’ Alana’s pups roun’ the paddock! I were tellin’ Martha ony lars nigh’,’ replied Bryn with a nod towards his wife. ‘Gorra good instinct for the chase, thar un! Bur e’s a bi’ keen wir ‘is teeth – given a couple o’ the pups a nasty nip – playin’ I know, bur e din alf make em yelp!’ Bryn chuckled as he spoke in his strange accent. ‘Ir’ll do im good to be wi Mia an’ Farrow ‘ere fer a while – teach ‘im some manners ‘ey will!’
Gisella was still preoccupied so Wil decided to go for a more direct approach.
‘So is this Mia, then?’ he asked, in what he hoped was a friendly and relaxed tone.
But Mortimer stepped in before Gisella could open her mouth.
‘Yer, this is Mia. How come you’ve got her, Gisella?’
Wil was stunned. Gisella didn’t look up. She ran her pale fingers over Mia’s velvety ear.
‘Seth was trying to bring her up here in case you needed her. But she wouldn’t come for him so he came to get me. Rexmoore’s men were arresting everyone – I thought you’d need me. Seth’s brought Rhoani, too, but I couldn’t find Shadow. I guessed he was up here – didn’t the blacksmith call yesterday?’
Mortimer barely even acknowledged that Gisella had spoken.
‘Did Kenton shoe my horse, Bryn?’
Bryn’s dark eyes flicked between Mortimer and Gisella.
‘Ey! Four new shoes, too – luck’ly. You’ll be needin’ ‘em where yer goin’! e’s in Tanith’s stable. Martha, come an’ gi me an ‘and! Pickles is still nor eatin’ – missin’ his mistress too much!’ And with a sad shake of his head, Bryn turned away and headed off towards the stable block. Martha scuttled after him and Mortimer’s thunderous expression made Wil sorely temped to follow – this certainly wasn’t the reunion he’d been imagining during the long winter nights!
‘And do your parents know where you are this time, Seth?’ snapped Mortimer.
‘Er, well, yer… sort of. Martha said she’d tell them. Anyway, they’ll see that I didn’t have a choice. Everyone except Olivia and Gisella were being carted off – I saw them all tied up!’
‘So why didn’t you bring Olivia?’
‘Well, I don’t think Olivia’s really up to anything, Mort – she’s still missing Giles and anyway Gisella was closer and, well, I er… didn’t think you’d mind – after all, you and her have been training Mia for most of the winter. I thought you were… um, well… I thought you two were, well… going out?’
‘What!’ chorused Wil and Gisella.
Mortimer rounded on Seth.
‘Well, we’re not! And you should have just come alone, Seth!’
And with that Mortimer stomped away towards the stables. Mia padded over to Gisella and leant against her.
‘Mia, come!’ barked Mortimer without turning round.
Seth looked utterly crestfallen.
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry Gisella. I didn’t realise. It’s just with your mother gone… well…you and Mortimer have spent so much time together over the last few months that everyone just assumed…’
‘Well, they were wrong,’ snapped Gisella. ‘You were all wrong! And it looks like my assumption that we were all friends was wrong, too!’
CHAPTER THREE
A Bitter Reunion
Anxiety and disappointment consumed Wil as the gloomy group rode out of the yard. He had imagined his next meeting with Gisella many, many times through the winter and had rehearsed his speech so often that even Phinn knew it backwards – but now that had all melted away. Depressed and distracted, Wil had climbed
up onto Shadow behind Mortimer without a second thought for either his dislike of riding or his fear of heights.
Even the arrival earlier of four saddle-packs – one for each of them – stuffed with blankets, food and flasks filled with water and elder wine, did nothing to lighten the mood at the stables as they had made ready to leave.
‘Lady Élanor made me pack these last night. I think she was expecting something like this to happen,’ Martha had muttered as she jammed another plump pasty into Wil’s bag. ‘I’ve put your first aid kit in, Wil…Mortimer – I packed some extra herbs and spices in yours.’
Mortimer had made no comment, but Wil nodded a thank-you. He had first discovered the very special first aid kit when Pricilla had helpfully presented Wil with one just after the Moon Chase – and it had proved vital on more than one occasion.
As the housekeeper made sure they were not going to starve on the journey, Bryn had handed out four new crossbows together with as many bolts as they could all carry. Wil had stuffed most of his into his jacket and the rest down into his boot where he could grab them easily if he needed one in a hurry – either to load into his crossbow or to throw.
‘You still go’ thar ‘unting knife Tally gi’ you fur the Moon Chase?’
Wil patted a leather sheath on his belt.
‘Don’t worry, Bryn – I wouldn’t be without it!’
‘I pur a collar on Phinn too, ‘ope you don’ mind bur i’ could come in ‘andy.’
On a patch of grass at the end of the stable block Wil had spotted Phinn rubbing his neck along the ground and shaking his head. Then, wearing a distinctly unimpressed expression, the hound had flopped down, flat to the ground – his face and the collar thick with fresh mud.
‘Don’ think e likes i’ much though,’ Bryn had added unnecessarily.
And yet despite the bustle and all the help from Bryn and Martha, when Mortimer had finally spoken, it was clear that he hadn’t cheered up at all.
‘Right, come on. Wil, you ride with me. We need to get going before Rexmoore’s men find their way up here. We won’t get to Mort Craggs before nightfall, the rate we’re going!’
Wil had watched his angry friend checking Shadow’s feet – for the fourth time – then the sharpness of every bolt head and the tightness of the cords of his own and Wil’s crossbows.
‘Anything but look at Gisella,’ thought Wil. But then, as now, Wil decided he might be better off keeping thoughts like that to himself until he could get to the bottom of his friend’s dramatic mood change.
The unhappy group were picking their way out of the beech wood and into Mistle Forest just as it started to rain; the drenching drizzle only adding to the bleak atmosphere. By the time the first oaks of the forest came into view the rain was pounding down like stair rods and branches all around them bowed under the weight of their soaking leaves. Mistle Forest looked even darker than usual.
As soon as they had said goodbye to Bryn and a very tearful Martha in the stable yard, Mortimer had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to talk so Wil brooded in silence. After all they had been through, he thought – the Moon Chase, Wraithe Wolves, deer rustlers… What could possibly have happened between Mortimer and Gisella that could have wiped all that away?
With no conversation to lighten the mood, the rain sounded like it would never stop. Shadow and Rhoani splashed over the waterlogged ground. Mia and Phinn padded behind them utterly bedraggled, while Farrow did her best to stay under the cover of the trees – no matter how low the branches got.
Wil pulled his cloak over his head and hunched behind Mortimer. In a way, he was grateful for the noise of the rain – at least the air was filled with the sound of something, even if it wasn’t the happy chatter of four friends who hadn’t seen each other all winter!
Suddenly Farrow, Mia and Phinn stopped dead, their amber eyes fixed on the same patch of the gloomy forest. Mortimer pulled Shadow to a halt and held up his hand for Seth to do the same. Shadow snorted and stamped his foot.
‘Steady boy,’ said Mortimer quietly.
A second later a springing branch shot a cascade of water right across the path. Rhoani spooked. He leapt sideways, catching Seth and Gisella completely off balance. They both landed with a soggy splat on the mud.
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Mortimer.
On one knee in a flash, Gisella already had her bow raked back ready to shoot. Seth tripped but managed to grab at the reins of his frightened horse. Farrow gave a warning bark.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ said a familiar voice. A slender figure emerged from the trees in front of them and pushed her hood back off her long silver hair.
‘Lady Élanor!’ exclaimed Seth. Gisella lowered her bow and got to her feet. Farrow gave a sweeping wag of her tail and, as if reassured, Mai and Phinn wandered off to shelter under a leafy branch. Lady Élanor opened her mouth but Mortimer spoke first.
‘Are you alright, my lady? Rexmoore’s men – Seth said they’ve arrested the Fellmen – what about Leon? What happened to those two at the Hall? How–’
But Lady Élanor held up her hand for quiet.
‘I am fine, thank you. And Seth is correct. The Fellmen are in Saran jail – but Leon and Olivia are not among them. Morten is trying to find out why the others have been arrested – it seems Rexmoore’s men are really only interested in you, Wil.’ She nodded towards Wil but changed the subject by answering Mortimer’s final question with a wry smile. ‘And as for my visitors… they enjoyed rather too much of Martha’s gooseberry gin porridge and took my invitation to enjoy a restful nap. They will not bother anyone for a while yet.’
‘Won’t they guess you tricked them?’ asked Gisella, wiping her muddy hands down her cloak.
‘Probably. And I am sure they will soon realise that Wil really is not in Saran. But by that time you will be well on your way to Armelia and…,’ she paused and tapped her finger on her lip, ‘Well, it seems that Rexmoore’s men really aren’t having a good morning. Can you believe that every one of their horses has lost a shoe? And as bad luck would have it, the blacksmith was called to Upper Minton long before dawn this morning. They will not be going anywhere for a while yet.’
‘So what happened to Leon and Olivia?’ asked Wil.
‘Apparently Olivia has gone to stay with an aunt in Lower Minton – she left yesterday afternoon. Fortunately, Leon and Oswald managed to get away before Rexmoore’s men got to their house. They will meet you at the Black Stone before nightfall.’
Then with a wary glance over her shoulder Lady Élanor took another two steps forward. She rested her hand on Rhoani’s muzzle.
‘There is something else I must tell you... I assume that you have all heard of the Alcama?’
Mortimer, Gisella and Wil nodded. Seth looked as if he was trying to recall a distant memory.
‘Isn’t that when the twin moons become one?’ he said searching the sky as if expecting Thesk’s two moons to be hanging there at that moment. ‘My mother told me about it. She said it doesn’t happen very often – I missed the last one ‘cos I was in bed with mumps – I can’t really remember what happened.’
‘Yes, Seth – once every seven years the two moons cross and for a brief moment they become one. Long ago the people of Thesk believed the Alcama to be a time of evil. They would sacrifice animals and lock their doors on the night of the moon crossing.’ Her face became sad. ‘Children born on the Alcama were cast out as witches.’
Seth looked slightly unnerved.
‘I don’t remember my mother saying anything about witches!’
Lady Élanor brightened.
‘No, I am not surprised. Thankfully, although the Alcama is still treated with suspicion, in the main, fears of witchcraft and sorcery have long since faded.’
‘So if it’s not like that now, what’s the Alcama got to do with us rescuing Tally?’ asked Mortimer.
‘That is a reasonable question, Mortimer,’ said Lady Élanor. ‘No doubt you will see evidence of what I am tel
ling you when you get to Armelia; however, there are some who wish to keep the fear alive – my aunt is one of these. People can be controlled when they are fearful.’ She paused, stroking Rhoani’s nose in long sweeps. Then she added, ‘She knows this… she also knows that my sister was born on the night of the Alcama.’
‘Oh,’ said Mortimer. Realization crept over Wil, too.
‘But we don’t even know if Tally is in Armelia?’
‘Wil, the Alcama is in three nights’ time. If Tally and Tanith are not there by now, they soon will be,’ she said patiently. ‘I have no doubt that Imelda will use Tally any way she can to establish the substance and whereabouts of Saran’s legacy and I live in dread of what will happen if she is successful.’
Seth looked confused.
‘Legacy? I didn’t know Saran had a legacy. Does that mean there’s loads of gold hidden away somewhere?’ he asked. But Wil knew not to expect a direct answer. Tally had told him once that only three people knew what and where the legacy was and that she was not one of them. Wil wondered how much Mortimer and Gisella knew. After all, Gisella’s mother was a member of Saran’s Order – or at least she had been before she disappeared – and, like Godwyn Savidge, Wil had heard Fermina voice her displeasure at being kept in the dark on the subject of the legacy.
Lady Élanor answered Seth’s question just as vaguely as Wil had anticipated.
‘The legacy ensures that the people of Saran are kept safe and well, Seth. What and where it is are nothing to be concerned about. Tally is as ignorant about this as you, and I intend to ensure she stays that way.’ She turned back to Wil. ‘My concern is Imelda’s knowledge of Tally’s birth date. She will use it, Wil. I do not want either my sister or Tanith to be in any position where danger has been created by superstition. I can only be sure that they are safe if they are home – at Lovage Hall – with me.’
There was real fear in her pale blue eyes. Wil nodded.
‘We’ll bring them back, don’t worry, my Lady.’
Her gaze flitted from Gisella to Mortimer, and Wil was sure he heard the words, ‘Not if you are not acting as one.’ But at the same moment an angry shout echoed through the trees. With both hands Lady Élanor shooed them away.