Moon Crossing - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story

by Farr, Cathy;

  ‘No, it’s been shot’ said Wil simply.

  Gisella frowned.

  ‘Wil?’

  ‘It’s Phinn, Giz. He’s okay for a minute.’

  Wil knew that any attempt to move the hounds away from the dragon now would worry the mother and put them all in danger. So, much as it tore at Wil’s heart to watch Phinn suffer, it would probably be a lot worse if he didn’t bide his time.

  As if reading Wil’s mind, the Redback swooped again, incinerating the remains of the stage on her way past. There was a loud scream and three of Rexmoore’s men appeared, tumbling over each other to escape the burning timber. Behind the wagon Wil knelt on something unpleasantly limp and fury – another dead hare.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we’re too safe here,’ said Mortimer over the crackle of the fire. He watched the guards fleeing across the square – taking care to give a wide birth to the hounds and their charge. ‘I’ve got the distinct feeling we’re about to have company again and I’ve only got four bolts left.’

  ‘There’s more in Tanith’s stall with the rest of our things,’ whispered Gisella.

  ‘Does this mean that I’m going to miss the moon crossing?’ asked the girl.

  Imelda’s voice came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

  ‘Oh, no! My dear, on the contrary, you’ll be one of the stars of the show!’

  Wil span around. Bobbing lanterns swung from unseen supports among the dark buildings on the edge of the square – the low glow making a perfect hiding place of the ink-black shadows.

  Another voice echoed out of the golden gloom.

  ‘Right, men. The next time that overgrown bird comes down, shoot it with everything you’ve got – shoot everything!’ cried Rexmoore. ‘Just don’t hit the seer!’

  ‘So, Imelda’s getting impatient,’ thought Wil. He caught sight of the silhouette of a spear standing needle sharp against the moonlight – the battlements were now manned.

  Keeping his voice as low as he could, Wil murmured, ‘Mort, where did you leave the horses?’

  ‘By the main gate – where we found Gisella and Seth. Why?’

  ‘Watch… and no, I’m not going mad,’ said Wil. Then, without another word he scooped up the dead hare and stepped out from behind the overturned wagon. All around the edge of the square sheep’s head lanterns seemed to be floating in the darkness – golden light waking their dead eyes. Wil’s mouth went dry.

  ‘Okay,’ he called out. ‘Let my friends go and I’ll come quietly. I know where the legacy is – I’ll tell you when they’re safely out of the city.’

  ‘No! Wil-’ squeaked Gisella, but Wil heard a muffled whisper from Mortimer and she said no more.

  ‘I also want to see my father,’ Wil continued loudly. ‘That’s the deal. My friends go free and I see my father.’

  ‘Your friends?’ called The Jackal. ‘What about your precious dogs?’

  ‘They can fend for themselves,’ said Wil. His matter-of-fact voice generated another unintelligible squeak from Gisella. Wil gripped the limp hare.

  ‘Pricilla, can you make a noise? Can you set the baby dragon off… please?’

  Apart from a very reluctant Prrukk! Pricilla remained silent.

  ‘So, do we have a bargain?’ Wil called. Still swinging the hare, he tried again.

  ‘Please Pricilla – oh, and sorry I left you but you wouldn’t have been safe with us! If we’re all going to get out of this, we really need your help. Pleeeaase.’

  ‘I don’t think you are in a position to make deals, Wil Calloway. And as one of the people with you is my daughter, I am sure, when she knows that I am here and safe, she will not want to go anywhere!’ Fermina Fairfax’s voice cut through the air like ice.

  ‘Mother!’ called Gisella. Wil heard what sounded like a muffled ‘No’ from Mortimer but Gisella pulled herself to her feet and stepped out from behind the debris of the wagon.

  ‘Daaarling!’ purred Fermina. ‘Have you missed Mummy? We really must have a little chat about your choice of friends, my dear, now that we will be living here… in the castle.’

  ‘What!’ gasped Gisella.

  ‘Prrukk!’

  ‘Not yet!’

  ‘Yes, dear. And we’ve got so much to catch up on. In a way I must offer my thanks to young Calloway here – I mean, he may have taken away the only person I ever loved–’

  ‘What!’ said Gisella, for the second time. ‘But my father–’

  ‘Look, these reunions are all very heart-warming, but really,’ interrupted Imelda with an impatient sigh. ‘Look, dear, your mother met my cousin, Sir Jerad Tinniswood, and fell in love with him so she killed your father. Unfortunately his mother didn’t like your mother so no wedding bells there. Sir Jerad heard about Wil’s talent in Saran prison and told your mother, and then Wil killed him. So your mother told me and, well, here we are. Okay, that’s sorted – guards, get him, kill them!’

  ‘Now Pricilla! Please!’

  To her credit, the din Pricilla made could have easily been attributable to a whole flock of ravens. Within seconds the baby dragon, confused by the sudden noise, started to yowl like never before. Arrows rained down but in the dark, with the lanterns, the smouldering stage and the moonlight creating a chaotic mix of long shadows and dark corners, mercifully none of the arrows found their mark. It was then that Wil gave the order.

  ‘Phinn, Mia – get the dragon to the tower – as close as you can! Farrow, follow!’

  High above, the Redback felt the change. She flapped her leathery wings to keep herself still while she listened. Then she dived.

  Wil could feel her panic.

  ‘He’s OK. They will keep him safe.’

  From the number and direction of the falling arrows, Wil got the distinct impression that Rexmoore had brought more guards, and they were advancing fast.

  ‘Mortimer, get to the horses. Take the girls and meet me up by the kitchen garden. Try to draw off some of Rexmore’s men,’ Wil’s mouth shouted, while in his brain he kept repeating, ‘They will keep him safe. They will keep him safe.’

  This time, the Redback came in so low that Wil felt a claw comb the top of his head. Arrows ricocheted off her scaly belly like matchsticks. Oblivious of the onslaught, she soared over the body of the charred bonacuss, flexed her long talons and snatched up two screaming guards. With one beat of her massive wings, all of the lanterns went out and she skimmed over the city wall knocking another body off the ramparts as she passed. She let go. The screaming ended abruptly with two loud splashes. The dragon wheeled around for another pass; Rexmoore and Imelda were the first to turn and run. The guards took their lead, falling over each other in their haste to avoid incineration.

  In the chaos Mortimer, Gisella and the dragon tooth girl stole away into the shadows with Pricilla, quiet once more; her job was done – the baby dragon had found its voice again and this time it didn’t sound like anything would shut it up.

  Wil fixed his eyes on the black shape circling high above Mort Craggs.

  ‘Right. Now, trust me and follow your baby.’

  Swinging the dead hare around his head, Wil led the strange little group away from the square and towards the castle. The Redback caught on quickly. Every time any of Rexmoore’s men got within shooting distance, she swooped and unleashed a bolt of fire. Soon a river of flames cut the city in two.

  Unnerved at first, Wil had seriously doubted his chances of reaching the golden tower without being burned to a crisp. But after the dragon’s third well-aimed salvo he decided that she really did know what she was doing.

  With its aim not quite as accurate as its mother’s, the baby dragon repeatedly tried but failed to catch the swinging hare. This kept it moving but as it got more frustrated it also got louder. All the while Phinn, Mia and Farrow covered both sides and the rear. In the starry sky the moons moved inexorably closer.

  The noise was almost overwhelming. Buildings all around crackled; glass shattered in the intense heat; the dragon ab
ove roared and the dragon on the ground wailed. Yet, the streets that only a few hours earlier had been packed were now strangely deserted and from every window the unseeing stare of glowing sheep skulls haunted Wil’s lonely advance.

  Behind him, Phinn stumbled. An arrow bounced off the cobbles and the roof of the building behind burst into flames. Overhead, the Redback roared.

  Wil searched the dark sky but the blackness gave nothing away.

  ‘Just a bit further, I promise. Just follow me and you’ll get him back.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Wil’s Plan

  The castle cowered under Mort Craggs, storey after stone storey clawing up the cliff face, all precariously balanced and looking tired enough to topple towards the city at any moment. Wil led the way across the great sweep of green that marked the boundary between the city and the castle. Goosebumps prickled on his neck – the sudden space made him feel even more vulnerable. But the attacks had stopped. Rexmoore and his men were also strangely absent. All Wil could feel was the Redback’s mounting impatience; her baby was hungry and she needed to get to him. But they were inching closer to Wil’s goal with every step.

  Amid the sound of the burning city Wil could hear something else – a fight, or was it even a battle? But he dare not give the noise any attention for fear of losing the fretting dragon above him.

  Up ahead, reflecting the flames, Imelda’s precious tower stood shining like a blood red beacon. Very soon they would be right under the tower – but as Wil whirled the hare over his head an echo of Phinn’s pain ripped into his own shoulder. The Fellhound couldn’t go on much longer.

  ‘Wil, Wil!’

  It was difficult to hear anything with the cacophony around him, even so Wil was sure he’d just heard Gisella.

  ‘Wil. Over here!’

  Wil could just make out Gisella’s willowy shape, crouching in the shadow of the castle wall.

  ‘How– What are you doing here?’ asked Wil. As he spoke freezing air bit into his lungs – the Redback was somewhere high above Tel Harion. ‘Where’s Mortimer and that girl?’

  All the time, Wil kept swinging the hare and moving towards the tower.

  ‘I don’t know,’ whispered Gisella, stumbling over unseen stones to keep up. ‘I went to get our – ouch! – stuff… couldn’t carry that much but, ooh, ow… got your bag and a load more bolts.’

  ‘Any idea where Rexmoore and Imelda are?’ asked Wil. He thought it best not to mention Gisella’s mother.

  ‘They’ve gone to th–,’ Gisella said but the baby dragon drowned her out with a heart-rending wail. Round and round went the hare – Wil moved closer to the wall. His ears picked up her voice again.

  ‘… but The Jackal’s around somewhere,’ she was saying in a forced whisper. ‘I nearly bumped into him back there. Luckily your large friend – ouch! – set fire to the roof above us and he made a run for it.’

  ‘So whatever Imelda’s doing, she must be expecting The Jackal to bring me in then,’ said Wil, more to himself than anyone else. Gisella gave a contemptuous snort.

  ‘Maybe. But if I find him again, believe me, he won’t be able to!’

  Wil grinned. Spoken like a true Fellman.

  ‘Look, Giz,’ he said. ‘Phinn’s not going to be able to walk for much longer but I’ve got a plan for the Redback… and, er… I need to find my father. Can you get Phinn out of here? Keep the bag – it hasn’t let us down yet. I’ll find you when we’re ready to go.’

  ‘Well, I can’t say I’ll be going to look for my dear mother anytime soon,’ said Gisella in a passable effort of sounding like she didn’t care. ‘But sure, I’ll help with Phinn – although he probably won’t come without you, Wil. Fellhounds stick to their masters at the best of times – if either’s injured they’re usually inseparable!’

  For a split second Wil lost the rhythm of his swing and the little dragon snatched the hare out of his hand. Wil cursed.

  ‘Oh, Wil, I’m so sorry, that was my fault,’ said Gisella stepping out into the light.

  Wil had no idea where the bolt came from because it smacked into Gisella with such force that she span away before she hit the floor.

  ‘YES!’

  Wil didn’t need to turn around. The voice told him who was standing at the balcony above him. His own bow was still somewhere among the smouldering timbers of the wrecked stage and although his knife was in his boot, by the time he reached down for it, The Jackal would get a bolt into his back, for sure. A faint moan from the shadows told Wil that Gisella was alive. He put his hands in the air and turned.

  ‘Well, Wil Calloway, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve done since I met you!’

  Moonlight filtered through frothy cloud, illuminating the bow in The Jackal’s hands – it was Wil’s bow!

  ‘I must get one of these, they really are quite effective, aren’t they – y’know, deadly.’

  Behind him, Wil could hear bones crunching – the baby dragon was enjoying every last scrap of that hare. The Jackal dropped another bolt into the bow and aimed it past Wil.

  ‘Right, well, we’ll start with that whinging reptile – Mother, how do you fancy a brand new trophy for your collection? A dragon skin hat – now you haven’t got any dragon’s have you?’

  ‘I hope your aim’s good then?’ called Wil.

  The Jackal held the bow in place but didn’t fire.

  ‘And why might that be?’

  ‘Because dragons are notoriously hard to kill with a bolt – very deep hearts,’ said Wil, his mind racing.

  Behind him, he could hear the infant snuffling in the damp grass for more food; Phinn, Mia and Farrow were still standing guard. The sound of fighting drifted over the grass again from the brick mill.

  ‘Sounds like they’re having fun down there,’ said Wil – more to buy time than for information.

  The Jackal allowed himself a brief glance in the same direction.

  ‘Oh, it’s the peasants – some sort of revolt. Whining about taxes again – it’s just so dull. I offered to come and find you while Lord Rexmoore sorts it all out,’ he said in a bored drawl. ‘I mean, these people, they live in the city for practically nothing, have a festival laid on every year… and when they’re asked to contribute... you should hear the moaning. Oh, well, we’re short on labourers for the tower anyway so it’s a case of pay up or… oh yes, I forgot, you’re well aware of the rules, aren’t you, Calloway!’

  Making a huge effort not to rise to the bait, Wil changed the subject – anything to keep the boy talking while he worked out what to do.

  ‘So where’s Imelda?’ he demanded.

  In the damp darkness, Gisella groaned again then she coughed – it was a bubbly, liquid-filled cough that made Wil’s stomach twist into a tight knot.

  ‘Ooh, that doesn’t sound too healthy, does it?’ said The Jackal. ‘Listening to that cough anyone would think that girl has just been shot in the chest… they’d be right of course!’ His cruel laugh rang out over the empty green.

  In desperation, Wil took his eyes off the balcony. There had to be something he could use – a rock or a stone – something that would distract the boy just long enough for Wil to get up there and…

  There it was, right in front of him. The moonlight glinted down its polished length – the staff! It was sticking point down into the soft ground where it had landed earlier – absolutely straight… spear-straight, thought Wil. And next to it, in a perfect coil, was the silk rope. For the first time in quite a while, Wil’s spirits lifted.

  The Jackal was oblivious.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said taking aim again. ‘It really is lovely to catch up Wil, but I’m busy. Mmm, dragon first, then your dogs, then... well…’ He leaned over the balcony and cocked his palm behind his ear, ‘I think it’s fair to say she’s a goner anyway. So what’s it to be, Wil the Seer – talk now, or I’ll shoot first and you can talk later.’

  Wil had run out of time. He snatched the staff out of the ground and hurled it u
p at the balcony. He heard the click of a trigger and a dull grunt. Wil’s bow thunked into the soft ground just in front of him – the bolt hadn’t fired.

  Then something very heavy rammed into Wil’s back and his world went black.

  Face down in the wet grass, Wil could feel hot air blowing over him – not constant like a gentle spring breeze. No, this air was blowing out – then in – then back out again. It wasn’t any sort of wind at all – it was breath.

  ‘Dragon! Did you say dragon, Colin?’ The Jackal’s mother’s voice drifted down from the balcony above. ‘Has that nasty boy got a dragon? Oh Colin, you are sooo clever – another hat for Mommy!’

  Keeping his face in the cool dew, Wil opened his mind – after all, he thought, if he was going to be eaten by a Giant Redback, he might as well know what she was thinking at the time! But the dragon wasn’t thinking about him at all. All Wil could feel was relief and a very, very strong sense of warm love – the Redback and her baby were reunited and she really didn’t care about anything else.

  Wil lifted his head.

  The Redback was feeding her baby. Nestled right up against the old castle wall, her enormous hulk dwarfed the Fellhounds; she even made the golden tower look pretty small. She gave a contented groan – almost a purr – while her baby flapped its tiny wings and butted against her, eagerly gulping down its long-awaited tea.

  Somewhere in the distance the riot was still raging and a lot more of the city was now ablaze. The light of the fire masked the dragon’s real colour but her iridescent scales grabbed what little light there was and threw just enough back to illuminate the ground around her.

  But where was Gisella? On his hands and knees, and desperately hoping that her body wasn’t lying crushed underneath the scaly giant, Wil blindly inched forward, patting the soaking grass. Then he heard a gasp followed by a weak gurgling cough – she was further away – not flattened but, by the sound of it, in a very bad way.

  Wil crawled towards the sound. Phinn was there too, lying with his long back pressed firmly against Gisella’s body from head to toe, keeping her warm. He was panting hard. With a stab of guilt Wil felt the arrow sticking out of the hound’s shoulder; not deep but by the hound’s sticky matted coat Wil guessed that Phinn had lost quite a lot of blood.