Stetland. Wake up. Please, wake up. Emily will kill us all.
Christian was then expelled from Stetland's mind, rushing backwards like he was rising from deep water. He opened his eyes. He was sitting in the cage, just like before. Emily and the old wizard were still battling, the ball of white fire still between them. The ball was now just an arm's width from the old wizard's staff. But to the wizard's left, Stetland was no longer frozen. The Dark Rider’s face was contorted with rage. He swung his raised sword at the witch.
Christian held his breath and waited for the death of Emily Grouse. But it didn’t happen. The witch vanished leaving wisps of acrid, green-tinged smoke in her wake. The ball of white light quickly shrunk and then disappeared.
Coughing, Stetland waved away the lingering strands of smoke.
“Christian,” Stetland said. He was standing outside the cage door, his arms outstretched.
Christian stood and ran into Stetland's embrace, enjoying the feel of Stetland's arms around him. Safe.
“What of the others?” Christian said, as Stetland held him by the shoulders, inspecting him for damage.
Stetland turned. The old wizard was on his knees.
“Fabian,” Stetland exclaimed.
So it is him. The great wizard Fabian.
The Dark Rider ran to the old wizard and crouched in front of him.
“Are you all right, Fabian?” Stetland said.
“Yes,” said the old wizard, his voice croaky. “I'll be fine. Give me a moment. That was some battle.”
“The others?” Christian said, pointing to Sir John, Marcus, and Gladden, who were unmoving.
“I can undo the spell,” Fabian said. “Help me stand, won't you.”
Stetland took Fabian's arm and pulled him to a standing position. Christian stepped away from the cage. He half expected Emily to return and throw him back in.
“This won't take a moment,” Fabian said. He sounded exhausted. He put his hand on Sir John's forehead and muttered some incoherent words. The knight blinked several times and then fell to his knees. “You'll feel a little disorientated at first, but it will pass.”
He repeated the process on Gladden and then Marcus.
It took them all a few moments to recover, but when they had they gathered around the cauldron of boiling water.
“She was going to boil me,” Christian said. “In there. And then eat me.”
Quiggly cooed at Fabian’s feet.
Stetland placed his hand on Christian's shoulder and squeezed. “From now on, we stay together. No one goes out of sight.”
“Where has Emily gone?” Marcus said. “Will she come back?”
“In time, no doubt,” Fabian said.
“Did you make her vanish, Great-Uncle?” Gladden said.
“No. She did that all by herself. It remains a mystery to me as to how she's still alive.”
“She said something about time . . . but I'm not sure what she meant,” Christian said.
“If I were to guess, I would say she's found a way of messing with time itself. The question is, is she in our time or are we in hers?”
“And how do we get back?” Gladden said. “We fell from the sky.”
“Did the witch stone come through with us?” Sir John asked Fabian.
“Not sure. It may have landed in the grass where we fell. Let's go see.”
The old wizard had taken one step towards the door when Emily's large cat – what had she called it? Gimbles? – stepped from the shadows, blocking his path. It bared its teeth and hissed.
Fabian stood his ground. “If I can deal with a witch, I can deal with her cat.”
He tapped his staff on the cottage's wooden floor, but the cat pounced, snarling like a wild animal.
Stetland was quick. Like when he beheaded Tarquin Gains. Christian saw a flash of steel, then the cat was in two pieces, like a freshly cut piece of meat on a butcher's table.
Fabian stepped over the dead feline. “I was going to send it elsewhere,” he said to Stetland as they stepped into the daylight, “not kill it”
“It looked like it was going to make a mess of you,” Stetland said, apologetically.
“Seems like you're making a habit of slicing things in two,” Sir John said.
They collected their furs and then walked back through the garden, where bees continued to buzz from flower to flower. The heat was oppressive and Christian was looking forward to feeling the chill of winter on his cheeks again.
“That's the bush I came through,” Christian said pointing.
“A momentary gateway,” Fabian said, “opened by Emily to let you through. It will no longer be there. Our only hope is to find the witch stone.”
Christian helped search the grass, which was green and lush. He was beginning to lose hope of ever finding the stone, when Marcus shouted from the far side of the clearing. He was holding something white and small in his hand.
“It's the witch stone,” Fabian said, striding towards the young soldier, using his staff like a walking stick.
Christian had never seen a witch stone before, just like he had never seen a squaggle. He longed to hold Quiggly in his arms, but Fabian had warned him otherwise. “Squaggles are not like kittens and puppies,” Fabian had said. “They're loyal, yes, but they don't like to be cuddled and patted.”
“How do we make the stone work?” Marcus said. The witch stone rested in his open palm.
“It worked for us back in the forest because it sensed a witch was close,” Fabian said. “It took us to her.”
“Can you make it work without a witch?” Stetland said.
“Perhaps,” the old wizard said, pulling at his long, white beard in a thoughtful manner.
“Just make sure it takes us back to the forest and not to Emily,” Sir John said.
“Maybe the hole we came through is still open,” Gladden said, looking to the sky.
“All right,” Fabian said. “I know what to do.”
The old wizard took the stone from Marcus's palm and placed it on the grass. He stood before it and held out both his arms. He uttered a few words in a language Christian did not know.
“What's he doing?” Christian whispered to Gladden.
“He's using the language of old,” Gladden whispered back. “The stone brought us here, it's just a case of undoing what it did.”
“He can make it do that?”
“This is the great wizard Fabian. He can do anything. Well, almost anything.”
As Fabian continued to utter unusual words, a small spiral, like a whirlwind, appeared from one of the stone's two holes.
“This is what happened before,” Gladden said, hugging his staff. Christian heard alarm in the young wizard's voice.
Quiggly scurried up the outside of Fabian's robe and clung to the old wizard's back.
It began to get windy. Trees swayed and petals from the flowers in the garden, with their fantastic array of colours, swirled around the clearing. The bees had gone, Christian noticed. Perhaps they're taking cover. Soon the whirlwind was as tall as the old wizard himself. Christian put an arm over his face as forest debris peppered his cheeks. When the whirlwind grew even taller, and the roar of the wind became deafening, Christian felt a pull as if something was grabbing him. Then he was sucked into it. He screamed as he spun round and round. I'll be sick, he thought. The faces of his friends flew past him, each one as scared as the last. Then he was falling from the sky. He landed heavily on a thin cushion of snow. His friends fell around him, each uttering a cry as they hit the ground.
Christian sat up, rubbing first his head and then his elbow, where a bruise was already beginning to form. Then the temperature took all of his attention. It's so cold, he thought. He hugged himself tightly.
Quiggly emerged from under the snow, shaking his head and scattering flakes of white in all directions.
Stetland stood, brushing himself down. Marcus retrieved his wooden shield from the snow and then joined him.
“I guess o
ur horses are gone for good . . .” Marcus said, looking into the distance.
“Is everyone all right?” Gladden said. His robe was matted with snow.
“Yes, fine,” Fabian said, still seated on the snow. “After all, I'm only seventy-two . . .”
“Great-Uncle!” Gladden exclaimed. He ran to the old wizard's aide, helping him to his feet.
Fabian brushed himself down. “We better be off. Without horses we have a long walk ahead of us.” He looked to the sky. “At a brisk walk, we should still reach the Great Road by dusk.”
“Let's go, then,” Sir John said, trudging ahead.
Christian followed, as did the others.
CHAPTER 21
It was early afternoon. Amber Tilly was returning to the brothel with a basket in her hand full of bread and fruit for the mistress. She happily kicked up snow, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair and the winter sunshine on her face. She didn't spend many hours outside the confines of the inn; when she did, she liked to savour every moment.
She could smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread rising from the basket. It made her stomach rumble and her mouth salivate. She would get to eat some of it, she knew, as the mistress liked to keep her whores buxom, for men paid more for rounder figures. Scrawny whores are for the poor, mistress would often be heard saying when one of the girls became too thin. Amber loved food and so never found herself in such a situation.
As Amber turned a corner to walk across the town square towards the inn and the brothel above it, she saw a horse, bloodied and mangy, limping its way through the snow. On its back was a man who looked familiar to her. He was flopped forward, resting on the horse's mane, one arm dangling and dripping blood.
“They're coming,” the man was saying, too loudly. “They'll be here within the hour. Go. Run!”
Amber dropped the basket of bread and ran towards the man. As she reached the horse, the rider fell, landing in the snow on his back. She realised then why he looked so familiar.
“Jasper Courcelle,” she said, out loud. The knight I beat at kneebones.
He put a bloodied hand on her shoulder and said: “My dear, they're coming. They've taken Low Drewton. Ten thousand of them, at least.” He turned his head and spat blood into the snow. “Evacuate the town. They'll be here within the hour, Kingstown by sundown. We must send a bird to warn King Bahlinger.”
A crowd had gathered, watching and listening.
Amber looked to the doorway of the inn. Melissa was standing there, watching. Amber waved for her friend to come and help.
“You can leave us,” Amber said to the crowd of people who were all straining their necks to see what was happening. “He's fine. He's just drunk.” With blood seeping from the corner of his mouth? Amber thought. They'll never believe that.
Melissa pushed her way through the crowd and knelt by the knight's side. “What's happened?”
“They're coming—” Jasper began, but Amber put her hand over his mouth to stop him talking.
“Amber, what are you doing?” Melissa scolded. Her eyes were full of confusion.
“I'll explain,” Amber whispered. “Let's just get him inside first.”
I will have to tell her, Amber thought. I will have to tell her everything.
After another inquisitive look at her fellow whore, Melissa spoke to the knight: “Can you stand, sir?”
“They're coming,” Jasper Courcelle reiterated.
“I know, you said. Now let's get you on your feet.”
After a struggle, they managed to get Jasper standing. With his arms over both of their shoulders, they walked him to the inn. Getting him upstairs was the hardest part, but they pushed and pulled and somehow managed to get him to the landing. From there it was just a short walk to Amber's bedchamber.
With the knight lying on the bed, Melissa, red-faced and sweaty from their struggle, turned to Amber. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, young lady?”
Amber ran her hands through her blonde hair. This is a secret I've kept for so long. I don't want to share it. Please, I don't want to have to share it. But she knew that she must.
“This is the knight you played your game with last night, isn't it?” Melissa continued. She had her hands on her hips, like a mother berating her adolescent daughter.
“Yes,” Amber said.
“Stationed in Low Drewton, isn't he?”
“Yes.” Amber bowed her head.
“He was mumbling about an attack.”
“Low Drewton has fallen, or so he says. Thousands of Volk's men are on their way here. They'll kill us all and then reach Kingstown by nightfall.”
Melissa's eyes grew wide. “Well, we must sound the alarm.”
“No!” Tears were already blurring Amber's vision.
Melissa took Amber's hands. “Tell me what's going on, Amber.”
Jasper moaned loudly.
“Remember how I lost my finger?” Amber said. “Or, at least, how I told you I'd lost it.”
“The same way you got that scar on your left cheek. We had the drunk bastard who did it beaten. He walks with a limp now.”
“I lied.” Amber began to cry. Melissa hugged her, but not for long.
“Amber, you're not making any sense.”
“I had to lie. My life was in danger. It still is.”
“They're coming,” Jasper shouted. “They're coming.”
“And he needs to shut up.” Amber stepped towards the bed. She wanted to smother the knight with her straw-filled pillow. She would even consider beating him to death with a chamber pot if it meant he would shut up.
“Leave him,” the older whore said. “By the looks of him, he'll be dead soon enough. Now tell me why you think your life is in danger.”
Amber sighed. Jasper was still moaning as his blood leaked onto the bedsheet. How will I explain that to the mistress? But she knew that wasn't important anymore. Everything has changed now.
“Twelve months ago, two men came to see me,” Amber began. “I presumed they both wanted to have me at the same time. I know mistress doesn't like us having two men in the room without her knowing, but I needed the money.” She remembered how the two men had looked: one was short, with a hook nose and dirty, shoulder-length dark hair. His teeth were as dirty as his hair and he had a tooth missing on his top jaw. The other man was taller and almost handsome, with a thinly cropped beard. “They talked to me for a bit. They said they'd asked around and I was one of the town's favourite whores, especially among the Kingstown soldiers.”
“You are their favourite, Amber. I've always told you that.”
They both looked to the bed as Jasper cried out.
“He's in pain,” Melissa said.
“Maybe we should put him out of his misery, then?”
“I've done some bad things in my life, Amber, but murder is not one of them. Leave him be, for now. They'll come looking for him, though. There were so many people in the square. Someone will have reported it.”
Amber put her hands on her head and grabbed at her blonde locks. She was so frustrated by all of this. She wanted to run, far away, and never come back.
Melissa touched Amber's arm. “Tell me more. Make me understand what's going on.”
“One of the men introduced himself as Graff. The other man was called Haze. It was clear that Graff was in charge. He told me he worked for Volk and that I had to do a job for him.”
“What kind of job?”
“He wanted me to glean information from the soldiers I lay with.”
“What kind of information?” Melissa's brow was furrowed as she tried to make sense of what Amber was telling her.
“Graff said that Volk planned to attack Kingstown, within the year.”
“You've kept this a secret, all this time?” Melissa's voice was tinged with annoyance. But she doesn't know what I went through; the pain, the fear.
“They hurt me, Melissa. To show they were serious, Graff placed my hand on the dresser, right there, near t
he window, and cut off my finger. While I was nursing my hand, he slashed at my face with the same blade.” Amber began to cry, remembering the fear of that day. Melissa hugged her again. With her head pressed against Melissa's shoulder, Amber said: “Then he raped me.”
Melissa held her tightly for some time. Amber cried herself out.
Eventually, the older whore said: “What about the other man, Haze was it? Did he rape you too?”
“No. He more or less just stood around. I don't think he was interested in women. I've known men like that.”
Melissa nodded. Sometimes men like that came to them, in hope they could be changed. Cured, some would say. It never worked, Amber knew. That’s just the way they are made.
“What information did they want?” Melissa said. Her brow was furrowed again.
Amber broke from Melissa's embrace and rubbed the wet from her eyes.
“They wanted names. They wanted me to find out who was important in Kingstown and who wasn't. They wanted the guards' shift patterns, things like that.”
“And you were able to give them what they wanted?”
Amber remembered some of the men she had gleaned information from. Soldiers, knights, even Kingstown's Grand Master. “I gave them everything I learned. Each month they would come back. Graff told me that if I didn't give them good information then I'd lose another finger. He still raped me, though, every time he visited.”
Melissa put her hand on Amber's cheek. “My poor child. Why didn't you tell me?”
“They said that if anyone found out then they'd kill me. I believed them. How could I not?”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“A month ago. Graff said it would be the last time I'd see him, unless anyone were to find out about the planned attack on Kingstown. He said that if their plans were discovered then they'd know it was me who had talked and they'd kill me for it.” Slowly and painfully, he had said, Amber remembered.
“And now the attack is happening,” Melissa said, looking to the bed where the knight still clung onto his slowly ebbing life.
“And he was about to tell everyone,” Amber said, angry at Jasper all over again. “He wanted to send a bird to Kingstown to warn them. If that were to happen, Graff would think it was me who had sent the bird. He'd kill me for it, Melissa.”
Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 19