Eaglen smiled and then held out his hand. Ralph dropped to his knees holding his neck, just as Willmot had done. This time, though, the wizard did not squeeze too tightly. Eaglen walked to the doorway and then bent so he was in the soldier's face.
“This is where your adventure ends, Ralph Redwin.”
Using the end of his staff, Eaglen touched Ralph's nose. The soldier's face began to burn. Ralph screamed. It was a horrible, pain-induced, wretched scream, Eaglen would take great delight in remembering later. Eaglen laughed. Ralph started to run, but then stumbled and fell. He wriggled on the floor for less than a minute before falling still. Then there was just the crackle of his burning tunic and the howling wind outside. Eaglen stepped over the charred body and left the inn.
CHAPTER 24
Poppy Peas was preparing the evening meal when her husband Hugo burst through the door. He was panting hard and holding his chest. For a moment Poppy thought he was having some sort of seizure.
“We have to go,” Hugo said between pants.
“Go where, dear? I've made you a potato pie, your favourite. I'm just about to cook it.”
“There's no time for that.” Hugo waddled across the room and grabbed a satchel from the hat stand. He began filling it with fruit from the bowl on the table.
“Hugo, dear. What's going on?”
“They're here.”
“Who are?”
Hugo stopped and stared at his wife. His eyes were wide and frightened. On his head, wisps of hair fluttered like tiny wings in the breeze coming from the open door. “Volk's men,” he said.
A cold rush swept through Poppy's body. “How do you know?”
“I've seen them. They're in the valley, hundreds of them. They'll be here in a matter of minutes. Now come on, help me.”
Poppy turned and frantically grabbed food from the cupboards.
“Put on some warm clothing too,” Hugo urged. “It's cold out there.”
They were about to leave when they heard shouts and screams from the north side of the village. Hugo paused in the doorway, holding the satchel heavy with food.
“What's happening?” Poppy said, listening to the terrible sounds.
“I think we know what's happening, Poppy. Killing and raping. The dead will be the lucky ones.”
“But all our friends . . .”
“There's nothing we can do for them. We must go.”
Tree folk were already beginning to flee the village. Botolf Louvet was pulling his wife Avelina; she was crying, Poppy saw. Behind them, others fled in a similar manner with bulging bags and faces as white as the snow beneath their feet.
Hugo took Poppy’s hand and pulled her into the darkening day. Poppy turned and stole one last look at their house. They had lived there since being wed over thirty years past. Wars had come and gone in that time, but Weedley had remained ignorant and invisible to them all. This one, however, was different. It will engulf all the land, Poppy thought grimly.
Still holding hands, they ran out of the gate and up the same path the great wizard Fabian had trodden just a few short hours earlier. Others pushed past them, eager to put distance between themselves and the village.
When the sky suddenly became brighter, Poppy turned to see half the village ablaze.
“Gods have mercy,” she muttered. “How did they light it so quickly?”
“Alchemy,” Hugo said.
He pulled on Poppy's hand, hurrying her along. They'd reached a bend in the path when the first of the horses thundered towards them from the direction of the burning village. The chorus of screams grew louder as tree folk on the path were hacked down. It will be us next. The thought made Poppy's legs turn to mush and she realised she couldn't run anymore. Hugo pulled her into the woods to the right of the path. They crouched in the bare remains of last summer's undergrowth as five horses with helmed men atop thundered by. Botolf and his wife Avelina were hacked down just a few feet from Poppy's face. She looked away, not wanting to see.
“We must go,” Hugo whispered.
“Where?”
“Deep into the woods. They're killing everyone on the path.”
Poppy turned and stared into the gloom of the woods. The light was fading fast, making the trees look more like scary monsters than tall sentinels. Despite her unease, she knew they had little choice but to escape into the woods.
They had travelled perhaps a mile when they felt safe enough to slow their run. The screams and shouts from the village they'd left behind had now grown distant, much to Poppy’s relief. So too the smell of burning and the thick smoke that had choked the evening sky. Darkness had fallen during their dash to safety and the forest had turned to shadows. They continued at a walk, making their way from tree to tree with care. Poppy was glad that Hugo was holding her hand and leading the way.
“We need to double back,” Hugo said. He was still whispering. “If we carry on this way we'll meet the River Wauldby with nowhere to cross. There's a bridge, though, further east. If we cross it there we can make our way to the Great Road and then to High Hunsley.”
“But what if we meet riders on the path?”
“Then we'll hide. They won't see us in the dark. And we'll hear them coming a league away.” He squeezed Poppy's hand as if to reassure her.
It took them half an hour to reach the path again, albeit further to the south. Hugo looked left and then right before emerging from the bushes. To the north, Weedley was just a burning glow in the night sky.
“Do you think anyone survived?” Poppy said.
“Not likely.”
“Our friends . . .”
“I know. Best not to think about it.”
Once on the path they walked as quietly as possible. It was dangerous travelling at night, Poppy knew, and not just because of Volk's riders. These parts were frequented by wild dogs and other beasts that would rip their throats out before they even knew they were being watched. After walking for half an hour they thought they heard approaching hoof beats, but after hiding in the bushes at the edge of Ellerker Rise for what seemed like an eternity, the sound faded to nothing. “Probably just cattle running free,” Hugo reassured her. “With the villages burning it's liking the animals have fled the flames, just like us.”
They continued on their way with extra caution. Every now and then Poppy would look over her shoulder, convinced they were being followed. Her fears were never realised, though.
Poppy heard the River Wauldby before she saw it. Its gentle babble was friendly compared to the strange noises in the woods. But when they set foot on the bridge another far stranger noise chilled her blood.
“What was that?” Poppy said.
Hugo didn't answer straight away. That's a bad sign. “Just the wind, that's all,” he said, eventually.
“Sounded like a growl to me.”
They both took another step and then stopped. There was something in the darkness at the far side of the bridge. A shape.
“What is it?” Poppy said in a whisper. She couldn't hide her fear, though; her quiet voice warbled and her breathing was fast and unsteady. She was already taking a step backwards, preparing to flee.
“Silver,” came a voice. “To cross this bridge you must give me silver.”
“I think it's a troll,” Hugo said.
The shape moved closer.
“I'm a bridge troll,” the thing said in a deep gruff voice. “My name is Mollock. Now pay up.”
Poppy squinted her eyes and found she could just about make out the thing's face. She had met a troll once before when she was but a girl. That one had been incredibly stupid, she remembered, but violent too. It had ripped off her friend's arm before eating it like a chicken leg. It's best not to upset them, she thought.
“Do you have any coins, love?” Hugo said, while keeping his eye on the troll. As he squeezed her hand she could feel moisture on his palm.
“No!” Poppy said in a loud whisper. She took another step backwards.
Mollock moved closer.
Close enough to rip our arms off. He was sniffing at Hugo's satchel like a dog seeking out a treat. Beneath its nose, fingers of snot glistened in the moonlight.
“What's in there?” Mollock said, prodding the satchel at Hugo's waist with a stubby finger.
“There aren't any coins in there. Nothing for you at all. We'll just go, shall we?”
Hugo turned to walk away, but Mollock grabbed the satchel. The leather strap snapped with a pop. The troll began to rifle through the bag, discarding objects over his shoulder.
“Let's just leave the satchel,” Poppy said to her husband in a whisper. “We'll follow the river and find somewhere warm to sleep.”
“Might be very warm if the villages there have met the same fate as ours.”
“Bread!” Mollock declared from the shadows.
“He's eating your bread, Poppy,” Hugo said. “Oh, my. We should run.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. We should just go, that's all. And quickly.”
They began to make their way back along the path they had descended, walking fast, resisting the temptation to run in case it prompted the troll to give chase. Then Mollock appeared at their backs.
“Do you have any more bread?” the troll said loudly.
“More bread?” Hugo said. “You mean, you've eaten it?”
“Yes. Very tasty it was too.”
“Told you,” Poppy said to Hugo. “I make the best bread in Weedley.” She was mightily pleased by Mollock's comment. All of a sudden the fear left her.
“Maybe we do have more,” Hugo said. There was a small loaf tucked away in Hugo's jacket, Poppy remembered. “But I believe we've paid our dues. You must let us pass.”
Mollock grunted and scratched his large head. “Uh, I suppose so.” He stepped aside and held his hand out towards the bridge. “Go on, pass.”
They walked past the troll as quickly and as calmly as possible. They crossed the bridge and entered the darkness beyond. As the babble of the river diminished it was replaced by new sounds, equally as unsettling as those Poppy had heard prior to arriving at the bridge. A hoot of an owl from somewhere in the woods made her jump. Hugo tried to settle her by saying: “Owls are kings of the night. Wherever they hunt, evil dare not dwell.” But it did not calm her nerves completely. Even the sound of her own feet shuffling through the snow gave her cause to look over her shoulder. Later, though, she was convinced something really was following them.
“There's something there,” Poppy said. “I can hear it.”
“It's nothing,” Hugo said dismissively.
“I tell you, I can hear noises.”
Poppy expected a wild dog to leap from the darkness at any given moment with its teeth bared ready to take their throats. She didn't like the idea of dying in such a brutal manner.
“Just keep walking,” Hugo said. “The Great Road isn't far.”
“We should hide and see what’s following us.”
Reluctantly, Hugo agreed. They crouched in the undergrowth where last summer's bramble bushes lay bare of leaf but no less thorny. They waited in silence. All Poppy could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Even the owl had gone quiet. Then, on the path, a dark shape lumbered into view.
CHAPTER 25
Marcus Delorous looked up and down the Great Road. Darkness had fallen, turning the landscape to shadows.
“It's too dark to see anything at all,” Marcus said. “Maybe they've already passed.”
“No,” Fabian said, placing a hand on Marcus's shoulder. “They haven't been this way. Not yet.”
“How do you know?”
“A wizard knows everything.”
The old wizard was smirking. When Fabian's eyes diverted to the road beneath their feet, Marcus looked down. There are no tracks in the snow, of course. Marcus hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I've got a long way to go before I make a soldier proper,” he said.
“It's been a long day. Don't worry yourself.”
“Have we a plan?” Gladden said, appearing at his great-uncle's side.
The freezing wind was strong and both wizards' cloaks flapped like bats' wings.
“I think Stetland will have one,” Fabian said, turning. “He always does.” The Dark Rider was standing in the road, shrouded in the gloom, taking in his surroundings. Sir John and Christian lingered nearby. Quiggly was scavenging in the snow. “Well, Stetland?” the older wizard shouted. “What's the plan?”
Stetland Rouger paused for a moment, looking left and then right, up the road to the east and then down the road to the west. He rubbed his beard and then said: “An ambush. That’s the plan. They'll never expect us to be here. They'll think we died back on Killingwoldgraves or perhaps lost somewhere in the woods.” He looked south to where a rock face splodged with snow rutted out over the road. “We'll gather some rocks.” He turned to the boy. “Are you strong, Christian?”
“Yes. I used to plough fields,” Christian said.
“Good. I want you up there.” Stetland pointed to the top of the rock face where a pile of immaculate white snow lay undisturbed. It was perhaps eight feet off the ground. “When Volk's men go by, I want you to pelt them with rocks.”
“What if I hit the wizard bearer?”
“You'll just have to be careful not to.”
“And what if they have arrows?”
“If they do they won't get the chance to use them, because we'll be hiding over there.” Stetland pointed to an incline to the north of the road where the ground sloped towards a line of trees marking the start of the woods. “As soon as they look up at you, Christian, we'll take them unawares.”
“A bit presumptuous considering we don't know how many men we'll have to deal with,” Sir John said. “We could be outnumbered.”
“They stole away with Cassandra in a wain,” Stetland said. “At the most there'll be five of them.”
“If you're right, that's five against five,” Marcus said. A battle. A real battle. This would be a far cry from wooden swords in the yard, though, he knew.
“If Eaglen ever arrives then we'll be one up,” Fabian said.
“They won’t stand a chance against three wizards,” Christian said. “What about Quiggly? What can he do?”
The squaggle was sitting by Fabian's feet. Christian bent and stroked the creature. Quiggly cooed in appreciation.
“Quiggly can help you, Christian,” Fabian said.
The boy looked happy with that. But if we all die down here, the boy and the squaggle will be left alone up there, Marcus thought.
“Eaglen will be here soon, I'm sure,” Fabian said. The wizard seemed embarrassed by his nephew’s no-show.
“He better be,” Sir John said.
“Let's get to it, then,” said Stetland.
They collected rocks and stones, amassing quite a pile. Christian, standing on Stetland's shoulders, pulled himself onto the snowy ledge at the top of the rock face. Marcus threw the rocks and stones, one at a time, up to the boy. Christian made a fresh pile on the ledge.
“Make sure the rocks are out of sight of the road, Christian,” Stetland shouted.
The boy had already thought of this, though, and had piled the rocks at the back of the ledge. Even when Marcus stepped back into the road he couldn't see anything.
Once the job was done, and Marcus was able to rest, he began to shiver. He told himself it was just the deepening chill, but as his teeth chattered he knew the coming fight had something to do with it.
“I don't suppose you've foreseen anything, have you, Christian?” Stetland shouted up to the boy.
“Nothing at all,” the boy said. He seems disappointed, Marcus thought. Perhaps he feels he's let us down. “I'll let you know if I do.”
“We need to cover our tracks,” Fabian said, looking down at the snow. “They’ll give us away, dark or not.”
Quiggly shimmied up the rock face and took his place by Christian's side.
&nbs
p; “We'll see you soon, Christian,” Stetland said. “Shout if you need us.”
“Look after Quiggly,” Fabian called as he walked away.
Marcus knew that wouldn't be a problem. Although the boy may well hug the thing to death.
They each gathered fresh snow from the edge of the woods and then carried it in their arms to the road, where they carefully spread it about. They then crouched on the incline. “Lying on the snow for too long will chill you to the bone,” the Dark Rider said. Marcus was shivering enough without freezing himself further, so heeded the warning. Stetland then disappeared up the road to keep a watch for the wain.
“Where's that damn wizard?” Sir John complained. He'd been fretting over the non-appearance of Eaglen for the past half an hour.
Marcus recalled his training with Gabel in the yard in Kingstown. When they duelled in those training sessions, his friend always got the better of him. Gabel was the skilled one, not me. Marcus wondered if it would've been better for all of them if he had died by the arrow instead of his friend. Gabel would've been a lot more use than I when it comes to fighting.
“Don't worry yourself,” Fabian said. The wizard crouched by Marcus’s side.
“Huh?”
“Your face. I used to call it the look of a dead man. Because that's what you're thinking; you're doubting your ability to fight. Am I right?”
“I've not long since swapped my wooden sword for a steel one.” Marcus touched his scabbard. “I don't know my blade like I should.”
“Who trained you?”
“Hugh Mowbray.”
Marcus thought of Hugh's square jaw and bald head. When they practised in the yard, Hugh's bellowing voice could be heard several streets away.
“Hugh is a fine fighter,” Fabian said. “His skill is bound to have rubbed off on you. I know many fine soldiers, and some knights too, who were trained by Hugh.”
“It's dark, though. How am I supposed to fight in the dark when I doubt my abilities even in the day?”
“It won't be dark.” Fabian tapped the end of his staff. “Gladden and I will be lighting the way. At first we'll surprise them, though, under the cover of darkness.” The old wizard squeezed Marcus's shoulder. “Just do your best, young man.”
Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 22