by Farr, Cathy;
‘Damn it! Where’s the Lavender? I only used it yesterday. Oh, this bag…I ...really… must… sort it out!’ she seemed to be talking to herself as she grabbed at bottles, roots and silk bundles one-by-one and threw them all back into the bag impatiently. ‘Ah, at last!’
She stood quickly with a tiny glass bottle in her white fist and addressed Cedric, this time with a cold calmness. ‘This will clean the wound and help to stop any infection taking hold. Once it is applied you can take him to the Infirmary where I will look after him until Lady Élanor gets back - Who is this?’
Her quick question took Wil by surprise. She was clearly annoyed at what Cedric had said and Wil didn’t think she had even noticed him as she busily tended to the boy.
‘We found him when we found Seth. Farrow had already killed his four friends. Luckily we got to this one before he could finish what they’d started,’ Cedric told her. ‘He claims that he wasn’t involved – that Farrow went to his village to get him! Obviously nonsense! Whoever heard of a Fellhound leaving its master? He’s cast some spell to stop her from ripping his throat out, so we brought him back here for Lady Élanor and the Order to deal with… although, if Arbert hadn’t stopped me, I would have finished him myself, there and then!’
Anger bubbled as Wil listened to Cedric but with a huge effort he managed to keep quiet.
The silver-haired young girl stared unblinking into Wil’s eyes. From nowhere a sharp pain ripped through his head. He cried-out and dropped to his knees almost blinded by the burning agony. She looked away frowning and as quickly as it came, the pain left him. He shook his head and gasped for breath. Cedric laughed cruelly.
‘You think that’s bad, boy? Just wait ‘til you meet her sister. I warned you about Lady Élanor, didn’t I? Between them they will get the truth from you – one way or another!’
‘Take him away!’ Tally ordered, throwing a brief unreadable glance back at Wil. He braced himself, but she looked away quickly. ‘I will tell Lady Élanor that he is here. Now, take Seth to the Infirmary and take Farrow to Bryn - Hurry! I am sure my sister will be more worried about them than some conjurer at this moment!’
CHAPTER THREE
Saran Jail
Wil sat on the cold floor of his prison cell. Tired, hungry and frustrated, he picked up tiny stones and threw them at the opposite wall while he struggled to understand why no-one believed him. Why had he bothered? Surely they could see that he had been trying to help Seth? And he’d risked his own life into the bargain! He covered his eyes with his hands in an attempt to block out the grizzly images that still danced in front of his eyes, of the dead bodies – so much blood and …. errch!
For a moment he almost convinced himself that this was all just another dream. He pinched his arm and squeezed hard, but the bright red mark that immediately bloomed on his skin and the sharp pain left him in no doubt that he was wide awake. He shook his head and thought instead about his mother, who he was sure, by now would be starting to worry. If only he had waited for Peter and Gabe to join him – at least the three of them would have put up a good fight against Seth’s father and Arbert. True, Cedric could probably look after himself, but Arbert was smaller, and much older. He just seemed to do everything that Cedric told him - Wil seriously doubted if Arbert could even think for himself!
He tried to cheer himself up by imagining what he would have done up on the Fell had he seen Cedric and Arbert coming, and if Peter and Gabe had been there with him. The three of them were all young, tall and strong and Gabe was a dead-shot with a bow!
Wil was musing on witty retorts that he should have said and death-defying manoeuvres he should have tried when the door at the end of the jail-house creaked opened and silver moon light spilled across the dust covered floor.
A beautiful, silver-haired young woman shut the door silently and glided down the middle of the lamp-lit room between the small cells on either side. Wil watched her pass close to the cell bars flicking her finger across each iron rail in perfect time with every slow silent step that she took.
A sudden movement in the cell closest to the door caught Wil’s eye. A dark bundle that he had not noticed before exploded into life, spitting and swearing at the young woman as she passed by. She paused briefly and smiled to herself.
‘Ah, Sir Jerad Tinniswood, I see you are still having difficulty locating your manners,’ said the woman quietly. But she did not look round. ‘I will visit you tomorrow, perhaps? Maybe I can help you to find them? Let us hope that you have also located your memory by then.’
The man rammed his filthy, unshaven face between the bars.
‘You will get nothing from me, you evil hellcat! I will die before I give in to your sorcery!’
‘Hmm, so be it,’ she breathed and, keeping her gaze fixed on some distant vision she walked on, her finger still flicking over each bar as she slowly advanced towards Wil’s cell.
The woman’s long silver hair - and the man’s words - gave Wil the impression that this might be Tally’s sister, Lady Élanor. The rustle of her long gown on the stone floor and the dull, regular fluck… fluck… fluck of her finger on the iron bars made the hairs on the back of Wil’s neck stand on end. His heart was almost thumping out of his chest as he backed against the cold wall, desperate to disappear into the darkness.
Finally she appeared and looked at him through the thick bars with the same pale blue eyes he had seen earlier.
‘What is your name, boy?’
Her voice was quiet and dangerously calm.
‘Wil… Wil Calloway, Ma’am.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Seventeen, Ma’am.’
‘What did you see, Wil Calloway?’
She kept her voice low. Wil did his best to avoid her gaze and spoke quickly, praying that she wouldn’t make his head burn as her sister had done earlier.
‘I saw the boy – Seth - lying on the ground. I saw the bodies of the dead men. Then I saw Seth’s father and the other man when I woke up. I tried to…’
‘No!’ she interrupted, so sharply that Wil jumped. Then she leant forward and whispered through the bars. ‘What did you see with your mind? I know you saw what happened - my sister felt the visions in your head. You saw before you got there, didn’t you?’
‘Yes… No! Um… I don’t know what I saw,’ Wil stammered - how could they know what was in his dream? And, more importantly, what would they do to him if he told the truth?
Lady Élanor searched Wil’s face with her pale blue eyes but said nothing. He braced himself for the pain to sear through his brain again but it didn’t come. Eventually Lady Élanor dropped her gaze and spoke in a much softer tone that took Wil by surprise.
‘When did you last eat, Wil Calloway?’
‘Last evening, Ma’am, with my mother – at home.’
‘And where is home?’
‘Mistlegard, Ma’am,’ he answered warily.
‘I do not know this place. Where is it?’
‘It’s on the other side of Mistle Forest, Ma’am - a small farming village.’
Lady Élanor looked directly into Wil’s eyes again.
‘You said you ate with your mother. Where was your father?’
Wil dragged his gaze from hers and scuffed the cell floor with his foot.
‘Five years ago - after a bad harvest - we could not pay our tax so Rexmoore’s men took my father instead,’ he said in a thick voice. ‘I… eh… I don’t know what happened to him after that.’
She stood very still for several long minutes. Wil could feel her eyes still on him and risked looking up – her face gave nothing away. After an agonizing silence, she spoke again – her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘I do not believe you are the murderer that Cedric Tanner would have us believe, Wil Calloway. I think that your intentions were true but that you were unfortunate in your timing.’
Wil’s heart leapt - this was the best news he had heard all day. Greatly boosted by this announcement, he start
ed to gabble.
‘What? Oh, brilliant! You would not believe how great it is to hear someone say that! So can you get them to let me out of here?’
But Lady Élanor did not appear to hear him and turned instead to the jailer.
‘Give this boy some food and drink - and a blanket. I will speak with him again in the morning,’ she said. Then, without another word, she swept away down the jailhouse corridor and out into the night, her silver mane catching the moonlight as the heavy door closed quietly behind her.
Moments later Wil was wrapped in a soft, warm woollen blanket, tucking-in to a huge bowl of hot venison stew and gratefully supping a large mug of cool ale - although, unfortunately, he was still locked in his cell.
Later as he dosed, his stomach full of delicious food, someone crept in silently and gently placed a pillow under his head. It smelled of warm summer sunshine and within seconds Wil fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
Dawn was seeping into the jail through the narrow windows and under the solid wooden door when Wil was woken by the sound of someone whistling tunelessly. Hoping that sleep would come once more, he breathed-in the faint flowery smell, keeping his eyes firmly closed and nestled back into the pillow that he had been given by his mystery visitor in the night.
The whistling continued.
After a few more minutes he abandoned any hope of going back to sleep and propped himself up on one elbow. It was no surprise that the noise was coming from Sir Jerad Tinniswood’s cell.
‘Oh, did I wake you?’ Tinniswood called over in feigned surprise. ‘Well, I don’t know what you did to get in here, boy, but – food on your first night! I was in here for four days before I got more than a mug of water! And they’ve never given me anything that smelled as good as the feast they brought for you! Either Élanor thinks you’re useful, or it was your last meal and you’re going to hang today. What did you do anyway?’
‘Nothing,’ Wil answered. He bashed his pillow with his fist and tried to get comfortable again. ‘It’s just a big misunderstanding! I’m sure it’ll get sorted out today. I haven’t done anything wrong!’
‘So you have visions, do you?’ Wil could hear the mischief in Tinniswood’s voice. ‘No wonder Élanor wants to know more. She’s mad of course - and that little sister of hers! I reckon it’s all those herbs and potions – can’t possibly be good for you. Not that anything has worked on me yet! Ha!’
‘I am not mad!’ Wil objected. ‘Anyway, why are you in here?’
‘Now that, my boy, would be telling… and I don’t tell!’ The man let out a loud, humourless laugh, ‘Visions, hey? Useful, I’ll bet!’
Wil didn’t reply. There was something in the man’s voice that instantly made Wil mistrust and dislike him. He laid his head back down on his pillow. But despite feeling annoyed and unnerved, he fell instantly back to sleep.
The next time Wil woke up it was to the sound of the jailer’s keys clattering against his cell door. The jailer shambled in, with huge black bags under his eyes. He was carrying another bowl, this time full to the brim with steaming porridge, which he laid down with some care on the floor next to the scented pillow. Wil noticed that the porridge had a small curl of cream right in the centre.
‘The Order will see you after breakfast. Eat this and try to tidy yourself up a bit – there’s water in that bowl over there,’ said the tired-looking man, nodding towards the swill bucket. Wil turned. A wide china bowl and a plain blue jug with a large crack down the side stood in the corner that certainly had not been there earlier. Paddling his fingers into the crystal clear water Wil assumed that, like the pillow, they must have been delivered while he had been asleep. But before he could ask, the portly man turned the key in the lock and walked away yawning.
A second later Wil heard the keys again and peered through the three sets of bars that separated his own cell from Sir Jerad’s. A dark heap was lying on the floor in the corner. But before Wil could blink porridge and pieces of broken pottery crashed through the bars and Wil could see the jailer running out with his arms folded over his head.
‘Take that muck away!’ yelled Jerad. ‘And tell that woman that if she wants some co-operation she’d better start sending in some decent food!!’
The jailer crashed the cell door shut and locked it. Then he fled. There was a great roar of anger from Tinniswood’s cell and then silence.
Wil sat down quickly with his back against the bars. He looked at the porridge and suddenly felt very hungry. It was steaming hot, creamy and delicious. He tried his best to eat quietly in the hope that Tinniswood might have forgotten about him. But as if on cue a voice hissed through the gloom, ‘Beware of Élanor, boy. Stick with me – we could help each other? With a gift like yours, Lord Rexmoore would make you a very rich man!’
Outside, Wil could hear the town coming alive. There were shouts, rattling cart wheels and chickens clucking - the morning market, Wil guessed. A shrill woman called ‘Boar, freshly cured!’ over and over; another voice, a man’s deep boom called back ‘Elder Wine, ony a groat a shot’; another called over the din, ‘Venison pies, just out the oven, hot’n hearty!’
Smell of baking bread mingled with roasting beef; and Wil was certain he could also detect a whiff of freshly tossed pancakes in there too. Back in Mistlegard Wil loved market day - although he seldom had any money to buy anything – but today the familiar hubbub just made him feel very homesick.
Suddenly not hungry, he pushed his half-eaten porridge away and splashed the water from the jug over his face. He rubbed his hands together hard, using his nails to scratch off smears of dried blood, but the water immediately went pink and the picture of Seth and the dead men flashed into his mind. He shook his head to get rid of the image and looked around for something to dry his hands, but although he may have been provided with a pillow, breakfast and water for washing - there was no sign of a towel, so he used the hem of his shirt. As he dried himself off a woman’s voice drifted in through his tiny cell window.
‘They’re sayin’ the Tanner boy still hasn’t spoken,’ she said. ‘And Farrow’s in a bad way, too, apparently!’
Wil froze and strained to hear her above the noise of the bustling market. Then he heard a second voice - another woman.
‘Cedric says ‘e saved Seth an’ that if ‘e hadn’t got there when ‘e did, that boy – the one they brought in last night – would have finished Seth off ‘cause Farrow was too badly injured to do anything!’ The second woman paused and then asked. ‘Why did Cedric go up to Tel Hireth, anyway?’
‘Worried about Seth being up there on his own,’ answered the first voice. ‘I know one thing - ‘e wasn’t ‘appy about the Order’s ruling in the first place! Did you ‘ear ‘im shouting after the ‘earing? ‘e was livid!’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Sal, Seth did nearly kill one of the Grand Wizen’s chickens! They were for Lord Rexmoore’s taxes, too!’
‘Yer, bur ‘e claimed i’ wuz an accident. Said Cae Wheeler knocked him!’
‘Well neither of ‘em should a been shooting bows in the village anyways, so I reckon Seth got what ‘e deserved! Anyway what do you think they’ll do with that boy they brought in last night?’
‘Em Wheeler told me that there’s going to be a hearing this morning - and probably a trial!’ said the woman - her voice was filled with an enthusiasm that Wil was unable to share. ‘You going along?’ she added brightly.
‘Oh, yer! Can’t remember the last time we ‘ad a good trial, Mol!’ replied her friend, with equal enthusiasm. ‘That one last week with that Sir Jerad Tinnis-thingy was ‘opeless! He just sat there whistlin’! Lady Élanor was …’
‘Sally, Sally Parry! I’ve bin lookin’ for you everywhere!’ interrupted a cross sounding man. ‘I need ‘elp wi’ Willow’s pups; two of ‘em ain’t feeding again and Lady Élanor’s gorra go off somewhere. Come on before ‘ey starve t’ death!’
‘Sorry Bryn, me ‘n Molly was jus’ talkin’ about tha’ boy they brought in last …….’
Once more Wil thought of his mother. If this did not go well, he might not see her for a very long time – if ever again!
CHAPTER FOUR
Trial by Order
Rain pounded down as Wil, hands bound behind his back once more, had been led from the jail-house. The jailer had made a valiant attempt to keep the rain off them both with a large sack but the water found a crease in the rough cloth and had trickled down Wil’s neck. He stood now inside a large, decrepit-looking hall. He was damp and cold.
A high gallery opposite was packed. People craned their necks to get a better view of the boy who had not only tried to murder one of their children, but also one of their precious Fellhounds! Wil felt very alone.
At the end of the hall, three men and two women sat unsmiling behind a long table. Even from where Wil stood, he could see that the table was very ornate and looked very odd in the shabby hall.
The man in the middle was dressed in a magenta gown with a dark-grey fur collar; the others wore plain black gowns. Behind them, the heads of three huge animals were mounted high on the wall - in a line as if they were charging through it - each one bared long white teeth fixed in a permanent snarl.
The jailer prodded Wil gently and gestured for him to step forwards. At the same time a small, bird-like woman jumped to her feet.
‘Your Worships, Order of the Magewizen of Saran, this is Wil Calloway,’ she announced, twitching her head from the Order to Wil and back again. ‘He stands before you today charged with the attempted murder of Seth Tanner and the theft of forty-three valuable deer.’
There were shouts from the gallery and a rotten tomato missed Wil by an inch and hit the floor with a loud splat! The confident woman frowned but said nothing.