Moon Chase - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story

by Farr, Cathy;

  Suddenly Lady Élanor walked out of the fog and stopped right behind Tinniswood’s horse. Wil was utterly confused. Why didn’t she try to startle the horse or help him in any way? Then she spoke.

  ‘Open your mind Wil – the horse – use the horse.’

  Then she was gone. Wil blinked. Tinniswood was still following but it was obvious that he had not seen or heard anything unusual. The current carrying Wil down stream was getting stronger.

  ‘Look, boy,’ Tinniswood’s threatening drone wormed its way back into Wil’s drifting consciousness. ‘You might as well give yourself up and get out of the water now – I can, of course wait until the cold gets the better of you and drag you out, but well – I like to think of myself as a civilised man!’

  ‘And what if I refuse to help?’ shivered Wil.

  ‘Well, I’ll just give you back to my new friends – there might however be a little local difficulty with that option as you managed to remove the hand of one of them in your rather clumsy effort to steal their horses! I don’t think he was too happy about it you see. Can’t remember exactly what he said he would do if he found you but some of it did sound particularly unfriendly!’

  Tinniswood put his fingers to his lips in mock thought – he was obviously enjoying this. He carried on but Wil’s chilled brain started to wander again. The memory of Lady Élanor’s voice whispered at the back of his mind, ‘Open your mind Wil – the horse – use the horse.’

  He closed his eyes and let the water flow around him. In his mind he could still see the horse standing above him. He could see Tinniswood’s leering face. No, he had to blank the man out – he just had to focus on the animal. He imagined the horse rearing and bucking. He pictured the scene over and over – but nothing happened. He tried again, knowing that time was running out – he was starting to loose consciousness as the cold claimed him - still nothing.

  He concentrated with every cell of his body – the horse rearing – stamping on Tinniswood after he crashed to the ground… then he saw another shape – slinking slowly out of the fog towards the horse. Snarling and drooling, its long black body scraping low to the ground as it stalked its prey. Wil kept his eyes firmly shut. He could smell the stench of rotting meat and damp, filthy hair. He saw a pair of massive fangs dripping with blood, and long barbed claws designed specifically to give the beast a hold of its prey that could only lead one way – towards death.

  An enormous splash behind him made Wil open his eyes. The horse was galloping off into the morning – Tinniswood was no longer on board. But there was also no sign of the huge Wraithe Wolf that Wil had just seen so vividly.

  Tinniswood gasped and floundered in the icy water. Suddenly Wil had the advantage, but his limbs were stiff with cold and as he tried to scramble up the bank a strong hand clutched at his boot. It threw him off balance and he toppled back into the water - right on top of Tinniswood.

  The current was stronger now and larger boulders cluttered the river bed. Pain shot through Wil’s leg as he bashed his shin hard against a sharp rock. The water wasn’t quite as deep now but the flow was swift. It was almost impossible to find his feet on the bottom but, luckily Tinniswood seemed to be having much the same problem.

  But then the man managed to catch a lucky foot-hold and hurled himself at Wil. He grabbed Wil’s hair and yanked it back, pulling him under the water.

  Wishing that he hadn’t let go of the sword, Wil grappled and pushed. With a huge effort he kicked out - hard - and caught Tinniswood right between the legs. Tinniswood gasped and took in a huge lungful of water that stopped him in his tracks and left him choking. Wil kicked away as hard as he could. He hauled himself up onto a flat rock. The sound of flowing water was getting louder and the rapids were fierce now. But as he desperately looked around for a route of escape, Wil realised that he was cut off. To his horror the only way out of the river was via the rock that Tinniswood was now clinging to, spluttering and retching.

  Wil sat down heavily on his rocky island – finally giving in to cold and despair.

  ‘Ha, ha! I think you may finally have to admit you are beaten, Calloway,’ shouted Tinniswood above the torrent. ‘Let’s get out of this and you can give yourself up – it’s only a matter of time, boy. I’ve got the only way-out covered – I’m going to get out now and dry off – see you on the bank!’

  Tinniswood slid back into the water and headed for the shallows.

  Wil desperately scoured the opposite bank – the water there was flowing exceptionally fast over jagged rocks, in and out of deep pools where it swirled in deadly torrents – there would be no escape that way and Wil was too tired and the water too strong to even contemplate trying to go back up stream.

  In an effort to warm up he tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. He could hear Tinniswood’s mocking laughter. But then Wil felt the hilt of the hunting knife – still tucked deep down in the lining of his boot. By some miracle it hadn’t fallen out as he’d bobbed his way down stream!

  He cast his eyes over the rapids again with renewed courage. Only a short distance from where he sat the river turned into a boiling mass. White foam and spray swirled around the rocks as the river was joined on either side by other streams running down off the Fells. The volume of water seemed to increase ten-fold in only a very short distance. But to his left – on the opposite bank, just before the first of these streams, was a huge weeping willow. Like long tentacles, its arching branches trailed into the surging torrent. If he could just reach that tree, with a bit of luck he could catch hold of the branches before he got swept into the maelstrom that led down to Esk Falls.

  ‘So boy,’ shouted Tinniswood, ‘What’s it to be? Shall I wait until you pass out from frost bite before I come and get you, or are you going to sensible and come over to me?’

  Wil could hear the irritation in Tinniswood’s voice.

  ‘Na! I think I’ll pass on both options,’ said Wil and rolled off the rock.

  The current on that side of the river was far stronger than Wil had expected and he was bounced from rock to rock as the water swept him along. From behind him he heard a frustrated yell and then a splash. Tinniswood had jumped back into the water. With only about two horse lengths to go before he reached the willow, Wil’s progress was abruptly halted. His foot had caught between two submerged rocks. It was jammed fast.

  With a frantic look back up-stream he could see Tinniswood surging towards him. Wil tugged but his foot was well and truly stuck. The hilt of the hunting knife was acting like a wedge, digging painfully into his leg. If he could just reach down to pull it out, he should be able to get free. But if he didn’t move fast his advantage would be lost and both he and Tinniswood would be fighting for the same tree!

  With a deep breath Wil plunged his head under the water, clasped the knife and yanked it from his boot. But just as his leg came free Tinniswood grabbed his cloak.

  Wil was now very close to the willow. He stretched out one arm as he tried to keep Tinniswood off with the other. Another second and he would be there.

  With a massive effort Wil grabbed a great handful of slender tentacles. The branch bowed but held. Then he swung his body round and, with a roar of frustration, stabbed at the water wildly.

  All of a sudden Tinniswood cried out and released his grip. The water all around Wil swirled crimson. He kicked away with every ounce of strength he could muster and pushed Tinniswood back out into the river – all he saw as Tinniswood disappeared into the rapids was his out-stretched hand – then he was gone.

  The current tugged Wil in the same direction but he clung on to the branches of the willow and slowly inched his way to the bank. With one final, exhausted effort, he dragged himself up the tree roots and flopped, soaking and freezing, onto the steep bank where he lay gasping. Then it dawned on him – he might be alive, but what had happened to the others?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rescue

  The fog had lifted. In its place, pink and oran
ge rays glowed across Goatmed Scarp on the opposite side of the river. Wil struggled out of his heavy, waterlogged cloak and lay at the edge of the water - the steep river bank rose above him but he had no energy to climb up. He remembered the terrible scream that he’d heard just before Tinniswood had found him. It was definitely a girl’s scream.

  He thought about the enchanted First Aid bag – Mortimer still had it. Maybe, if Gisella had been injured – maybe it would help to save her? Then he thought about the juniper and Seth. He tried to tell himself that Seth couldn’t have known that the meat had been drugged, but he found it very hard not to be angry with him. If the boy hadn’t eaten the meat they would have been able to wake him up and they wouldn’t have gone back to steal the horses and no one would have woken up and they would probably by now have been back in Saran - and Gisella wouldn’t have screamed…

  He was trying, but failing, not to get bitter when the now familiar sound of hooves on the soft grass pulled him away from his tumbling thoughts. Dreading what he might see, he clambered up the bank and peered up onto the Fell, but to his relief, there, plodding towards him was Tinniswood’s horse, complete with bridle - and a saddle!

  The horse walked straight up to him, nuzzled its nose into the crook of Wil’s wet arm and then calmly started munching on the surrounding grass. Wil rolled onto his back and laughed out loud.

  After three completely unsuccessful attempts – one involving Wil launching himself straight over the horse’s back onto the ground on the other side – Wil finally managed to get onto the horse, facing the right way. With a great sense of achievement he gathered the reins in his fist and looked straight through the ears of his trusty steed.

  ‘Well, old fellow, I hope you know what you’re doing, because I haven’t got a clue!’

  The horse snorted.

  ‘OK, so how do you make these things go?’ Wil muttered to himself, trying to ignore the distance between him and the ground.

  He shuffled his bottom back and forward in the saddle, but the horse didn’t move.

  Then he shouted ‘YAR!’ – to no effect.

  He flicked the reins – the horse shifted from one leg to the other and dosed in the morning sun, then plunged its head forward to nibble on a particularly enticing clump of greenery and hauled Wil straight out of the saddle and over its neck. He lay on the grass – the horse stopped eating and looked down at him with interest.

  Wil lay on his back looking up at the animal. ‘Ok,’ he thought, ‘I don’t really want to go back to Saran and get hung for my trouble. I’m sure Gisella and the others will be fine – why don’t I just give up, let this nag go and walk home to Mistlegard?’

  ‘Because,’ said a small voice inside his head, ‘you don’t know if Gisella, Seth, Mortimer and Farrow are alright and if you don’t go back, you’ll be forever looking over your shoulder in case the Order are behind you. Go back and sort this out!’

  As he lay looking up into the brightening dawn, wrestling with his conscience, a tiny black dot loped across the sky towards him, getting larger as it approached. Wil smiled.

  ‘The thing is, Pricilla; I can’t get it moving. I did manage to get on, but then it wouldn’t go and I fell off again. Please can you do something to help me? I’ve got to find the others - I think they’re in trouble!’ he said, addressing the raven as calmly and politely as his rising anxiety would allow.

  Pricilla cocked her head to one side and studied him. Then she fluttered up onto the horse’s head and perched right in between its ears. Unperturbed, the horse flicked its ears back and forth but made no real effort to get the bird to move.

  ‘Prruk, Prruk!’ chattered Pricilla. Wil watched, fascinated.

  After a few moments the horse walked back over to Wil and lowered itself right down onto the ground. Then it looked at him and snorted.

  ‘Am I supposed to get on now?’ he asked Pricilla.

  ‘Crronk!’

  ‘Just checking,’ he said and stepped across the horse and lowered his backside gingerly onto the saddle.

  The horse then slowly got up – front feet first. Wil closed his eyes and clung on. Pricilla flew high up into the air, swirled around in a huge arc and returned, fluttering her broad black wings in front of the horse. Without any more hesitation the animal set off at a sedate walk. Wil tried to remember how he had seen Olivia holding the reins when he had ridden behind her – and did his best to stay up-right in the saddle.

  Although progress was slow Wil at least felt that it was progress – Pricilla swooped every now and then when they needed to change direction, and after a while Wil even risked a downward glance - he had definitely felt far safer clinging on to Olivia. But by mid morning he was starting to feel quite pleased with himself – it was now several hours since he had last fallen off!

  Pricilla led the way until mid-day, by which time Wil was absolutely ravenous. He braved another downward glance towards a small saddle-bag buckled to the front of the saddle – similar to the one Olivia had used for the food she had brought for Giles on the Moon Chase.

  Driven by hunger Wil manoeuvred himself far enough back in the saddle to open the bag. Inside he found some slices of almost stale bread and a piece of brown meat. Hungry as he was, he decided not to risk the meat – just in case it was the drugged venison – but he devoured the bread in an instant, remembering to keep a small piece back for Pricilla, which she fluttered down and took from his outstretched hand.

  After she had eaten the bread, Pricilla disappeared for quite a while. Wil started to get anxious and scoured the horizon for her black silhouette, but the sky remained stubbornly clear. Seemingly unperturbed, the horse plodded on in a dead straight line.

  Wil felt very vulnerable riding over the exposed fell and was glad when they finally started to descend into a sheltered gully. As they ambled along the horse stumbled on some loose rocks, giving Wil quite a start, but otherwise they continued their slow progress unhindered.

  At the far end of the gully, to Wil’s enormous relief, Pricilla appeared from nowhere and landed on a high rocky shelf right in front of them.

  ‘Crronk, Crronk!’ she said. Will guessed she had issued an instruction to the horse because it stopped.

  The raven fixed her beady eyes on Wil and cocked her head to one-side in what was becoming a familiar look.

  ‘I suppose you want me to get off?’ Wil asked reluctantly.

  ‘Crronk!’ she answered, flexing her wings.

  Taking that to be a ‘Yes’, Wil dragged his leg over the back of the saddle and slid awkwardly to the ground. As his feet hit the ground a sharp pain shot up his legs – Wil was sure that they would never work properly again.

  He limped over to Pricilla who kept her gaze fixed on the next sweep of land. Wil got the impression that she was pointing with her beak towards a copse of pine trees some way off and at that moment a gentle breeze wafted in Wil’s direction, bringing with it the most delicious smell of cooking.

  ‘Mortimer!’ Wil whispered, hardly able to contain his relief. But a sudden thought stopped him from running straight over to join his friend - if everything was OK surely Pricilla would have just taken him straight there?

  He turned to ask her what he should do, but she’d gone again.

  Dismayed and just a little irritated, Wil tied the horse to a scrubby bush and politely asked it to wait there – ‘Well, it worked with Pricilla,’ he thought. The horse did indeed stand still.

  The two moons had already risen – darkness would not be far off now. Pricilla did not re-appear so he decided that it would be better to wait until the light started to fade before making any attempt to get a closer look. So he plonked down, rolled his cloak into a pillow and tried to get comfortable while he waited - within minutes he was asleep.

  This time Wil wasn’t woken up by the persistent tapping of Pricilla’s shiny black beak on his nose, boot or anywhere else. He squinted up in the dusk light and discovered that the hot breath on his neck was coming from the horse.


  ‘Are you trying to tell me something – or just being annoying?’ asked Wil as he got to his feet and stroked the horse’s velvet muzzle.

  Instinctively he looked across towards the distant camp - to his horror, it looked like who ever it was, was preparing to leave!

  He politely told the horse to stay where it was and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head; then he climbed out of the gully and, crouching low, scurried towards the little copse.

  It was difficult to see properly in the darkness. He could make out movement but no-one was talking. The fell was eerily silent.

  Wil concentrated hard, trying to pick up any clues that might help him to work out who was there, or what was going on.

  Then he saw them – in his mind. He could see Gisella, with a nasty cut on her head; Seth, bound and gagged, and Mortimer, who was tucking Wil’s pink silk purse back into his belt. There were also three men – they didn’t look familiar but Wil noticed that one of them was carrying a sling-shot, just like the ones that had been used to attack Seth and Farrow at Tel Hireth. Another walked up to Gisella and stroked her cheek – she pulled away and all three men laughed out loud – coarse, cruel laughter that echoed out over the Fell – Wil could see that Gisella had been crying. He fought the extremely strong urge to wade straight in and kill the men there and then. Instead, he cast his mind around the edge of the camp – there, tied to a tree by a short chain, sat Farrow. Wil could feel that she wasn’t at all happy, although she appeared to be unharmed. He could also see three horses tethered not far from the hound, right at the edge of the copse. All were saddled-up and packed. Wil could hear Mortimer trying to persuade the men not to break camp.

  ‘It’s madness to move now,’ he was saying, but one of the men grabbed Mortimer’s arms behind his back and bound them with a thin rope.

  ‘Shut up, boy. We are going, but this time we’re not risking another one of your little night flights!’ the man growled. He yanked hard on the rope as if to reinforce his point - Mortimer winced. Then with the rope secure he span Mortimer round to face him and added, ‘And, what’s more, we will get there by midnight.’