by Farr, Cathy;
‘But we can’t go onto Tel Harion with only one hound – the Wraithe Wolves will slaughter us before we’ve got up onto the first slopes!’ Mortimer persisted.
‘Look boy – we’ve been babysitting too long already – thanks to Tinniswood! I don’t know where ‘e’s disappeared to, but I’m glad ‘e’s gone. Now we’re takin’ you to Lord Rexmoore tonight and that’s the end of it! And you’d better pray that dreamer was right about how valuable you are!’
The man walked away.
Wil could see that for the first time Mortimer looked frightened.
Breathless, Wil scrambled back down into the gully. Pricilla flew down to join him just as he landed next to the horse. A thought struck him.
‘It was you, Pricilla – wasn’t it? You showed me what happened to Seth up on the Fell and you did it again just now – down in the copse!’
The raven spread her wings wide and twitched her head to one side – he was right, he knew it!
With his pulse racing now, Wil knew he had to act fast – one boy against three armed men weren’t the worst odds in the world - but if he got it wrong, he knew his friends would pay dearly.
There was only one way to gain the advantage – he had to communicate with Farrow, to make her understand that he – they – needed her help, just like she’d helped Seth. If he could get Farrow to understand what to do, Wil knew he stood a chance of rescuing the others. And then another idea struck him.
‘Pricilla – please – I need your help again.’
The raven cocked her head and scrutinised him.
‘It’s not too dangerous!’ he told her, hastily. ‘I’ve just got to get to Farrow – to undo her chain. I need to get her to attack those men – or at least create a diversion so that I can untie Gisella, Mortimer and Seth. Then they can take the horses and get back to Saran. Pricilla, I need you to bring this one down to the other side of the trees and wait for me - please?’
The look on the raven’s face told Wil that if she could have spoken she would have said, ‘Are you completely mad? This really is a bit of a long shot - you can’t even communicate with your horse!’
But she couldn’t speak - luckily.
Pausing only to check that his hunting knife was still tucked safely back into his boot, Wil once more pulled his hood low over his head and made his way back up onto the open fell.
Black night had closed in once more as he made his way back to the copse. The going was not easy. Halfway between the gully and the copse he fell into a rabbit-hole; then he cracked his knee on a raised tree root and bit down hard on his lip - the metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth. Wil swore under his breath.
After what felt like a lifetime, Wil finally reached the copse.
There was no sign of Gisella, Mortimer, Seth or Farrow. The men were checking the horses and Wil could hear them talking about how they would spend the reward money that Rexmoore was sure to give them for bringing home such a valuable bounty. Then their conversation moved to the fate of their prisoners.
‘So what do you think he’ll do with ‘em?’ asked one.
‘Don’t know – don’t care,’ answered another. ‘As long as ‘e pays us for delivering ‘em!’
‘I reckon ‘e’ll ‘old ‘em to ransom – the girl’s gotta be worth a bit at least, from what Tinniswood was sayin!’ said a third voice.
‘D’you think ‘e’ll let us keep the ‘ound like Tinniswood said, Arty?’
‘Can’t see why not,’ answered Arty. “e’s ‘ardly gonna want to keep it ‘im self – I’ve ‘eard ‘is good lady ‘ates the sight of ‘em!’
‘Well, I ‘ope so – that mutt’s gotta be worth a bit! Might turn out it was worth loosing Duncan, Bart and the others after all!’
‘And – don’t forget - we’ve still got the deer in Thesker Pyke!’
They all laughed – clearly very pleased with the outcome of their latest rustling operation.
Wil crept around to the other side of the copse. There was still no noise from the prisoners.
He tried to remember the layout of the camp as Pricilla had shown it to him but the darkness was disorientating. The bright full-moons of the Moon Chase were, tonight, two thin crescent-shaped slivers of silver that cast very little light to guide his way and he cracked his head against an unseen branch. Cursing quietly again, he ducked down to avoid doing the same thing at the next tree and came almost nose to nose Farrow.
A little too late, Wil realised that the soft breeze that had wafted the smell of Mortimer’s wonderful cooking to him earlier was now carrying his own scent towards Farrow. She looked around, suddenly alert. Wil crouched low in the pitch-darkness and, with his eyes closed, focused all his attention on the Fellhound.
His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. Then gradually he realised he could feel a second set of beats. But this heart-beat was slower and more resonating than his – as if it was beating in a larger chest. It felt very odd and made him feel slightly sick. He opened his eyes - Farrow was staring directly at him.
A pulse of joy burst through his mind – Farrow knew who he was – and, to his relief, she was pleased to see him. The challenge now would be keeping her calm while he undid her chain. Once free, Wil was convinced she would know what to do.
‘Steady, Farrow, wait.’ Wil let the words flow around his mind – hoping that Farrow would pick up his thoughts and understand. She stayed absolutely still and waited for his command.
With every ounce of concentration, Wil tried to keep his thoughts under control. He slowly moved closer. But within two strides of the chain-fastening he tripped over yet another tree root. His concentration broke and Fallow jumped to her feet.
‘DROP!’
He kept his lips pressed firmly together and somehow managed to stop the word from bursting out of his mouth as it filled his whole being. To his amazement Farrow immediately dropped flat to the ground.
‘What was that?’ said the gruff voice of one of the men.
‘What was what? – I didn’t ‘ear nothing!’
‘Over by the ‘ound – I’m sure she just did something!’
‘I reckon you ate too much of that rabbit, ‘arry – given yourself indigestion!’ said the gruff voice of Arty. ‘Come on let’s get this lot movin’ or we’ll be ‘ere all night – again!’
‘Aye, Art’s right. Anyway, I’ve got a nice little filly waitin’ fer me at The Old Mule, so let’s get a move on!’
‘Wasn’t Bart seein’ ‘er?’
‘Not without ‘is ‘ead!’
All three burst out laughing – grizzly images of the men that Farrow had so efficiently dispatched when they attacked Seth flooded into Wil’s mind.
He stayed where he had fallen, stretched-out on the damp ground. Farrow panted in anticipation. He could feel her excitement as he carefully pulled out the iron pin that fixed her collar to the chain. She made to move again.
‘Wait, Farrow,’ he thought to her.
She lay still, but Wil could feel that every sinew of her body was ready to explode into life.
Through the dark trees the embers of a dying fire gave out a soft orange glow. At last Wil could see Gisella’s pale face - she was staring at the men with deep loathing. Next to her sat Mortimer, both had their hands tied behind them. But Seth was nowhere to be seen.
One of the men strode back into the camp and grabbed Gisella roughly by the arm, lifting her to her feet. She cried out. Wil gripped the metal pin so tightly that it cut into his hand.
‘It’s now or never,’ he thought, ‘GO FARROW – GET THEM!’
In a blur of movement Farrow hurtled forwards and leapt on the man holding Gisella. Both of them screamed but Farrow’s pin-point accuracy made sure she took out the right target. Then she went in search of the other poachers, Wil rushed towards the fire. Gisella was still screaming.
‘Gisella, Gisella – it’s me – Wil!’
He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her until she stopped scr
eaming.
‘Wil – where on earth… how… we thought you were dead!’ she burst into tears and flung her arms around his neck.
‘It’s good to see you too, Gizzy, but this really isn’t the time…’ Wil said quickly as he extricated himself from the sobbing girl and untied Mortimer. To his relief Mortimer wasn’t quite as emotional as Gisella, although he was clearly delighted to see Wil. Another blood-curdling scream suggested that Farrow was taking care of things elsewhere.
‘Gosh, it’s good to see you! How did you get here?’ he asked Wil. His face was filthy and he had a black eye.
‘It’s a long story – I’ll tell you some time. Where’s Seth?’ Wil asked, looking around.
‘We’re over here – I can’t untie Seth!’ called Gisella. Her desperate voice was almost drowned-out by the sound of Farrow barking and snarling – and men shrieking.
Wil and Mortimer ran over to help.
‘Blimey – how many ropes did they use, Seth?’ asked Mortimer, looking at the boy’s bound arms and legs. Then he paused and added ‘Well, I suppose you did make a run for it this morning!’
‘I know – I really thought I’d be able to get away, too – but that blinking horse fell down a rabbit hole. I think I’ve broken my leg!’
Wil glanced at Mortimer – neither of them uttered a word.
‘Stop right there!’ said a gruff voice behind them. Wil and Mortimer froze. ‘Call off your dog – or I’ll shoot. I reckon I’ll get at least one of you before it gets me!’
Farrow burst into the clearing. Wil, Mortimer and Seth all spoke at once.
‘Wait, Farrow!’ Farrow stopped dead in her tracks.
‘Right, nice and slow – seein’ as I’m the only one who’s armed – you girl – you can tie your mate back up – and your new friend!’ He pointed his crossbow at Gisella as he spoke.
Then he took a second look at Wil.
‘You’re the seer that Tinniswood was so interested in! ‘e went after you – what ‘appened to ‘im?’
‘Last I saw he was taking a dip off Esk Falls,’ said Wil, with a wry smile.
‘You little… Hey, I thought I said tie your mate up, girl!’ The lone rustler swung his bow back towards Gisella – Wil heard something whistle past his ears and the man dropped to the ground – stone dead.
Wil, Gisella and Mortimer all turned to find out where the bolt had come from. There sat Seth looking very pleased with himself – holding a crossbow in his arms.
‘Funny what people leave lying around, isn’t it?’ he said with a grin – his feet were still tightly bound.
‘I thought Gisella said that she couldn’t untie you?’ Mortimer said, looking from Seth to Gisella and back again.
‘Well, the legs seem to be a bit of a problem, but she managed to loosen my arms. I just pulled my hands through – I think I’ve got a bit of rope-burn though!’
‘And where did you learn to shoot like that, Seth?’ Wil cut in.
Seth’s eyes twinkled as he answered Wil.
‘Oh, Cae and I practice all the time at home – to be honest I prefer the crossbow – but don’t tell Farrow – or my father!’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wil’s Choice
By the time they had hidden the bodies in the copse - just in case any of the other poachers came looking for their friends - Wil had made his mind up.
Mortimer, Gisella and Seth took a horse each and jumped on. Despite their ordeal, they laughed and joked as their hopes of getting home finally became a reality.
‘Come on, Wil, you’d better ride with me,’ said Mortimer offering his hand down to Wil.
‘Er, no thanks, Mort – I’ve arranged my own ride – Tinniswood’s horse got me this far and, if my plan works out, it’ll be right on the other side of these trees.’
‘What? You rode here – on your own!’ exclaimed Gisella, genuinely astounded.
‘Yep – well, I sat on actually - the horse did the rest. I did have a bit of help with steering, too… but hey, I got here, didn’t I?’
‘OK, so we’ll come with you and then we can all ride back together. Even in the dark, it shouldn’t take us too long from here – I’m pretty sure I can remember the way,’ said Mortimer grinning. Wil could hear the excitement in his friend’s voice; it was obvious that all three were desperate to get back home.
‘No, er… it’s OK. You go on and I’ll catch you up!’ Wil looked directly at Mortimer so as not to catch Gisella’s eye as he spoke. But she was not to be fooled.
‘You’re not going to come with us – are you, Wil?’ Her accusing tone told Wil that she already knew the answer - and part of him didn’t want her to be right.
‘Yer, course I am! I’m just going to get the horse - I’ll follow you,’ he lied, stepping away from them as he spoke.
Mortimer spoke from behind him. ‘Wil, think about it, mate. If you don’t face the Order now, you’ll never be able to come to Saran again, and if they catch you…’
Mortimer’s voice tailed off. More than anything, Wil had desperately wanted to avoid this conversation. He answered without turning around.
‘I just can’t. You know what happened to my shoulder – Godwyn Savidge said – ‘killed or injured’ – they’ll hang me what ever you lot tell them!’
Seth looked like he’d been struck by something hard.
‘I didn’t know you got injured!’ he exclaimed. ‘When was that?’
‘Not that it matters now, but it was on the Moon Chase – when Leon got knocked out – Becky knows anyway – she’s probably told everyone by now.’ Wil didn’t try to hide the bitterness in his voice. ‘I’ll get the blame for Giles, too, I know it. Sorry Gisella, but your mother was as convinced as Savidge and Beck – they’ll hang me, Gizzy, I know it!’
A single tear trickled down Gisella’s face but she didn’t say anything.
‘I’m so sorry Wil,’ said Seth. He looked as though his whole world had crashed around him. ‘I would certainly fight your corner – if you came with us. My father does have some influence – Morten Mortens has always been a good friend to my family – ever since my brother… you know… was killed.’
‘And Gisella and I will tell them that without you we wouldn’t have survived the Moon Chase - let alone the journey home! Please come with us, Wil,’ begged Mortimer. But Wil’s mind was made up.
‘I can’t – I’m sorry. I’ll take my chances and go home – to my home. But… thank you anyway.’
Gisella nodded and swallowed hard. Her eyes sparkled with unspent tears.
Farrow was sitting close by. Wil walked up and affectionately scratched the hound’s ear. She leant into his hand and groaned in appreciation.
‘Keep looking after your master, old girl – he definitely needs you!’
Then Gisella, Mortimer and Seth sat on their horses and watched as Wil turned and disappeared back into the trees.
‘Wil, wait!’ Mortimer came crashing after him, waving something in his hand. ‘You might need this – it certainly got us out of a jam back there – and the food I cooked with those herbs was delicious!’
Mortimer held out the pink silk bag and smiled down at his friend. Wil looked at it and smiled back.
‘No, Mortimer, you keep it – come by Mistlegard someday and cook some of that deer for my mother and I – not too heavy on the juniper though!’
And with an apologetic grin he turned and walked away.
Wil stood under a thick pine tree and listened as the others thundered off into the night. A lump stuck in his throat.
To his relief, Pricilla was waiting on the other side of the copse. Tinniswood’s horse was dozing next to her. But although actually getting back into the saddle was a bit easier, making the horse move once again proved challenging.
For a fleeting moment Wil wondered if the horse was trying to tell him that he was doing the wrong thing – he could certainly tell that Pricilla was less than impressed and his own conscience had stopped speaking to him altogether!
‘Look,’ he said into the darkness, ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going home - my home. And that’s the end of it!’
Pricilla launched into the sky with a single beat of her wings. As she merged with the black night, the horse moved off at a slow, steady walk.
‘Thank you!’ Wil said, exasperated, but relieved. He was tired and unlike the others, hadn’t had the benefit of one of Mortimer’s wonderful culinary creations. The combination of hunger and fatigue, mingled with the nagging feeling that he had let people down made him bad-tempered. He rode along not really concentrating on the direction, but knowing that if the others had gone east, he needed to go north.
Crump!
Wil didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but he did know that falling off that blessed horse - yet again - hurt!
He lay there in the dirt, with his cheek pressed into a muddy puddle. Mud oozed into his ear and water soaked through his cloak. The horse stood over him, wrenching enthusiastically at great clumps of grass. It was dawn - again. He had spent yet another night lost on the Fells.
Staying right where he was, in the mud, he allowed himself a moment of gratuitous bad language then, feeling no better, he pushed up onto his knees and shook the mud out of his hair.
‘Crronk!’
The familiar sound came from out of the blue – Wil jumped. There, perched on the horse’s saddle, was Pricilla – and in her deep, arched bill was a small bag – although, not the familiar pink silk one.
She fluttered down and dropped the bag at his feet – out rolled a freshly baked loaf of bread. Wil picked it up – it was still warm and the smell of fresh baked yeast and malt made his mouth water. He ripped the end crust off the bread with his teeth and reached back into the bag, where his fingers closed around a lump of cool waxy cheese – there was also a bright red apple, two pears and a flask of … elder wine.
He looked round, half-expecting to see Lady Élanor standing over him. But no – he stopped chewing. His arms dropped limp to his sides – there in front of him, as imposing as ever, stood the town gates of Saran.