The Peculiar Exploits of Brigadier Ffellowes (13 page)

             
"He suddenly snorted and checked, stamping his feet, refusing to go a foot forward. I drew
the knife from my belt, also alerted
—
and by a sudden awakening of a sense
far
older than anything merely physical. Ahead of us lay a menace of a different sort than the hunters of Waldrondale. I remembered my quondam host threatening me that something else was hunting that night, and also that the men who had driven me through the hedge called after me that
two
deaths were on my track.

             
"Before me, as I sat, frozen in the saddle, something moved in the shadows. It was large, but its exact shape was not easy to make out. I was conscious of a sudden feeling of intense cold, something I've experienced once or twice. I now know this to mean that one of what I'll call an Enemy from Outside, a foe of the spirit, is about. On my breast there was a feeling of heat as if I'd been burnt by a match. It was where I wore Betty's gift. The cross too was warning me. Then, two dim spots of yellow phosphorescence glowed at a height even with mine. A hard sound like a hoof striking a stone echoed once.

             
"This was enough for Bran! With a squeal of fright which sounded more like a hare than a blood horse, he turned and bolted. If I had not freed my hands I would have been thrown off in an instant, and as it was I had the very devil of a time staying on. He was not merely galloping, but bounding, gathering his quarters under him with each stride as if to take a jump. Only sheer terror can make a trained horse so forget himself.

             
"I did my best to guide him, for through the night I heard the golden questing note of a horn. The Wild Hunt was drawing the coverts. They seemed to be quite far down the valley and fortunately Bran was running away across its upper part, in the same direction as the big house.

             
"I caught a glimpse of its high, lightless gables, black against the stars as we raced over some open ground a quarter mile below it, then we were in the trees again, and I finally began to master the horse, at length bringing him to a halt. Once again, as he stood, sweated and shivered, I used my ears. At first there was nothing, then, well down the vale to my right front came the sound of the questing horn. I was still undiscovered.

             
"You may wonder, as I did at first, why I had heard no hounds. Surely it would have been easy for this crew to keep some bloodhounds, or perhaps smear my clothes or horse with anise and use their own thoroughbred fox hounds. I can only say I don't know. At a guess, and mind you, it's only a guess, there were other powers or elements loose that night which might have come into conflict with a normal hunting pack. But that's only a guess. Still, there were none, and though I was not yet sure of it, I was fairly certain, for even the clumsiest hound should have been in full cry on my track by now. The Wild Hunt then, seemed to hunt at sight. Again the clear horn note sounded. They were working up the slope in my direction.

             
"As quietly as possible, I urged Bran, who now seemed less nervous, along the edge of the little wood we were in and down the slope. We had galloped from the hill spur on the right, as one faced away from the house, perhaps two thirds of the way across the valley, which at this point was some two miles wide. Having tried one slope and met—well, whatever I
had
met, I would not try the other.

             
"My first check came at a wooden fence. I didn't dare jump such a thing at night, as much
for the noise as for the danger of landing badly. But I knew there were gates. I dismounted and led Bran along until I found one, and then shut it carefully behind me. I had not heard the mellow horn note for some time and the click of the gate latch sounded loud in the frosty night. Through the large field beyond I rode at a walk. There was another gate at the far side, and beyond that another dark clump of wood. It was on the edge of this that I suddenly drew rein.

             
"Ahead of me, something was moving down in the wood. I heard some bulky creature shoulder into a tree trunk and the sound of heavy steps. It might have been another horse from the sound. But at the same moment, up the slope behind me, not too far away, came the thud of hooves on the ground, many hooves. The horn note blew, not more than two fields away, by the sound.

             
I had no choice and urged Bran forward into the trees. He did not seem too nervous, and went willingly enough. The sound ahead of me ceased and then, as I came to a tiny glade in the heart of the little wood, a dim shape moved ahead of me. I checked my horse and watched, knife ready.

             
" 'Donald?' came a soft voice. Into the little clearing rode Betty, mounted on a horse as dark as mine, her great black mare. I urged Bran forward to meet her.

             
" 'I've been looking for you for over an hour,' she whispered, her breath warm on my cheek. I was holding her as tightly as I could, our mounts standing side by side, amiably sniffing one another. 'Let me go, Donald, or we'll both be dead. There's a chance, a thin one if we go the way I've thought out.' She freed herself and sat looking gravely at me. My night vision was good and I could see she had changed into a simple tunic of what looked like doeskin and soft, supple knee boots. Socketed in a sling was one of the short, heavy spears and I reached over and took it. The very heft of it made me feel better. The glimmering blade seemed red even in the dim tree light and I suddenly realized the point was bronze. These extraordinary people went in for authenticity in their madness.

             
" 'Come on, quickly,' she said and wheeled her horse back the way she had come. I followed obediently and we soon came to the edge of the forest. Before us lay another gentle slope, but immediately beneath us was a sunken dirt road, which meandered away to the left and downhill between high banks, their tops planted with hedge. We slid down a sandy slope and our horses began to walk along the road, raising hardly any dust. Betty rode a little ahead, her white face visible as she turned to look back at intervals. Far away a cock crowed, but I looked at my watch and it was no more than 3
a.m
. I could hear nothing uphill and the horn was silent. We rode through a little brook, our path crossing it at a pebbly ford only inches deep. Then, as we had just passed out of hearing the gurgle of the stream, a new sound broke the quiet night.

             
"It was somewhere between a whinny and a screech and I remembered the noise I had heard as the two riders had driven me through the hedge. If one could imagine some unthinkable horse-creature screaming at the scent of blood—eagerly, hungrily seeking its prey, well, that's the best I can do to describe it.

             
" 'Come on, we have to ride for our lives!' Betty hissed. 'They have let the Dead Horse loose upon us. No one can stand against that.'

             
"With that, she urged her mount into a gallop and I followed suit. We tore along the narrow track between the banks, taking each twist at a dead run, always angling somehow downhill and toward the valley mouth.

             
"Then, the road suddenly went up and I could see both ahead and behind. Betty reined up and we surveyed our position. At the same time the horn blew again, but short, sharp notes this time and a wild screaming broke out. Three fields back up the long gentle slope the Wild Hunt had seen our black outlines on the little swell where we paused. I could see what looked like a dozen horsemen coming full tilt and the faint glitter of the spears. But Betty was looking back down along our recent track.

             
"From out of the dark hollows came a vast grunting noise, like that of a colossal pig sighting the swill pail. It was very close.

             
"Betty struck her horse over the withers and we started to gallop again in real earnest. Bran was tired, but he went on nobly, and her big mare simply flew. The Hunt was silent now, but I knew they were still coming. And I knew too, that something else was coming. Almost, I felt a cold breath on my back, and I held the spear tightly against Bran's neck.

             
"Suddenly, Betty checked, so sharply her horse reared, and I saw why as I drew abreast. We had come very close to the mouth of the valley and a line of fires lay before us, not three hundred yards away on the open flat. Around them moved many figures, and even at this distance I could see that a cordon was established and from the hats and glint of weapons, I knew not by the
Waldrons
or their retainers. Apparently the outside world was coming to Waldrondale, at least this far. We had a fighting chance.

             
"Between us and the nearest fire, a black horseman rode at us, and he was only a hundred feet off. The raised spear and the bare head told me that at least one of the valley maniacs had been posted to intercept me, in the unlikely event of my getting clear of the rest.

             
"I spurred the tired hunter forward and gripped the short spear near its butt end, as one might a club. The move was quite instinctive. I knew nothing of spears but I was out to kill and I was a six-goal polo player. The chap ahead, some Waldron cousin, I expect, needed practice, which he never got. He tried to stab at me overhand, but before our horses could touch I had swerved and lashed out as I would on a long drive at the ball. The heavy bronze edge took him between the eyes and really, that was that. His horse went off to one side alone.

             
"Wheeling Bran, I started to call to Betty to come on and as I did saw that which she had so feared had tracked us down.

             
"I am still not entirely certain of what I saw, for I have the feeling that part of it was seen with what Asiatics refer to as the Third Eye, the inner 'eye' of the soul.

             
"The girl sat, a dozen yards from me, facing something which was advancing slowly upon us. They had called it the Dead Horse, and its shifting outlines indeed at moments seemed to
resemble a monstrous horse, yet at others, some enormous and distorted pig. The click of what seemed hooves was clear in the night. It had an unclean color, an oily shifting, dappling of grey and black. Its
pupilless
eyes, which glowed with a cold, yellow light, were fixed upon Betty, who waited as if turned to stone. Whatever it was, it had no place in the normal scheme of things. A terrible cold again came upon me and time seemed frozen. I could neither move nor speak, and Bran trembled, unmoving between my legs.

             
"My love broke the spell. Or it broke her. God knows what it must have cost her to defy such a thing, with the breeding she had, and the training. At any rate, she did so. She shouted something I couldn't catch, apparently in that pre-Gaelic gibberish they used and flung out her arm as if striking at the monster. At the same instant it sprang, straight at her. There was a confused sound or sounds, a sort of
spinning,
as if an incredible top were whirling in my ear and at the same instant my vision blurred.

             
"When I recovered myself, I was leaning over Bran's neck, clutching him to stay on and Betty lay silent in the pale dust of the road. A yard away lay her horse, also unmoving. And there was nothing else.

             
"As I dismounted and picked her up, I knew she was dead, and that the mare had died in the same instant. She had held the thing from Outside away, kept it off me, but it had claimed a price. The high priestess of the cult had committed treason and sacrilege and her life was the price. Her face was smiling and peaceful, the ivory skin unblemished, as if she were asleep.

             
"I looked up at the sound of more galloping
hoofbeats
. The Wild Hunt, all utterly silent, were rounding a bend below me and not more than a hundred yards away. I lifted Betty easily, for she was very light, and mounted. Bran still had a little go left and we headed for the fires, passing the dead man lying sprawled in his kilt or whatever on the road. I was not really afraid any longer and as I drew up at the fire with a dozen gun barrels pointed at me, it all felt unreal. I looked back and there was empty hill, a barren road. The riders of Waldrondale had vanished, turned back apparently at the sight of the fires and the armed men.

             
" 'He's not one; look at the gal! That crowd must have been hunting
him.
Call the parson over or Father Skelton, one of you, Keep a sharp lookout, now!'