The Tower of Ravens (64 page)

“I slept too,” Rafferty admitted shamefacedly. “I could no‘ help it.”

“Me too,” Lewen said. “I dinna think I’d sleep a wink, I had so much on my mind, but I slept like the dead.”

They all looked at each other, ashen-faced, then Nina began a strange, low keening. “Nay, nay, no‘ my baby, no’ my laddie, nay, nay, I canna believe it. They canna have got my baby.”

“If they have, they’ll be sorry for it,” Iven said grimly. “They must have left a trail o‘ sorts. Do no’ worry, my love, we’ll find him.”

“The birds!” Nina said wildly. “The birds may have seen something.”

Iven pointed to a nearby tree, where two small birds slept still, their heads tucked under their wings. “A strong and subtle spell,” Nina said, unnaturally calmly, when the implications of the sight had sunk in. “There’s a sorcerer at work here.”

“Laird Malvern?”

“I fear so,” she answered. “Remember, he was an apprentice at the Tower o‘ Ravens once, and they said his witch-sniffing powers were uncanny. Oh, Iven! Please, we must hurry! I fear for my Roden.”

Rhiannon had been standing still, the chain between her and Lewen drawn taut, looking intently at the ground. “I see a footmark here,” she said then. They all crowded round her, but could see nothing but a faint smudge in the damp soil. Rhiannon ignored their questions and exclamations, walking slowly away towards the wood. Lewen followed her, tugged along by the chain between them. “He went through here,” she said, examining a broken twig, then bending to look at the leaf litter.

“Are ye sure?” Nina asked helplessly, unable to see any marks on the ground.

Rhiannon glanced back at her. “One thing a satyricorn kens is how to hunt,” she answered, her voice warm with compassion. Nina’s eyes filled with tears.

“Rafferty, rouse the others,” Iven cried. “Get the horses saddled up, get my sword.”

“And my bow and arrows too, please,” Lewen added.

“And mine,” Rhiannon said, giving Rafferty a very clear, direct look out of her blue-grey eyes. Rafferty hesitated and looked at Iven, who waved him on impatiently.

“Rhiannon, where now?” he cried.

She led them deep into the wood, through a maze of trees and thorny bushes. At last she came to a small clearing. “Horses tethered here,” she said. A mound of fresh horse droppings galvanised them all into excitement. “Three horses,” Rhiannon said. She suddenly bent and picked up something from the ground. It was a small wooden soldier.

Nina’s face crumpled. “He took it to bed with him last night. Oh, my laddie! Where are ye?”

“Fettercairn Castle,” Iven said in a murderous voice. “I will raze the place to the ground if I have to, to get my son back.”

“Aye, with a handful o‘ lads and your sword,” Nina said in a voice blank with despair.

“We may be able to catch them afore they get back to the castle,” Lewen cried.

“We must be quick!” Iven said, gripping his hands into fists. “Rhiannon, which way did they ride?”

Breaking into a run, Rhiannon led them through the trees to the other side of the wood. Beyond was a long meadow stretching back to the north. They could all see the deep indentations the horses’ hooves had made in the damp soil. “They were galloping hard,” she said bending to touch one hoofprint. “At least half an hour ago.”

Nina was white and trembling.

“I bet they canna run as fast as Argent,” Lewen cried.

“Or Blackthorn,” said Rhiannon. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled piercingly.

“Ye’ll have to unshackle us,” Lewen said. “Argent canna run if he is carrying both o‘ us.”

Iven did not hesitate. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the key. “I’ll be right behind ye. I’m sure the boys willna mind me taking one of their horses. My auld Steady is too big and slow for this task.” He unlocked the shackles and the chain fell at their feet.

A shrill whinnying rent the air, and Blackthorn came galloping out of the wood, her tail held high, her mane rippling like a black satin banner. Rhiannon flung open her arms, her face radiant, and the mare came to a plunging halt before her, to blow grass-stained slobber all over her shirt. Her wings were unfurled, flashing blue as a kingfisher, and her horns cut through the air like rapiers as she tossed her head, pawing the ground. Rhiannon embraced her passionately.

Then Rafferty came up at a run, Cameron close behind him. They led their two geldings, and the girls’ two mares. Argent cantered close behind, neighing in excitement, unsaddled, unbridled and untethered.

“He would no‘ let me saddle him,” Rafferty panted. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, I’ll ride bareback,” Lewen said and vaulted up onto the stallion’s back. Rafferty handed up Lewen’s longbow and quiver of arrows, which he slung over his shoulder. Then the boy turned to Rhiannon and, without a word, passed over her bow and arrows, and her beloved silver and black daggers. Rhiannon took them with a quick shining smile and a nod of thanks, and quickly hid them about her person.

“Rafferty, I want ye and the girls to ride to Linlithgorn and raise the reeve. Tell him to get as many men as he can on short notice and ride for Fettercairn Castle. We canna allow the laird to escape the Rìgh’s justice any longer. Take my courier’s badge from my caravan, and show the reeve. It gives me His Highness’s authority.”

Rafferty nodded, though it was clear he would rather be riding to the rescue with the others.

“May I borrow your horse?” Iven asked him. “I’m too heavy for the mares, over such a distance.”

Rafferty nodded. Iven mounted with the easy grace of a onetime cavalier, taking his sword from Cameron with a nod of thanks. Then he and Lewen were off, galloping across the meadow. Rhiannon swung herself up onto the black mare’s back with a wild whoop, then the mare bounded after them, her wings half-unfurled.

Nina seized the bridle of the brown mare, then she was up into the saddle too and galloping away, her unbound hair whipping behind her. Cameron grimaced at Rafferty, and then swung himself up onto Basta’s back and kicked him into motion. As the gelding broke into a run, Lulu came scampering out of the forest, whimpering in distress. She leapt up Basta’s tail and onto the back of Cameron’s saddle, clasping his belt. Cameron cried out in shock and almost fell off.

“Get off!” he cried, but Lulu clung on, gibbering loudly. He scowled but did not try to shake her off, bending low as he tried to catch up with the others.

The horses were fresh after their long stay in the laird’s stables and the easy ride of the day before. Their heavy hooves seemed to eat up the miles. Rhiannon rode ahead, following the trail left by the kidnappers. There was no doubt the trail led towards Fettercairn Castle.

By midmorning the castle was in sight, frowning down from the great height of its cliff. They had been alternating between a trot and a canter for the last few hours, so as not to exhaust the horses too much. Argent and Blackthorn were some distance in front, the others trailing behind.

Suddenly Rhiannon shouted and waved her arm. She could see three horses riding up the long green slope towards the road. One of the riders carried something before him. Everyone kicked their horses on to a new spurt of speed. There was a flash of a face as someone looked back at them, then the three horses broke into a gallop again. The race was on.

Up the steep, cobbled road the horses thundered, striking sparks from their steel-shod feet. Stride by stride Argent and Blackthorn closed the gap between them. The kidnappers reached the first switchback corner and took it fast, one of the horses almost slipping on the damp stones. Rhiannon dragged up Blackthorn’s head, urging her into the air. With a whinny, the mare spread out her wings, tucked up her legs and rose swiftly off the ground. She landed in the middle of the road above, turning to face the three riders galloping towards her. Rhiannon saw Lord Malvern, his face twisted into a grimace of fury and hate, the seneschal Irving, and the laird’s bodyguard, who cradled a small, cloak-wrapped figure in his arms.

Rhiannon unslung her bow and pulled an arrow from her quiver, setting it to her string and raising the bow high. She did not know who to aim for. If she shot the bodyguard, Roden might be severely injured in the fall. Yet she wanted desperately to save the boy for Nina. She had only a few seconds. In a moment the horses would be upon her. Rhiannon took a deep breath, aimed for Lord Malvern, and let the arrow go.

It sang out into the air. Lord Malvern cringed back, his horse faltering in its headlong gallop. Scant seconds before the arrow found its mark in his shoulder, his seneschal Irving brought his horse plunging across the road, throwing himself before his lord. The arrow caught him in the throat, and he went down under the horses’ thundering hooves.

Lord Malvern managed to heave himself back in the saddle, and spurred his horse on, tumbling the seneschal’s body aside. Blackthorn reared, then with a great thrust of her hindquarters, managed to leap into the air just as the bodyguard’s huge charger galloped past underneath her. Rhiannon leant down and made a grab for Roden, but the bodyguard had the little boy in too tight a grip. All she managed to do was drag the cloak from his head so she could see his bright curls, and the pale curve of a cheek. His eyes were closed and he breathed stertorously. The wind from Blackthorn’s steadily beating wings caused the bodyguard’s cloak to toss and twist wildly. Only this saved Rhiannon, for the bodyguard had his sword in his other hand and as she reached down for Roden, he brought it up in a great whistling swipe that would have taken off Rhiannon’s head if the sword had not got caught in his cloak. As it was the sword nicked her arm, causing her to cry out in pain. She dragged Blackthorn’s head up, and the mare rose higher, her wings beating strongly. The bodyguard galloped on, Lord Malvern close behind, and Blackthorn came down to land lightly on the road again.

Rhiannon grasped her arm, trying to stop the blood. Argent came galloping up and she shouted, “Go! Go! They have Roden, I saw him.”

“Ye all right?” Lewen shouted as the grey stallion raced past.

“Aye, aye, just go!” Rhiannon looked down at her injured arm and saw she had taken a nasty swipe. Cursing under her breath, she took her shirt between her teeth and tore away a strip, which she clumsily wound round and round the gash. She had to bend her arm to tie the ends into a knot and this caused her such intense pain she almost swooned. For a moment she leant forward, resting her head on Blackthorn’s mane, trying to fight off the dizziness. Blackthorn stood steady, though her chest heaved and her legs trembled. The dizziness passed, and Rhiannon tucked her injured arm against her body and urged Blackthorn on. At first the mare baulked, exhausted by the effort of her flight, but Rhiannon insisted and so the tired mare broke into a canter, following Lewen and Argent.

She heard hooves behind her, and then Iven was beside her, astride the brown gelding. “Are ye badly hurt?” he said. She shook her head. “I hate this slug! I wish I had my auld war-charger. Then Lord Malvern would ken what a real horse can do.”

“Saw Roden,” Rhiannon panted. “Tried to shoot… the laird down… Irving took the arrow.”

“Aye, I saw. It was a brave try. Come on! We must get them afore they reach the gatehouse.”

Iven spurred his horse on, and Blackthorn leapt to match the gelding’s stride. Rhiannon was too weak and dizzy to direct her. She just hung on grimly, trying to protect her wounded arm from the worst of the jolts.

Back and forth the road climbed up the cliff, like a great stony snake. Often the sound of the kidnappers’ hooves was so tantalisingly close, it felt as if they could reach up their hand and topple their horses by seizing their hock. Iven drew ahead, and Nina rode up behind, barefoot and clad only in a nightgown, her hair wild. She shouted a question to Rhiannon, who was too winded to reply. Nina shot her a look of deep concern but did not stop, racing on to catch up with her husband. Rhiannon’s impromptu bandage was now red with blood, and her hands were slick with it. Suddenly Blackthorn’s withers rose up and hit Rhiannon in the face. Blackness overwhelmed her, and she fell. She hit the cobblestones hard, rolled over and over, and came to a rest against the wall.

Rhiannon lay still for a moment, trying to get her breath. Her arm throbbed unbearably. A dark whiskery face bent down to nudge her and blow a worried query. Rhiannon laughed shakily, wiped her eyes, and, clinging to Blackthorn’s mane, hauled herself upright again. This time she sat for a moment, waiting for the red waves of pain to recede.
Ye’re no‘ thinking
, she told herself.
Ye have a winged horse. Use her
!

Behind her she could hear Cameron approaching fast. She clambered up the wall and remounted Blackthorn, being too weak to vault up onto her back the way she usually did. Then she set Blackthorn at the wall. The winged mare took a few strides, leapt over the obstacle and spread her wings. They soared into the air, right above Cameron’s startled head. Lulu, clinging still to Cameron’s belt, gibbered and cringed. The valley tilted away below them, sunlit and golden. Blackthorn veered, beat her wings rhythmically, and began to rise.

Up, up, they went, passing one level of the road after another. They passed Iven and Nina, who were both whipping their foundering horses on mercilessly. They passed Lewen, crouched on Argent’s neck, the stallion galloping on tirelessly. Then, just round the next corner, they passed the foam-flecked, blowing mounts of Lord Malvern and his bodyguard. The lord drew his sword and slashed at them as they flew past, but Blackthorn swerved nimbly so he missed. Rhiannon could only hope the lord had not seen how very nearly she had been unseated by the sudden move.

They landed on the readjust outside the gatehouse. The gates were wide open, yawning blackly, but there was no sign of the gatekeeper. Rhiannon slid off Blackthorn’s back, and leant against her for a moment, taking strength from her warm, sweaty flank. Then she straightened herself, turning to look at the road. At the far end, Lord Malvern and his bodyguard were just turning the corner and coming towards her. Both their horses were badly winded, barely managing a canter. It was cruel to whip them on, and Rhiannon told the horses so, as they came wild-eyed and foam-flecked towards her.
Ye deserve better masters than this
, she said silently.
How dare they whip ye and spur ye and drive ye to gallop up such a cruel, steep hill as this. Ye are Horse. Ye are not their slave. Stand still. Refuse to run anymore
.