Thunder oak, p.19
Thunder Oak, page 19
‘I’m looking forward to that,’ said little Miniver. ‘My legs are just about giving out.’
She turned and looked down the path they had taken, winding through the bubbling hills. She could see nothing through the haze of heat, though. Tendrils of air rose from the hot surface of the rock like barely visible snakes dancing on their tails. ‘Do you think the others made it down all right?’ she gasped, fighting for breath. ‘I can’t see them from here.’
‘We’ll just have to trust they did,’ Sylver said. ‘I hope they don’t get too tired, carrying Wodehed. He’s not one to miss a meal, that wizard.’
Miniver clicked her teeth. ‘It should have been me,’ she said humorously. ‘They could have put me in one of their pouches and thought nothing about it.’
‘I wouldn’t wish an arrow wound from Magellan on you or anyone else,’ said Sylver, gasping. ‘He’s deadly with that bow of his.’
Now, at last, they came out of the swirling storm of hot dust and tight air. There was little vegetation apart from the occasional stubby dwarf pine, or a brittle shrub growing from a crack in the rock, but the atmosphere was much cleaner. Miniver took several gulps of oxygen. Dredless sat down to clear his head. Sylver drew in air through his nostrils, still feeling the sting of the sulphur dust trapped in them.
‘Well, we’re through,’ he said. ‘Just get your strength back, you two, and we’ll continue up to a place where we can camp for the night. Keep your eyes peeled for Magellan. If we come across him, leave him to me.’
‘Why should you get all the glory?’ Dredless said. ‘Magellan killed my brother. I should get first dibs at him.’
Neither weasel really wanted to fight the fox, but they knew they would have to when he showed himself.
It was true that the mercenary fox had killed the brother of Dredless, back in the Year of the Dandelion. After a strong king’s death a country often descends into chaos and anarchy. There is no law and morality breaks down. Those without consciences plunder and murder, making themselves rich, settling old scores. Even the body of the old king was stripped of its valuables by his erstwhile servants and left to rot on the floor of the forest while the kingdom ran riot.
Magellan himself had slaughtered whole communities in those terrible days. He came sweeping across Welkin leading a horde of rogue foxes, polecats and pine martens, who cared nothing for life or property. They burned as they went, they ravaged, they pillaged even the poorest little hamlet, they massacred anyone and anything which got in their way.
Only the combined forces of the stoats and weasels, joined for once against a common enemy, managed to check the terrible tide of butchery to which Magellan had given birth.
The trio found a cleft in the rocks, beside a mountain pass, where they felt it would be safe to spend the night. There was a stream there, which tumbled headlong down the mountain. From this they drank, and in it they bathed, refreshing themselves.
The next morning they were up early, ready to be on their way. They followed the mountain path below which they had spent the night, knowing it would lead them to the ridges above, where they could begin searching for the eagle’s nest.
At noon they came to a wide chasm, over which was slung a flimsy rope bridge. It was clear that the rope was rotten and Sylver was not sure whether it would support their weight, even if they crossed one at a time.
‘What’s the alternative?’ asked Miniver. ‘Can we go round the chasm?’
Sylver shook his head doubtfully. ‘I don’t think so. It would take us days, perhaps longer, to find another way across or round this gap.’
‘Then we have to use this bridge, like it or not,’ she said. ‘I’ll go first. I’m the lightest.’
‘No,’ said Dredless, stepping onto the unstable bridge, ‘I’m going first this time . . .’
The other two weasels held their breath as Dredless made his way cautiously to the middle of the bridge. One or two rotten ropes snapped as he stood there, swaying dangerously in the winds funnelled down the chasm. Luckily these were not anchoring ropes and Dredless did not immediately go plunging down into the darkness of the crevasse. ‘I’m all right,’ he called shakily. ‘I’ll go a bit further now.’
He inched his way along the rope bridge, holding on to the crumbling nets which formed the sides. Gusts of wind made him pause every so often, as the bridge swung under their attack. When he was two-thirds across, he stopped dead and did not move a muscle. It was as if he had met an obstacle.
‘What’s the matter?’ called Sylver. ‘What’s wrong?’
Then the weasel leader saw the problem. Actually, it was more than a problem: it was a disaster. A figure was now visible, having emerged from behind a crop of rocks on the other side. There was a strung bow in the creature’s paws.
‘Magellan,’ said Sylver, his heart sinking.
‘Oh no,’ cried Miniver. ‘Dredless is helpless out there.’
‘Greetings, weasels,’ called the rogue fox over the chasm, the smugness in his voice unmistakable. ‘I see you’ve come to the same barrier as I have myself, only from the opposite side. You see, I came the long way round up here, from the south, only to find my way blocked by this excuse for a bridge.
‘I did think about crossing it last night, in order that I might catch you all asleep. It’s easier despatching animals in their sleep.
‘However, I could see that the bridge was not going to support my weight, so I remained here, waiting for you. Then I thought, Why not tarry until they’re all on the bridge, before cutting it away and letting them fall down into the ravine? But of course, you’re coming over one by one. I don’t want it to be too much of a fair fight, so I think I’ll just settle for the weasel on the bridge for now . . .’
‘NO!’ cried Sylver. ‘Let me come across. I’ll fight you, paw to claw. Dredless won’t interfere.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Dredless called. ‘Nothing would stop me having a go at him.’
‘You see?’ called the fox dramatically. ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it? You think you’re the respected leader of a band of weasels, Sylver, yet when it comes to an important order, your outlaws refuse to obey you! I would find that a bit galling, myself.’
Then Dredless did the thing Sylver had been hoping he would avoid doing. He suddenly reached down to his belt and swiftly launched a dart at the fox. Under normal circumstances, Dredless was deadly accurate. But because he was on the fragile bridge, swaying dangerously in the wind, his aim was not as true as it would have been ordinarily. The dart struck the fox on the shoulder, sticking there.
A look of pain crossed Magellan’s foxy face as he wrenched the dart from his shoulder. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, weasel,’ he said, drawing back on his bow. ‘I might have let you live a few moments longer, while I bandied words with your leader. Now I’m going to have to finish you off.’
‘May you rot where you fall,’ snarled Dredless.
Dredless went for another dart, but his paw never reached his belt. Magellan fired his bow. The long-shafted arrow struck Dredless in the chest. He gave a little sigh, then took one last look towards Sylver and Miniver, as if to say he was sorry. The mortally wounded weasel then slipped through the rotten side netting of the bridge. His body fell swiftly down into the darkness of the chasm below.
The ravine was so deep they never heard the sound of Dredless hitting the bottom.
‘Dredless!’ cried Miniver, distraught.
Sylver was shocked to the core. Magellan had killed Dredless, the band’s most able warrior. His friend Dredless was now lying at the bottom of the ravine, still and broken. It was a moment before Sylver could collect his wits.
‘Oh, Dredless!’ moaned Miniver again, going to the edge of the chasm and looking down.
‘Gone, I’m afraid,’ said the mocking Magellan, stringing another arrow. ‘Now, who’s next? Coming across, Sylver?’
Sylver felt the hot rage simmering deep inside him. He wanted to get hold of Magellan and break every bone in his body. He wanted to make the fox pay dear for killing his friend. But one of Sylver’s best attributes was his ability to remain cool in emergencies.
To cross the bridge would be to invite certain death. As soon as he was within range of those arrows, Magellan would kill him, too. So he stood calmly waiting, hoping the fox would attempt the crossing himself, though this was hardly likely considering the flimsy nature of the bridge.
‘What’s the matter, Sylver? Afraid, are we?’ jeered the rangy fox. ‘Scared of a little drop? I’ll let you get across the bridge. You want me to promise you a fair fight? All right, I give you my word. You have my oath I’ll let you cross the bridge and face me. Or didn’t you really care about that Dredless creature? Perhaps you’re one of those leaders who believe their followers aren’t worth worrying about.’
Sylver knew Magellan was trying to fan the rage he felt. He was trying to goad the weasel leader into rushing to his own death. You could not trust Magellan’s promises. Once he had Sylver on the bridge, helpless, he would cut the weasel down without giving his promise a second thought.
Miniver rushed towards the bridge, her slingshot in her claws. ‘I’ll teach you,’ she cried in a choked voice. ‘I’ll make you pay for that cowardly act, you cur!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fortunately, just before Miniver reached the bridge, it finally fell away from its securing posts. Dredless’s fall through the side netting had caused it to break its rotten mooring ropes. It went floating down like a dark string phantom, like a cobweb cut from its mooring strands, to join Dredless at the bottom of the chasm.
‘What a pity,’ said the fox, his eyes narrowing. ‘A few more moments and I could have added a finger-weasel to my list of victims. Sad, but there it is . . .’
Magellan then drew his bow and attempted a shot. The arrow arced over the wide ravine. Miniver saw it coming. She swiftly ran out of range. The arrow stuck in the ground just a metre or so behind her and quivered there. Sylver grabbed her and pulled her even further, in case Magellan tried again.
Although Sylver was burning with rage, he hid the fact. He did not want Magellan to have the satisfaction of knowing how angry he was. He simply stared calmly at the fox. ‘We’ll meet again, Magellan,’ he cried. ‘And you had better be ready.’
Magellan sneered. ‘I’m always ready, weasel. For you, or anyone else. You can be sure we’ll meet again. I have the royal commission. I’m to hunt you weasels down and kill every last one of you. I shall enjoy it. Farewell.’
With that the fox struck out southwards, disappearing amongst a set of boulders.
Miniver’s head hung low. Sylver stood there for a few moments, looking at the spot where Magellan had disappeared. Then he went to the edge of the ravine and stared down into its dark depths. He could see nothing, of course. It was too deep and the light could not reach down far enough. There was a feeling of failure and despair in his heart.
He went back to where Miniver stood. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should never have let it happen.’
Miniver replied with a catch in her throat, ‘You’re not to blame. Dredless was always rather headstrong. No-one could have stopped him from going for his darts. He hated Magellan with a venom.’
‘Don’t we all,’ replied Sylver, ‘but hate is a useless emotion. You and I must try to think calmly and rationally what our next move should be. Are we to attempt to find the others and regroup or should the two of us continue with the quest for this eggshell? What do you think, Miniver?’
Sylver wanted to involve Miniver in the decision on whether to go on or not, partly in order to take her mind off the death of Dredless.
‘You’re asking me?’ said the distressed Miniver. ‘You’re the leader.’
‘I want your advice,’ replied Sylver.
Miniver thought for a few moments and then replied, ‘I suggest we try to find Alysoun’s party and reconsider our plans.’
Sylver was reluctantly inclined to agree with this decision – perhaps for different reasons to Miniver. Magellan was somewhere up in those mountains and the rest of the outlaw band should be warned of that fact.
There was also the question of whether Sylver and Miniver could find the eagle’s nest without others to help them search. The finger-weasel looked weary and dispirited – she seemed at the end of her tether. Miniver had been badly shocked by the death of Dredless. Perhaps it would be better to regroup and make fresh plans.
‘You see,’ Miniver said, assuming Sylver wanted to go on. ‘I knew you didn’t really want my advice. You just want to make up your own mind.’
‘No, I think you’re right, Miniver. We’ll set out for the lake and see if we can track Alysoun, Mawk and Scirf from there. My guess is that they didn’t cross the water as we did, but set off in another direction overland. After all, they didn’t have Wodehed’s needle to guide them.’
Miniver looked relieved. ‘We’re going to look for them?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find the eggshell, not just the pair of us. And Magellan will try to thwart our every move. We know the way to this point now. I think it best we rejoin the others and make fresh plans.’
‘Won’t it be too late for the eggshell?’
Sylver shrugged. ‘We must hope not. Not the worst of all this is the fact that Dredless was carrying Wodehed’s needle – now that instrument is lost to us for ever.’
So they retraced their steps, going down through the gaseous yellow strip which gave the mountains their name. Emerging on the other side they travelled cautiously through the foothills. Finally they sighted the dull lake, gleaming listlessly in the afternoon light.
They camped where they were, staying well out of sight in an old rabbit hole in the ground. Nevertheless, they knew Magellan was a past master at following weasel scent and they slept in turns, so that one of them was always awake. Miniver was particularly exhausted, so Sylver allowed her to sleep in late.
They came out of the rabbit hole close to noon and stared down on the lake below. As they inspected it they saw the glint of armour flash down by the shores. There was another encampment down there.
‘Falshed,’ murmured Sylver. ‘He’s down there with his troops.’
‘Perhaps Magellan is with him,’ said Miniver.
‘I doubt it. Magellan would not demean himself by hunting weasels with a lot of thick-headed stoat soldiers. My guess is he’ll allow Falshed to clatter around the countryside with his company, while he skirts around the bush, keeping low.’
‘So, we’ll have to watch our backs, as well as our fronts.’
‘Precisely,’ replied Sylver. ‘Probably the safest place at this moment is amongst the stoats. Falshed wouldn’t allow Magellan to kill us in cold blood – even the sheriff of Welkin isn’t that callous. He’ll want to take us in alive to Prince Poynt and get the credit for capturing us.’
Miniver looked sideways at her leader. ‘What are you suggesting? That we give ourselves up?’
‘Well, not exactly. I’m not sure. But if we can stay around their camp, keep the soldiers in sight somehow, we’ll stand a better chance. They’ll still want to search for the other outlaws, so we’ll be around to look for Alysoun and the other two. What do you think?’
‘Are you asking my advice again?’ said Miniver with a definite sniff.
‘Yes – yes, I am.’
‘Well,’ she replied in measured tones, ‘this time I agree with you. It’ll give the party with the stretcher a head start back to home. Wodehed needs attention for his wound and we must give them a chance. If Falshed thinks there are no weasels in this area, he’ll look in another, and he might just come across their trail.’
The two weasels then crept up close to the camp and listened to what passed between the soldiers. They learned that Sheriff Falshed, who was never one to enjoy the delights of camping in the field for long, had ridden back to Castle Rayn with a small escort to relate the death of Dredless. It seemed Magellan had come down from the mountains in the night. The fox had made his report to Sheriff Falshed, who was now attempting to milk some of the credit for himself by delivering the message personally.
Apparently, according to the soldiers, Magellan had gone back up into the mountains.
‘He’s looking for us,’ whispered Miniver. ‘He must have passed by our rabbit hole in the darkness.’ She was horrified to think how close the fox had been to their hiding place. ‘What shall we do now?’ she asked of her leader.
Sylver stared out at the stoats. The captain of the guard had obviously gone with Falshed, back to the castle. He had left his sergeant-at-arms in command of the troops. This stoat had, to Sylver’s knowledge, never seen the outlaws before. It was a risk, but he felt that he and Miniver would be better amongst the stoat soldiers. It was the last place Magellan would think of looking for them.
‘We’ll go in,’ said Sylver. ‘If we’re recognized, make a dash for it and I’ll meet you in the glade of the green chapel.’
‘Not there again?’ groaned Miniver.
‘She won’t try anything else, now that hound has threatened her,’ said Sylver, talking of the moufflon witch. ‘You can be sure of that.’
The pair of them then rubbed dirt and mud into their fur, rolled in the dry grass to get bits of twig and hay sticking to them, and were finally satisfied they looked more like pedlars than outlaws. When they were ready they walked into the stoat camp, dragging their feet as if they were weary. A soldier rather belatedly raised the alarm – Prince Poynt’s troops were not renowned for their alertness – and the sergeant-at-arms confronted the pair. ‘How did these two get into the middle of my camp without being arrested immediately?’ he roared.
None of his soldiers were inclined to answer this rather awkward question.
Getting no satisfaction there, the sergeant turned his attention to the weasels. ‘What are you two doing? Who are you? Members of some outlaw band, eh?’
Miniver gave him a silky look. ‘Would we come into your encampment, sergeant, if we were outlaws? Me and my friend here are pedlars. We’ve just been robbed of our wares by a band of no-good weasels – someone called Sliver or something . . .’
