Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In leafy Tonbridge Wells, Tim Wright, albeit in his persona as Timon, erstwhile Holy Seer of Mamelon, had kept a close eye on his family since Gail and the boys had been transported to that Otherworld. His concern for their safety reached a new intensity as the seer bowl revealed they were trapped within the mountain, close to the Tomb of the Creator. He was only too well aware of the various forces for good and evil alike posing a threat to their deliverance, not least the power of Xaruki magic into which Ragund appeared to have tapped. He was expecting Astor, and was agreeably surprised when Gabriel materialised in the Wright’s suburban lounge.

“I was expecting Astor,” Timon admitted, “But you are welcome, of course, more than welcome. Indeed, I am honored by your presence in my home.”

“You know who I am?” It was Gabriel’s turn to express surprise.

“I know who you are not, Gabriel Martin,” responded Timon with a wry smile that was sufficient to put Gabriel as ease. He had not changed, this Holy Seer, always something of a rogue at heart and never quite suited to his position. At the same time, Gabriel also recognized something of a kindred spirit; both were inclined to go their own way whether or not it should fall in with general opinion. He is a good man, for all his faults. I should have known better than to nurse misgivings. Even so, he kept his tone neutral and took pains not to appear conciliatory. “You know why I am here.”

“I do. You want to know if I can beat Ragund at his own game.”

“Can you?”

Timon shrugged. “I can try. Ri has been kinder to me than any in Mamelon. Whether or not He will aid me in thwarting Xakuri magic, who knows…?”

“But you will try?”

“Of course, and with such as your good self backing me up, how can I fail?” He smiled, but neither mockingly nor lightly.

“Ri knows Xu of old and Xu is Xaruki,” said Gabriel mustering an impressive show of self-confidence.

“The elf and my son, they must be in Gar and know what they must do before Ragund has time to launch a counter offensive.”

“I could not have put it better myself.”

“My son, Peter, can he survive this?”

“I hope so. If he has inherited his father’s bloody-mindedness, as his red hair would suggest, I would say it is very likely.” He managed a wan, impassive smile.

“But no guarantees…” It was not a question.

“No guarantees,” Gabriel agreed, “I will support you in any way I can, of course. But no, there are no guarantees.”

“In other words, you would have me gamble with my son’s life,” a tight-lipped Timon observed with a hint of venom.

“Do we have a choice, either of us?” responded Gabriel coolly.

Timon shook his head, and proceeded to prepare himself mentally and physically for the task ahead.

Gabriel did likewise if requiring minimal preparation, mind and spirit no better  prepared than the other’s to venture forth from the body but having had considerably more practice over more lifetimes than Earth folk were inclined to measure in centuries. There, he had to concede, lay the greater flaw in his calculations. Timon had chosen the Motherworld over Mamelon. Earth folk, as he’d often had cause to despair, were far too easily led by their passions. Or misled, as well the case may be…

Not unaware of his visitor’s reservations, Tim concentrated all the harder on reviving and reliving old practices, confident in the knowledge that Gabriel could and would provide back-up if and when required. Consequently, Timon, erstwhile Holy Seer of Mamelon, was soon engaging in mind-speak with his Motherworld son.

“Dad, is that you?”

“It is, and you have nothing to be afraid of if you just do as I say, okay?” A bemused Peter nodded. “Good. Now, I want you to close your eyes, empty your mind and be led by me through the gamut your subconscious needs must run. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try, but…”

“Do you recall the crab apple tree in out garden at home?”

“Yes, and…?”

“Picture it in your mind, focus on a single branch and imagine you are a bird alighting upon it. You must do more than picture the bird, you must become the bird. “Can you do that?”

“I’ll try. Any bird…? A magpie…?

“A magpie will do nicely, yes. Oh, and you must do more than try, son, for much is at stake.”

Peter did as he was told and was surprised to discover how easy it was to recall the old apple tree and imagine he was a magpie alighting on one of its leafy branches.

 “Now, spread your wings and fly away…”

“Good, now Ri in His wisdom will guide you and keep you safe as far as to the Forest of Gar. The bird knows its destination so just relax, fly and enjoy…”

Suddenly, Timon was aware of danger, near, demanding attention. Yet, he dare not take his inner eye off Peter just yet or the boy would probably sense his absence and panic.

“Leave the boy to me,” said Gabriel, the other’s mind-speak as urgent as it was reassuring.

Pers…! How he sensed the elf was in danger, he could not be sure at first but it was not long before his worst suspicions were confirmed.  Xaruki…

Pers was plummeting into the heart of Xaruki underworld. It took all the skill, power and resolve of Timon, Holy Seer, to reverse the elf’s fall and set him on a course for Gar.

By the time he had accomplished the task, he was exhausted and barely had energy left to check on Peter’s progress. No worries there. The boy lay fast asleep on a bed of leaves within a short distance from the Fire Tree, close enough to be discovered by elves that would shortly be dispatched by their queen, La, to that very end.

Tim-Timon’s last thoughts before losing consciousness focused, albeit through a thickening mist, upon whether his youngest son might yet be saved from the clutches of the Xu. And where does the elf figure in the ultimate end-game? How far was he, as either Holy Seer or father, prepared to go to save Mamelon from Ragund? Thankfully, he sank into a deep sleep before he could begin to frame an answer to the question so tormenting him.

And well it might torment you, Gabriel mused, as he prepared to make his departure for Nul-y-Gray where he barely dared hope to make allies of the Dead if only for the briefest moment in time; no more or less would be required, but it would mean openly defying every principle of magic and mortality upon which not only Mamelon but the entire universe had tuned since the beginning of time. Can even the Dead be bought for a price, a sacrifice willingly made…? He sighed. Would Pers be willing to surrender his life even upon a solemn promise of rescue at the eleventh hour?  He sighed again, all but certain the elf was not up to it and doubtful, in any case, if any such rescue were possible, which left him with only one alternative…

He would have to lie.

………………………………

For Astor to visit the elven city of Gar was a rare enough event to be noted in the archives kept in its Great Library. Ka-Ri and La-Ri who ruled in Gar, Ka and La as they were generally known, received him in the comfort of their private chambers. Ka was curious while La maintained a dignified silence throughout the interview, only betraying any emotion at the mention of her children.

Astor explained as much as he had been given to understand by Gabriel that Pers had returned to Gar along with the red haired motherworld boy, Peter; their task, to return natural light to Mamelon which, together with the flow of water once again, would restore Mamelon to its former glory.

“But what roles are they expected to play, our Pers and the Motherworld boy?” Ka was as anxious for his son as he was excited about saving his people.

“The boy is a fire sign,” Astor pointed out. “As such, he has an affinity with the Fire Tree through which light will once again brighten our gloomy skies. He will become as one with the Fire Tree, give it life, and restore its spirit before…” His voice trailed away.

“Before what…?” La prompted

“Before Ragund can put some vile purpose of his own into practice,” Astor responded with uncharacteristic eagerness after a fractional pause that Ka appeared not to notice but which did not escape La.

“Ragund!” the elven ruler exclaimed, “What is that devil up to now?”

“Somehow he has managed to tap into Xaruki magic and use it to his own foul ends. The boy’s natural affinity with the Fire Tree has the capacity to set itself against the likes of any dark magic, Xaruki or otherwise.”

“I see,” said Ka who was not at all sure that he did “…and what of our Pers? How does he fit in with the way of things?”

“Would you have had the Motherworld boy carry out such a task alone?”  Astor was plainly uncomfortable, but if his hosts noticed, neither gave any outward sign. “Pers is an elf on elven soil, a child of Ri as are all elves. He will know instinctively what needs to be done. Having already established a relationship with the boy, he is in a unique position to offer support and guide him through the gamut that needs must be run.”

“So why Pers and not Irina…?” La asked with a directness that left Astor even more uneasy. He had asked the same question of Gabriel, only to feel less than reassured by the response. Swallowing hard, he contrived an enigmatic smile and repeated Gabriel’s own words as he had done, more or less, from the start, “The masculine force in magic is always greater than the feminine, as we all know. No little is at stake here. Every precaution must be taken. Ragund must be thwarted at all costs. Failure is not an option. The alternative is unthinkable.” He managed to inject a certain authority into his voice despite feeling less self-assured with every word he spoke.

Ka nodded, “It makes sense. It would not do to fall at the last hurdle. Be sure that elves do not underestimate the Dark Mage. I am pleased that Pers has been chosen for this task, the responsibility with do much for his self-esteem.  He is a good son, but less aware of his flaws than is perhaps…”

“Safe…?” La suggested, the irony in her voice not lost upon Astor who took care to avoid her eye and continued addressing Ka.

“None of us are flawless,” the White Mage commented, “but, yes, the experience will be a valuable learning curve for Pers.”

Ka nodded thoughtfully while La bristled at what she saw as Astor’s patronizing tone. The elf king suddenly looked Astor in the eye, “Can we see him, his mother and I?”

Astor shook his head. He had been well briefed by Gabriel on a question that was only, after all, to be expected, “Per must do this alone, no distractions. Trust me. He will find it within himself to do what must be done and see to it that the Motherworld boy also plays his part. There is much at stake,” he added unnecessarily.

Ka nodded.

Trust you, druid? La was incredulous but said nothing.

The attention of all three was suddenly distracted by the arrival of a very shabbily dressed elderly elf who, despite his attire, instantly commanded notice and respect. “I humbly beg your highnesses pardon,” murmured the elf about whom Astor judged there was nothing in the least humble, “…but I need my king’s advice on a gardening matter.”

“My husband is a keen gardener,” La murmured to Astor who was already well aware of the fact.

“A king’s best friend is his gardener,” Ka told Astor,” apart from his wife, that is,” he added with a chuckle. Suddenly, the dour king seemed more animated than he had been throughout and anxious to accede to the newcomer’s request. He glanced at La as if seeking her approval.

Or is it her permission he seeks …?  Astor wondered, never an admirer of the elf king.

 La nodded, her face lighting up with a radiant smile, one that caused Astor to reflect how he had once, long ago, felt inspired by her beauty to bring all his charm to bear on the elf queen, and in turn, been charmed also.

“You will forgive me, Astor?” Ka was anxious to leave while equally anxious not to offend their surprise guest who had kindly brought such astonishing if welcome news.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Astor assured him, “A garden that is about to be restored fully to life requires immediate attention.”

Inclined to think Astor was mocking him but resolved to give him the benefit of doubt, Ka took his leave.

A long, uncomfortable silence ensured between mage and elf queen.

“I must take my leave also…” Astor began only to be interrupted by a La-Ri in no mood to be trifled with.

“So masculine magic is more powerful than feminine, is it? Whoever has filled your head with such nonsense is a fool indeed.  Yet, you are no fool, Astor, and know better than anyone not to underestimate elves. We both know why my son was chosen for this task. He is pure elven while Irina…”

“She is well and grown as beautiful as her mother.”

“And what else does your inner eye tell, you, mage? Does it tell you she is also as strong-minded and intuitive as her mother? Thankfully, she takes far less after her father although more so than I would wish.”

“What can I say…?”

“You can say what is in your heart, mage, and tell me the truth. My son has his flaws, yes, as we all do, but he is not one to be trifled with. Elves are not mere tools to be used for the purposes of magic, light or dark. I tell you again, Astor, do not underestimate elves.”

“I…” Astor fumbled for words.

“Lost for words, druid? That has to be a first. The truth must be worse than I even feared…” her voice trailed away in the face of an expression she never thought to see him wear, one of immense compassion. For an instant, she froze. My son, my son, what terrible fate awaits you? She quickly recovered her composure while scarcely recognizing the sound of her own voice. “Everything you have said since your arrival here has been a lie. Now, either you tell me the truth about my son and the Motherworld boy or I will seek them out myself and bring them back here, away from the Fire Tree, where they will be safe.”

“You cannot, you dare not!” Astor protested.

If she needed to be convinced further of Astor’s deceit, the genuine fear in his eyes was more than enough. “You truly believe I would not?”

Astor shook his head miserably. He had warned Gabriel that the elf queen would not be easily convinced.

“Ragund…” he began

“There is more to this than I dare say even Ragund himself is aware. He may well, as you say, have tapped into Xaruki magic but if he thinks he has the faintest idea how to use it, well, he is in for a rude awakening. We both know better. Xu will make a tool of him for his own dastardly ends. So I think you had better start from the beginning.”

Astor sighed. Never underestimate elves. He had tried to tell Gabriel, but the other had chosen to turn a deaf ear.  “I fear no one is in possession of the whole truth,” he began lamely, “so much of what I say will be speculation…”

“I am listening, druid. Go ahead, speculate…”

.

Mamelon - Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ricci was finding it hard to be angry with Michal, called Mick, for taking off on his own. The poor lad had been in such a state since that dreadful Stalker business. Some time alone might do him good, pondered Ricci. So long as he doesn’t stray too far, that is, and isn’t gone too long. Astor would throw a fit if he lost the young motherworlder again. “I’ll say!” Ricci confided to a passing snake. He had become very fond of snakes. As it was, Astor would be furious that he, Ricci, had panicked and believed the Stalker meant to take the youth’s life. How could anyone have predicted that disaster could be so easily avoided? And by some worthless Nu-gen, for Ri’s sake!  Truly, these were the strangest times.

        “Don’t fret so, Ricci,” chided the Master’s voice in his head. “You have done well.”

      “I have?” Ricci responded in kind and his long face lit up. “Well, yes, I suppose I have”.  He beamed at the snake but it merely wriggled on its way. “And I haven’t lost him, if that’s what you’re thinking! He’ll be back soon. You’ll see,” Ricci added a shade more defensively than he intended.

      “Indeed, he’ll be back,” Astor agreed. “Moreover, he will bring The Keeper and the red haired boy.”

      “Really…? Ricci enthused, “But that’s wonderful! Ricci’s heart leapt. It seemed a lifetime ago since the krill attack that had sent all four of them scurrying blindly in every direction. Now they would be together again and things would be as he intended for once.  Sadly, Ricci’s delight was short-lived.

      “And you will go to the Vale of Ca-an,” added Astor in the tone he always used by way of warning Ricci that any protest was futile.

        “Oh, no, not there…!”  Ricci cried aloud, “I thought the plan was to keep well clear of meddling Druids?”

         “I am a Druid,” Astor reminded him tersely.

      “You know what I mean. They’re a rogue bunch in the Vale and no mistake. But they have powers capable of just about anything. I’m no match for them, I know that,” Ricci declared grudgingly.

         “So, do they, Ricci, so do they.” Astor commented drily, “In which case, they will not see you as posing the least threat. It shouldn’t prove too difficult for someone with your talents to catch them off guard as and when the opportunity arises.”

         “I suppose not…” Ricci remained unconvinced. “But why go by the Vale of Ca-an? There are other ways into the Purple Mountains.

        “Because you can be sure the Druids will take young Heron and his sister, Arissa, there, the elves also. We can hardly abandon them.”

          “Maybe not, but Michal must be our chief concern surely?”

         “True,” Astor demurred, “But the others have parts to play that, as yet, remain unclear. Better by far to keep them all together. Besides, these young people have magic powers whose potential eludes them utterly…although not, I fear, for very much longer.  They will need a mentor, Ricci.”

          “Me?” Ricci preened and blushed with pleasure.

          “I certainly cannot be in all places at once!” Astor pointed out a trifle irritably. He hated lying to Ricci but did not dare trust him with the truth just yet. Nor was he, Astor, convinced he knew the whole truth of things himself. Certainly, each had their parts to play. But how could anyone predict who, what, how, where or when, exactly?  Neither I nor Ragund. He could only pray that, ultimately, Truth would side with the powers of Light and not be won over by Dark Forces.

      “Ricci…!” Bethan called Beth was running towards him. Even as the smiling Mamelonian embraced the tearful motherworlder, he sensed Astor make his customary abrupt departure.  Over her shoulder, Ricci saw the red haired boy run up to them and felt a violent tug at his tunic.

      “Heron and the others have been captured by Druids,” Pete announced loudly, “We’ve got to rescue them.”

      It was too much. Agitatedly, Ricci glanced enquiringly at Mick, having only just realised the young motherworlder had returned. But if Ricci was hoping for moral support, he was in for a big disappointment. The youth looked away, his expression every bit as surly as Mulac’s had been. It really is too much.  A single shriek in the distance chilled them all to the marrow and Pete‘s persistent yanking at Ricci’s tunic resulted in a piece of fabric coming away in his hand.

      “Oops, sorry!” blurted Pete, genuinely apologetic. But Ricci barely heard. A frantic barking took them all but surprise. “Ace!” yelled Pete, ecstatic as the little mongrel rushed up to him, wagging its tail.

      They had no way of knowing that it was Arissa whose scream had made their blood run cold.

     After her set-to with Heron, Arissa had returned to the camp in a foul mood. Finding Pers enjoying a cosy chat with Beth was the last straw. She promptly told the besotted elf to fetch her some water. As he went scurrying off, she matched Beth’s indignant frown with an insidious sneer of her own. She was enjoying their altercation when she glimpsed something shining where the hazy moonlight occasionally fractured the menacing shadows beyond. Can it be Radik? Immediately, Arissa lost interest in the motherworld girl and wandered off with a casual and disdainful air that required neither effort nor pretence in spite of her growing impatience.

      Arissa paused at the edge of the small clearing, leaned against a tree and called softly, “Radik?”  No reply. But krills were out there, she sensed it, and that meant Radik. Her gaze fixed absently on the campfire’s dying embers, she watched Irina and Heron return together and help themselves to fragments of rabbit still dangling from the makeshift spit. They looked happy, she observed dryly. Well, not for long. Not if Radik runs true to form.  Suppressing a sly chuckle, she whispered again, “Radik?”  Again, no answering sound reached her ears. She was about to edge farther away from the camp when they appeared out of nowhere. Druids…! All else she could think of was that she must warn Radik.

      Arissa screamed.

      Irina froze. At her side, Heron reached instinctively for the dagger at his belt.

    “Don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm.” One of the robed figures stepped forward, smiling benignly, both arms outstretched. “We mean you no harm,” he repeated. He was a tall, bearded man who cut an imposing figure and seemed particularly interested in Heron. “I bid you greetings, son of Nadya and Kris.”

      “You know me?” Heron’s grip on the dagger did not relax for an instant.

      “Your mother described you well. She and your father await you at the Vale of Ca-an, your sister also.” He raised his voice slightly so that Arissa would hear as she approached but did not turn his head. “We come to guide you.”

       “How do I know you speak the truth?” Heron remained wary.

      The Druid plunged a hand into his robe and pulled out a closed fist, indicating with a slight nod for Heron to come closer.  Heron took a few steps and stretched out a palm. A smile on his face that Heron did not trust for a moment, the Druid let a small object drop into it. Heron looked and pursed his lips. It was his mother’s ring. He would have recognized it anywhere. Releasing his hold on the dagger hilt, he met the Druid’s steady gaze and let a smile play on his own lips. “You have the advantage, Druid,” he pointed out equably enough.

     “Forgive me. It is so long since we have had the pleasure of company that I forget my manners. I am Ygor.”

      “You are their leader?” Heron nodded towards the others and counted five.

      “We have no leader. But my friends have done me the honour of electing me to speak for them.”

    "This is Irina,” Heron gave the elf girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze before introducing his companions. “This is Irina and her brother, Pers. The tall one is called Tol who travels with Arissa.  My sister, Arissa, you have already met.”

      “Your mother speaks of her children with just pride,” murmured the Druid. “I bid you greetings also, elves of Gar.” He continued to ignore Arissa and did not spare Tol as much as a passing glance.

      “We were told to expect others…”

      He is stabbing at shadows, Heron sensed, and summoned a disarming grin. “We are, as you see, only five.”

      “As I see,” agreed the Druid placidly. “May we join you and rest? For we are weary and we must start out again at first light.”

      “Do we have a choice?” Arissa hissed, joining Heron and Irina so that she could see the whites of the Druid’s eyes.

      “Not if you desire to see your parents again,” said the Druid . Nor was it only Heron and Arissa who thought they detected a veiled threat. Irina suppressed a little cry and felt Heron’s arm around her waist tighten.

      “It will be our pleasure,” said Heron.

      “Speak for yourself, brother!” Irina snapped. But she accepted the warning glance he flung her at face value, resisting an urge to pursue her obvious dislike for the Druid spokesman and his silent, shadowy confederates.

      “You are welcome to share our camp. But we have already eaten and prepare to sleep on the ground without comfort or ceremony,” said Heron pointedly.

      “We also,” responded Ygor with a dry laugh. “So now we shall withdraw apace and let you talk among yourselves.” No sooner said than done, the small company of Druids made their way to the other side of the smouldering campfire then lay flat to form a star shape.

      “And the stars miss nothing…” murmured Heron, not meaning Irina to hear, but she did. The elf girl shivered and pressed even closer to him. One of her mother’s sayings sprung to mind. Trust no smiling beast, it anticipates an early feast.  Heron drew her gently aside, whispering in her ear before they were joined in a close huddle by Arissa and Tol, “I love you.”

      “We must escape before daybreak,” Arissa insisted.

      “We are prisoners then?” asked Heron.

      “You think we are not?” she countered.

      Heron shrugged. “We journey to the Vale of Ca-an, sister. So why not let these Druids take us there?”

      “Because we cannot trust them, you fool!”  Arissa cried, stamping her foot.

      “It is not wise to trust Druids lightly, I agree,” Heron responded evenly, “but it is no bad thing to play trust by ear, surely?  Or betrayal, as the case may be…” he conceded with a shrug. Tol caught his eye. Heron sensed his approval.  Not for the first time, he wished the gentle giant could speak.

     Only Irina appreciated the full import of Heron’s words or felt his every sinew tense, barely expressive of the turmoil within even so, as he struggled to stay calm in the face of his own sister’s traitorous designs on them all. Neither she nor Heron had doubted for a moment that Irina’s hysterical scream had been a warning. But meant for whom, each wondered, for themselves or the krills?

       Irina’s heart missed a beat. Krills, Druids…What chance do elves stand against such odds?  This bore no resemblance whatever to the adventure she used to dream about within the wondrous but comfortably predictable confines of Gar. Why couldn’t she have been like other elf females, content with their lot?  Then Heron gave her hand another squeeze and she knew the answer.  But it was poor Kirin’s adoring face that passed before her eyes, not Heron’s or even Michal’s, and she grew even more afraid still.

Instinctively, Irina glanced at Pers for some encouragement. But that elf, lost in admiration for Arissa’s outspokenness, did not even notice.

      While Irina slept beside him, more fitfully than she expected, Heron toyed with his mother’s ring between his fingers. That it was hers, he didn’t doubt. At the same time, it was her wedding ring and he knew for certain that she would never have parted with it willingly.

      Dawn had barely graced the horizon with its presence before the motley group began making their way to the legendary Vale of Ca-an. Here, tales would have it that the body of great Ca-an himself was buried and his spirit roamed free, watching over his flock although whether for good or ill, few dared voice an opinion. A Druid, dead or alive, should never be underestimated. Indeed, reflected Heron grimly as they marched, there were few in all Mamelon who could not point to a grave rumoured to testify as much. A dangerous thing, rumour, Heron acknowledged but was glad Irina rode close by for there was precious little comfort to be had elsewhere as far as he could see.

     Three Druids spearheaded the company and three brought up the rear. They were so swift of foot that being able to ride gave their companions no real advantage. If anything, the krill mounts tired more easily and were hard put to keep up. Iggy waddled, morosely, at his own pace.  Heron marvelled, as he always had, how such ungainly creatures as glucks were ever able to sustain such a respectable speed.

      “You see,” Arissa complained to Pers, trotting happily enough beside her, “we are prisoners. If you or I were to make a break for it, you can be sure we’d be caught and hauled back in no time.”

      “Where would we go?” asked Pers naively. Arissa flung him a withering look. Digging scornful heels into her mount’s flank, she urged it slightly ahead of the impossible elf and drew level with Tol. He may be dumb, but silence can be a blessing in disguise, she reminded herself, while not caring to look too closely at the fact that his solid dependability also gave her a pleasing sense of being invulnerable. .

      Only Tol seemed unperturbed by the Druid presence. The most alert observer would never have guessed at the workings of a keen mind well camouflaged by balding head and impassive expression.  Certainly, as they rode side by side, Arissa had no cause to suspect her trusty servant and long-time companion of attempting to make contact with the motherworlder, Bethan. 

       It was proving more difficult than Tol could have anticipated. Locating Bethan had been easy enough, and it was reassuring that she was among friends.  But something was terribly wrong. An impenetrable wall around her mind defied even his deepest probes. Could it be, she is protected, warded by forces unknown?  But that was impossible…Well, isn’t it? 

     He had known at once that she was open to mind touch. Nor had it taken long to show her, unobtrusively, how to direct her thoughts and access his along mutually consenting lines. Their rapport was unusual, to say the least. Any capacity for mind-speak in a motherworlder was unheard of.  At first, he put their ability to communicate chiefly down to the fact that they had warmed to one another so quickly. Increasingly, he had understood there had to be another explanation. Whatever it might be, he sensed it would have far-reaching if not dire consequences for them all.

      He tried again.  His senses acknowledged that she grieved, this Bethan, called Beth. But it was more than emotion, however strong, that separated them. Moreover, he knew instinctively that, within the confines constructed around her, she would have welcomed his presence. So if she has warded herself, he reasoned, she must have done so unconsciously. At the same time, it followed that, if this was indeed the case, her capacity to ward was innate. So…Who or what is she, this Bethan, motherworlder?

       Uncharacteristically, Tol continued to brood.

      In her turn, Beth sensed the gentle giant was trying to make contact. But it was as if the door to her mind had locked of its own accord. Try as she might, she could not find the key to open it and let him in.       

      Eventually, she gave up looking.

     Beth sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. Once the door was open, anyone who knew how could enter. Druids even? Tol would be a welcome enough visitor, but she really couldn’t face anyone else right now. Conscious of Mick’s unhappy gaze on her, Beth willed her defences to last a good while yet.

      Not so far away, Radik led a select band of well-chosen krills and took his bearings from the way the Dragon’s Tail began to slope steeply. “They are heading for the Vale of Ca-an,” he mused aloud. “It augurs well. It has been too long since we made sport with Druids.” The krill leader bared his teeth and gave a hearty cackle. At the same time he was uneasy. It had been a while now since Arissa had made contact. He had taken her scream for the warning it was intended. But suppose it had been genuine and those dastardly Druids have harmed her in any way?  If that were true, Radik silently vowed, before long there wouldn’t be a Druid left alive not begging him to kill them.

      By now, the Dragon Hills had spread wings to form a valley. At the far end, its tail seemed to lead directly into the mountains that towered above them, ominously close. All eyes looked up in awe, peering through a purple mist at the Gates of Heaven as its peaks were sometimes called.

      Gates of Hell more like… thought Heron, but smiled encouragingly at Irina who had turned very pale.

Beauty, threat, magnificence challenge…All these things leapt out at them and more. 

      Beth, standing slightly apart from Michael and Pete, could only gaze in wonder at the spectacle even as she, alone, grasped something else. The purple mist hung ready and…waiting.

       They were expected.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was a subdued company of seven that rode across the Dragon Hills all the next day, pausing now and then only to rest the horses or take a drink from those few streams that hadn’t dried up completely or been driven back to their underground sources by the drought. Tol seemed to know them all. He had an instinct, too, for those places where berries, edible roots and mori could be found.

     It was good to ride. But Pete, on Lucky, was inconsolable and Heron blamed himself for the boy’s distress. Beth remained preoccupied with her deepening concern and feelings for Mulac while Arissa, weary of the tiresome elf trotting meekly beside her, was impatient to discover Radik’s fate. Heron’s account had been sketchy and the boy had contributed nothing, merely becoming tearful and withdrawn.  She laughed aloud. It amused her no end that the krill leader should have been bested by a stupid gluck of all things. He will be hard put, indeed, to live that down. She laughed again. Pers flung her a hurt look and wished she would share the joke, but she continued to ignore him. 

      Irina’s heart ached to see the misery etched on her brother’s face even as she agonized about exposing Arissa for a traitor. She longed to speak out, and knew she must, but would anyone believe her?

Only Tol, leading the group, kept his eyes fixed on the mist-shrouded purple towers that loomed ever closer and refused to brood on past, present or future.

      At nightfall they made camp and even lit a small fire since the krills would not catch them easily without horses. While keeping two extra horses to help carry their packs, Heron had let the others run free. It would take the krills a good while to round all be beasts up, and even then some would be left without a mount. Meanwhile, two rabbits, courtesy of Heron and Tol, provided an excellent supper.

      Unable to bear Pers' adoring looks and deep sighs a moment longer, Arissa seized an opportunity to slip away and be on her own. Irina saw her go and made to follow, but checked herself when she saw Heron go after his sister.  She relaxed. Heron was no traitor, she was sure of that. Does he suspect Arissa’s involvement with the krills, she wondered?  There was a sure way to find out.  She glanced around. The red haired boy, Heron’s arm flung protectively around him was asleep already. Heron himself, head resting against a tree, was gazing moodily at the ground. Tol and Bethan were still eating, and seemed so relaxed in each other’s company they might have been old friends chatting over a meal. Irina chuckled. The very idea of a mute chatting to anyone!  Wandering off in another direction, she hastily doubled back through the trees. In no time at all, she located brother and sister at a nearby stream and crept within earshot.

        “What are you up to, Arissa?” Heron was saying.

      Arissa pursed her lips and put aside her annoyance at being followed. She had planned to summon her dream-self with the intention of paying Radik a flying visit. Her pest of a brother must not suspect. She smiled. An old motherworld saying, among many that had passed into Mamelon folklore, about the smile on the face of a tiger sprung to Irina’s mind as she watched from her vantage point behind a viola bush.

       “Why are you so unkind to me, Heron? Are we not flesh and blood? We were close once.”

       “Once,” Heron agreed tersely, “But you changed.”

      “I grew up, you mean, and discovered that a woman is equal to any man. In the heart and soul, where it counts, if not in this mortal frame we call a body. You cannot bear that. Few males can.”

       “Show me your heart and soul, Arissa, and I will show you fool’s gold,” said Heron placidly. “Now, tell me about our parents. Why are you not with them? What devilry are you playing with this time?”

       “Oh, my Heron, you are such a fine specimen! Ah, but so so brave, and yet so tender also. So cruel, too… The red haired boy adores you and the rest would trust you with their lives.  If only they knew you for what you are, dear brother, if only…”

         “And what am I, Arissa?”

       “A fool,” Arissa hissed. “No more or less. You think you can save Mamelon because your male pride says you must. Yet, you are but a pawn in a game beyond your understanding, Heron. You see only what you want to see, hear only what you want to hear. One day you will find that out and it will be too late.”

       “Don’t bandy words with me Arissa,” growled Heron, “just tell me about our parents….”

       Arissa shrugged. “I know no more than you do. I was not there when the krills came to Ti-Gray.  I returned to ruin and slaughter and a note from our mother saying that she and our father could be found in the Vale of Ca-an. So, like you, I make my way to the Purple Mountains.”

       “A note, that is all?”

       “It was enough, surely, to tell us that they are alive and well?”    

     Heron was puzzled. Why hadn’t their mother contacted Arissa in the same way that she had appeared to himself?  Could it be that even her own mother distrusted Arissa? Surely not…?  Yet, Arissa had changed. Slowly but surely, she had distanced herself from the whole family. Between morning, noon, and night she would go away and return a different person,  as if by…magic?  Heron started. Did his mother suspect that?  Is that why she did not send her dream self to Arissa, because she did not dare?  No, never. She would have confided in him…surely?  It had to be as Arissa said herself.  The sweet child had become her own person but, sadly, not a nice one. That was all…surely?  But Heron remained gravely troubled. To even consider the prospect of magic, however unlikely, was no small thing. “You could be right, Arissa. Perhaps I should see and hear more carefully. Thanks for the warning, I’ll certainly bear it in mind,” contriving a broad grin to mask his confusion.

     “A warning, you say?” Arissa flung back her head and laughed aloud. “You are such a drama queen, Heron. It was merely good advice as sister to brother.”

      “Maybe we should try harder, Arissa. At the brother and sister thing, I mean.”

      “We are as we are, Heron. Nothing can change that.”

      “You know what I mean, Arissa. Why do you always run away from me?”

      Arissa shrugged again. “Perhaps I have no wish to be found.”

     “Or you fear it.” The fleeting look she gave him sent a shiver down his spine.  The fire all but went out of the lovely eyes. For a moment, he found himself regarding a single desperate flicker of light among its dying embers. The tiny flame emanated a beauty and pathos that briefly touched his heart before the fire took hold again, reducing the flicker to insignificance.

     “We shall soon see who is afraid, Heron, once we reach the Purple Mountains.”  Arissa turned and walked away, leaving Heron feeling even more bruised than he had after the fight with Radik. 

     Irina stayed until she could bear to watch Heron’s distracted pacing to and fro no longer. Moving sylph-like out of the shadows, she gave a discreet cough before joining him. Heron tensed and glared, then appeared to relax and even managed a half smile. “Oh it’s you, Irina, I thought….”

     “I was a krill?” Both laughed. Irina took heart and came closer. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d take a little walk. I, err, thought I heard voices…”

      “You did. Arissa was here. I’m surprised you didn’t bump into each other.”

    “She is a strange one, your sister,” said Irina, ignoring his remark. If Heron suspected she had been eavesdropping, so be it.  He couldn’t know for sure and, besides, what harm? “I have never met anyone quite like her.”

     “That’s because there is no-one quite like her,” said Heron with a smile that did not quite explain the catch in his voice. Whatever, this seemed as good a time as any to confide her secret.

     Heron listened, aghast, while Irina talked. At first, the elf girl was confident enough although soon began to shake and stumble over her words. But she pressed on with such dogged resolve that Heron had to admire her for it. At the same time, he recoiled in horror. “You are sure it was Arissa?”

       “I am sure.”

     “Sometimes we only see what we want to see, hear what we want to hear.” Involuntarily, he found himself echoing Arissa’s own words.

      “I saw what I saw, Heron, and I heard what I heard,” Irina insisted.

      “Have you told anyone else?”

      “No.”

      “Why?”

      “I did not think anyone would believe me.”

      “So why should I believe you? I’m her brother for Ri’s sake!”

      “So you will know what she is capable of,” Irina snapped. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not, Heron. I had to tell someone…”

       “So it might as well be me, eh? I see.” Heron sighed.

       “Is she capable of such a thing?”

       Heron shrugged. “Capable, yes, but…”

      “To send a self image like that requires…”

     “Magic, yes,” he groaned amd then added quickly, “but Arissa knows nothing of magic, no more do I although it is true we grew up on Ti-Gray...”

      “You lived among The Dead? Irina was appalled.

     “The dead mean no harm. And there is no magic about death, that’s for sure. Let’s face it. Death comes to us all,in the end. Oh, it’s true that our mother knows something of magic but she has never shared it with us. My father is a plain man and has no time for such things.” He began pacing to and fro.

     “Perhaps Arissa inherited the gift from your mother and taught herself to use it on her own account…?” Irina suggested.

     “Perhaps…” Heron conceded between clenched teeth while continuing to pace up and down like an animal that can smell danger without being able to see or hear from which direction it is most likely to strike. At last he stopped, returned to Irina and placed both hands on the slim, trembling shoulders. “I know it is a lot to ask, Irina. But, please, say nothing of this yet. I need time to get my head around this and see my way clear to…whatever I must do about my sister.” He grimaced and hung his head, unable to meet her enquiring gaze. Then his hands registered the shaking body beneath them and he looked up, saw the frightened expression on the elf girl’s face and impulsively took her in his arms and held her close.

     “I am scared, Heron,” Irina confessed. “This was meant to be such an adventure and I was so excited, but nothing is turning out as I hoped.” She began to sob. “I want to go home, Heron, I want to go home...”

       “And you shall Irina, I promise. One day.”

       “Not one day, Heron. I want to go home now.”

     Keeping an arm around her waist, he tilted the tear-stained chin and smiled encouragingly. “You’re an elf,” he teased gently. I was always taught that elves are much tougher than they look.”

      “Not this one,” she retorted, but returned his smile and managed to stem the tears streaming down both cheeks.

     Without intending to or quite knowing why, Heron kissed the full, moist lips. Almost at once, he drew back. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

      “Don’t be,” murmured Irina and kissed him back.

      “We shouldn’t do this, Irina,” he protested.

      “Probably not,” she agreed.

     Gently, lest she break, he lowered her to the ground. The cares of the world on hold, each gave silent thanks that the other was the first as, tentatively, they explored each other’s bodies and learned to revel in the joys of lovemaking.

     Meanwhile, a disconsolate Pers sought out Beth. “I can’t find Arissa,” he wailed and slumped down beside, head in hands, “She’s taken off without a word!”

      “She’ll be back,” said Beth reassuringly and wished she felt less certain.

     “She cares for me, I know she does. But I never know where I am with her. Sometimes she’s the light of my life. At others…”

      “The heart of your darkness…” murmured Beth, thinking about Mulac and only half-listening.

     “You understand! I knew you would!” Pers was ecstatic and so grateful that Beth’s conscience promptly got the better of her and she resolved to give the elf her full attention.

      “Love is never easy,” Beth said and could hardly believe her ears. How could she be so trite?

      “You can say that again! I don’t know whether I’m coming or going half the time.”

      “You said it,” agreed Beth, but the gentle irony was lost on the besotted elf.

      “If only…”

      “Yes?” prompted Beth.

     “Well, we never talk. Not like you and I are now. If she’d only talk to me, I know I could get her to understand how I feel.”

      “I’m sure she knows that already.”

      “So why does she always keep so far away even when I’m right next to her?”

      Prettily put, thought Beth wryly. But poor Pers would have to discover the answer for himself. She gave the elf a hug. They, too, had kept a distance between them lately and it was good to revert to their old companionship.

      “There you are, Pers!” Arissa descended on them like an avenging angel, “Go and fetch me some water, I’m thirsty.”

      “I’ll go at once.” As good as his word, Pers scrambled up and all but tripped over his feet in his haste to oblige.

      “Must you be so unkind to him?” Beth demanded crossly.

      Arissa gave one of her irritating titters. “Why, he loves it. Can’t you see? And why shouldn’t he? I mean, look at him, asthin as a beanpole and twice as boring.  I doubt if a woman has ever given him a second look before. Or anyone else, for that matter.” She tittered again.

     Beth leapt to her feet. “How dare you! Pers is worth a dozen of the likes of you. He’s kind, generous and…he adores you.”

      “Of course he does. and you’re jealous. A fine pair of wasters, I must say.”

     Beth reeled and fumbled for words. “You’re evil, Arissa!” she said at last, quietly. It took all her willpower not to yell for everyone to hear.

      “And you, my Beth, are as naïve as sin,” murmured Arissa sweetly and glided back into the shadows from whence she came.  

      Beth leaned against a tree, let her anger subside and even managed to regret much of the bitchiness she had felt for Irina in the past. Compared with Arissa, Beth reflected dryly, the elf girl had all the makings of a saint.  She pricked up her ears.  But whatever it was she thought she heard, it did not come again. Yet she could have sworn she heard a dog barking and not so far away either.

      “You heard it, too, didn’t you?” Pete appeared out of nowhere, flushed and breathless. “It’s Ace, I know it is. I’d recognize his bark anywhere. Come on, let’s go and look for him…” and he would have run off if Beth hadn’t grabbed the sleeve of his tunic.

      “Hang on a minute, Pete. Krills could be out there. Haven’t you learned anything since we’ve been in Mamelon?  It could be nothing at all. Or it could be trap. You can’t just take off blindly, it’s asking for trouble.”

      “Ace is out there, I know he is,” Pete insisted.

      “If he is, all the more reason to stay put and let him come to us,” Beth reasoned.

     “Ace is my friend!” Pete was adamant. “I’ve just lost one friend. I’m not going to lose another!” He tugged free and ran off.

      “Pete!” Beth chased after him.

      Pete hadn’t gone far when he sensed rather than heard them approaching. It could not be the krills; not the same band whose horses they had stolen at any rate. There hadn’t been time for them to get this far. Could it be another band of the scaly creatures?  He cocked an ear. Whatever, there had to be several of them and it was definitely feet he could hear tramping the ground, not paws or hooves.  And they were heading straight for him. Pete froze. He needed to move out of the way and fast. But his feet were stuck to the ground.  As the noises came nearer and nearer, he began to make out muffled voices.  He gritted his teeth and willed his feet and legs into action. It was no use. They would not budge. Involuntarily, his mouth flew open and a scream of terror rose like bile in his throat. They were almost upon him.

      Suddenly, Pete felt his feet leave the ground. A hand over his mouth checked the scream on his tongue. Someone grabbed him, held him tightly and dived into some bushes just as a group of robed figures burst out of the shadows and marched past in single file. “Phew, that was close!” muttered a voice in his ear. “Are you okay?” Pete, lying on top of his rescuer where they had tumbled, was too shaken to reply but rolled over and took a while to catch his breath. “Another fine mess you nearly got me into...”

      Pete looked up and could only stare in wide-eyed disbelief. “Mick…!” The two brothers fell into a hug, neither willing to be the first to break away.

      “Sorry to interrupt but can anyone join in?”  Beth had bided her time but could not restrain herself any longer.

       “Beth!” Pete let rip with a string of excited whooping noises.

      “Yes, Pete, he found me too.” She grinned at Mick who poked out his tongue, grubby face shining like some kid at a fair.

      “Wow, we’re all together again!”  Pete gave another whoop, beaming from ear to ear. Mick put a finger to his lips and Pete took the hint but that did not prevent all three going into a bear hug together.

      “Who were they, krills?” Beth asked once the thrill of their reunion had begun to settle.

      “Worse,” Mick paled, “they’re druids. But we can’t hang around here chatting, I know a place where we can find some shelter and get some catching-up done. Follow me.”

      “Wait just a minute,” Beth grabbed Mick’s arm, “Have you seen Mulac?”

      “Later, okay?” mumbled Mick and looked away.

      “No Mick, now. Have you seen him? You have, haven’t you? So where is he? What’s happened to him? Tell me, Mick, please.” Mick turned slowly. It was Pete who cried out although Beth would have done so, too, had she not been struck momentarily dumb by the awful expression on Mick’s face.  The smiles and wicked charm had been wiped away. In their place, a haggard look and tired eyes brimming with tears.    “He’s dead isn’t he?”  Mick nodded grimly. “How…? Tell me, Mick. I have to know. Did he get ill or was he…”

      “Killed,” Mick groaned.

      Beth braced herself for the worst. “Was it krills?” Mick shook his head and seemed about to burst into tears. “Aryds then or…druids…?  What killed him Mick, or who? Tell me!”

      “It was me, I killed him.”

      Pete’s jaw dropped.  Beth could only gape in frantic disbelief. “I killed him,” Mick repeated, slumped to the ground and buried his face in his hands. Pete knelt beside his brother, put an arm around the trembling shoulders and looked to Beth for guidance. 

       Beth could only shake her head and grow impatient for the pain she ought to be feeling but didn’t. What use was she to Pete? What use was she to anyone?  Cruel blow though her mother’s death had been, she had found ways of coping. Nothing, not even Mamelon itself, had prepared her for this.          
      Pete frowned anxiously. The druids would almost certainly discover their camp. He silently prayed that Heron would find a way to save himself.

         Mick and Beth, though, remained oblivious to all but their own anguish.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

           

“Come.” Heron took Pete’s arm and they followed the others at a distance.

       “Why don’t we join them till we’re ready to make our move?” Pete wanted to know.

       “Because while Irina is leading them past the camp, you and I will be entering  it.”

       “Silly question!” muttered Pete.

      “Not at all,” Heron grinned, “We have a saying in Mamelon. Keep a question to yourself and the Dark will take you both.  Never be afraid to ask, my friend. It can mean the difference between life and death.”

      “So why do you need me?” Pete grinned, “And don’t give me all that crap about being a team either.”

     “We are a team,” Heron grinned back, “but you are also the smallest among us. You can go places, I cannot.”

      “Such as…?”

      “Such as…” Heron pointed. They were at the edge of the krill camp. Pete  followed the finger to a large, hut-like construction. “In the absence of anywhere else, krills always make a temporary structure for their horses. It is made of brush and tied together with grasses. There is no door, just a hole in the roof so the horses will not be distracted and run off.”

      “Can’t we just break it down?”

      “Krills are master-builders. It may not look much but, believe me, it is very secure.”

       “So I get through the window and…?”

      “Befriend the horses while you use a knife to cut out a bigh enough hole for them to pass through.”

      “What knife?”

      “This one….” Heron produced a blade from his tunic, the same one he had stolen from a krill just prior to his and Pete’s making good their escape through the swamps.

      “Wow!” Pete was impressed.

      “There will be at least one krill guarding the horses. Leave him to me. When I have dealt with him, I will hoist you on my shoulders and you will climb on to the roof.”

      “And jump through the hole?” Pete was sceptical.

      “You will not be hurt if you take care how you fall.”

     “If you say so,” but Pete remained sceptical. The pair headed for the makeshift stables. There were no krills on this side of the camp but… beyond?  Who knows? Pete wondered uneasily, heart pounding like a sledgehammer against his tunic.

      Heron was right. A krill leant against the construction’s farther side. He was plainly drunk and almost asleep. Heron crept up behind the scaly creature and coolly dealt a blow to the neck that knocked the krill out cold.  Crouching low to allow Pete to mount his shoulders, he then hoisted the boy level with the thatch-like roof.

      Gingerly, Pete crept towards a gaping hole at the centre of the roof and peered down. Several horses whinnied and others shuffled restlessly.  Pete gulped. It looked an awfully long drop. Easing himself into position, he shut his eyes tight, hoped for the best, and let himself fall. Fortunately, the ground was fairly soft and littered with straw. He rose, carefully testing arms and legs to reassure himself all were in sound working order. A horse wandered over and lightly head butted him, but otherwise, his arrival was greeted with neither fuss nor favour.

      Pete set to with the knife. It took longer than he anticipated severing the thick grassy twine that bound together brush, assorted pieces of wood and giant leaves of the kind that practically every other tree in Mamelon could boast. The horses remained restless but docile. At last, he made a sizeable flap in one wall. He opened it a fraction, peered out, and matched Heron’s broad grin with one of his own. 

      Heron dived inside, took a long hard look at the horses and approached a handsome grey. “Win this one over and the rest will follow,” he declared and proceeded to take the animal’s head in both hands and murmur in one ear. At first the beast shied and retreated. Heron stayed where he was and raised his voice slightly. After a few moments, the horse approached.  While pawing the ground with its rear hooves, it allowed Heron to take its fine head in both hands again and whisper in its ear, whinnying softly now and then as if by way of replying.

      It seemed to Pete this curious ritual was perpetuated for ages before Heron finally leapt on the horse’s back, lay flat on his belly and continued to make reassuring noises in the its ear.  Again, the beast’s rear hooves pawed the ground. Its ears pricked up even further as if anxious for as much as responding to the soothing timbre of Heron’s voice. Finally, it quieted and stood still.  Heron gave the animal’s flank a cheerful pat, beamed at Pete and jumped nimbly down.  “See, a piece of cake. Now, give us a hug.” Before Pete knew it, he was caught up in a bear hug.

      “Don’t be soft!” Pete protested laughingly and broke free, but not before returning the hug.

      “Now the horse…”

      “What about the horse?”

      “He knows we are friends now. Take his head as you saw me do, give it a hug, and tell him you are his friend also.”

      “That’s plain daft.”

      “Do you want these horses to come with us or don’t you?”  

      Pete shrugged, did as he was told and was surprised to discover an affinity with the animal he hadn’t expected. 

       “Good. He will let you ride him now while I bring the others.”

       “Ride him?”  Pete was aghast. “I can’t get up there! I’ve never rode a horse in my life.”

       “Had you ever rode a gluck before?”

       “Well, no, but…”

      “Glucks are stupid creatures, I agree. But horses are very intelligent. This one knows exactly what is expected of him. He will not let us down. Nor will he let you fall, I promise.”

        “I was going to say that glucks are…well, smaller.”

      “Big, small...what is that?  I am big and you are small. So what? It makes a difference? It is what goes on inside the head that matters.”

        “I suppose so if you put it that way…”

      Heron helped Pete to mount the horse, approached its nearest companion and softly called the others. To Pete’s astonishment, they came like lambs. Then Heron went to the flap Pete had made and pulled it open.  “When you are outside, head for the trees on the farther side and try to keep a straight line. Do not deflect or the horses will become confused.”

      “How do I do that?”

      “You don’t. The horse will do it for you. If it hesitates, just stroke its nose and talk to it as you would a sweetheart.”

      “A sweetheart…? Huh!”

      “One day…” Heron grinned. “Now, dig your heels into Lucky’s flank and let him know we are ready to go.”

      “Lucky?”

      “You can think of a better name?”

      Pete gave a resigned sigh and gritted his teeth. “Come on Lucky. And you’d better live up to your name…”

    They covered the first stretch of the clearing without mishap. Lucky behaved perfectly and the others gave Heron no cause for concern. They passed a couple of tents and several krills sprawled drunkenly on the ground.  They had more than closed the halfway distance between themselves and the trees when a shout went up. Lucky paused, nostrils flaring. Pete twisted round in his seat, looked back and paled. A krill was staggering towards them, scaly arms flailing, brandishing an evil looking blade.

      “Hey, you there, where do you think you’re going with my horses?” Radik yelled. “Somebody come and help me here! Hold, you dogs, hold! I’ll teach you to steal from me, damn you!”

     “Go, Pete, go!” shouted Heron, coming alongside Lucky and giving the beast a hefty slap on the rear. Lucky took off with Pete clinging to its neck for dear life. Heron was poised to galvanize his own mount into action when it reared suddenly, depositing its rider unceremoniously on the ground. The remaining horses backed away and it, too, wandered off before Heron had a chance to remount.

     “Is it you, you meddling cur?” Radik screamed, recognizing Heron as he lurched closer.  “I’ll teach you, so help me I will…”

     The horses shied and would have run off in all directions had two ungainly ostrich-like creatures not waddled into the fracas and taken charge. “Don’t be such babies!” Sam called to the horses crossly, “But if you love the company of krills so much, so be it…you’re welcome.”

     “Or come with us and be treated fairly and with respect,” urged Iggy. It was a sobering thought. The horses quietened, but continued to procrastinate.

     Meanwhile, Radik was sobering up fast. He lunged at Heron and both were soon rolling on the ground, limbs flashing, blades thrusting wherever they saw an opening.  Krills excel in hand-to-hand combat, their scales providing better protection than any conventional armour. Heron’s native fortitude began to weaken. Nor would he have lasted so long had the krill been at full strength. As it was, Radik reactions were instinctive, his fighting tactics intuitive.

      As soon as he recognized Heron, Radik had acted on an immediate need to strike out rather than responding to or even beginning to appreciate the full implications of the situation confronting. By now, the initial surge of adrenalin was starting to subside. In its place, raged the blind fury of someone too drunk to know exactly what they were doing but too much of an old hand at the survival game to give in easily.  The krill leader that emerged briefly and instinctively from a drunken stupor had already slunk back into its hole. Vision blurred, mind gone blank, all that remained was a fighting machine, albeit one of Mamelon’s finest.

     Heron sensed some of this even as he battled for the upper hand. It made little difference, however, and the outcome seemed inevitable. He was fighting for his life and things were not looking good. Radik had him pinioned now. The krill leader raised his blade arm and prepared to lunge downwards. Exhausted and curiously resigned, Heron shut his eyes and waited for the fatal thrust.

     The glucks hovered nearby, squawking madly. The horses neighed, occasionally shying, but did not run off, mainly thanks to Iggy who gave Heron’s horse a no-nonsense prod of the beak whenever it looked like breaking ranks.

      Radik was poised for the kill. Sam could not bear it. The gluck leapt forward and stabbed at the krill leader’s neck with its beak, sliding under the glistening scales and penetrating soft flesh. Radik screamed and tumbled to one side. Heron’s eyes flew open, took in the situation at a glance and flung Sam a look of eternal gratitude. Drawing on reserves of energy hidden even from him, Heron scrambled to his feet, ran to his horse, leapt on its back and cantered off.

      “So what are you waiting for?” grumbled Sam to the horses.

      “Follow me!” Iggy took charge again. Horses and glucks cantered towards the trees, Sam bringing up the rear. But Radik was not finished yet.  Forcing himself to his knees, the krill leader raised his blade arm a second time and flung his weapon at the nearer gluck. Sam let out a piecing cry and dropped to the ground. Iggy slithered to a halt while the horses continued to head for the trees where a distraught Pete, sitting bolt upright on Lucky, had seen everything.  Iggy turned his head in time to see the krill leader stagger and fall heavily before he could reach the prostrate gluck. It did not matter. Nor, Iggy knew, was there any need to rush back and see what could be done. Sam was already dead. Neck drooping and long legs moving sluggishly, the devastated gluck joined the others. 

      Heron was trying to comfort the red haired boy sobbing in his arms. The horses waited patiently.

         Poor Iggy had never felt so alone.

To be continued