Escape from Wolfhaven Castle (7 page)

Tom jumped up and pulled one of the flaming torches from the wall. He swiped it from side to side. The bog-men leapt back. Tom pursued them with the
torch, and they retreated, giving Quinn time to help drag back the boy who had helped them fight. His hair gleamed red under the flare of the torches, and Elanor recognised him at once. He was Lord Sebastian Byrne, the squire who had tumbled into her bedchamber on the night she had met Tom.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Tom said, unenthusiastically.

‘You!’ Sebastian cried. ‘If I had known it was you, pot-boy, I wouldn’t have—’

Just then, the torch in Tom’s hand began to splutter and smoke. The bog-men surged forward.

Tom threw the dying torch in their faces. ‘Run!’

Through the archway they raced, and along the narrow passageway into the inner ward. Bog-men loped after them, spears held high. The four children swerved, spun, ran and sidestepped, bog-men hot on their heels. It was like a mad game of mob-ball. Whenever they passed a torch, one or other of the children would grab it and fling it back at their relentless pursuers. Each time, the creatures flinched and retreated, but it only gained them a few seconds.

As Elanor and Tom ran towards the shelter of the
garden, they collided with someone in the darkness. He went down with a great clang, and dropped the sack he was carrying. Quinn ran up, a flaming torch in her hand. The light fell upon the pale face of Jack Spry, and glittered upon the silver plates and candlesticks that had rolled out of his sack. The boy scooped them back up and thrust them into his sack. ‘Watch where you’re going,’ he growled at Tom, before running off towards the garden gate.

‘Wait! They’re my father’s candlesticks!’ Elanor cried. But Jack Spry had disappeared into the darkness.

A spear whizzed past Tom’s head. Quinn waved the flaming torch at the bog-men, keeping them back, as Sebastian swung his sword wildly. Fergus snarled and lunged. The smell of the marshes was strong. The bog-men closed in on them once more, waiting for the torch to sizzle and go out.

‘What do we do?’ Elanor asked, the dagger shaking in her hands.

‘We’ll never make it to the gate,’ Tom panted.

‘The Grand Teller’s house,’ Quinn gasped. ‘This way!’

They flung the torch into the bog-men’s faces then turned and ran towards the immense oak tree that grew like a gnarled giant in the centre of the garden. The tree’s branches were hung with tiny, paper lanterns, like fireflies.

Suddenly a tiny door in the trunk of the tree swung open, casting out a fan of radiance. The Grand Teller stood there, beckoning them inside, her silver hair hanging loose down her back. Four children and one big dog raced past her. The Grand Teller then banged on the ground with her tall staff, and suddenly every paper lantern on the tree burst into flame. The bog-men fell back. The door slammed shut.

Thud, thud, thud
. Spears hammered the door. Elanor, looking around the small room inside the tree’s trunk, realised with horror that they were trapped.

10

THE
GRAND TELLER’S TREE

‘O
ur only hope is to wake the sleeping heroes,’ the Grand Teller said, rummaging about on a high shelf.

‘What?’ Sebastian cried. ‘You can’t be serious. That’s just an old wives’ tale.’

Arwen looked at him quizzically. ‘There’s much truth in old tales.’ She found a carved chest and began to lift it down. Sebastian went to help her, for he was taller than she was, even though he was only thirteen. ‘Thank you, Lord Sebastian,’ she said. ‘You may put the chest on the table.’

Arwen looked at the group of children, crowded together in the tiny room. Tom was passing round
the waterskin.

‘I meant what I said,’ Arwen urged. ‘Our only hope is to wake the sleeping heroes. There’s an old spell I’ve kept close for many years, in fear of just this day.’

‘What day?’ Tom demanded. ‘What’s happening? Who are those leathery creatures? And who is the tusked knight? Why are they attacking us?’

‘I do not know,’ the Grand Teller answered. ‘Enemies, that is for sure. I have had troubling omens this last moon, but nothing clear. I warned Lord Wolfgang, but he would not listen.’

‘How did they get in?’ Sebastian asked. ‘I thought the castle was impenetrable.’

Arwen looked shrunken and old. ‘I fear treachery …’ she whispered under her breath.

Another round of blows on the door echoed through the room. Sebastian’s spine stiffened. Those deadly creatures made him feel sick. They didn’t seem to care about having their arms and legs chopped off. And the way they sniffed the air! If he had not been a knight-in-training, Sebastian would have shuddered at the thought.

The wolfhound ran to the door, growling. Then he barked loudly as another blow hit the wood. ‘Shhh, Fergus,’ Tom said, clicking his fingers. The wolfhound went to his side, growling low. Sebastian imagined the bog-men out there, with only a wooden door between their sharp spears and him. He was the only one who really knew how to fight. It would be up to him to hold them off, if they were to break in.

He looked around, wondering if there was any way to escape. The room was roundish in shape, with gnarled and knobbly walls of living wood. Natural cavities and shelves were filled with books, boxes, and jars of seeds, feathers and shells. On the floor was a round hand-woven rug in reds and browns. A small stove was set against one curved wall, with a metal chimney rising up through the ceiling.

Beside a rocking chair was an odd round basket made of willow twigs. A tabby cat stood on a cushion inside the basket, back arched, spitting in warning. Quinn picked it up, soothing its fur with one hand. She rocked the basket with one bare foot, saying to Tom, ‘This is mine, you know. It’s the basket I was found in.’

‘You must’ve been tiny,’ Tom said.

She nodded, looking sad.

An owl was perched on the chair’s back, its ear-tufts erect, its feathers ruffled. It stared at Sebastian with round, golden eyes and he stared back. He had never seen an owl so close.

The only clear way out of the room was a ladder that led to a floor above. Sebastian wondered if there was any way out from there.

The banging on the door intensified. Suddenly the wood cracked. The children all jumped.

‘Do not fear,’ the witch said, opening the chest. ‘The door will hold another minute or two. Now listen to me carefully. You must remember what the spell says.’ She unrolled an ancient-looking parchment and read it, in a voice that quavered.

W
HEN THE WOLF LIES DOWN WITH THE WOLFHOUND
A
ND THE STONES OF THE CASTLE SING
,
T
HE SLEEPING HEROES SHALL WAKE FOR THE CROWN
A
ND THE BELLS OF VICTORY RING.

Elanor stared at the parchment. ‘But what does it mean? Wolves don’t lie down with wolfhounds.’ Fergus gave a small growl as if to say they certainly did not.

‘And stones don’t sing,’ Tom said. ‘Surely it’s just a nonsense rhyme, like the ones they sing to babies.’

‘There’s a lot of sense in nonsense rhymes,’ the Grand Teller said.

‘But how are we to make it happen, Arwen?’ Quinn asked. ‘We have a wolfhound.’ She patted Fergus on the head. ‘Do we just need to find a wolf? That shouldn’t be too hard.’

‘Making Fergus lie down next to a wolf will be,’ Tom said.

‘And how are we meant to make the stones sing?’ Sebastian demanded. ‘It’s a bag of moonshine!’

Arwen continued reading, slowly.

G
RIFFIN FEATHER AND UNICORN’S HORN
,
S
EA-SERPENT SCALE AND
D
RAGON’S TOOTH
,
B
RING THEM TOGETHER AT FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN
,
A
ND YOU SHALL SEE THIS SPELL’S TRUTH.

The children stared at her blankly.

‘But that’s impossible,’ Sebastian burst out. ‘There are no such things as dragons and griffins and unicorns and sea-serpents. They only exist in stories!’

‘Haven’t I told you already that there’s a lot of truth in old tales?’ asked Arwen. ‘Have you not been listening? You need to listen if you are to learn, Lord Sebastian.’

He went red and crossed his arms. ‘It’s a wild goose chase you’re sending us on. An impossible quest!’

‘The world is full of magical things, waiting for us to greet them,’ the Grand Teller replied. ‘You shall not see them with a closed heart.’

In the silence that followed, the banging on the door intensified. Someone out there had found an axe, and was chopping at a crack in the door. Fergus whimpered, his tail tucked between his legs.

‘Even if such beasts were real, how are we meant to catch them?’ Elanor said in a frightened voice.

‘If you are brave of heart, sharp of wit, strong of spirit and steadfast of purpose, there is nothing you cannot achieve,’ the Grand Teller answered. ‘But
come. I cannot keep them out much longer. It is the darkest hour of the night and my strength is ebbing. I have some gifts for you.’

Arwen quickly unknotted the oaken medallion she wore about her neck, carved with the face of an old man surrounded by leaves. She passed it to Quinn. ‘He is carved from bog-oak and is many thousands of years old. He will help you to be wise.’

Quinn hung the medallion around her neck, as Arwen passed her the small bag of tell-stones. ‘Take care of them and bring them back to me,’ she said. Quinn nodded, her turquoise eyes bright with tears. Arwen then opened a chest and drew out a soft white
shawl, lacy as a cobweb. ‘This is yours,’ she said. ‘You were found wrapped in it. It’s light, but it will keep you warm.’

As Quinn gratefully accepted the shawl, the Grand Teller gave a ring to Elanor. ‘It’s a moonstone. It’s called the Traveller’s Stone for it protects those that travel, whether by night or day, by land or sea, or in their dreams. It will help keep you safe.’

‘Thank you.’ Elanor slipped the ring on, and the stone glowed, round as the eye of a daisy, and set in small silver petals.

The Grand Teller then handed Sebastian a cloak-pin carved from golden-hued wood, in the shape of a dragon curled around a lump of amber. ‘This is carved from wood from the rowan tree,’ Arwen said. ‘Rowan wood is a powerful protection from evil.’

Sebastian nodded and pinned the wooden dragon to his jacket.

Finally, Arwen tossed Tom a small wooden flute. ‘It’s made from the wood of the elder tree,’ she began, but just then an axe chopped a great hole through the door.

‘Tom,’ she cried urgently, while rolling back her rug, ‘elder wood is very magical indeed. Use it wisely.’ Beneath the rug was a trapdoor. The old woman swung it open, revealing a set of steep steps leading down into darkness. She grabbed a lantern from the table and passed it to Tom, who thrust the flute into his pocket and snatched up his knapsack and bow and arrows. ‘The steps lead down to the harbour. Hurry! You must turn left, left, right, left, left, right, till you reach the Great Cave. Then just follow the water. Be careful. This mountain is riddled with dangerous caves and passageways. You do not want to get lost!’

Tom climbed down the steps, whistling for Fergus, who bounded past him, almost knocking him over. Elanor followed, looking white and frightened. Sebastian turned to beckon Quinn to hurry. She was hesitating, looking back at the old witch, her knapsack slung over one shoulder. The door was breaking apart under the onslaught of axes.

‘Aren’t you coming with us?’

‘I’m too old for such adventures,’ Arwen said. ‘Besides, I must stay and see what I can do to help
here. There’ll be people wounded, frightened—’

‘But the bog-men,’ Quinn pleaded, ‘they’ll hurt you.’

‘Not I,’ Arwen replied. ‘Go, my sweet girl. Remember what I have taught you. Remember the spell. Don’t fail me.’

Quinn rubbed away her tears and climbed down the steps. Sebastian grasped his sword tightly, his shield hooked over one arm, and followed close behind her. The trapdoor thumped down above his head, and he was left groping his way down in darkness. Far below his feet, he could see the feeble glow of Tom’s lantern, shining through coiling snake-like roots.

Sebastian gulped. He did not like small, dark spaces. But there had to be a way out, he told himself. He squared his shoulders and kept climbing down.