Moon Chase - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story Read online

  Then, without another word he swept the sobbing Olivia up into his arms and put her on to Emmet’s horse. She sat there, head bowed, weeping quietly – Wil was not at all convinced she really knew where she was, or what was happening.

  ‘But Mortimer – that’ll only leave us with Curtis’s horse, Blaze. We’re not going to have enough time to get both wolves!’ objected Gisella. But Mortimer stood fast.

  ‘I don’t see that we’ve got any other choice, Gisella – we’ve got to get everyone off Tel Harion, too! We’re just going to have to be damned quick getting those carcasses! Don’t forget - whatever or wherever Giles is now, he might well remember that he didn’t come here alone!’

  Curtis jumped up into Blaze’s saddle. All the Fellhounds looked expectantly at their masters.

  ‘You sure about this, Mort?’ asked Emmet. His face was grave – he knew the answer.

  ‘Yes – now go!’

  Becky climbed up behind Emmet.

  ‘Do you think Giles suffered, Mortimer? Do you think he could feel himself changing… you know… into a …’ She stopped and shook her head. Then she took a deep breath. ‘You’d better have these then,’ she said and handed Wil all of the bolts from Leon’s jacket, then she called their hounds and Emmet turned Shadow down the hillside.

  ‘Right,’ said Mortimer in a businesslike voice. He grabbed hold of Tarek’s collar to stop him from following the others. ‘Let’s get these bodies on the fire and go home!’

  The smell that filled the air after they had thrown the second dead Wraithe Wolf onto the burning pyre was horrible beyond belief. Wil gagged in the billowing black smoke. His hands stank of rotting flesh. Filthy black fur clung to his bloody arm. The pain from his shoulder was threatening to overwhelm him, but he pushed on, desperate not to show that he was hurt.

  Gisella seemed to be consumed with the task of moving the bodies before the sun appeared over the horizon and Wil clung to the slim hope that she and Becky might have forgotten about his arm altogether – it had been a long and eventful night after all!

  As they got ready for the final haul Mortimer made a suggestion.

  ‘Look Gisella, why don’t you stay here with Wil and make sure that those two don’t fall off the fire - or put it out! And Curtis and I’ll go down and get the last one?’

  He looked exhausted and his face was black with smoke and smut from the burning bodies.

  ‘OK - sounds like a good idea – but you’re going to have to fly – the sun is going to be on us any minute.’ Gisella answered in a tight voice.

  ‘You’d better ride down with me then Mortimer,’ said Curtis. He jumped back on to his horse and held his arm down. ‘We’re probably a bit heavy for Blaze, but over this distance he’ll be fine.’

  They headed off towards the Hollow. In the dawn light Wil could see their Fellhounds, Stella and Tarek, right on the horse’s heels. But as Wil and Gisella watched them disappear into a dip, a long howl rose from the brooding landscape above them. Suddenly Tel Harion felt every bit as bleak and lonely as Lady Élanor had first described it.

  ‘How’s your arm, Wil?’ asked Gisella a little too brightly as she grabbed her crossbow and handed Leon’s back to him. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were telling a different story altogether.

  ‘It’s fine. Fine, yeh… argh!’

  He couldn’t go on. A storm of rage and hate suddenly engulfed him. Images of tearing flesh and splattering gore exploded into his mind – the smell of blood in his nostrils was completely overwhelming. He dropped to his knees and vomited.

  ‘Wil, what’s wrong?’ Gisella screamed. Then he heard her hastily loading her crossbow with shaking fingers, her voice suddenly deathly calm. ‘They’re here, Wil – they’ve come for their dead!’

  ‘I know,’ croaked Wil. Sweat poured down his temple. His arm no longer troubled him – the desire to kill was overwhelming. With a huge effort he clutched Leon’s bow and the bolts in one hand, grabbed Gisella’s arm with the other and took a very deep breath.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here – NOW!’

  Yelling the last word, he pushed the images from his mind and pulled Gisella after him. Taking gullies and crevices in huge leaps they pelted down the steep hillside.

  ‘Head for the Hollow – we’ve got to warn the others!’ cried Gisella.

  ‘I think they might already know!’ Wil shouted back.

  Another howl was rolling around the hills as he launched himself over a deep stream that appeared out of nowhere. In seconds they were at the entrance to Skelmer Hollow where Curtis and Mortimer were waiting for them. Blaze danced around, spooked by their sudden arrival and Stella and Tarek prowled up and down restlessly, barking at every new howl.

  Mortimer clutched Tarek’s collar and stroked the Fellhound’s ear.

  ‘Steady boy. Wait, Tarek, wait,’ he whispered.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think we’re going to be able to get that last body up to the fire, Mortimer,’ panted Gisella, looking behind her. There was no sign of any movement up on the Fell, but the howling was definitely getting nearer.

  ‘Sounds like they’re about two leagues away,’ said Mortimer, listening intently.

  ‘They?’ Wil blurted out.

  ‘Oh, yes, Wil. The last time this happened was when the Fellmen of Saran took back the bodies of three dead Wraithe Wolves as trophies - Saran was attacked by their mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters!’

  ‘I’m pretty sure there were some aunts and uncles there, too!’ Curtis added.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Wil, wide-eyed, suddenly realising where the three heads in the Great Hall had come from.

  ‘Luck mostly,’ answered Mortimer talking quickly. ‘We managed to beat them off but it cost us dear – we lost Fellmen, hounds and horses that day.’

  ‘If we burn the bodies on the Fell before dawn the wolves leave us alone – odd but true,’ said Curtis with a shrug. ‘But if we’re late the family comes out to play. It seems they don’t all hunt at night!’

  ‘So why did you keep the heads – in the Great Hall?’ asked Wil, also remembering the fur-lined gowns of the Magewizen.

  ‘In memory of those who fell - and to remind those who come after of the grave mistake that was made on that Moon Chase,’ answered Mortimer.

  Another howl ripped through the air – this time much nearer. Curtis was trying without success to steady his terrified horse.

  ‘Curtis, take Stella - go and help the others – they’ll need to get out of here fast. Don’t wait for us. We’ll try to distract the wolves to give you a bit more time,’ ordered Mortimer as Blaze reared above him.

  ‘And just how are we going to do that, Mortimer?’ challenged Gisella, looking at him in incredulous alarm.

  ‘We’ve still got your third prize down there, haven’t we?’ he answered, nodding towards the huge mound of stinking black fur that lay sprawled across the path in the brightening dawn.

  The regular drum of Blaze’s galloping hooves faded away as horse, rider and hound disappeared over the pink horizon.

  Wil, Gisella and Mortimer ran to the dead wolf.

  ‘Wow! How did you manage that Gizzy?’ asked Mortimer looking at the bolt, split into two by a hunting knife standing proud from the creature’s shattered chest.

  ‘That was Wil – he’s pretty good with a blade – luckily - as he certainly can’t hold on to a bow!’

  Wil cringed.

  Mortimer wrenched the knife out of the deadly wound and held it out.

  ‘Well, in that case,’ he said decisively, ‘you’d better have this back!’

  Wil took the knife gratefully but the seething anger of the approaching Wraithe Wolves was creeping over him again – he had no idea how many there were but he knew that they were coming fast.

  He looked down the gully and tried to remember Mortimer’s map.

  ‘What’s down there?’ he asked.

  ‘Dead Man’s Beck,’ answered Mortimer. He and Gisella were frantically tying a rop
e to the slain wolf’s legs ready to haul it back up towards the entrance of the Hollow. The plan was to use it as bait for its approaching friends.

  Wil scanned the rock fall up to the ledge where he had been perched earlier that night – it didn’t seem nearly as high in the day light. A chill ran through him as he recalled the silhouette of the wolf clambering down the shallow slope, then an idea struck him.

  ‘Wait! If we bring the wolves in this far up we’re leaving this slope open for them to come in behind us!’

  ‘What ever you’re thinking Wil, say it quick – we really haven’t got much time!’ Desperation was starting to get the better of Mortimer. Wil went on quickly.

  ‘We need to get into the narrow part of the Hollow - so that they can’t come at us from too many directions. I don’t suppose you picked up Giles’s bow did you?’ he said and looked hopefully at Mortimer. Mortimer turned out both of his pockets and looked back at Wil.

  ‘That’ll be a “No” then,’ said Wil flatly. ‘OK – Gisella, how many bolts have you got left?’

  ‘Um,…nine…ten…twelve. I’ve got twelve,’ she said after a rapid count.

  ‘Well Becky gave me six – so that’s eighteen between us,’ said Wil.

  He studied the bolts in his hand and then handed Leon’s bow and three of the bolts to Mortimer.

  ‘Take this… and these. Gisella, can you spare any?’

  ‘Here,’ she said hesitating before she handed Mortimer four of her own precious bolts. ‘Wil?’

  ‘Without two good arms,’ he said looking directly at Gisella, ‘I figure you two’ll be better off with the bows – don’t worry about me, I’ll think of something.’

  Mortimer eyed them both. Suddenly his quizzical expression turned to horrified realisation.

  ‘What do you mean ‘two good arms’ – Wil, you’re not injured – are you?’

  But a piercing howl from the entrance to the Hollow stopped the conversation dead.

  Tarek lowered himself flat to the ground and let out a deep, menacing growl. Gisella and Mortimer loaded their crossbows.

  ‘I think they’ve found us,’ breathed Gisella.

  There, poised menacingly high up on the moss-coated rocks were two Wraithe Wolves - saliva dripping from their panting jaws.

  ‘We’ve got to get further back – if those two get behind us we won’t stand a chance – especially if they bring their friends!’ Wil ordered. But Mortimer didn’t agree.

  ‘No! You two - go! Tarek and I’ll tackle this one,’ he insisted, nodding down the path away from the beck. Another black, snarling shape was creeping towards them along the path, body low, ears pricked forward.

  ‘No, we need to stick together,’ Wil insisted. ‘We can do this if we work like them – in a pack! Start moving backwards - slowly – keep your eye on him, Mortimer. Gisella – watch those two. I’ll keep a look out for any others. We need to get to that gap.’

  ‘I really don’t think the beck’s a good idea, Wil,’ said Mortimer, but as he finished the loud clacking of rocks falling on rocks made them all turn and look up - the two wolves were no longer standing at the top of the slope.

  ‘Quick, head for that tree stump!’ cried Wil, trying to remind himself to breathe.

  The three of them backed-up hastily. Tarek’s amber eyes fixed on Mortimer - waiting for a command. As they reached the moss-coated stump Mortimer said quietly, ‘Drop!’

  Tarek obeyed immediately.

  ‘Watch,’ said Mortimer and pointed - Tarek fixed his gaze on the advancing wolf.

  They were now in real danger of being surrounded. One full-grown Wraithe Wolf was now snarling its way along the path; the other two were balanced expertly on a boulder above them - all three were panting in anticipation. Drool dripped off their yellow fangs. With obscene smiles, they stalked their prey. Wil could feel no fear in them – in fact, the overwhelming sense he was feeling at that moment was pleasure.

  ‘They’re enjoying this!’ he thought.

  Suddenly the lone wolf launched forwards towards them – almost as if it was acting under orders.

  Wil heard Mortimer’s quiet voice, ‘Waaiit, Tarek, Waaiit….NOW – GO!’

  Tarek leapt into the wolf’s path and dropped flat to the ground. The wolf skidded to a stop and lowered its head to the floor. Wil was terrified and fascinated at the same time - the two wolves on the rocks had stopped too. Mortimer took aim and Gisella stepped in front of Wil with her bow up. Everyone held their breath.

  Then from way back up at the top of Skelmer Hollow a boy’s voice called out – it was a voice that Wil knew, but couldn’t place.

  ‘Mortimer? Gisella… Are you there?’

  ‘What the…?’

  But Mortimer didn’t get the chance to finish. All three wolves saw the opportunity in that moment of distraction. They charged.

  Tarek sprang – hound and wolf crashed together – their jaws locked in combat. Mortimer tried desperately to aim his bow so that he could get one good shot at the wolf, but the two animals were fighting too furiously. A clear shot was impossible.

  As the battle on the ground raged, the other two wolves careered down from the rocks to join in. Gisella’s first shot felled the leader before he hit the path. But in the time it took her to re-load, the second was almost on them.

  ‘Duck!’ shouted Wil, pushing Gisella’s head forwards out of the way. With his other hand he launched one of his bolts – it went straight into the wolf’s open mouth and embedded into the back of its throat.

  Choking and writhing in agony the creature tried desperately to shake the bolt free, but it was stuck fast. A second bolt thwacked into its chest and finally it slumped to the ground, dead.

  The noise from the fighting hound and wolf was terrible. Snarls and gnashes mixed with agonised howls - it was clear to Wil that neither was going to give up.

  ‘I can’t get a shot,’ Mortimer shouted to the others in desperation. ‘I don’t know how much more he can take!’

  They watched, utterly helpless, while Tarek fought the battle of his life. The Wraithe Wolf wasn’t as big as the Fellhound but it had the advantage of long, deadly fangs, two sets of teeth and vicious, barbed claws - just like the one that Wil had experienced first-hand earlier.

  Then a movement on the rock-fall caught Wil’s eye. Two more Wraithe Wolves dropped down to join the fight. Like unstoppable rage-filled waves crashing onto rocks, the animals hurtled towards them and leapt.

  Wil ducked, closed his eyes and thrust his knife upwards as hard as he could with both hands, ignoring the searing pain that shot down his arm. Warm blood splattered over him. The stricken beast let out an agonised howl – Wil’s blade had done its job. Wiping the grizzly liquid out of his eyes he could see Gisella on the ground and for one awful moment, his vision blurred by the Wraithe Wolf’s blood, he thought she was dead. His breath caught in his throat, but then, to his relief, she rolled over. Her crossbow was still loaded. She looked past Wil and let her bolt loose. It whistled past Wil’s ear and he heard a dull thud behind him. He didn’t need to look round, the look of triumph on Gisella’s face told him she’d hit her target. Suddenly the Hollow was quiet.

  ‘That was close!’

  ‘Yes, he bowled me over, but I’m OK,’ she said smiling at him.

  ‘I meant your bolt!’

  ‘Oh, that – I knew I’d miss you!’ Gisella got to her feet looking very pleased with herself. ‘Where’s Mortimer?’

  But before Wil could open his mouth, a yell of pure anger echoed around the Hollow. Mortimer was marching away from them, loading, shooting and reloading his crossbow as he walked, one bolt after another – thunk, thunk, thunk!

  ‘Oh no,’ Gisella went white. ‘Not Tarek!’

  Past Mortimer, in the direction he was headed, Wil could see two bodies lying flat out on the ground. Mortimer reached Tarek and fired one final bolt into the already well and truly dead wolf. Then he dropped to the floor and laid his hands on the neck of his dead friend. By th
e time Wil and Gisella reached him tears were streaming down his face. He was weeping silently and stroking Tarek’s blood-soaked coat.

  Wil couldn’t think of anything to say and, by the stricken-look on her face, neither could Gisella. But the one question that burned in Wil’s mind was, who had shouted?

  Then the sound of footsteps running towards them - over-loud in the quiet dawn - brought the answer. There, pelting down the path, followed closely by a large, loping Fellhound, was Seth Tanner. He was smiling broadly but as he got near he skidded to a halt.

  ‘There you are – I’ve been looking for… Oh… Mortimer…oh!’

  Seth’s smile disappeared. Mortimer addressed him through gritted teeth.

  ‘What in the name of all that is good brings you here, Seth Tanner?’

  Suddenly on his feet, Mortimer’s blood-drenched hands were clutching Seth’s throat. Farrow was on her feet barking loudly. Wil could feel her confusion - after all she knew Mortimer.

  ‘What were you thinking, you stupid boy! You never come blind into a Moon Chase AND you never, ever, shout out, when you can’t see what’s ahead. This is your fault – TAREK IS DEAD AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!’

  Wil and Gisella prized Mortimer off the boy. It was with some difficulty that they managed to free Seth before Mortimer finished him off. The young boy backed away towards Farrow, rubbing his neck and coughing. Wil kept a firm grip on Mortimer while Gisella stationed herself in front of Seth. Seth fought to catch his breath and, eying Mortimer warily, started to gabble.

  ‘I saw Curtis Waller…he said you were in trouble. I told him to take my horse, er… you know, Roani, with him – my father, er … doesn’t, hum, know I’m here, um…’

  ‘You what?’ Mortimer was livid. With his face still wet with tears, he paced up and down trying to stop himself from attacking the boy again. ‘What do you mean - he doesn’t know you’re here?’