The Starkin Crown (13 page)

‘Yes'. Peregrine dismounted and led his horse to Stiga. ‘Is there somewhere safe where we can sleep?'

‘Somewhere deep and hollow, where no-one can follow,' Stiga murmured, waving one small hand towards the thick evergreen shrubbery crowding close on the side of the road.

Peregrine parted the branches and looked through. ‘There's a kind of depression here where we could sleep,' he reported. ‘It's so thickly sheltered there's no snow on the ground at all'.

‘Is someone still following us?' Jack asked anxiously, dismounting and leading Snapdragon off the road.

Stiga nodded. ‘Sniffing and snuffling behind, seeking and searching to find'.

Jack screwed up his face. It was almost dark and the horses were barely able to plod any further. They had to rest. Prince Peregrine would fall sick if he got too tired.

‘I guess we'd better stop for the night,' he said. ‘We can't light a fire, though, it's too dangerous'.

‘But it's freezing!' Grizelda clambered awkwardly down from her horse's back, scowling at Jack who had made no move to help her. ‘And I'm hungry. What are we meant to eat?'

‘I think I have some cheese left,' Jack said dubiously.

‘This is not how I expected to be treated!' Grizelda cried.

‘Mmmm, let me think about that. Was his Highness expecting to have all his bodyguards murdered and our supplies lost? I don't think so!' Jack snapped back.

‘Was that my fault?'

Jack opened his mouth to answer and Grizelda pointed her finger at him. ‘Don't say it, I'll scream!'

He shut his mouth ostentatiously and spread his hands.

‘I wish it would stop snowing,' Peregrine said, huddling his arms about him. ‘I feel as though I'll never be warm again'.

‘I don't want you getting sick,' said Jack with a worried frown. ‘It's just, well, a fire out here in the forest would guide the hunter straight to us'.

‘Light us a fire! I swear I'm dying of cold'. Grizelda lifted her gloved hands to her mouth and blew in them, then tucked them back in her white fur muff. ‘We've ridden so fast we must've left that hunter far behind us'.

‘Tell you what,' Peregrine said. ‘I've got some rabbit that Blitz hunted today. Why don't we make just a little fire, roast up the rabbit, and have something hot to eat, then douse the fire to sleep? Our cloaks will keep us warm'.

‘If you so command, your Highness,' Jack said stiffly.

‘It'll only be a little fire, Jack. I'll make it, I need to practise my fire-making. Maybe you could find us some acorns we can grind up for meal. It'd be good to make some bread'.

‘Guess who'll be doing the grinding,' Jack muttered under his breath.

They ate a sketchy meal. All were tired and cold and cross. They smothered the small glow of the fire with snow, then wrapped themselves in their cloaks to sleep. Jack's breath puffed white before his face; his nose felt like an icicle. He buried his head in his cloak and was instantly warmed. Blessing the Erlrune's magic, he fell asleep.

At some time during the night, Jack woke from sleep and raised himself up on his elbow, looking about uneasily. All was dark and bitterly cold. Snow was blowing through the branches, dusting their cloaks with frost like icing sugar. Beside him, Peregrine was crying out, ‘No, no, Mam! Watch out'.

‘Shhhh'. Jack knelt beside him, trying to comfort him. ‘It's all right, sir. Go back to sleep. Shh now'.

Peregrine twisted restlessly in his sleep then cried out, ‘No!' He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide and staring. ‘The castle! The castle has fallen!'

At the same moment Jack heard an unearthly shriek. Again and again it echoed through the night. He stumbled to his feet. A great white shape swooped down, screaming in his ear. Jack ducked, arms over his head, and felt icy air whoosh past him. ‘Stiga?' he called, but the owl was gone, soaring away into the night. ‘Stiga?' Jack called again.

‘What is it? What's happened?' Grizelda's voice sounded scared.

‘Stiga,' Peregrine sobbed.

‘I don't know what's wrong,' Jack said. ‘His Highness had
some kind of nightmare and then Stiga began shrieking and flew off'.

‘Something's wrong,' Peregrine said. ‘Terribly, terribly wrong'.

‘It was just a dream, sir,' Jack said. ‘You just frightened Stiga, crying out like that'.

‘It was the most dreadful dream,' Peregrine said, his voice shaking. ‘I dreamt the enemy was inside Stormlinn Castle, soldiers pouring through, and hacking and killing …' His voice broke and he pressed his arm across his eyes.

‘It doesn't mean anything, it's just a nightmare,' Jack said, though his insides were knotted with fear.

‘A dream is never just a dream,' Peregrine said. ‘You should know that, Jack! Oh, what can have happened? Has Stormlinn Castle fallen? What should I do?'

‘You're cold. Let me light a fire'. Jack began to grope in one of his pockets for his box of tinder.

‘What about the hunter? He might see the glow,' Peregrine protested.

‘We've not heard the dogs for days now,' Grizelda said.

Jack thought he could hear her teeth chattering.

‘All right. Just a little one. We'll get warm and wait for Stiga to come back,' Peregrine said.

But the owl did not come back. The three companions sat shivering by their little fire till dawn.

‘I say we go on,' Grizelda said.

‘But you didn't want to go looking for the spear in the first place!' Jack objected.

‘Well, I didn't know what the spear was,' she said. ‘And I'm sick of this forest. You said we were almost into Zavaria.
We could go home, have a bath, sleep in a real bed, get some supplies'.

‘I don't think that would be wise,' Peregrine said. ‘I don't mean to cast doubt upon your family's loyalty to my father, but I believe we must remain hidden. If we went to your castle, there would be grown-ups there telling us what we should do. They'd probably forbid us to leave. I think we should go and find the spear, and then get back to the Stormlinn as fast as we can'.

‘There's no blazing way I'm going to a starkin castle!' Jack said.

‘But that's so stupid! My brother's not even there'.

‘No, he's besieging Stormlinn Castle right now!' Jack shot back.

‘Well, yes, but he did warn you about the ambush so you were at least prepared,' she pointed out.

‘Probably to set up a trap for us all!'

‘Whether or not his intentions were good does not matter,' Peregrine said placatingly. ‘It would be a disservice to the count to take shelter in his castle. If Vernisha found out about it, she would name him traitor and have him fed to her lapdog, limb by limb'.

Grizelda bit her lip and said nothing.

‘We'll need to be careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves,' Peregrine said. ‘What disguise shall we adopt? What can be our excuse for riding through?'

‘Strangers are frowned upon,' Grizelda said. ‘You may not travel without a licence, and the penalty is to be whipped through town. Each town you come to will do the same'.

‘That doesn't sound too pleasant,' Peregrine said. ‘I don't particularly want my tail whipped. How do you get a licence?'

‘From the bailiff, but he doesn't give them out lightly. Only to royal messengers, or merchants of the guild who must travel for trade'.

‘This isn't getting any easier. Whatever happened to the good old days when a minstrel could stroll from town to town, singing for his supper?'

Peregrine spoke lightly, but Grizelda answered him seriously. ‘Minstrels and troubadours are banned by law, for spying and spreading sedition. It's even against the law to sing a song in a tavern, or any public place. The penalty is really quite nasty'.

‘Why? What happens?'

‘They strip you naked and tie you to a table and then they turn an iron tub filled with rats upside-down on your stomach'.

‘That is nasty,' Peregrine said.

‘Oh, the nasty bit happens after they light a fire on top of the iron tub. As the iron gets hot, the rats get agitated'.

‘Urrgh'.

‘The rats try to gnaw their way to freedom through your entrails'.

‘That's disgusting!' Jack cried.

‘How barbarous,' Peregrine said, creasing his brow. ‘Is that true? That's the penalty for singing?'

‘Yes,' she answered. ‘I beg you not to bring out that flute of yours where anyone can see you or hear you'.

‘We shall have to travel at night,' Peregrine said decisively.

‘But what about food?' Jack said. ‘What shall we eat?'

‘I doubt there are many wildkin to bring us food,' Peregrine said wryly.

‘And your bird may not hunt,' Grizelda said. ‘The penalty for poaching is—'

Peregrine held up one hand, wincing. ‘I don't want to know!'

‘They cut off both your hands,' she finished. ‘That is if you hunt by day. The punishment for poaching during the night hours is immediate death by hanging'.

‘We will not get far without food'. Peregrine frowned. ‘Let me think'.

After a few moments he pulled out his flute. He began to play a soft lilting tune that sounded like wind through leaves, water over stones.

Grizelda stared at him in amazement, then smothered a scream as the undergrowth rustled and out crept a line of tiny brown mice, each carrying food to lay at Peregrine's feet. Some brought seeds and grains, some brought chestnuts; two rolled a wrinkled apple, only a little nibbled around one side. Then a squirrel scampered out, carrying an acorn in its paws, another two making its cheeks bulge. It left the acorns at Peregrine's feet.

A white-tailed deer tiptoed out fearfully, with a mouthful of tiny mushrooms. A kingfisher flew down with a silver wriggling fish. Another fish was brought by an otter. A wild pig brought some black truffles, smelling richly of the soil from which they had been dug. A red fox brought a lean mountain hare, its coat white as the snow. A weasel dragged in a pheasant. Slowly the pile of food at Peregrine's feet grew.

Although the day was bright and still, they risked lighting a fire and cooking the hare, making a kind of stew from the grains and mushrooms and truffles. The fish they cleaned and gutted, and then smoked on sharp sticks. The pheasant they cooked and wrapped up in flat bread they made from grinding up the chestnuts and mixing the meal with water.
There were enough chestnuts left to roast a handful in the coals.

‘We have enough food here to last us days,' Jack said exultantly. ‘Well done, your Highness!'

‘I'd like to know why you didn't do it days ago,' Grizelda said, gnawing happily on a bone.

‘I didn't think of it,' Peregrine admitted. He stroked Blitz's head and fed him another shred of roast hare. The falcon was perched on Peregrine's knee, his eyes keen and fierce as he tore the meat to shreds with his sharp beak. ‘Besides, I'd feel bad about taking
all
the animals' winter hoard. I wouldn't like them to starve'.

‘So what's our plan?' Jack felt much better now he was warm and full.

Peregrine got up and kicked snow into the fire, extinguishing it. ‘We ride on, as swiftly and silently as we can. We'll ride till dawn, then find somewhere to hide during the daylight hours'.

‘You mean, ride all night?' Grizelda was not impressed. ‘But I'm so tired. I ache all over'.

‘Jack has some heal-all salve,' Peregrine said sympathetically. ‘Aunty Rozalina knew what she was about when she gave it to him'.

Rather crossly Grizelda retired behind a tree to rub the salve into her saddle sores, taking her bag with her.

Peregrine gazed through the sunlit forest. He felt uneasy and restless, his nightmare weighing heavily on his spirits. ‘If only Stiga was here to guide us!'

‘Maybe she'll come back,' Jack said.

Peregrine shook his head. ‘It's probably better that she doesn't. Birds are shot down elsewhere in Ziva, remember. I must keep Blitz close to me at all times'.

‘So if we are not going to my castle, where are we going?' Grizelda demanded, coming out from behind the tree and tossing the tub of salve at Jack's head. He caught it easily.

Peregrine looked at her in surprise. ‘Ardian, of course'.

‘Ardian?' Grizelda cried, her face blanching. ‘But Ardian has been taken over by the rebels!'

‘No,' Peregrine said sternly. ‘Ardian has been won for the true king. It is the pretender Vernisha who is the rebel, not my father'.

‘Yes,' Grizelda said stiffly. ‘Of course. Forgive me'.

‘And don't forget that Ardian is a land of bogs and marshes,' Peregrine said. ‘It's the most logical place for Prince Zander to have got rid of the spear. Perhaps Lord Percival will know where the lightning-blasted oak is'.

‘Is that the Marsh King?' Jack asked in lively interest.