Witch Crag (18 page)

Two thickset men burst through the undergrowth, and stood facing the five. They each had an ugly, jagged knife in their right hands – they crouched like beasts about to pounce. “We want your horses,” one of them growled. “That's all. Hand 'em over and you can live.”

“No,” said Arc.

The smaller of the two laughed nastily. “Call the rest,” he snarled.

“You going soft, mucker?” demanded the other. “They're kids. And
girls
. We can deal with them. Get the horses.”

The smaller man spat on the ground. Then he advanced towards the horses, now looking up from the stream, spooked by the appearance of strangers.

Arc drew his knife. “Don't be silly, boy,” said the man.

“Take one step closer to those horses, and it'll be your last,” said Arc.

“
Oh
. Fighting talk. Come
on,
then!”

Arc and the robber faced each other, eyes locked. Then the robber started to smile. “Bravo, laddie. Now give in.”

And Arc suddenly sprang forward, slashing the man's right arm. A great spray of blood spurted over the leaves and branches, the jagged knife fell to the ground, the man screamed and collapsed on top of it. The other robber, roaring, launched himself at Arc but buckled at the knees before he reached him with Pitch's knife in his neck.

Arc stooped, and slit both robbers' throats, fast and efficient.

Like sheep
, thought Kita watching, frozen in horror.

The horses were neighing, panicking, getting ready to bolt. Lilly raced to them, seizing their reins, calling out words to calm them.

Pitch retrieved his knife. “More coming!” breathed Arc. “Get
ready
!”

Kita just had time to draw her dagger and stand next to Pitch when three more men burst through the trees. On the edge of her vision she saw Flay race to a tree and scramble up it.

Then five more men were upon them. She had no idea how to fight. She'd never fought before. But Arc threw himself forward and killed two men in swift succession, Pitch fighting beside him, slaughtering two more, and then there was only one robber left standing, and Arc had him in his sights.

But yet more men were crashing through the trees. A huge man launched himself at Pitch, grappling with him, overcoming him. Kita sprang, landing on the robber's back, and slashed at an artery in his neck. Pitch dodged away before the robber collapsed like a giant tree being felled.

More men, more men
. The ground seemed to be covered with bodies, more than they'd killed. Something kept whistling past her head. A man ran at her – she thrust her dagger upwards into his guts, and as he fell sideways, she saw that Arc had stabbed him from behind, and their eyes locked as his body slumped.

Then there was an unearthly vacuum of silence. Kita, heart thundering, looked around, dazed, disbelieving. Bodies everywhere – and four right in front of Lilly and the horses, with black arrows sticking out of them.

Arc nodded to Pitch, and they began gathering up the knives of the fallen, piling them into the sacks hanging each side of Pitch's horse. Then they heard shouting, at a distance. Angry, bellowed shouting.

“There's more of them!” barked Arc. “Get your horses.
Ride!
”

Pitch led the way on his horse, crashing through the undergrowth, swerving round tree trunks. Arc was the last. They rode on for what seemed like an age at breakneck speed, then Pitch slowed down, and after a while steered his horse between close-growing trees, to where the forest was denser and the canopy provided good shelter. “Stop here?” he called over his shoulder.

“Please!” sobbed Lilly.

They all dismounted. Pitch pulled open the two sacks and drew out water, lumpy bread and great fistfuls of carrots, most of which he threw to the ground so the horses could snaffle them.

Then they all sank down in a tight ring, knees almost touching, and drank. Lilly couldn't stop shivering; Flay put his arm round her, and rocked her gently.

And Kita heard herself saying, “Arc, you were
amazing
.”

“He was,” said Pitch. “A proper leader.”

“A death machine,” added Lilly, through chattering teeth.

“You led us,” said Flay, “with such courage and resolve. None of the witches could have done as much.”

Arc stared at them all as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “You were at one with me – all I could hope. Although –” he laughed – “when I saw Flay shinning up that tree, I thought he was getting himself out of harm's way!”

“And then his arrows started flying,” said Lilly. “Four men came at me. I watched them all die.” She nestled into Flay's neck.

“Yes,” said Kita. “Flay, you must show me how to use a witch's blackbow. I want to learn.”

“Of course,” said Flay. “My pleasure.”

“If we can fight a big battle like we fought back then,” said Pitch, “Arc taking the lead, everyone backing him up—”

“I didn't do anything,” said Lilly, mournfully.

“You kept hold of the horses!” said Arc, warmly. “No point fighting to the death over them if they'd bolted!”

“I did think. . . I did wonder if we shouldn't just have handed the horses over,” Flay murmured.

“No,” said Lilly, firmly. “My tribe was always up against thieves. They kill you whether you hand your horses over or not. You just make it easier for them if you think you've made a bargain to stay alive.”

There was a collective sigh around the group, as if everyone was finally letting go of the adrenaline and fear, and understanding that they were safe now. They munched on the bread, which was filled with seeds and nuts and was very satisfying, and crunched the carrots.

“It's getting darker,” said Pitch. “Shall we camp for the night?”

“Yes, let's,” said Lilly. “I'm shattered.”

Soon, the horses were tethered and settled, and everyone was curling up on the ground. It was warm, and companionable, and they could rest while they waited for sleep to come.

Kita found herself lying between Lilly and Arc.
There's a bond between the five of us now
, she thought,
a chain connecting us. And Pitch is right, if all the tribes can act together like that, each using their own strengths. . .
She had a sudden, violent flashback of her first kill, slashing the robber's neck, and shuddered violently. A hand gripped her arm; she turned towards Arc.

“It's OK,” he murmured, “it's OK. It's the shock.”

“I can't stop seeing blood.”

“I know. It will fade. We had to do it, or they'd have killed us. You were great, Kita. You saved Pitch's life, jumping on that giant's back.”

“And you saved mine.”

“No. I think you'd stuck him already.”

Their faces were very close. She could smell sweet bread on his breath, and the sharp, iron smell of drying blood. They were all of them covered in blood. She looked at his mouth; remembered kissing it that night before she'd escaped from the hill fort.

Lifetimes ago.

Or maybe seconds ago, it was so vivid still. She whispered “goodnight” and rolled over towards Lilly.

Arc was awake before any of them the next day, standing some distance away, looking into the forest. “All right, mate?” called Pitch. “Want some breakfast?”

Arc didn't answer.

“Leave him,” murmured Flay. “He's going to have to make the speech of his life today. On his words depend our lives – and the future of our tribes.”

“Kita, you know the headman,” whispered Lilly. “Will he listen to Arc, d'you think?”

“I don't know,” said Kita. “I honestly don't know.”

Flay took hold of her arm, led her apart a little. “When we reach the fort, use your powers, Kita. The ones I heard you used to stop wild dogs attacking. And I'll use mine, though they're frail in comparison. We must both focus on the headman while Arc speaks, and make him open his mind to Arc's words.”

“I will,” promised Kita, although she was full of doubt that the headman could be influenced by her or by anyone.

Except perhaps Arc. All her hopes were on him.

Soon, they were mounting their horses and riding through the forest. After an hour of painstakingly making their way round tree trunks and under branches, the forest started to thin. Then they were cantering out on to the bleak wasteland, with its scrubby bushes and giant hogweed. Pitch quickened his pace; the others followed, and before long they were crossing through more trees and wading the defensive ditch on to the sheepmen's vast, upward-sloping grasslands. It was still too early in the spring for the sheep to be out grazing, and the plains were deserted. In the distance, the hill fort loured, the great gates gleamed in the morning sun.

They drew to a halt.

“All right, this is it,” said Arc, his eyes fixed on the gates, his hands on the reins rigid with tension. “We'll ride straight for it. The headman will parley with us over the walls. Whatever I say, trust me. I need to get us all inside the fort and then I need to get the headman on his own. So he can make the great leap he's going to have to make – without the need to keep face in front of his people.”

“Good luck, friend,” said Pitch. “We're with you.”

“And when it's your time to speak,” Arc went on, “just tell it straight. Say who you are, what you are, what brought you here. There's to be no trickery in all this, except maybe in the beginning, to get inside the fort. We show our union, show it in its essence – it's the only chance we have to convince the headman.”

Kita turned to look at Arc, moved by the words he'd used. The great leap he was talking about the headman making – he'd made it himself.

Then Lilly broke the silence. “We can do it!” she cried. “We're the pentangle!” And she kicked her horse forward, and the five of them spaced out and galloped up the grasslands towards the great hill-fort gates.

The hill fort grew closer and closer, and soon the five were reining their horses up outside. Arc threw his head back. “Open the gates!” he roared. “It's Arc – I'm back.
Open the gates!
”

Kita heard shouting from behind the walls; orders, and exclamations. Then the parley ladder was thrown against the gate, and after a few moments, the headman appeared at the top of it. Just as he had done, she thought anxiously, when Arc had hauled poor Finchy out of the forest, and the headman had ordered her slit.

The headman gazed down long and hard at Arc. “We thought you were dead, boy!” he shouted. “Boiled and eaten by the hags!”

“No, as you see,” Arc replied.

“Who have you got with you?”

“One missing horseman bride, and Kita, brought back again,” Arc said. “And two from the farmers' tribe, who have grave news. News you must hear, sir!
Open the gates!
”

Flay's horse shifted in place; Kita remembered what Flay had said to her, and focused her gaze up at the headman's heavy-jawed face.
Trust us
, she chanted, silently, willing him to hear her.
Open the gates
.

“The last your men see of you is being dragged off by witches,” retorted the headman. “What's to stop me believing you're part of some new necromancy?”

“The evidence of your eyes, sir,” Arc replied. “And of your good sense. I'm the same. Please –
hear me
.”

The headman glared down at them, silently. Then he disappeared; then the ladder disappeared. The great gates swung slowly open, and eight footsoldiers jogged out, knives drawn. They surrounded the five, ordered them to dismount, relieved them of their weapons, and seized the horses' reins. And for a few stark seconds, Kita was face to face with Drell, and her blood seemed to freeze.
He'd slit me
,
too,
she thought
, if he was ordered to
. Then the footsoldiers ushered them inside the gates, which rumbled shut again.

“So,” said the headman, walking towards them. “The horsemen will be glad to get their bride back again. What of the other bride though? And Quainy? She was good trade for us – a bad loss.”

He suddenly rounded on Kita, raising his fist. “A worse loss than you, you treacherous bitch!” Before Kita had time even to duck, Arc threw himself in between them and caught the blow on his shoulder.

“She's no traitor!” he cried. “It's because of her that we stand a chance of avoiding mass slaughter. Headman, you trusted me before.
Trust me now
. Talk to me alone. Or with guards to hold knives at my throat if you must. But you need to hear me. Calmly and wisely, as a headman should.”

There was a heart-stopping pause, everything hanging in the balance. Then the headman, still scowling, growled, “Very well. Follow me, and we'll speak. No – no guards. I can deal with that
boy
if I need to. But guard those four close.”

Then he turned on his heel and stalked off to the headman's hut, Arc following behind.

Kita followed Arc with her eyes, willing him strength and success. As soon as he was out of sight, she subsided on to the ground, Lilly next to her.

“Stand up!” barked one of the footsoldiers.

“Oh, shut up, Bray,” she said, tiredly. “We want to rest. And we could do with some water, please.”

Bray looked for a moment as if he might grab her and stand her upright, then he jerked his head at one of the youngest footsoldiers, and ordered, “Water!”

This wasn't like Witch Crag, where by now a small, curious crowd would have gathered round the newcomers, staring and asking questions. A few sheep people hurried by on various errands and glanced over, burning with curiosity, but no one dared approach.

“So,” said Bray, in an attempt to regain control. “Farmers, ay?”

“S'right,” said Pitch, cheerfully.

Bray peered suspiciously at Flay. “You don't look like a farmer. Your hands are too soft.”

“I'm a farmer of soft fruit,” said Flay, as the others laughed.

“They won't send me straight back, will they?” whispered Lilly. “I nearly died when I heard Arc introduce me as the runaway bride.”

“No, of course they won't,” said Kita. “Arc – he meant what he said about us standing together.” But she couldn't know this for sure, of course. She couldn't know anything. All she could do was wait, and trust, and hope. She stared unseeingly at the ground, twisting the thin chain bracelet that the witchman had given her, remembering the way Arc had protected her from the headman's blow.

Water was brought to the four of them; then some cold mutton, which Pitch and the girls devoured with relish but Flay was suspicious of. The time dragged by slowly, everyone focused on the headman's meeting with Arc.

Kita looked up and saw Drell striding towards them. He spoke briefly to Bray, and then he ordered Pitch and Flay on their feet and escorted them over to the headman's hut.

“Great,” said Lilly. “Just the men.”

“Yes, but the headman knows us,” said Kita. “Knows who we are. Maybe he needs to satisfy himself with who those two are.”

“Will Arc tell him Flay's a witchman?”

“If he sticks to the plan, he will. Flay's supposed to be the acceptable face of the witches, remember.”

Lilly laughed, nervously. “Imagine if Wekka had come instead!”

“She'd've been good,” joked Kita. “She'd've terrified everyone into unifying.”

A few minutes later, Drell marched back again, unaccompanied. Kita took in a breath and called out, “Drell, did you hear anything? D'you know what's being said?”

Drell ignored her, jaw clenched.

“Drell, it's still me. It's Kita. You can talk to me, you know.”

More silence.

“It must've been horrible when the witches seized Arc,” Kita said, softly. “You must've felt really bad, just abandoning him.”

“Is it good to have him back?'” asked Lilly.

Drell clenched his jaw harder, and stared into the distance.

A long time passed as the girls sat on the ground, waiting. The raw spring sun climbed in the sky. Then suddenly there was a commotion from the direction of the headman's hut, and the harsh clanging of iron against iron, which meant only two things – danger, or rain.

But the skies were dry.

Everyone began to surge towards the sound of the alarm.

“On your feet!” ordered Drell, then the footsoldiers ushered Kita and Lilly over, too.

The headman was standing on a rough bale of straw, elevated above the crowd gathering quickly all about him. Arc, Pitch and Flay were grouped behind him. Kita scanned their faces for news, but they looked impassive. Exhausted. The footsoldiers close to them had their knives sheathed now, but could still, she thought, be guarding them. She waited, heart drumming, for the headman to speak.

“Sheep people, we're entering dark, dangerous times,” he said at last, loudly and grimly. “What I have heard today has convinced me that war will soon be upon us. From the direction we most feared – the old city.”

Kita looked at Arc, and against the murmur of horror rising from the crowd, he looked straight back at her. Intent, unsmiling.
He's succeeded
, she thought.
Or at least
,
he's got halfway
.

“Reports from the footsoldiers a while back told us of the weapons those creatures are forging. And now Arc and Pitch, the farmer there, have described further signs of their intent to invade and plunder. But there's not enough of us to defeat the city alone.”

“The horsemen!” came a swelling cry from the crowd. “Yes, the horsemen – call them to us, they'll join with us!”

“They will,” answered the headman. “They must, for their own survival. And the farmers. And one more tribe will join. The witches from the crag.”

There was a kind of universal groan of terror then, of disgust and disbelief. As if they'd been told that crows and wild dogs would fight by their side.

“
Silence!
” roared the headman. “They are not as we thought. Their vile acts of desecration upon our dead were for their own protection. To keep us away from them. This man here –” he threw out an arm at Flay – “he is one of them.”

The groaning rumbled louder, became threatening, and for a moment Kita thought they'd rush at Flay to tear him limb from limb, but the headman roared for silence a second time.

“
What of her?
” shrieked a woman, daringly, pointing at Kita. “Did she get to the hags? Is she bewitched?”

“No more than you are!” Kita retorted loudly. “I left this fort because I wanted to live freely. The witches are different, alien even, but they are not our enemies. Our enemies are
right now
making metal weapons and wagons to come at us, pick off the tribes one by one. We have no chance against them unless we all join together.”

“In quieter times, I'd have killed her myself as a runaway,” said the headman, nodding at Kita. “But these are not quiet times, and I say she is right. Now – these are my orders. At first light, three swift footsoldiers will run to the horseman's fort to give notice of a council of war to be held on our plains the morning after next. The farmer will return to his lands, with the same message; the witchman will take the news back to the crag. There are three horses spare. I need volunteers to go with the farmer and the witch as guards.”

“I'll go with the farmer,” cried a young footsoldier, stepping forward. “I've ridden with the horsemen – I can do it.”

“Very well,” said the headman.

“And me, sir,” said another. “With the farmer.”

The headman nodded, adding, “That leaves one horse to go to Witch Crag.”

Silence. No one volunteered. Kita knew that no one would volunteer. “I'll go,” she called out. “I'll keep Flay company, and watch his back.”

“
I'll
go,” countered Lilly, loudly. “I'm the better horsewoman.”

“No,” said the headman, grimly. “No females. Your place is here.”