The Whisperer (10 page)

Unable to sleep, Griff had risen before anyone else; it was still dark enough that it felt as though it were the middle of the night. His instincts told him it was that silent time just prior to dawn and very soon—probably in just minutes—the birds would give their first chirrups and slashes would appear across the sky as morning would begin yawning and stretching from her slumber.

He tiptoed around the wagon he shared with his brothers and put his boots on outside to avoid disturbing the lightly snoring pair. Sitting on the step of the wagon, Griff shivered from the chill. It was too early to expect any keraff to be brewing anywhere soon and after Tess’s home-dried phelan tea, he knew it would never match up anyway. He was hungry, too. But that was normal. Griff was always famished and had learned not to dwell on it. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t be still either. It was too dark to begin work but he needed something to distract him. The truth was Griff wanted to think but he was too frightened about where his thinking time might take him. After last night’s conversation with Master Tyren he now realised that his situation was dangerous. He sensed that if he thought about it for too long he would start heading down the even more perilous pathway of plotting an escape but he couldn’t imagine how four of them plus a horde of exotic animals could go unnoticed for
very long. But here he was, not succeeding very well at avoiding thinking, already believing he had to find a way to at least get Tess and her creatures to safety.

The creatures!
Yes, that’s where he would go. He broke into a lope and made his way to the small copse. The four companions were already well alerted to his arrival and when he entered the now dimly lit clearing there was no sign of them. Tess had trained them well.

‘Davren, it’s me, Griff. You’re safe.’

He listened intently because he could see nothing in the still very murky light. It felt like an age but finally he heard a soft footfall behind as the young centaur walked towards him.

Griff held out his hand in the way he remembered Tess teaching him. Davren responded in kind.

‘Hello, Davren,’ Griff began, wishing he could talk to the centaur as Tess did. But he kept his voice even and friendly. He couldn’t fully make out the centaur’s features in the shadows but he was able to tell that the creature was intrigued and not fearful of him. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d come and check on you, see that you’re all fine. Er, wait,’ he dug in his pocket. ‘I brought Elph a biscuit. It’s a bit stale but I’m sure he won’t mind.’

In the gloomy half-light he saw Davren smile tentatively before cupping his hands to his mouth and giving a soft hoot like an owl. Immediately Elph blundered out of the undergrowth to take the biscuit greedily. It was devoured in a blink but Elph returned to nuzzle Griff’s hand with his velvety snout and Griff took this to be the sagar’s thanks.

‘You’re most welcome,’ he whispered and stroked the strange creature’s head.

‘And Helys? What colour is she?’ he asked anxiously of the centaur.

Davren pointed to a leaf.

‘Oh, good, green. She’s calm, then,’ he replied, delighted.

Davren grinned, nodded, then touched his heart and gave a gesture that was halfway a shrug.

Griff bit his lip. He nodded. ‘I’m worried. I don’t think we can stay with the Travelling Show for very much longer. Tyren wants me to do something that I don’t wish to. I’m thinking of running away.’

Davren frowned, pointed to himself and the happily groaning Elph, whom Griff was still stroking.

‘I won’t leave any of you, or Tess,’ he said, hand over his heart. ‘I promise. But we may have to be patient. For now I have to go along with Tyren’s instructions. I can’t risk angering him. Do you understand? We all have to do what he wants of us until I can figure out a plan.’

The centaur nodded and looked up at the lightening sky. Dawn had arrived. Suddenly the birds were beginning to sing and the wagons of the show folk, still grey-looking and washed out in the bleary mist of morning, at least had an outline now. In fact, in the distance, Griff thought he could see Blind Pippin picking his way very carefully to a bushed area where he could relieve himself. Davren pointed to where Helys was emerging from behind the more heavily wooded area of the copse. As Griff turned, she flashed orange, just for the briefest of moments. She was joyous!

And he felt happy for one of the rare times in his life. With the creatures—now his friends—there was peace, not a constant crowding of thoughts that he had to shut out. It was only then that he realised he was not even guarding his mind, as he usually would. For the first time in living memory he was not bombarded with the thoughts of others. Either the creatures were blank to him, or something about being with Tess’s magical friends gave him relief from his own magic. He was just about to say something regarding this to Davren when he heard a shriek in his head. It hurt him, alarmed him. It sounded, of all things, like a whistle. The sound pierced his mind and shattered his calm. He was holding his head and groaning as it ripped through his mind.

And then it stopped abruptly and he heard a voice. It was no more than a whisper through his thoughts. Two words only.

Help me!
the voice begged.

And Griff fell to the ground unconscious.

Pilo urged his horse into a gallop and thanked his lucky stars he was riding his stallion today. Bruno was always eager to thunder across the moors, never requiring more than a quick nudge with the heels and the sense of being given free rein. The stallion covered the ground between himself and the other horse at such a fast speed that Pilo could only pray he would be able to guide Bruno in precisely the right manner he needed to. If he could manoeuvre the big stallion in such a way as to frighten Tirell into slowing at least, then he had a chance of preventing her taking the Prince down the ravine and falling to certain death.

He couldn’t be sure that the Prince had seen him yet but he felt a surge of pride to note that the boy he’d taught to ride so well was still working hard to calm the bolting horse. Right now Lute looked to be bent as close to the horse’s ear as he could get, no doubt talking to her, urging her to slow. It was too late though. Even from here Pilo could see that Tirell was past reason. He knew this state of mind. In a panic like this, the horse would run until she hit a large immovable object—like a tree—or until her heart gave out.

Now his fright surged further. It looked to him as though Lute was planning to jump from Tirell. He understood why but it was a flawed plan. At this speed the boy’s body would be shattered, even if he did survive.

He grimly steered the stallion straight at Tirell. He could feel the big horse’s indecision, its surprise at what was surely going to be a head-on collision. But Pilo forced him forward, urging him even faster. Now he was close enough to see the whites of Tirell’s panicked eyes and the equally wide eyes of his Prince, who had finally seen him.

‘Lute!’ he yelled. ‘Be ready for her to rear!’ he called.

There was no time for further instructions and he couldn’t even be sure Lute heard, he just had to hope the Prince remembered all his training. Furiously digging his knees into the ribs of his stallion, Pilo spurred the horse on harder still. The pair of horses seemed destined to slam into each other.

At the final second both animals lost their nerve and, as Pilo had expected, Tirell screamed her terror once again and reared up. In the meantime, the stallion roared his own fury and, without Pilo’s careful handling, would probably have bitten the filly, the Prince, and anyone else he could sink his teeth into. Pilo reached quickly for Tirell’s reins as Lute slumped forward and finally fell off his horse, breathing hard, trying to talk but not making any sense.

‘Wait, my Prince. Don’t speak,’ Pilo advised, growling at Bruno to try and rein the angry animal back under control. ‘Just catch your breath.’ He himself was sucking in great breaths like his horse and Tirell looked spooked: foam flecked her flanks and fizzed at her mouth. Her nostrils flared angrily and her eyes remained white and staring. She would have bolted again if she wasn’t being held so determinedly by Pilo, and he knew it was angry Bruno frightening her now as much as whatever had made her so terrified in the first instance. He dismounted. ‘Go, Bruno,’ he commanded, knowing the stallion would not move too far but he needed him away from Tirell. She settled a bit more once the huge horse had wandered off, still grumbling and snorting to itself.

Still holding the filly, he bent to Lute. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked.

Lute nodded.

‘Then you take Bruno. Let me take Tirell.’

Lute followed the instructions, taking Bruno’s reins and following Pilo towards the woodland. Bruno knew Lute and didn’t seem to mind the lad leading him.

‘There’s quiet in there and also shadows. It will help reassure her. Was anyone following?’

Lute shook his head miserably.

‘Even so. It’s best no-one knows we’re there.’

‘Pi…Pilo,’ Lute stammered.

‘Wait, boy. Trust me,’ he said and guided the snorting, unhappy filly ahead.

Once beneath the canopy of trees Tirell began to quieten as Pilo had promised. A small rivulet gurgled through the wood and
Tirell drank greedily, stepping into the water in her urgency to quench her thirst. Bruno was less eager to get his hooves wet but he settled quickly and before long was grazing quietly. The filly remained skittish and anxious but Pilo could read her; he knew she would soon find some calm.

He turned to the Prince, who looked pale and shaken but his expression was nonetheless defiant. ‘Alright. What happened?’

‘Tirell bolted.’

‘I gathered. Do you know why?’

‘I can’t be sure what prompted it,’ Lute said, angrily, ‘but I know who is responsible.’

Pilo’s eyes narrowed. He had his suspicions. ‘Who?’

‘My uncle!’ And to Pilo’s surprise the Prince spat on the ground—it was a Drestonian gesture of challenge. ‘The Duke,’ he said, his tone filled with disdain.

‘You’re sure of it?’

‘As sure as I know your beautiful whistle doesn’t work. It made no sound but I thank the stars you were nearby.’

Pilo blinked. ‘Lute, what proof do you have that the Duke caused Tirell to bolt?’

‘His admission that he needs me dead is probably the best proof.’

‘He
said
that to you?’ Pilo exclaimed, aghast, a fresh chill moving through him. Suddenly it was very dangerous to be seen and he glanced around them to be sure they were still alone.

Lute nodded and told Pilo everything that Janko had said.

Pilo began to pace as he listened, his thoughts turning darker as the Prince’s story unfolded.

‘…and there were three of his men behind us, anyway. Now that I think about it, judging by their clothes, they weren’t our soldiers. I could hardly take my chances and flee. They would have run me down easily enough. One of them probably shot Tirell with a pebble from a catapult or something that really hurt her.’

‘Cowards!’ Pilo spat. ‘But their cravenness is their undoing,’ he added angrily. ‘They hoped the horse would kill you rather
than dirtying their own hands with royal blood. We have to get you away from here.’

‘Away? I’m going back to the palace right now to—’

‘To be killed,’ Pilo cut across Lute’s words with a growl. ‘I suspect it’s already too late. Your uncle said as much. Janko obviously had this planned. If you go back to the palace now, you will be dealt with. Right now they’re trying to make it appear as an accident, hoping that an out-of-control horse kills you at best, or at worst injures you sufficiently that you’re out of the picture for a while. And if you’re injured it also means you’re vulnerable, can be finished off at any time on his orders. Your only chance of staying alive is to get away from here and to hide.’

‘Hide? I’m the heir to the throne.’

‘All the more reason. Listen to me, your highness, the Duke wants you dead or at the very least incapacitated. He has already admitted to your face that he sees himself as heir rather than you.’

‘But my parents. What about the King?’

At this Pilo felt a tremendous surge of pity for Lute. ‘I imagine he made sure of their inability to act before he dealt with you.’

Lute looked shocked. ‘Do you mean he’s killed them?’ he asked in a small voice.

Pilo shook his head, uncertain. ‘I think we can safely assume that if they are alive, they are now incarcerated. I think we can also assume that the palace is under his control. The only person he doesn’t control is you. And you are his greatest threat, for you are the true heir.’

The Prince stared back, fury in his dark eyes. ‘Well then he should have done a better job of finishing me off, shouldn’t he?’ Lute growled. ‘Now he’s got me as an enemy and by Lo’s light I’ll see him dead and on show to all our people if he’s touched a hair of my mother’s head or so much as forgotten to bow to my father.’

His head on a spike it shall be, then
, Pilo thought, for he was sure the King would not be permitted to live. Instead he nodded.
‘That’s the spirit, highness. You are a threat to Duke Janko. He will send his henchmen soon to find you injured or unconscious somewhere or better still, your lifeless body. When you can’t be found it will throw him into confusion. We have to get away from here. Will you trust me?’

‘Always.’

Pilo climbed up on the stallion again. ‘Then mount up, highness. We shall take only Bruno. Let them find Tirell, still disturbed and shaky. They’ll assume she’s thrown you off somewhere and it will buy us valuable time.’

Lute nodded, reached for Pilo’s hand and nimbly hauled himself up behind his servant. Pilo wasted no time pushing the stallion into a canter and once they’d hit the open moors heading north, he let the horse steadily gain speed.

‘By the way,’ he said over his shoulder, before they were into a flat-out gallop, ‘the whistle worked. I heard it even if you did not.’ If they’d been riding under happier circumstances he might have grinned at Lute’s astonished face.