In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  Shouts erupted from the manor, the clang of metal, a flurry of thumps.

  The seal-amulet warmed in his hands. The marks flared, more obvious now, yet not one stayed constant; impossible to touch any of them, though his finger hovered over the seal-amulet’s surface. He didn’t know what any of them meant.

  A knight leapt into view, sword drawn and with a large tear-shaped shield that covered most of his body. He struck the bushes with ferocious swipes and jumped to the right and then to the left to avoid any surprise attack as he came closer and closer.

  Peter scrambled over the roots and hid behind the other side of the tree.

  The knight’s breath rasped with the effort of his mighty swings. Closer still and then, with a grunt, the knight halted and the swish and crack as wood splintered under the sword’s edge, ceased.

  Peter swallowed. His backpack, he’d left it behind in full view. He willed the seal-amulet to show him what to do, for if he ran the knight might cut him down in an instant.

  A loud blast from a horn echoed through the trees. Its strident note rose above the battle’s clamour and the fighting stopped.

  ***

  The knight grunted again and Peter held his breath. Silence ticked by from one painful second to the next, until the leaves rustled and the knight’s footsteps receded. Peter dived around the tree and grabbed his backpack.

  Horses cantered down the common way and the horn sounded once more. The knights, Peter guessed it must be them, cheered. He half-rose, desperate for a glimpse of the force that had just arrived. It must be Eorl Bosa’s men because, apart from Oswald’s, he didn’t remember seeing any horses in Wulfwyn’s camp.

  The horses speed never slackened and this time Peter caught a momentary flash as they galloped up the track towards the manor. The outlaws didn’t stand a chance, faced with so many well-armed and armoured men.

  A voice bellowed a command and Peter saw two knights push their way through bushes and jump tree roots as they returned to the track. What had happened to Wulfwyn’s reinforcements from the camp? Had these knights caught them on the common way? Or if the outlaws had hidden, they might be very close, ready to counterattack.

  The horn blew for a third time. Shouts and cries erupted from the manor. An outlaw slipped behind a tree not far from where Peter hid. He held a bow, though the quiver on his back didn’t hold a single arrow. A second outlaw rose up from the ground close to the first and they talked, heads together, with quick glances around the tree and over their shoulders. The first outlaw cupped his hands over his mouth and called like a rook’s raucous squawk.

  Peter studied the seal-amulet. He wanted to help the outlaws, but he didn’t know how. Why did the seal-amulet glow and the marks show if they didn’t mean to be used? He’d made it work before, why not now?

  He glanced up. More outlaws crowded around the tree. A gash dripped blood from one man’s forehead. Another held his arm and the fingers, squeezed tight around the wound, were smeared red. The outlaws whispered in frantic bursts, pointed towards the manor, shook their heads in frustration or nodded agreement. Wulfwyn’s plan must have failed and now a decision had to be made without his guidance. Where was Wulfwyn?

  The noise from the manor ceased and as one, the outlaws peered in that direction. That decided their action. With stealth and speed, they made for the common way.

  Peter thrust the seal-amulet into his pocket, pulled the backpack over his shoulders and followed. This part of Wulfwyn’s plan might have failed, but because the seal-amulet saved Oswald, Leonor must have escaped, unless Eorl Bosa had discovered the outlaw’s camp and captured them both.

  He kept a safe distance from the outlaws and made for the bank and the steep descent. Twice more he heard the rook call and when he reached the top of the bank and saw the outlaws, away to his left as they slipped and slid over the edge, their numbers had doubled.

  The bank’s steep side made walking down it impossible. Peter staggered and tripped from tree to tree, running into each one to stop the rapid momentum of a downward rush where control proved impossible and might result in a bad fall.

  He reached the bottom and leaned against a trunk to catch his breath. The outlaws, already some distance ahead, scuttled along the far side of the common way. They drew close to the gap in the bank where the track branched off to the manor and crept forward with caution. Peter watched as they craned their necks, wary of any knights that Eorl Bosa might have left to stop their retreat.

  He copied the outlaws’ tactics and darted across the common way onto the other side.

  “Oi!”

  Peter’s stomach lurched and he dropped to his knees as if he’d been punched. Up on the bank stood the knight who’d spotted his backpack. With deliberate malice, he pointed his sword straight at Peter and, with a terrible cry, leapt over the edge and barrelled down the incline as if he didn’t care about the steep descent. The knight bounced off trees, smashed through bushes, leapt over tree roots. With his body tipped forward, his feet left the ground, but he didn’t take his eyes off Peter.

  Peter scrambled to his feet and unhooked the backpack. The knight, unable to control his speed, burst onto the common way and his sword whirled as he tried to keep his balance. The shield’s bottom edge struck the frozen mud and shattered and this unexpected impact twisted the knight sideways so that the sword glanced upwards off the shield’s smooth surface.

  Peter jumped out of the way to avoid the impact and swung the backpack with all his strength into the knight’s face.

  Out of control and running too fast to retaliate, the knight let out a guttural yell, lost his balance and crashed face first onto the mud. The ground trembled with his fall.

  Peter shuffled backwards, ready to run, but he didn’t dare, scared that the knight might recover and give chase. The knight’s legs, encased in chainmail right down to his feet, twitched, but he made no attempt to stand. Peter backed away, afraid to be too close in case of a trick. The legs twitched once more and then lay still. The breath that steamed from the knight’s mouth no longer showed.

  Had he knocked him out with the backpack? The heavy thermos might have made a direct hit.

  The mud and ice around the knight’s face darkened. Peter, ready to strike, shuffled closer. The darkness spread and when it flowed beyond the shadow cast by the knight’s shoulder, he saw that it was blood and he stumbled backwards and retched.

  The horn’s strident note sounded through the trees. Peter glanced up at the bank, fearful that more knights might attack. None stood there and he doubled over and retched again. His legs trembled, but he staggered off the common way and leaned against the nearest tree. He brushed away the tears that watered his eyes every time his stomach heaved.

  In the distance, horses’ hooves pounded as they broke into a gallop. He inched his way around the trunk and saw the outlaws, already far ahead, break into a sprint.

  A group of knights burst onto the common way from the track. They urged their horses after the outlaws and, with lowered spears, charged.

  Peter didn’t watch. He leaned against the tree and slid to the ground. He didn’t look at the motionless knight either, but crawled on all fours up the bank until he found a hollow formed by a fallen tree’s exposed roots.

  Far away, men screamed and horses whinnied and he clamped his hands over his ears. Now that the knights occupied the manor and the surrounding woods, he’d never reach the charred branch. His head tingled with panic. He’d be stuck in this time for ever without any chance of escape. He still had the seal-amulet. It worked for him once, why not again? If he took the time to learn, maybe men as well as giant dogs might come under his control.

  With slow care, he took his hands away from his ears. The fight must be over, for he heard nothing. He needed a plan. The best start was to find his way back to the outlaws’ camp. If Leonor and Oswald had reached it too, that might give him some idea about what to do next.

  He grasped hold of a dry root, but as he eased himself up h
e heard the thud-thud, thud-thud of an approaching horse, and crouched.

  A mounted knight trotted into view with his spear lodged against the horse’s shoulder. He didn’t have a shield, but a sword hung from a scabbard at his waist. With a cry, he reined the horse in and dismounted.

  The knight paced all around the motionless man and glanced up at the banks, his right hand gripped around the sword’s hilt. Satisfied that whoever had floored his fellow brother-in-arms didn’t mean to strike with a sudden ambush, he knelt and pulled the prone man over and onto his back.

  A long red cut, where the sword’s tip pierced the throat, revealed the manner of the man’s death. Peter covered his mouth and stared in a different direction. More hooves thudded down the common way and voices called, not loud, but urgent and in a foreign language.

  When he dared to look again, the dead knight had been lifted up and slung over a horse’s back and the riders re-mounted. They urged their steeds back up the common way towards the track.

  Peter slithered down the bank for a clearer look. At the entrance to the track, the knights guided their horses towards the manor and disappeared from sight. No sign of the outlaws. He scurried, head bent, towards their secret camp. In his pocket, the seal-amulet pulsed with heat and he ran his fingers over its warm surface.

  ***

  As he approached the track, he climbed the far bank and weaved his way between the trees and bushes. Where the track levelled out towards the manor, two mounted knights stood guard.

  Peter crouched and crawled on all fours. His need to stay silent and out of sight slowed his progress. Twigs and thorns scratched at his exposed cheeks and snagged the backpack. Twice he checked his position relative to the knights’ and on the third time the trees hid them from view. He stood up and hurried down to the common way.

  His breath came in shallow gasps, for he half-expected, half-dreaded to stumble upon a pile of dead outlaws run down by the knights’ charge. Small pools of blood filled shallow hollows in the frozen mud, but not a single body, anywhere. Did the knights drag them away to be buried? He mustn’t waste time wondering. Relief that such a grisly sight didn’t need to be witnessed gave him renewed courage to hurry onward.

  As he ran, he pulled the seal-amulet from his pocket. The surface glowed red and the silver marks swirled as if rotated by some hidden eddy. What did the seal-amulet mean when it was like this? Why didn’t it show him a definite symbol? And if not, why didn’t it cool and fade like the last time? He gave it an angry shake, but nothing changed and he stuffed it back into his pocket.

  The rustle and bump from his backpack as it bounced against his shoulders made it difficult to hear and he stopped running. He glanced behind him and along the tops of the banks. A mounted knight might charge him down with ease and a knight on foot keep him within easy sight from a high vantage.

  The barghest too, might be close and maybe the spae-wife. Was it she that animated the seal-amulet, as Bear thought?

  Nothing stirred on the common way or up on the banks and with his hands through the straps to steady the backpack, he set off at a run. How had Eorl Bosa known about the outlaw’s trap? Or had it been a lucky chance that he sent two groups of knights spaced far enough apart to catch the outlaws by surprise? Wulfwyn’s camp must be close. He hoped to spot the concealed entrance, though he didn’t remember the exact place.

  Then he saw it. He didn’t need to search. The long thin stems with their waxy leaves lay broken and shredded, ripped from the ground at their roots and scattered in every direction.

  Eorl Bosa had discovered the outlaws camp and Peter shuddered.

  He crept closer and tip-toed up to the ravine’s entrance. A thin sliver of light showed at the other end. Impossible to see anything in the glade from this distance and he held his breath and listened. Not a sound and he stepped off the common way and into the dark.

  He didn’t dare use his torch, though the sudden gloom made it hard to see and he ran with his arms stretched out to the sides. He’d risk the chance that the carrier might be hiding somewhere up ahead. As the light at the end of the ravine brightened, he slowed to a walk. No voices and no sound of any movement. The bush he’d hidden behind, when he listened to Wulfwyn’s plan, lay snapped in pieces across his path.

  He crouched, as more of the glade came into view. No outlaws anywhere and no sign of Leonor or Oswald. The iron pot, that hung suspended over the fire, now lay on its side, empty. A small mound of snow covered the fire’s cold ashes.

  Peter crept out of the ravine, but kept to the side of the glade where the trees grew thickest. Blood spots spattered the ground. Had any outlaws escaped, did Eorl Bosa take Leonor and Oswald prisoner, or did he kill them all?

  His mouth went dry and he swallowed. Bosa wanted to marry Leonor, so she might be alive, but Oswald... if Bosa wanted his manor, then Oswald’s friendship with the outlaws gave Bosa a good excuse to kill all of Wulfwyn’s allies.

  He reached the trees opposite the ravine. What now? His mind went blank as he gazed at the fallen pot and the cold ashes and the empty glade. With a sigh, he slipped off his backpack and sat down against a tree. Fear and frustration made him feel useless and his thoughts darkened.

  Why didn’t he go back to his time with Almina when he had the chance? Dad and mum needed him and that must be more important than trying to change the lives of people who lived over a thousand years ago? Why did he let granddad and Bear tell him what to do when his instinct told him otherwise?

  If only he’d thrown away the seal-amulet, hadn’t cared about Leonor, hadn’t listened to Bear, or let granddad encourage him to explore, for these were their stories he lived through, not his. He’d been too willing to help when he should have turned his back on them and ignored their pleas. What made them think that he might be able to change anything? He’d dug a big hole from which escape proved impossible, stuck in a time and a place that he might never be able to leave.

  Tears blurred his sight, but anger at his stupidity bubbled too and he wiped his eyes dry with the back of his hand. What a baby to cry. It doesn’t solve anything.

  He didn’t know what to do. Search for Leonor and Oswald, but where to begin? Make his way back to the manor and the charred branch? With so many knights, he didn’t stand a chance. Attempt to understand the seal-amulet? It might be easier to learn Chinese.

  He snapped the buckles open on his backpack and reached inside for the sandwiches. As he took a bite, ham and tomato, he considered the practicalities of rationing. The sandwiches and hot chocolate might last for a bit. He’d never hunted, didn’t know how to catch prey, wasn’t sure how to light a fire except with matches or a lighter and he didn’t have either. He didn’t know how to skin or cut open an animal to remove the insides or, even if he did manage to light a fire, know when his catch might be cooked.

  How did you build a shelter to keep warm at night? He might be able to curl up under a tree, but that gave him no protection. Suppose the barghest hunted in the dark? He didn’t trust the seal-amulet to work for him again.

  Where did Eorl Bosa live? He guessed he’d find Leonor and Oswald there, if they’d been taken prisoner. It might not be that far. Had that much time passed when he returned to Bear and the skin-walkers? Wulfwyn instructed Oswald to bring Leonor to the outlaw’s camp that night - so not that much time passed if the outlaws took up their positions around the manor that same day - today. But, even if he did find Eorl Bosa’s manor, what then?

  He shook his head, find it first and then work out a new plan when he knew Leonor and Oswald’s fate. Decided, his confidence returned. He’d continue up the common way until he found Eorl Bosa’s.

  A twig snapped and he spun round, but a hand gripped his head and squeezed so that it forced him to look straight ahead. He grabbed hold of the arm, but didn’t have the strength to wrench it away and the fingers that held him dug deeper and deeper until he let go, fearful that his skull might split.

  “Stay still or I cut your throat.” A man spo
ke close to his ear.

  Peter obeyed and lowered his arms.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I - I needed somewhere to hide. I ran away from the knights on the common way.”

  The man grunted as if he didn’t believe the explanation. “Why did the knights give chase to you?”

  Peter wriggled backwards, but the man’s tight grip made him gasp. “I was looking for someone.”

  “The common way is a strange place to search. For there are many who travel its length.”

  Peter spluttered. “I... I...”

  “What are these persons called for whom you search?”

  Peter squinted sideways to catch a glimpse of the man, but unable to twist far enough around, he gave up. Was it a knight, an outlaw, or even the carrier? A dark leather boot scuffed the ground close to where he sat and he took a risk. “I was looking for Leonor and Oswald.”

  The man didn’t speak for several seconds and then he asked, “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to help them.”

  The man’s grip lessened and then let go. Peter shuffled back and out of reach. When he glanced up, Wulfwyn stared back.

  ***

  Wulfwyn’s brow, deep set with heavy lines, frowned. Unshaven, several days’ growth of golden stubble flourished. His long blond hair, scraped back from his face and tied in a twist, like a pony tail, hung down his back. “How do you know those that you name?”

  Peter’s mind flooded with everything that he knew about Leonor and Oswald. He didn’t know how to reply and in the end said, “Leonor asked me.”

  Wulfwyn’s frown deepened. “You have spoken together?”