‘But what’s the use? There are no sleeping heroes.’ Quinn’s voice was flat with misery.
‘We don’t have any weapons and all our beasts are gone or captured.’ Pain roughened Sebastian’s voice at the memory of Beltaine trapped in Lord Mortlake’s hands.
Elanor drew out the long, spiralling unicorn horn and hefted it in her hand. ‘We could try and use our beast’s gifts as weapons.’
Sebastian drew out the dragon tooth. ‘I guess I could make it into a dagger, it’s sharp enough.’
Quinn looked at the sea-serpent scale, which lay on the ground nearby. She shrugged. ‘I could use it as a shield. I just need a handle of some kind.’ She looked around, then broke off a stalactite and wedged it into the back of the scale as a handle.
‘What am I meant to do with the feathers?’ Tom said miserably. ‘Tickle Lord Mortlake to death?’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘How can we stand up against a whole army of bog-men?’
‘There must be something we can do.’ Elanor looked around pleadingly.
‘Sabre smashed up the warship in the harbour. That’s something,’ Quinn said.
‘What if we try and rescue all the prisoners from the dungeon?’ Elanor suggested. ‘Sir Kevyn will be mad as a hornet over being locked up. Once free, he’ll help us fight back.’
‘So would all the other knights and squires.’ Sebastian sat up. ‘If we raided the armoury, we could take them all some weapons.’
‘We could ring the warning bell,’ Tom said. ‘We could ring it and let the townsfolk know that the castle has been seized. Then they would all help us!’ His face suddenly lit up. ‘And my father will be nearby, in the forest. He said he’d come with his wolves when I needed him. If we rang the bell, he’d come!’
‘We could rescue our beasts,’ Elanor said, her hazel eyes bright.
Sebastian jumped up with fresh energy. ‘I like the idea of us being the heroes! If only I had a sword! And my dragon! And an army of ten thousand!’
‘At least we have each other,’ Elanor replied.
Tom got to his feet. ‘We’ll have to be quick and quiet. They’re searching the castle for us.’
Sebastian lifted his dragon tooth high. ‘Arise, oh, sleeping heroes,’ he intoned. ‘It is time to go forth and make the lives of our oppressors a misery.’
‘We should open the war gate first, so that they can all get in to the castle,’ Tom suggested. ‘The key is in the Great Hall. That’s just across the garden from here. Let’s go and get that first.’
‘Yes, it makes sense to open up a line of retreat,’ Sebastian said. ‘Let’s go!’
‘We can sneak out the secret stairs that lead to Arwen’s room in the old oak tree,’ Quinn said.
Elanor got to her feet, breathing once more on her ring till it glowed a little brighter. Holding it before her, she led the way through the caverns to the steps that led up to Arwen’s home. They clambered up the secret stairs into the hollow trunk of the oak tree, then stood, looking about them sadly.
Arwen’s room had always been bright and warm, with a fire glowing on the hearth and a cat curled asleep on a cushion. Now all was desolate.
‘Such a shame,’ Elanor said.
‘We will save the castle so Arwen’s tree can be a home once more,’ Quinn said.
Sebastian nodded, and Tom gave her a little pat of comfort. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ He eased open the door and peeped outside, Fergus pushing his head against his hip in his eagerness to see, too.
The garden beyond the oak tree was still and quiet, shrouded in darkness. ‘We still have some time before dawn,’ Tom said. ‘That crowing cock must be befuddled by the mist. The darkness will help hide us.’
Red spotlights probed the castle and inner ward, searching for them.
‘Someone’s going to have to deal with those witches,’ Sebastian said, peering over Tom’s shoulder.
‘I guess that has to be me,’ said Quinn.
‘And me!’ Elanor said quite unexpectedly. ‘After all, we think she may have killed my mother and cast an evil spell on my father! I want justice for that!’
The others all looked at her in amazement, remembering the timorous girl they had once known. She looked very different in her ragged dress, her hair in a mess, Quickthorn’s horn in her hand.
‘That’s the spirit!’ Sebastian said.
Together, the four friends crept across the lawn, Fergus and Wulfric at their heels. They paused under the shadow of an archway. A squad of guards marched past. They did not see the four children, crouched low in the darkness.
‘The lord’s in a rare taking,’ one said to another. ‘His ship’s been crushed to tinder, I heard!’
‘It’s a bad sign,’ his friend whispered back. ‘Nothing they did could kill the sea-beast!’
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Quinn breathed.
Only then did Tom realise that her anxiety over Sabre’s safety was as great as his fear for Rex.
The guards marched on. When they were long gone, the children crept out from under the hedge and ran for the great hall. As they reached the edge of the inner ward, a few birds began to chirrup. Looking up, Tom saw the hint of a silvery glow to the east. Dawn was perhaps half an hour away.
He led the way into the Great Hall. All the tables and benches had been pushed up against the wall. The rushes on the floor were old and smelt musty. At the far end of the room was a cold fireplace, big enough to roast an ox. Fergus and Wulfric bounded towards it. The mantelpiece above was ornately carved into leaf fronds and flower buds and the two prancing heraldic beasts of the Wolfhaven crest. Tom had almost forgotten the crest was there, so obscured it was by centuries of smoke. As they neared the fireplace, his eyes moved from Fergus and Wulfric to the carved stone beasts above them with a shiver of awe. A wolf and a wolfhound stood rampant. Their front paws lifted towards the two gigantic keys that were hung above, one crossed over the other. One of the keys was black and the other was ivory.
‘The black key is cast from iron,’ Elanor whispered, ‘and the white key is carved from bone.’
‘Which one opens the gate?’ Sebastian said.
‘I don’t know.’ Elanor frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t think my father ever told me that.’
‘I’m sure it was the black one,’ Tom said.
‘That makes sense,’ Quinn said. ‘Black is the colour of darkness and death. It should be the colour that unlocks a gate only ever opened in times of war.’
‘What does the white key open?’ Elanor asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Quinn said. Her look of puzzlement deepened. ‘White is the colour of light and revelation and life. You’d think it would open another gate, but there is no other that I know of, do you, Elanor?’
Elanor shook her head. ‘But I have discovered many things I did not know about the castle these last few weeks.’
Sebastian dragged over a bench and climbed onto it, reaching as high as he could. He could only just touch the end of the key with his fingertips. ‘I need another bench,’ he said.
‘Careful,’ Elanor cautioned, as Tom helped him drag over another bench.
‘Never,’ Sebastian replied with a grin. He climbed up onto the top bench, bracing a hand against the wall above the fireplace. He managed to unhook the black key and lowered it down to Tom. ‘Fungus, it’s heavy!’ he panted.
Tom and the girls caught the key and lowered it to the ground. It was as tall as Tom’s shoulder.
‘Its end is oddly shaped,’ Elanor said as Tom laid the key down on the floor. ‘Like a cross.’
‘That means the keyhole must be shaped like a cross, too,’ Quinn said.
‘The white one is the same,’ Sebastian said, exerting all his strength to lift the white key down. They laid it down on the floor next to the black key.
Elanor sat back on her heels. ‘Look!’
Where the keys had hung above the mantelpiece was a cross-shaped hole. It had been hidden by the thick shafts of the two keys. The two heraldic beasts w
ere both pointing towards the cross. ‘Could it … could it be a keyhole?’ she asked, her voice shaking with sudden excitement.
‘Maybe it opens a secret door—’ Quinn caught her breath and could say no more.
‘Only one way to find out!’ Tom jumped up and heaved the white key.
Elanor was the lightest and so she clambered on top of the piled benches, the others holding her steady. Then Sebastian passed the key up to her. It took all her strength to get the key high enough to fit into the cross-shaped hole. It slid in smoothly, making them all grin in excitement and hope. Then Elanor took the end of the key in both her hands and twisted it with all her strength. A loud click rang out.
The back of the fireplace opened.
‘It is a secret door!’ Elanor cried, taking Sebastian’s hand and jumping down to the ground.
Quinn bent and stepped inside the fireplace. She had to step over the ashes of the fire and suddenly remembered the strange rhyme the Grand Teller had spoken on the night of the midsummer feast.
‘By bone, over stone, through flame, out of ice, with breath, banish death,’ Quinn chanted aloud. ‘We just opened the lock with a key made of bone that hung over stone.’ She put one hand on the stone and pushed gently. Silently the door swung open wider. ‘Now we need to step through the fireplace, where normally flames would be burning.’
‘Should we go in?’ Elanor asked.
‘Of course we should,’ Sebastian cried. ‘Let’s hurry.’ He bent and stepped next to Quinn, looking into the dark maw of the passage revealed beyond.
‘We’ll need light.’ Tom gathered candlesticks from the high table. Sebastian lit the candles and one by one they crept in through the secret door. Fergus and Wulfric followed, ears pricked forward in interest.
‘Wait a minute!’ Tom stepped outside again and suddenly shut the door. He put his mouth to the stone. ‘Can you open the door from inside?’
A moment later, the door swung open. ‘What are you doing?’ Sebastian cried.
‘I don’t want to leave the secret door open in case any guards come in searching for us,’ Tom said. ‘Here, help me put the keys back. We need to make it look as if we’ve never been in the hall.’
He and Sebastian hung the two keys back in their usual spots, hiding the keyhole. They put the benches back where they had found them, then slipped back through the secret door, shutting it behind them. The girls were waiting impatiently, Wulfric and Fergus sitting by their sides. When Fergus waved his tail, it sent up a great cloud of choking dust.
‘Come on!’ Quinn cried. ‘Time’s running out!’
For a moment, Tom stilled. Was this secret passage a wild goose chase, leading them nowhere? Should they just give up and go in search of help?
But Sebastian was charging ahead. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you remember the Grand Teller’s story? She said the heroes were under the Great Hall! And now we are too!’
‘Look how thick the dust is,’ Elanor said. ‘No-one has come this way in a very long time.’
She coughed as the dust swirled up from her feet.
The passageway led steadily downwards, slowly curving around in a spiral. The children followed it, trying hard not to send the dust swirling too high. Soon they reached a bitterly cold chamber. They shivered in their damp rags, rubbing their arms. Elanor lifted her candelabra high, but the flickering light of the candles barely pierced the shadows. They crept on. Slowly, their candles illuminated a gleaming block of ice.
Something golden curved out of it.
‘It’s a sword,’ said Sebastian. He gripped the golden hilt and tried to draw it out of the ice. It was stuck fast. ‘Fungus! That sword would have been really useful.’
Tom tried but the sword wouldn’t budge. ‘Could we try to melt the ice?’
‘If only Bel was here …’ said Sebastian.
‘Well, since she’s not here, I guess we’ll have to try it the old-fashioned way.’ They held their candle-flames to the ice. Water dripped down. The ice gradually melted.
As the water dripped, it fell into a small basin at the base of the block of ice and then trickled away down a stone channel. Fergus and Wulfric lapped at it thirstily. The ice melted faster and faster. The sword began to reveal itself. Elanor had never seen a sword like it. It shone gold and had a wicked curve.
At last, Sebastian was able to draw the blade free of the ice, which broke apart and fell into the basin, sending a rush of water down the channel.
‘Have you ever seen such a beautiful thing?’ Sebastian exulted, sweeping the blade back and forth. ‘It’s so light, so perfectly balanced.’ As he whipped the sword around, it accidentally swiped off the top of Tom’s candles, so that they were plunged into a deeper gloom. ‘So sharp,’ Sebastian marvelled.
Tom rolled his eyes at Elanor and she bit back a grin. Nobody said anything to Sebastian, though.
‘What’s that noise?’ Quinn interrupted.
They all fell silent, listening. A low rumble filled the air. Elanor lifted high her guttering candles.
A door of carved stone was grinding open a few steps ahead of them. ‘Look!’ she pointed.
The water that had flowed down the channel was turning a water-wheel, and that in turn was opening the doors. The children rushed forward, Wulfric tumbling along behind.
Within was a beautifully wrought chamber, delicate pillars soaring high to a point in the centre of the ceiling. Cobwebs were draped like grey tattered curtains from every height and covered four marble effigies that lay on raised tombstones. The statues’ heads pointed towards the four points of the compass, while their feet faced a round basin in the very centre of the room. As the water turned the wheel and opened the door, it ran on through a stone channel and poured into the dry-bottomed basin.
Two of the statues were men in chain mail and strange, pointed boots. One clasped a curved sword in his gauntleted hands, twin to the one in Sebastian’s hands, though made of marble. The other had a longbow beside him, and a quiver full of stone arrows, all spun around with cobwebs.
The other two statues were women, their hair flowing to the floor like marble waterfalls. One had a stave of wood like a witch’s staff in her hands; the other clasped the handle of a broken lance.
‘They’re just statues,’ Sebastian said. ‘Maybe the heroes are lying in those graves beneath them?’
It was a creepy idea. No-one liked it at all.
‘How do we wake them?’ Elanor wondered.
‘I guess we give them a shake and say “wakey-wakey”,’ Sebastian joked. But he did not step any closer to the four marble figures.
The children tiptoed further into the room. The filthy cobwebs stirred from side to side and the dry leaves made a soft susurration on the marble floor. Tom gazed around and saw that a window casement was set in the far wall. Faint light seeped in through the window, and he could see that the horizon was touched with warm colour.
‘The sun is rising,’ Quinn said. ‘We were supposed to bring together the four ingredients at dawn. We have to hurry!’ She held the sea-serpent scale before her like a round silver shield. Elanor held the black unicorn’s horn and Sebastian grasped the dragon tooth. Tom drew out the golden griffin feathers.
‘When the wolf lies down with the wolfhound and the stones of the castle sing, the sleeping heroes shall wake for the crown and the bells of victory ring,’ Quinn chanted. ‘Well, the wolf is lying down with the wolfhound.’ She nodded at Fergus and Wulfric, lying peacefully together by the pillar. ‘But how are we to make the stones of the castle sing?’
‘Stones can’t sing,’ Sebastian said.
‘Always thinking so literally,’ Quinn mocked him gently. ‘Ever heard of a metaphor, Sebastian?’
‘Well, yes, but I have no idea what it means,’ he retorted.
Quinn opened her mouth to enlighten him, but Tom had been inspecting the room while they argued and now he cried, ‘Look!’
A curved hunting horn hung from the
pillar on a chain. It was so grey and furred with dust, it was almost invisible among all the draping cobwebs.
Tom reached for it and Quinn nodded. ‘Remember, Arwen said, “with breath, banish death …” That must be what she meant. We need to blow the horn to wake the sleeping heroes.’
‘You do it,’ Elanor said to Tom.
Tom gingerly unhooked the horn and blew off the dust and cobwebs. A warm gleam revealed itself. ‘It’s made of gold!’ he cried.
He turned it upside down and shook it, then cleaned the ivory mouthpiece with the tail of his shirt. Outside the window, the sky was tinted rose and amber, and Tom could hear birds twittering. ‘Shall I do it?’
The others all nodded, breathless with nervous excitement.
Tom lifted the horn to his mouth and blew with all the air in his lungs. A wild, high note rang out. It resonated all around the chamber, building to a crescendo that echoed and echoed until it seemed as if the whole castle hummed with music.
Elanor, Quinn and Sebastian watched in awe.
‘“And the stones of the castle sing”,’ Quinn quoted softly.
‘There!’ Elanor pointed with a shaking hand.
The eyes of the statues had opened, gleaming with bright and human life.
Tom gazed, open-mouthed, as the statues stirred and moved.
One of the men stretched wide his arms, yawning. Dust fell from him in a cloud, showing the metal of his chain mail beneath.
The woman with the broken lance rolled on to her side, yawning. She sat up slowly, dust cascading away from her. ‘Art thou awake, Sir Geraint?’ she said.
‘That I am, Lady Rhianwyn,’ the man with the longbow answered, sitting up. He shook his head, then sneezed as dust and webs fell around him in a white shower. ‘I wish the Grand Teller had devised some way to ward away the spiders.’
The woman with the dagger had also sat up and was shaking her dress. Pale-winged moths fluttered out from the fabric.
‘’Tis good to see thee, Mistress Ifanna,’ Lady Rhianwyn murmured with a smile. She turned to Sir Geraint. ‘The spell does not stop spiders from weaving their webs. Time for us was only slowed, not stopped.’