Sir Geraint stood up, brushing himself off vigorously. He sent up such a storm of dust that Tom sneezed. At once, all four warriors turned and gazed at the children.
‘Who is it that disturbs our rest?’ boomed the man with the sword.
‘Speak gently, Lord Vaughn,’ the other woman said. ‘Canst thou not see they are but children?’
‘I beg your pardon, sir.’ Elanor dropped into a graceful curtsey. ‘We have woken you at a time of terrible need.’
‘What then is thy need?’ Lady Rhianwyn asked, dusting off her skirt.
‘Wolfhaven Castle has been invaded by enemies that use dark sorcery to further their aims. We need to defeat them and rescue our people from the dungeons.’
‘Hast thou brought us gifts?’ Sir Geraint asked.
Elanor stepped forward, holding up the black unicorn’s horn. ‘We have.’
‘I thank thee.’ Lady Rhianwyn fitted the horn into the end of the broken lance. It slotted into place perfectly, turning into a formidable-looking weapon. She then dipped the point of the horn into the water in the fountain. It glittered silver.
‘Hast thou a gift for me?’ Mistress Ifanna asked.
Quinn held out the sea-serpent scale. Mistress Ifanna thanked her and fitted the mother-of-pearl scale over her arm like a shield. She looked stern and magnificent, her witch’s staff in one hand and the shield guarding the other.
Tom stepped forward next, holding out the griffin feathers. ‘I thank thee,’ Sir Geraint answered with a smile as he took them from Tom’s hand. ‘I shall be able to fletch my arrows again.’ He unslung the quiver from his back and deftly used a small knife to trim the griffin feathers into shape, fitting them into place at the end of each arrow.
Sebastian held out the dragon tooth. Lord Vaughn inclined his head unsmilingly and took it from his hand. ‘’Tis rather small,’ he said, turning it in his gauntleted hands.
‘It’s from a baby dragon,’ Sebastian explained.
Lord Vaughn grunted. ‘I thank thee for thy gift, and promise to use it wisely.’ He attached the dragon tooth to a leather cord about his neck.
Sir Geraint was expertly fixing the feathers to his arrows. They gleamed golden in the growing light. When each arrow was fletched to his satisfaction, he turned to Tom and said, ‘Give me thy horn.’
Reluctantly, Tom handed it over. He had felt such a moment of thrilling excitement when he had blown the horn, as if he had shaken off his own carapace of stone and was at last who he was meant to be, a boy with music singing through every pulse of his blood, every spark of his nerves.
‘Prepare thyselves,’ Sir Geraint instructed the others. The four warriors gripped their weapons tight. Then Sir Geraint lifted the horn to his mouth and blew a great blast.
A wind sprang up from nowhere, swirling around the room and lifting away every leaf and cobweb and every particle of dust. Tom staggered and grasped at a pillar to keep his feet. Elanor was blown right over and had to be helped up by Sebastian. Quinn’s black curls were blown sideways like a rippling banner. Fergus’s shaggy coat gusted backwards, his ears turning inside out. Wulfric tumbled head-over-heels. Tom had never felt such a wind. It stung and prickled till his skin was tingling with pins and needles. Then, the black whirlwind swept out the window.
The four warriors were as clean and fresh as if they had never been covered with hundreds of years of dust and cobwebs. Mistress Ifanna’s dress proved to be white, while Lady Rhianwyn’s hair shone golden-brown. Lord Vaughn’s hair and beard were fiery red, while Sir Geraint’s eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots. Wonderingly Tom realised that his own tattered clothes were now as fresh and clean as if they were new.
One by one, the four warriors stepped up to the fountain at the centre of the room and, using a golden cup that had hung there unseen, drank from the water that glimmered within. It seemed to give them new strength. Lady Rhianwyn stood straighter, her eyes shining with vigour. The lines around Lord Vaughn’s mouth disappeared. Mistress Ifanna laughed. ‘Is it not good to be awake once more?’ she cried.
When Sir Geraint had drunk his fill, he beckoned the children forward. One by one, they drank. It was like no water Tom had ever tasted. It was cold, yet shot through his body like fire. It was sweet like honey, but scintillated as if stars had been melted in it. He had been hungry, tired and afraid, but the water made his whole body thrill with new energy.
Sebastian was just bending to dip in the cup when he looked up in sudden doubt. ‘Drinking this water will not enchant us into being sleeping heroes, will it?’
‘Knave!’ Lord Vaughn shouted. ‘Dost thou dare accuse us of such base treachery?’
‘Peace, Lord Vaughn,’ Mistress Ifanna soothed. ‘He means no disrespect. No, my dear boy.’ She smiled at Sebastian, who turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. ‘The water will give thee strength and courage. One can only be bound to such a spell as ours with a willing heart and a true wish to serve.’
‘I … I was just checking,’ he stammered and drank down a cupful rapidly.
Tom gazed at the four stern-faced heroes in amazement. It was incredible to think these four men and women had all chosen to have such a spell cast upon them. They had slept hidden under the castle for hundreds of years, waiting till they were needed to rise and fight. What had they left behind? Who had mourned them? What had they sacrificed to keep Wolfhaven Castle safe?
‘We can only fight till sunset,’ Lady Rhianwyn told the children. ‘As the last light fades, we must be back in our chamber, else we shall turn to dust on the battlefield and blow away, lost forever.’
‘Let us fight till sunset then!’ Sir Geraint cried, and led the way out of the chamber at a run.
‘Valour, glory, victory!’ Sebastian shouted, waving his new sword. The curved blade flashed golden in the bright sunrise. He sprinted after the four warriors, Quinn and Tom close behind, the wolfhound and the wolf cub at their heels.
Elanor filled her leather bottle with water from the stone basin. Her father and the other prisoners may be in need of its healing powers, too.
Tom, Quinn and Sebastian were busy hauling down the black key when she finally joined them in the Great Hall.
‘Let’s go open the war gate!’ Tom said. ‘Then we’ll need weapons.’
‘I have a sword,’ Sebastian said, brandishing it joyfully. ‘I’ll go and find Beltaine. I hope she hasn’t been hurt.’
‘I hope Sabre’s all right, too,’ Quinn admitted.
‘And Quickthorn,’ Elanor said. ‘And I must find my father!’
‘I can’t wait to see Mam,’ Tom said. ‘We must rescue them first. Let’s go!’
Half-running, they carried the heavy key between them, out the far doors and into the inner ward.
Outside was chaos. Lord Mortlake’s knights fought with the four warriors who stood back-to-back, an island of colour in a sea of black. Slowly they were forced towards the southern end of the inner ward, where the old keep stood above the family crypt. Bog-men scuttled from every door and gateway, their desiccated faces and bodies more hideous than ever in the fresh dawn light. It seemed impossible that two men and two women could possibly withstand such a force. And yet they all fought with incredible strength and determination, each creating a clear circle around them.
Finally the four warriors were backed up to the heavy oaken door that led into the family crypt where generations of lords and ladies of Wolfhaven were buried. The other three feinted and parried as Lord Vaughn pulled the door open. Then he pulled out the dragon tooth and tossed it into the crypt.
Stone grated on stone. A smell of damp rolled out. Then out marched a regiment of skeletons, dressed in tattered robes. Most wore coronets on their bare skulls and carried rusting swords. A few were mounted on the skeletons of horses, with skeleton dogs at their heels. A bluish light hung around them, as if they carried some remnant of spirit within.
Sir Geraint blew the golden horn.
‘Attack!’ Lady Rhianwyn shouted.
> The skeleton army charged.
Many of the black-armoured knights broke ranks and fled. Elanor could hardly blame them.
Lord Vaughn swept about him with his golden sword, taking off the heads of a dozen bog-men at once. Lady Rhianwyn vaulted up onto the back of a horse’s skeleton and charged the knights with her unicorn-horn lance. Sir Geraint shot a gleaming fire of gold-feathered arrows with deadly aim, while Mistress Ifanna fought with her staff and shield.
‘You carry the key, I’ll guard your backs,’ Sebastian said, sword at the ready.
‘Me too.’ Tom drew his dagger.
The girls hurried down the inner ward, carrying the key between them. Sebastian and Tom ran behind them, the wolfhound snarling and leaping upon any knights that got too close. The wolf cub snapped at the heels of the bog-men, tangling in their legs so they tripped and fell. They reached the northern gatehouse, with its long arched passageway that led through to the barbican and the gate to the outside world.
Together, Quinn and Elanor raced through the crowd to the gate. Someone swiped a sword at Elanor’s head and she ducked, her heart racing faster than a war-horse at full gallop. All around her metal clanged, men shouted and arrows whined.
‘This is like the maddest game of mob-ball ever,’ Sebastian panted. ‘Come on, get that gate open!’
The lock was too high for them to reach. Quinn pushed the key into Elanor’s arms. ‘I’ll lift you up. Quick!’ With all her strength, Quinn heaved her up and Elanor managed to get the key into the cross-shaped keyhole. The lock clicked open.
‘Open the gate,’ Tom shouted. Wulfric jumped up and fastened his teeth into a bog-man’s leathery posterior. He was shaken from side to side, all four paws off the ground. With a sound of tearing leather, the flap of skin ripped free and Wulfric somersaulted one way and the bog-man another.
Elanor and Quinn together dragged the massive gate forward. Sebastian sprang to their aid.
‘Watch out!’ Tom shouted. ‘They’ve got boiling oil ready to pour!’
Elanor glanced up. Knights were lifting steaming vats to the murder holes that pierced the stone wall of the gatehouse. Elanor could hear the oil spitting and hissing. They began to pour. Hot yellow liquid rained down on the courtyard. Men screamed.
‘Come on!’ Sebastian shouted.
The gate opened and they sprang through.
‘Fergus!’ Tom yelled. The wolfhound streaked past them, his ears blown back, his long tongue flapping. Wulfric raced at his heels, yelping as a splash of hot oil landed on his plumy tail.
The boiling oil streamed into the courtyard.
‘We need to rescue the prisoners now, come on!’ Elanor called.
‘I have to see if Sabre is alive! I’ll rouse the town.’ Quinn began to race down the road towards the town.
‘I’ll ring the bells!’ Tom cried.
‘Meet us at the dungeons!’ Sebastian shouted.
Tom nodded and raced towards the inner ward, the wolfhound swift and grey at his heels, Wulfric scrambling to keep up. In a moment, he was gone.
‘We should hide the key,’ Elanor panted. ‘Else they’ll just close and lock the gate again.’
‘Where?’ Sebastian asked.
Knights were racing down the steps from the barbican, now slicked with hot oil. The only clear path was back through the passageway and into the inner ward. ‘To the kitchens!’ Elanor cried. ‘There’s a passage there that leads down into the dungeons.’
Sebastian and Elanor carried the key. The clatter of metallic boots came up fast behind them. The knights were after them.
‘I’ll keep them off. Can you carry the key yourself?’ Without waiting for an answer, Sebastian shoved the key into Elanor’s arms and spun to face the knights racing towards them, his sword swinging.
Elanor staggered on alone. The key was so heavy. Her arms ached and she could scarcely snatch a breath. She came to the end of the passageway and slipped round the edges of the wall. No-one in the inner ward noticed her, all too busy fighting the army of skeletons. Lord Vaughn was doing battle with Lord Mortlake, his curved sword flashing. Lord Mortlake fought like a madman. He had lost his helmet and his teeth were bared in a grimace. Sweat poured down his face. He came at Lord Vaughn with his sword swinging so violently, the red-bearded man was knocked off his feet. Lord Mortlake’s sword hacked down, but Lord Vaughn rolled and leapt back up.
The sound of frantic neighing came from the stables. Elanor paused, wondering if it was Quickthorn she heard. She saw knights racing towards her from the watchtower, and at once began to heave the key as fast as she could towards the kitchen. She could not risk being captured.
At last she reached the kitchen door, which was locked. Elanor gulped, and glanced back over her shoulder. Sir Geraint shot down four knights who had been racing towards her. He saluted her and bounded away. Elanor took a deep breath and banged on the door. ‘Let me in! Please! It’s me, Lady Elanor. Please let me in.’
The door suddenly opened. A young woman looked out, her face terrified. ‘Help me,’ Elanor pleaded. They dragged the key in over the threshold together and slammed the door shut and locked and bolted it. Seconds later, knights were beating on the door with their sword-hilts.
‘Help me hide it,’ Elanor cried. She remembered the secret passageway that led from the larder and began to drag the key that way.
‘But where? What’s happening? Have we been attacked?’ The young woman had a round rosy face and round brown eyes. Wisps of brown curls escaped from under her white cap.
‘We were attacked over three weeks ago,’ Elanor told her. ‘By Lord Mortlake. Now we’re fighting back.’
‘But—’
‘I have no time to explain. You just need to trust me. What’s your name?’
‘Sophie. I’m the new cook,’ she gabbled.
‘Did you never wonder what happened to the old cook?’ Elanor was grimly dragging the key across the flagstones, all too aware of the banging on the door.
‘Well … no.’ Sophie helped her, her face growing flushed at the exertion.
‘She’s locked up in the dungeon, along with my father and the castle men-at-arms!’
‘What? Lord Wolfgang is in the dungeon?’ Sophie’s eyes rounded with horror.
‘Yes. I have to rescue him. Please, I’ll need your help.’ Elanor’s breath was coming short and fast, and she felt her arms were being dragged out of their sockets. At last they reached the larder and Sophie helped Elanor drag the key inside.
‘Quick, shut the door.’ Elanor could hear the wood of the kitchen door cracking.
She rushed to the back of the small room, clambering over barrels, and pressed a small stone near the floor. With a click, the latch released and the wooden wall of the larder swung open. ‘Help me get the key in.’ Elanor pulled at the key and Sophie rushed to lift its base. Together, they managed to manoeuvre the enormous key over the barrels and into the secret passage within.
‘But I thought you and your father were unwell,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I thought you were both resting while Lord Mortlake ran things for you. Is he not to be your father-in-law?’
‘It’s all lies. I’m only twelve; I’m not marrying anyone. And when I do, you can be sure I won’t be marrying a Mortlake! While everyone here’s been under a spell of mist, we’ve been running and fighting and trying to get help to defeat that villain!’ Elanor heard the door to the kitchen crash open and put her finger to her lips. ‘I’m going to hide in the secret passage,’ she whispered. ‘I need you to tell the knights that I’ve gone up the staircase to the Lady’s Tower. Then take a basket of food and a jug of pear cider to the guards in the dungeon. Put some valerian or poppy in it to make them sleep.’
‘Oh, but I couldn’t.’ Sophie shrank back.
‘Of course you can! Please, Sophie, I need you to be brave and help me. Wolfhaven depends upon it.’
The kitchen door burst open.
Elanor clambered through to the secret passage and shut the door on S
ophie’s round, frightened face.
A moment later, she heard an angry man’s voice. ‘The girl who just ran in here! Where is she?’
Sophie, quavering, terrified, pointed. ‘She … she went through there!’
Sebastian fought the knights with all his strength. He was just one boy against half a dozen grown men, though. He had to find another advantage.
He ducked under one knight’s sword, kicked another hard behind the knee, then ran for the steps that led up into the guard-house. The knights pursued him, as he had hoped. Sebastian bounded up the stairs as fast as he could. He reached the first level and raced along the corridor. A few vats had been left near the murder holes, and Sebastian kicked them over. The knights slipped and fell.
Sebastian ran for the guard-room in the Black Tower and locked the door behind him. Grabbing a leather sack, he began to shove weapons inside it. Swords, daggers, flails, maces. His heart was racing. With the sack slung over his shoulder, Sebastian ran towards the Lady’s Tower. The kitchen was on the lowest floor of that tower and he hoped to find Elanor there.
Why haven’t the warning bells rung? he frantically thought. Surely Tom should have reached the Bell Tower by now?
Sebastian came through to the courtyard, which was lined with barrels and piled high with bales of straw. He could hear the sounds of battle from the inner ward and caught a quick glimpse of Lord Vaughn and Lady Rhianwyn fighting back-to-back. An ocean of bog-men broke upon them.
Somewhere nearby a horse neighed, pounding its hooves against the wooden walls of its stable. Sebastian wondered if it could be Quickthorn, locked in the stable. Would Beltaine be nearby, too? With a sharp twist of anxiety, he decided he had to creep into the stables and see if he could free the unicorn and find his dragon.
Hefting the heavy sack higher on his back, Sebastian crept around the shadowy edges of the courtyard. A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. To his horror, a group of bog-men had crept in through the gateway. They all carried long spears in their leathery hands and were sniffing the air, their sightless eyes turning this way and that.