Hawk Quest

around his mouth and echoed the owl’s plaintive cry.

No answer. The bandit must be wondering why his partner had crossed back over the ride. Or perhaps he’d given the wrong call.

He hooted again. Still no response. The silence pressed in on him. His heart beat against his ribs.

Somewhere a twig snapped underfoot. Wayland tensed, all his senses out on stalks.

Ahead of him, a piece of forest began to move, creeping away from him. He stepped from cover and walked towards it, making no attempt at concealment.

The bandit whirled, his arrow pointing at Wayland’s chest. He fluttered a hand across his eyes.

‘Siward?’

Wayland raised a hand and kept walking.

The charcoal burner ran at him. ‘What are you doing? What was that noise?’

Wayland put a finger to his lips.

‘They’ll be here any moment,’ the charcoal burner whispered. ‘Why have you come back?’

Wayland was so close that he could see the man’s eyes through the slots in his hood. He stabbed his finger and the charcoal burner turned.

‘What?’

Wayland stepped in close and swung his knife back, elbow locked.

The charcoal burner tensed and put a hand to his ear. ‘Something’s coming.’

From afar came a faint but forceful scuffling, heading their way. The sound grew louder — a helter-skelter gallop, a relentless … what? The charcoal burner stepped back, colliding with Wayland.

Out of the trees came the dog, racing in a wide curve, its paws scrabbling for purchase. It saw the two men and skidded to a stop. Slowly it turned its head and there it stood, faintly luminous in the shadows, vapour pluming from its jaws.

‘Oh my God!’ the charcoal burner breathed. His bow twanged and Wayland heard the arrow go skittering across the leaf litter.

‘Shoot!’ cried the charcoal burner, fumbling for another arrow.

The dog was already into its charge, a grey-black blur. The charcoal burner dropped his bow and grabbed for his knife. He managed to throw up one arm before the dog flattened him.

Wayland ran forward. The dog had the man’s shoulder in its jaws and was shaking him like a terrier shakes a rat. The knife flew out of his grip. Wayland seized the dog’s mane and tried to wrestle the beast off.

No!

He hauled it away bucking and lunging on its hind legs.

Leave him!

The dog looked at him with blood-crazed eyes.

Leave him.

The dog stalked off in a stiff-legged circle. The charcoal burner scuttled backwards on his elbows. Wayland followed and stood over him, holding his knife. The charcoal burner looked up at the falconer, his hood twisted and the fabric over his mouth sucking in and out. Wayland leaned down and pulled the man’s hood off. He took off his own hood. The charcoal burner’s eyes rolled up into his skull and his head flopped back.

Wayland trussed him hand and foot and tied him to a tree. He slashed the man’s hood into strips and gagged and blindfolded him.

Then he went in search of the boy.

Vallon’s eyes tracked from side to side, probing the forest margins. All lay quiet as the grave. Raul carried his crossbow loaded, occasionally turning and walking backwards to check the ride behind.

‘How far have we come?’ asked Vallon.

‘Two miles at least. It must be nearly midnight.’ Raul nudged his chin in the direction of Hero and Richard. ‘Those two are ready to drop.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Captain, if you’re worried there’s an ambush ahead, why are you leading us into it?’

‘Wayland knows this is the road we’re taking.’

‘We might not see him until morning. You know what he’s like. He might have gone hunting. Or more likely, he’s tucked up in a cosy roost.’

‘If he is, I’ll kill him.’

They walked on into the oppressive silence.

‘I was in a wood like this once,’ said Raul. ‘It was in Normandy, the dead of winter, just before Yuletide. I had a week’s leave and my wages and I was going to spend them in Rouen. I’d set out in good time, but it snowed in the afternoon and I took a wrong fork. A dreary day it was, sky as dark as doom, not a house or a soul to be seen. I came to a forest and followed a track through it. No other travellers had trodden that path all day. When night fell I was still in the wood, only a sprinkling of stars to keep me straight. Walking through that winter wood, I felt like I was the only being in the world, so I took out my whistle and played a tune to keep myself company. Then I stopped whistling because I had the feeling that I had more company than I cared for.

‘It was the trees. It was as if they were turning round to look at me as I passed. I watched them out of the corner of my eye and I swear I saw them bunching up on me. That was bad enough, but then …

‘Something touched my back. I shot into the air and jumped round. “Who’s there?” I called, but no one answered. Nothing but trees and snow. Right, I told myself, pay no heed to the bogles and bugbears. Easier said than done, Captain. As I went on, the flesh on my back was crawling, itching for another touch. Well, it didn’t come, but something else did. I heard it creeping up on me — scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch. Froze the blood in my veins, stopped me in my tracks. Whatever was after me stopped, too. This time I didn’t dare turn round, because I knew that whatever was behind me had wings and horns and eyes as big as trenchers. I walked on, my knees knocking, and that thing came walking after me. Every time I stopped, it stopped, and every time I went on, it kept coming after me.

‘It came closer — scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch. I began to walk faster, then faster still, but it just kept its own sweet pace a few feet behind me. Captain, I’ve fought in many a battle and I swear I never run from the enemy, but that thing at my heels scared me more than any mortal man with sword or lance. My nerve cracked, I don’t mind admitting it, and I broke into a flat-out run. But fast as I ran, there was no getting away from it. I could hear it catching up, getting closer, hissing with rage and breathing down my neck.

‘Just when I thought it would sink its claws into me, I saw a flame in the trees ahead. A woodcutter’s camp. I ran for it as if Old Nick himself was after me, which for all I knew he was, and threw myself down by the fire gibbering like a loony. The old woodcutter, bless his soul, he looked down at me, and then he looked behind me and a very peculiar expression came over his face.

‘“What is it?”’ I cried.

‘Slowly he put out his bony hand and pointed. I scrambled round. And then I saw it.’

‘Saw what?’ Vallon said, keeping his eyes on the trees.

Raul halted, wheezing with laughter. ‘A length of rope that had worked loose from my pack and was dragging behind me.’

Vallon didn’t laugh, didn’t break step. ‘Raul, you’re a drunken blowhard.’

‘Wait. I ain’t finished.’

Vallon grabbed him. ‘I heard a cry.’

Raul’s eyes patrolled. ‘Probably a fox.’

Vallon turned. ‘Wayland’s not coming. We’ll find a path through the forest.’

‘Without Wayland, we’ll go round in circles. Let’s make camp and move on at first light.’

Vallon felt a spurt of fury. ‘What does the wretch think he’s doing? If this was a regular company, I’d have him hanged for desertion.’

Raul took his arm. ‘Come on, Captain, I’ll find us a place to rest.’

‘Sir,’ Hero said, pointing down the ride.

Vallon made out a flicker of movement. He drew his sword. ‘Everybody into the trees.’

They ran for cover. Raul went down on one knee and took aim. Vallon watched the advancing shape take on