I hope nothing’s happened to him, Neil thought, shading his eyes against the sun as he scanned the skies for the hundredth time. Where, he wondered, had Amgarad got to? He knew he wouldn’t have let him down without a reason, which made things even more worrying. Glancing anxiously at his watch, he decided to give him another hour. If he hadn’t turned up by then, well … he’d have to work out what to do next.
Spreading his cloak over the grass, he settled himself against the trunk of a huge oak tree that stood at the edge of the wood. Although the sun was warm, summer was fading. The great tree was already losing its leaves and acorns lay scattered among the grass. Birds twittered and chattered among its branches and an old crow regarded him with beady eyes from its perch on the rickety old fence that bordered the path. It watched him for a while and then, stretching its wings, flew off. Apart from the distant roofs of the village, there was little else to see, for the forest around him seemed to stretch for miles; a green blanket of trees that covered the countryside.
The hour passed incredibly slowly with no sign whatsoever of the great eagle although he kept his eyes fixed on the sky all the time. He felt worried and depressed. They’d set off for Ashgar in such high spirits and now all this had happened! Everything had gone wrong.
Time passed and he half-dozed in the sun. Stretching lazily, he checked his watch yet again and looked expectantly at the sky but there was still no sign of Amgarad. His spirits fell as worry set in and the dangers of his situation started to dawn. If Amgarad didn’t come back, he was on his own — on his own in a strange country. What was he going to do now?
He looked at the roofs of the houses that showed through distant trees. He could, he supposed, work his way over towards them and ask someone for directions to the hunting lodge and perhaps, too, someone might give him something to eat. It was a long time since he’d had breakfast …
He looked doubtfully at the sky, willing the eagle to appear for he knew that if he moved on, Amgarad would never be able to find him. “I think I should stay put, at least until morning,” he said aloud, “and if he hasn’t turned up by then …well, then I’ll know something really has happened to him!”
It was a grim thought. He leant back against the trunk of the tree and sighed, his eyes scanning the horizon yet again. The only thing in the sky was a flock of crows. He watched idly as they swooped through the sky towards him. Flock, he thought, was the wrong word. A flock of sheep, a herd of cattle … he searched his mind and then it came to him … a murder of crows.
It was as the crows drew closer, however, that he sat up and scrambled to his feet in alarm, gripped by a sudden feeling that the crows were heading straight for him! Grabbing his cloak, he ran into the shelter of the forest; but the trees didn’t stop the crows. They dived in underneath the branches and cawing loudly, swooped after him. It was as he floundered through a scatter of bushes that he thought of his ring! He looked at it in some surprise, amazed that he could have forgotten it. “Stupid idiot!” he muttered to himself as he changed the ring over to his other hand and promptly became invisible.
The crows almost fell out of the air with surprise at his sudden disappearance and fluttered round, unsure of what was going on. There were so many of them that they flew into one another; wings got tangled and, as tempers flared, several of them pecked out angrily.
Neil stayed very still, knowing that they would sense the least movement and the slightest rustle of leaves. Half an hour passed but they were a determined lot, flapping here and there, chattering and cawing loudly. By then, Neil was so stiff that he worried about getting cramp. It was ages before the crows decided that enough was enough and, at a squawked command from their leader, flapped heavily into the air. Neil watched in relief as they rose into the sky, thinking that they had given up the search for him. The crows, however, had other ideas and although they didn’t enter the forest again, they didn’t leave it either but flew around above the tree tops, cawing loudly.
A murder of crows, Neil thought grimly as he relaxed and stretched his weary limbs. “If they had got hold of me, they would have murdered me,” he muttered, thinking of the size of their beaks. But how had they known he was there, why had they hung around for so long and who had sent them? Maybe, he thought, they were Lord Jezail’s spies; and it was then that he remembered the old crow that had been sitting on the fence.
Scared to go back to the place where Amgarad had left him, he made his way quietly through the trees until he stumbled on a track. It was by no means straight, but meandered gently among the thick growth of trees. It must go somewhere, Neil reasoned and, as he followed it deeper into the forest, the squawking of the crows gradually faded. It was only when he couldn’t hear them anymore, however, that he changed his ring back over to his other hand and strode along, hoping to find a hut of some sort where he could shelter for the night.
It was as darkness began to fall that the trees gradually thinned out. The path rose steeply over outcrops of rocks, leading him to a sparkling stream that bubbled cheerfully downhill. Cupping the water into his hands he drank his fill and then sat back, wrapping his cloak around him for warmth. The path seemed to have petered out and he was seriously worried about going any further. It was with a heavy heart that he finally lay down and soon, worn out by tiredness and worry, his eyes closed. But before he fell asleep, he’d decided that first thing next morning he would follow the path back through the forest and wait once more for Amgarad to return.
The night darkened, stars glittered and the light of a full moon bathed the hillside in its gentle glow. It wasn’t the moonlight that woke Neil, however. He opened his eyes in alarm and sat up, suddenly very wide awake indeed. Something, some noise, had penetrated his dreams. What was it? In the moonlight he could see the outline of the forest against the night sky and the bare hillside around him. Everything seemed very still and quiet; the only sound being the chuckling gurgle of the little stream as it tumbled over its rocky bed. He listened hard and had just decided that maybe an owl or some creature of the night had disturbed him when the sound came again.
This time, he knew exactly what it was. Turning white, he straightened abruptly as the howl of a wolf echoed eerily through the still night air. Wolves, he thought. Wolves! It was more than possible. This was Central Europe, after all, and he knew that wild animals still roamed the forests. Hadn’t Prince Kalman talked of hunting wild boar?
Another wolf howled. And this one, he thought, sounded a lot closer.
He saw them as they emerged from the forest — dark, slinking shapes, darting here and there, noses to the ground as if they were following a scent. Which they were, he thought. His scent! They were closer now. He could hear their snuffling breaths and the scrabble of their claws on the rocks as they bounded upwards in great leaps.
Neil thought of changing his ring over again but dismissed the idea as soon as he thought of it. The wolves weren’t like the crows. They’d follow his scent and track him down wherever he went. He swallowed hard. He could see them quite clearly now; at least seven or eight of them. There was nothing nearby that he could use as a weapon, either. Not even a stick or a loose stone. In minutes, he was surrounded by the creatures.