| |
Entering through the side doors of the castle, they limped into the infirmary to report on the attack.
Nerian was sitting with Jack and Fahey in a patch of sunshine by the open window. He looked at their dejected forms and immediately said, “So I take it your plan failed?”
“You might say that,” Rek said sarcastically, slumping into a chair.
“Have you got anything for a sore back?” Tom said. “I hit a tree root particularly heavily.”
“I’m sure I have a salve here somewhere.” As he reached into his bag, Nerian was unable to repress a grin at Tom’s discomfort. “How did that happen?”
“We were attacked in the orchard by a witch,” Orlas explained. He turned to the young fey who was helping Nerian. She had just finished redressing Jack’s head wound. “I would be most grateful if you could bring us some refreshments,” he said politely. She nodded and left, returning with jugs of water and beer, and a platter of finger food which she set on the table by the fireplace.
Jack came over to Tom and examined his back, where a large bruise was now blooming a rich purple. “I knew that was a risky plan, Tom. You shouldn’t have done it.”
“At least we know who attacked you, though,” Tom said, smiling ruefully. Jack still had a dazed look about him from the assault, compounded by the bandage wound around his head. Tom was amazed he was even walking about.
“Had you seen her in the grounds before?” Nerian asked.
They all shook their heads. “No, but she was young, with long red hair,” Beansprout said. “And she looked really worried.”
“Worried enough not to attack again?” Nerian said.
“Yes, maybe,” Orlas said, as he helped himself to some food.
“So what happens about Galatine now?” said Fahey.
“It depends. How long did you say until the Wolf Moon?” Beansprout asked, watching Nerian as he examined Rek’s injuries.
“I believe it starts tonight,” he said straightening up. “But it will be two weeks until it becomes full, and then wanes again. It depends if he turns at the very beginning of the month, or only on the full moon.”
“It sounds like a werewolf,” Tom said, brightening.
Jack laughed nervously. “Fahey tells me werewolves don’t exist, Tom. This is different, isn’t it?” He looked at Nerian, who chuckled.
“Yes, werewolves are different. They do exist, but Filtiarn isn’t one. And besides, he’s a boar.”
“OK,” Tom muttered, wondering what else lived here in the Other that he’d thought only existed in myths and legends. He guessed if there were dragons, werewolves and witches, then pretty much everything weird and wonderful must be here. And yet it always surprised him.
“When Finnlugh read from the Gatherer’s diary,” Beansprout said, “it seemed to suggest the full month, but maybe we should read it again.” She turned to Tom. “Finnlugh gave you the book, didn’t he?”
Tom nodded. “It’s in my room.”
“Good, check it again. But be careful where you put it, Tom. We don’t want that to go missing too.” She smiled and looked at Jack, Fahey and Nerian. “Well, seeing as you two look so much better, and Nerian hasn’t had any fun at all, I think we should go and watch the end of the tournament.”
––––––––
Promising to catch up with them later, Tom returned to his room, deep in thought, while the others headed back to the finals. He was relieved to find the diary where he left it, on a burnished copper table next to his bed, along with two more books Finnlugh had suggested might offer further insights into the two brothers.
He picked up the diary and stroked the worn and stained leather cover. In places it was cracked, but considering its age that wasn’t surprising. It was curious that so few knew of Filtiarn’s story, but it was long ago, and maybe Filtiarn hadn’t wanted anyone other than his own family to know of the curse. It would make sense. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be cursed and duped by your own brother?
He thumbed through the pages, wondering what else the Gatherer had been up to, then settled back on his bed to read. It was only later, flicking through the back pages, that he discovered a pocket in the leather back cover. Inside were some old drawings and maps – and one of them looked like Dragon’s Hollow.
––––––––
The tournament was nearly over. The wrestling had finished and a winner was announced – a satyr from the woods around Aeriken. The final rounds of the horse riding skills were finishing; the stands were full, the crowds on their feet, cheering and shouting.
In front of the pavilions a podium had been set up for the awards presentation, and Tom found everyone lounging on blankets on the grass in front of it, soaking up the late afternoon sunshine. Arthur stood to the right of the podium, regal in a fine linen shirt, trousers and boots. Next to him stood Orlas and Ironroot, there to help with the prize giving, and a straggle of visitors who’d been involved with the judging. On a long table behind the podium was a row of cups, shields and plaques, ready to be given out.
Tom waved at the others and headed towards Arthur, who looked relieved to see him.
“I’ve been worried about you,” said Arthur. “I haven’t seen you for hours!”
“I’ve been reading, and I’ve found out some interesting things.”
“I heard all about the incident earlier. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but after this I need to show you what I’ve discovered.”
A long loud blast from a horn interrupted them.
“That sounds like the end of horse riding, Tom. We’re nearly finished now. Don’t go anywhere, you have a prize to collect.” He grinned before turning to Orlas.
Tom groaned and joined the others on the grass, sitting next to Brenna.
“I thought you were competing,” Tom asked, curious. “Shouldn’t you be over there?”
Brenna laughed. “I was out in the early rounds – there’s stiff competition in the horse riding.” As she spoke the crowd erupted again, cheering and clapping, before slowly starting to disperse from the benches.
The grassed area started to fill up and eventually, as everyone finally settled with drinks and food, Arthur started the prize giving. Tom generally hated these things, but had to admit that Arthur did it with a certain panache. He was glad that his granddad was there to see him collect his award, and that he and Fahey could enjoy at least some of the tournament.
Tom found his mind returning again and again to the woman in the orchard. Who was she, and how was Elan linked to it all?
But Beansprout had decided the night was all about celebrating. “There’s plenty of time to worry about Filtiarn, Tom,” she said, noticing him brooding, “and this isn’t it.” She grinned. “Tonight is about celebrating friendships. Later ...” she pointed to where Merlin was walking out to the edge of the field, “there’ll be fireworks.”
Tom laughed. “In that case, Beansprout, I’ll enjoy the party.”
And then Adil, the young Aeriken from the sword fighting round, sat next to him with a smile, and he thought the night might become even more interesting.
