The Whisperer Read online

  Pilo had liked Miralda from the moment he’d met her. Liked her strength and humour; she had qualities that had reminded him of his wife and he could see how vulnerable the Queen had felt at coming so close to losing her only child. He could sympathise with this fear, having lived through the horror of such a loss. And so he had agreed to the new role.

  He began to learn more about Lute and soon discovered that the boy who was being groomed for kingship was going to make a fine royal—better than his father, Pilo decided, because as much as he liked Rodin, Pilo sensed a weakness there, especially where his brother Janko was concerned. Rodin clearly idolised his younger sibling’s heroics in the north. Rodin was not cut out for such activity but he was definitely more a man of the people and Pilo believed the realm was fortunate that Rodin had been the heir, and not Janko. This had become all the more obvious when he had watched the Duke on various occasions, not that the Duke would recall him. Pilo had observed from a distance. He didn’t like Janko but that was purely a personal reaction. At a more objective level Pilo could see that Janko was brave, strong and ruthless where the security of Drestonia was concerned. One could hardly criticise him for that loyalty to the crown. But Janko’s presence had created friction within the palace and his nearness to Lute, according to his mother, had always caused the boy to withdraw. During those quiet, frightening days whilst Lute recovered from his fall, Miralda had explained that the Duke had never taken much notice of Lute, barely sparing a glance towards the wetnurse who had brought him, relatively newborn, to his mother on one occasion. That hadn’t seemed so odd to Pilo. This was the realm’s top soldier after all—why would he bother himself with a squalling baby? She had nodded but then had argued that this was no ordinary child. This was the boy who would one day rule the land…rule Janko. ‘You’d think the Duke would have some curiosity, wouldn’t you?’

  Pilo had thought no more about it until he’d learned that the Duke had been in the hunting party.

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ Miralda had asked. ‘Surely you would have been told?’

  ‘No, my Queen. I went ahead as a scout. To my knowledge it was the King and the Prince alone. Even after the fall I never saw the Duke.’

  ‘I see. Well, he arrived unexpectedly that day, found Rodin missing and, unable to resist the opportunity for a hunt with his brother, went after him. He was one of the first back to raise the alarm, offered to guide the physicians to where Lute had fallen.’

  ‘How strange, your majesty. We felt the physicians took rather long to arrive and they came alone. They had no escort.’

  He remembered how the Queen had frowned at this news and had said she was going to check into it, adding, ‘Is it mere coincidence that man is always around when Lute is injured? The last time our son was hurt, he was barely more than an infant and Janko claimed Lute squirmed and slipped. Fortunately Lute only suffered bruising but he was scared of his uncle from then on.’

  Amongst the worry of her son’s fall from the horse and the discovery that Janko had returned to the north the evening of that hunt, she had never found out anything else. Pilo had thought nothing more of it until she had given him her warning last night. Pilo had only the Queen’s mistrust to go on but on a whim he had dug through his old trunk of belongings and found Ellin’s whistle. He had never thought he’d part with it. Never believed there would be reason to do so. But this morning it had felt right.

  Pilo had just been telling himself that he should swerve away from the old river bed that formed this ravine he was fringing and head towards the stand of trees when he heard a sound of such panic he dropped the reins.

  It was similar to a pain—a scream of pain, in fact, that cut through his mind and made his heart skip a beat before it began to pound hard. He recognised the chilling sound instantly.

  It was Ellin’s whistle! Lute had blown it.

  He straightened, alarmed, and scanned the moors. There, right ahead of him and heading straight towards him was a horse at full gallop.

  11

  Unable to sleep, Griff had risen before anyone else; it was still dark enough that it felt as though it were the middle of the night. His instincts told him it was that silent time just prior to dawn and very soon—probably in just minutes—the birds would give their first chirrups and slashes would appear across the sky as morning would begin yawning and stretching from her slumber.

  He tiptoed around the wagon he shared with his brothers and put his boots on outside to avoid disturbing the lightly snoring pair. Sitting on the step of the wagon, Griff shivered from the chill. It was too early to expect any keraff to be brewing anywhere soon and after Tess’s home-dried phelan tea, he knew it would never match up anyway. He was hungry, too. But that was normal. Griff was always famished and had learned not to dwell on it. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t be still either. It was too dark to begin work but he needed something to distract him. The truth was Griff wanted to think but he was too frightened about where his thinking time might take him. After last night’s conversation with Master Tyren he now realised that his situation was dangerous. He sensed that if he thought about it for too long he would start heading down the even more perilous pathway of plotting an escape but he couldn’t imagine how four of them plus a horde of exotic animals could go unnoticed for very long. But here he was, not succeeding very well at avoiding thinking, already believing he had to find a way to at least get Tess and her creatures to safety.

  The creatures! Yes, that’s where he would go. He broke into a lope and made his way to the small copse. The four companions were already well alerted to his arrival and when he entered the now dimly lit clearing there was no sign of them. Tess had trained them well.

  ‘Davren, it’s me, Griff. You’re safe.’

  He listened intently because he could see nothing in the still very murky light. It felt like an age but finally he heard a soft footfall behind as the young centaur walked towards him.

  Griff held out his hand in the way he remembered Tess teaching him. Davren responded in kind.

  ‘Hello, Davren,’ Griff began, wishing he could talk to the centaur as Tess did. But he kept his voice even and friendly. He couldn’t fully make out the centaur’s features in the shadows but he was able to tell that the creature was intrigued and not fearful of him. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d come and check on you, see that you’re all fine. Er, wait,’ he dug in his pocket. ‘I brought Elph a biscuit. It’s a bit stale but I’m sure he won’t mind.’

  In the gloomy half-light he saw Davren smile tentatively before cupping his hands to his mouth and giving a soft hoot like an owl. Immediately Elph blundered out of the undergrowth to take the biscuit greedily. It was devoured in a blink but Elph returned to nuzzle Griff’s hand with his velvety snout and Griff took this to be the sagar’s thanks.

  ‘You’re most welcome,’ he whispered and stroked the strange creature’s head.

  ‘And Helys? What colour is she?’ he asked anxiously of the centaur.

  Davren pointed to a leaf.

  ‘Oh, good, green. She’s calm, then,’ he replied, delighted.

  Davren grinned, nodded, then touched his heart and gave a gesture that was halfway a shrug.

  Griff bit his lip. He nodded. ‘I’m worried. I don’t think we can stay with the Travelling Show for very much longer. Tyren wants me to do something that I don’t wish to. I’m thinking of running away.’

  Davren frowned, pointed to himself and the happily groaning Elph, whom Griff was still stroking.

  ‘I won’t leave any of you, or Tess,’ he said, hand over his heart. ‘I promise. But we may have to be patient. For now I have to go along with Tyren’s instructions. I can’t risk angering him. Do you understand? We all have to do what he wants of us until I can figure out a plan.’

  The centaur nodded and looked up at the lightening sky. Dawn had arrived. Suddenly the birds were beginning to sing and the wagons of the show folk, st
ill grey-looking and washed out in the bleary mist of morning, at least had an outline now. In fact, in the distance, Griff thought he could see Blind Pippin picking his way very carefully to a bushed area where he could relieve himself. Davren pointed to where Helys was emerging from behind the more heavily wooded area of the copse. As Griff turned, she flashed orange, just for the briefest of moments. She was joyous!

  And he felt happy for one of the rare times in his life. With the creatures—now his friends—there was peace, not a constant crowding of thoughts that he had to shut out. It was only then that he realised he was not even guarding his mind, as he usually would. For the first time in living memory he was not bombarded with the thoughts of others. Either the creatures were blank to him, or something about being with Tess’s magical friends gave him relief from his own magic. He was just about to say something regarding this to Davren when he heard a shriek in his head. It hurt him, alarmed him. It sounded, of all things, like a whistle. The sound pierced his mind and shattered his calm. He was holding his head and groaning as it ripped through his mind.

  And then it stopped abruptly and he heard a voice. It was no more than a whisper through his thoughts. Two words only.

  Help me! the voice begged.

  And Griff fell to the ground unconscious.

  Pilo urged his horse into a gallop and thanked his lucky stars he was riding his stallion today. Bruno was always eager to thunder across the moors, never requiring more than a quick nudge with the heels and the sense of being given free rein. The stallion covered the ground between himself and the other horse at such a fast speed that Pilo could only pray he would be able to guide Bruno in precisely the right manner he needed to. If he could manoeuvre the big stallion in such a way as to frighten Tirell into slowing at least, then he had a chance of preventing her taking the Prince down the ravine and falling to certain death.

  He couldn’t be sure that the Prince had seen him yet but he felt a surge of pride to note that the boy he’d taught to ride so well was still working hard to calm the bolting horse. Right now Lute looked to be bent as close to the horse’s ear as he could get, no doubt talking to her, urging her to slow. It was too late though. Even from here Pilo could see that Tirell was past reason. He knew this state of mind. In a panic like this, the horse would run until she hit a large immovable object—like a tree—or until her heart gave out.

  Now his fright surged further. It looked to him as though Lute was planning to jump from Tirell. He understood why but it was a flawed plan. At this speed the boy’s body would be shattered, even if he did survive.

  He grimly steered the stallion straight at Tirell. He could feel the big horse’s indecision, its surprise at what was surely going to be a head-on collision. But Pilo forced him forward, urging him even faster. Now he was close enough to see the whites of Tirell’s panicked eyes and the equally wide eyes of his Prince, who had finally seen him.

  ‘Lute!’ he yelled. ‘Be ready for her to rear!’ he called.

  There was no time for further instructions and he couldn’t even be sure Lute heard, he just had to hope the Prince remembered all his training. Furiously digging his knees into the ribs of his stallion, Pilo spurred the horse on harder still. The pair of horses seemed destined to slam into each other.

  At the final second both animals lost their nerve and, as Pilo had expected, Tirell screamed her terror once again and reared up. In the meantime, the stallion roared his own fury and, without Pilo’s careful handling, would probably have bitten the filly, the Prince, and anyone else he could sink his teeth into. Pilo reached quickly for Tirell’s reins as Lute slumped forward and finally fell off his horse, breathing hard, trying to talk but not making any sense.

  ‘Wait, my Prince. Don’t speak,’ Pilo advised, growling at Bruno to try and rein the angry animal back under control. ‘Just catch your breath.’ He himself was sucking in great breaths like his horse and Tirell looked spooked: foam flecked her flanks and fizzed at her mouth. Her nostrils flared angrily and her eyes remained white and staring. She would have bolted again if she wasn’t being held so determinedly by Pilo, and he knew it was angry Bruno frightening her now as much as whatever had made her so terrified in the first instance. He dismounted. ‘Go, Bruno,’ he commanded, knowing the stallion would not move too far but he needed him away from Tirell. She settled a bit more once the huge horse had wandered off, still grumbling and snorting to itself.

  Still holding the filly, he bent to Lute. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked.

  Lute nodded.

  ‘Then you take Bruno. Let me take Tirell.’

  Lute followed the instructions, taking Bruno’s reins and following Pilo towards the woodland. Bruno knew Lute and didn’t seem to mind the lad leading him.

  ‘There’s quiet in there and also shadows. It will help reassure her. Was anyone following?’

  Lute shook his head miserably.

  ‘Even so. It’s best no-one knows we’re there.’

  ‘Pi…Pilo,’ Lute stammered.

  ‘Wait, boy. Trust me,’ he said and guided the snorting, unhappy filly ahead.

  Once beneath the canopy of trees Tirell began to quieten as Pilo had promised. A small rivulet gurgled through the wood and Tirell drank greedily, stepping into the water in her urgency to quench her thirst. Bruno was less eager to get his hooves wet but he settled quickly and before long was grazing quietly. The filly remained skittish and anxious but Pilo could read her; he knew she would soon find some calm.

  He turned to the Prince, who looked pale and shaken but his expression was nonetheless defiant. ‘Alright. What happened?’

  ‘Tirell bolted.’

  ‘I gathered. Do you know why?’

  ‘I can’t be sure what prompted it,’ Lute said, angrily, ‘but I know who is responsible.’

  Pilo’s eyes narrowed. He had his suspicions. ‘Who?’

  ‘My uncle!’ And to Pilo’s surprise the Prince spat on the ground—it was a Drestonian gesture of challenge. ‘The Duke,’ he said, his tone filled with disdain.

  ‘You’re sure of it?’

  ‘As sure as I know your beautiful whistle doesn’t work. It made no sound but I thank the stars you were nearby.’

  Pilo blinked. ‘Lute, what proof do you have that the Duke caused Tirell to bolt?’

  ‘His admission that he needs me dead is probably the best proof.’

  ‘He said that to you?’ Pilo exclaimed, aghast, a fresh chill moving through him. Suddenly it was very dangerous to be seen and he glanced around them to be sure they were still alone.

  Lute nodded and told Pilo everything that Janko had said.

  Pilo began to pace as he listened, his thoughts turning darker as the Prince’s story unfolded.

  ‘…and there were three of his men behind us, anyway. Now that I think about it, judging by their clothes, they weren’t our soldiers. I could hardly take my chances and flee. They would have run me down easily enough. One of them probably shot Tirell with a pebble from a catapult or something that really hurt her.’

  ‘Cowards!’ Pilo spat. ‘But their cravenness is their undoing,’ he added angrily. ‘They hoped the horse would kill you rather than dirtying their own hands with royal blood. We have to get you away from here.’

  ‘Away? I’m going back to the palace right now to—’

  ‘To be killed,’ Pilo cut across Lute’s words with a growl. ‘I suspect it’s already too late. Your uncle said as much. Janko obviously had this planned. If you go back to the palace now, you will be dealt with. Right now they’re trying to make it appear as an accident, hoping that an out-of-control horse kills you at best, or at worst injures you sufficiently that you’re out of the picture for a while. And if you’re injured it also means you’re vulnerable, can be finished off at any time on his orders. Your only chance of staying alive is to get away from here and to hide.’

  ‘Hide? I’m the heir to the throne.’

  ‘All the more reason. Listen to me, your highness, the Duke wants yo
u dead or at the very least incapacitated. He has already admitted to your face that he sees himself as heir rather than you.’

  ‘But my parents. What about the King?’

  At this Pilo felt a tremendous surge of pity for Lute. ‘I imagine he made sure of their inability to act before he dealt with you.’

  Lute looked shocked. ‘Do you mean he’s killed them?’ he asked in a small voice.

  Pilo shook his head, uncertain. ‘I think we can safely assume that if they are alive, they are now incarcerated. I think we can also assume that the palace is under his control. The only person he doesn’t control is you. And you are his greatest threat, for you are the true heir.’

  The Prince stared back, fury in his dark eyes. ‘Well then he should have done a better job of finishing me off, shouldn’t he?’ Lute growled. ‘Now he’s got me as an enemy and by Lo’s light I’ll see him dead and on show to all our people if he’s touched a hair of my mother’s head or so much as forgotten to bow to my father.’