The Wings of Ruksh (10 page)

Kitor flew over woods and fields, grumbling away to himself. In fact, to say he was not at all amused is putting it mildly. If he’d had an ounce of common sense, he told himself disgustedly, he’d have kept his mouth shut and told the prince nothing of the MacArthur’s time spell. As it was, the prince had listened to him with sharpened interest, passed a hand over him to gauge the length of the time-spell the MacArthur had cast and promptly sent him back to track down the seven mysterious horsemen!

So, here he was, in the flipping seventeenth century again, with an empty belly and not a road in sight! The knowledge that he only had himself to blame for his predicament merely served to make his temper worse until he reminded himself that his fate could have been yet more terrible. After all, Kalman could have killed him. It was his own fault, he knew, for feeling guilty at having falling asleep while on duty, he had been tempted to embroider his story until, under the increasingly ironic gaze of the prince, his voice had finally stuttered and stammered to silence. Even now, he trembled at the memory as he had fully expected Kalman to blast him to smithereens there and then. He had seen the prince idly point a finger at other birds that had displeased him and to this day, their dying squawks of agony were imprinted on his brain. Especially, he thought, tears dimming his eyes, those of Cassia, a pretty crow that he had had an affection for. Resolutely, he thrust her from his memory and flew anxiously on. If he failed in this mission he might yet meet the same fate and fear surged through him at the thought.

Grimly he continued his journey, his eyes raking the
landscape
for the band of grey-clad horsemen that he had seen leaving the hill.

Nevertheless, he mused, it was a strange affair, for had he not known the strength of his master’s powers, he could have sworn that, when told of the mysterious riders, a shade of unease, even fear, had briefly flitted across the prince’s arrogant features.

“Find the riders, Kitor,” he had been told. “I will keep in touch with you through the crystal!” And now, here he was, looking for a band of horsemen that could be anywhere. Indeed, the only thing he knew for certain was that they would be travelling north-west; for the prince had obviously guessed their errand and had told him that they would be making for his home at Ardray, amid the mountains and glens of Appin.

Kitor flew until tiredness and the gathering gloom forced him to rest for the night. The sleep, however, did him good and although he woke next morning feeling refreshed, he was also more than slightly peckish. Soaring into the air, he continued his journey and when a cloud of black shapes circling a distant hillside attracted his attention, it was the thought of a free meal more than anything else that made him decide to
investigate
further. Feathering his wings, he slanted through the air towards the whirling birds and by so doing, found his first clue.

The crows were feeding on the remains of a couple of sheep, eating until they could hold no more; for winter was fast approaching and they knew its hunger. Ignoring Kitor as he swooped down to join the feast, he fed with them until a
disturbance
in the road raised them all in a flapping, squawking cloud into the branches of a nearby tree.

Annoyed at having his meal disturbed, he looked down at the slow-moving convoy of horses, carts and people passing below. “What’s all that about?” he asked idly, puzzled at the sight of the rickety carts, piled high with an assortment of belongings. “Where on earth are they going at this time of year?”

One of the crows, whose grossly distended stomach had made take-off a nightmare and flight almost impossible, gave a long and truly dreadful belch. “Don’t know,” it said unhelpfully, “but, you’re right, it
is
the wrong time of the year for them to be travelling. Winter’s on the way!”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” another said, eyeing the rag-tag band of ruffians. “They’re robbers, that’s what they are.”

“
I
know why they’re going,” a crow perched on a nearby branch, chipped in loudly “They’re scared! Dead scared! I heard them talking when they were packing up their camp.” Heads turned as the crow preened his feathers tantalizingly.

“Go on, then,” croaked another. “Don’t keep us hanging on!”

The crow glanced round and, observing his interested
audience
with satisfaction, decided to play to the gallery. Always inclined to the dramatic, his eyes glistened as he adopted his best raven-of-doom attitude and said in a hoarse, blood-
curdling
whisper. “Some of them said that the devil himself rode by last night and cursed them. That’s why they’re leaving.”

“The devil?” There was an anxious flapping of black wings among the branches.

“Something
did
happen last night,” agreed one of the other crows more prosaically, “but I don’t think it was the devil. There was a flashing crack of light and some horsemen passed through. It was almost dark, so it was difficult to see anything.”

“I saw them,” interrupted another crow, staggering along a branch that bent perilously under the weight of its belly. “Their leader was a magician! Must have been,” he hiccupped, “for he hexed that lot good and proper.”

“Were they …” Kitor couldn’t believe his luck, “were they riding black horses?” he queried hopefully.

It nodded. “Black as the night!”

Kitor thanked the crow, relief shining in his eyes at such good fortune. He couldn’t believe that he’d found them already. Filled with excitement, he flapped heavily into the air and proceeded to follow the crow’s instructions. Finding the track proved easy
enough and it wasn’t long before he was winging his way along the route that the mysterious horsemen had taken.

Flying on such a full stomach proved heavy going and although he almost wished that he hadn’t eaten quite so much, he consoled himself with the thought that he had no idea when or where he would find his next meal. More important was the news of the riders! His spirits brightened considerably at the thought that he had managed to find their trail. He relaxed insensibly; instead of dreading Kalman’s interrogation, he now looked forward to it! The prince would be pleased with him and might even reward him.

Clara stared at the towering peaks in awe for the heather-
covered
heights that now surrounded them were very different from the soft, rolling hills of the south. The horses of Ruksh grazed by the edge of a loch while they ate and it was only when lunch was finished that Rothlan took out a crystal, no bigger than a tennis ball, from one of the saddlebags. Holding it carefully, he passed a hand over it and as it pulsed with light, Archie’s face appeared.

Lady Ellan watched Rothlan’s face grow taut as he listened to the news from the hill and she felt fear grip her. What could have happened? She moved over to stand beside him but by then the crystal had already misted over.

“What’s happened?” she asked fearfully, laying a hand on his arm.

He covered it with his own and met her eyes gently as she blushed and tried to draw it away. “There is nothing wrong in the hill,” he said, “all is well there, I assure you, but Archie has been keeping watch over us and he says that we are being
followed
by a crow; one of Kalman’s spies. He thinks it’s probably Kitor.”

“Is … is he sure it’s following us?”

“Quite sure.”

“What are we going to do?” She found that her hand was still in his.

He smiled down at her. “We must change our route,” he said gently. “I had hoped that we might have an easy run through the valleys but it looks as though we’ll have to take to the mountains after all. Take heart, my dear. If we cross this loch tonight,” he comforted her, “we might, with any luck, manage
to throw our feathered friend right off the scent! Come, let’s tell the others.”

The Ranger looked at him, his face puzzled, as he broke the news. “But how can we cross the loch?” he frowned. “We’ve no boat and it must be miles wide … and what about the horses? I mean …”

“Relax,” he smiled. “The horses will take us across the water.”

“You mean they’re going to swim across?” asked Neil.

“No,” Rothlan’s eyes danced, sensing the excitement that his announcement was going to incur, “we are going to fly across!”

“Fly!” Neil and Clara looked at Rothlan in astonishment and rising excitement.

“Now you know why Ellan and I were so surprised when the Sultan told us that he was giving us horses from Ruksh,” he smiled. “It was an unheard of offer. I doubt if he has ever lent these horses to anyone — ever.”

As they all turned their heads to look at the elegant animals that grazed contentedly by the water’s edge, Clara stated the obvious. “They haven’t got any wings,” she observed. “How on earth are they going to fly?”

“They can grow their wings whenever they wish,” Rothlan assured her, “but in the meantime I think we should press on. The loch narrows considerably to the north and there are fewer islands.”

“We’re going to fly over in the dark?” the Ranger questioned.

Rothlan nodded. “We mustn’t be seen or the crow will follow us. I want him to waste his time trying to find us on this road.”

They pressed hurriedly on through a forest track that hugged the shores of the loch, the trees shielding them from view. Clara drew her cloak around her as the weather changed and the wind rose in tearing gusts, pushing banks of dark, angry clouds over the mountains.

As darkness fell, they halted by the sandy shores of a tiny bay. In the fitful light of the moon, they could see that it curved gently round to end in a high bluff of rock that offered some
shelter from the wind.

“Shall we have a quick bite to eat before we fly over the loch?” Lady Ellan suggested as they dismounted.

Rothlan nodded. “Good idea. The horses, too, Hamish; they’ll need the extra energy if they’re going to use their wings.”

The Ranger opened one of the heavy saddlebags and Lady Ellan hurriedly handed round packets of sandwiches that they ate standing up, their backs to the wind. Neil’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he watched Hamish and Jaikie slip nosebags over the horses’ heads and heard them snuffle contentedly as they munched at their oats.

“How do they grow their wings?” he asked, almost bouncing up and down with excitement.

Hamish grinned. “You’ll see in a minute, Neil. Don’t be so impatient!”

Rothlan strode up, his cloak billowing in a sudden gust of wind. He patted Rasta’s neck and paused. “All ready to watch the big event?” he smiled.

Neil nodded, hurriedly gulping down the last of the sandwich, but it was only when the horses had finished eating and everything was safely stowed in the saddle bags that Rothlan lined the horses up, facing the waters of the loch.

“
Serai
,” he said briefly.

The horses pawed the ground and then, from their
shoulders
, great wings spread and grew until they almost dwarfed the horses themselves. As Rasta’s wings flapped huge and black in the darkness, everyone moved, absolutely fascinated, towards the winged beasts.

“Sephia,” whispered Clara, her eyes shining, “how beautiful you are! And your wings …”

Sephia flapped her wings slowly. “Don’t worry, Clara,” the horse assured her in a whinny of sound, “they are strong and will carry you safely.”

And Clara, who hadn’t quite known what to expect, felt relieved as she saw that the horses’ wings weren’t anything
like the light, delicate affairs she associated with birds. Indeed, there was nothing fragile about them. They were sinewy and strong, and it was only their feathers that were soft and pliable to the touch.

“
Selis
,” Rothlan said calmly. And they stood back as the horses’ wings seemed to fold into themselves and disappear.

“That,” said the Ranger, shaking his head in wonder, “is the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Now you must try it for yourselves,” Rothlan instructed. “Say the magic word and your horse will grow its wings for you.”

They all turned their heads and eyed one another in
excitement
. “
Serai
,” they said together and, as the black horses of Ruksh grew their mighty wings once more, a shaft of
moonlight
swept briefly through the clouds, shining silver on the pale sand, the winged horses and the fluttering cloaks of the hooded riders.

The magical scene, however, was not to last. Banks of black clouds, rolling across the sky from the west, soon obscured the moon and minutes later, a squall of driving rain swept dismally over the waters of the loch.

“Pity it’s raining,” the Ranger murmured, drawing his cloak around him and glancing up at the sky.

“That won’t worry the horses,” Rothlan smiled. “The
blessing
is that the heavy clouds will hide the moon and we are more likely to be able to cross unseen.”

Rothlan made them wait until it was really dark before they mounted their horses and, as she slipped into the saddle, Clara understood the reason for their strangely curved shape and the need for the two pommels that curved upwards on either side of the horses’ necks. She grasped them gratefully to steady
herself
as, one by one, the horses galloped over the sandy foreshore and, wings flapping majestically, took off into the blackness of the night.

“What do you mean, you’ve lost them?” snarled the prince.

Kitor turned as white as a black crow can turn. “Milord, truly, they have disappeared. I’ve searched the roads many, many times from Loch Lomond to the north and there’s no sign of them anywhere!”

He waited, trembling in the light of the crystal, for the thunderbolt that he was sure was coming his way.

“Have you asked the crows in the area to keep watch?”

“Master, it was the first thing I did!”

Prince Kalman’s brain worked swiftly. Although he had guessed from the start that Rothlan must be one of the riders, he hadn’t mentioned the possibility to Kitor, seeing no point in putting him into a panic. He looked at the trembling crow and thought irritably that he would have to be reassuring or Kitor would be of no use to him at all. He was the only one to have seen the riders and he couldn’t afford to lose him.

“Just how noticeable are they, Kitor?” he said, making his voice pleasant and reasonable. “Maybe the other crows have let them pass without telling you? There must be many such groups of riders crossing the Highlands, after all.”

“Master, they are very noticeable. Not in themselves, for they wear cloaks that hide them but they cannot hide the horses. They are the finest horses I have ever seen; great, black animals that never seem to tire.”

There was a silence that lasted so long that Kitor actually thought he was done for. He trembled violently and shut his eyes so he would not see the blow coming. Then his master’s voice came from what seemed a very long distance away; a strangely strangled sound.

“Kitor,” it was little more than a whisper, “Kitor, it is not your fault that you lost them. Leave the valleys. They must suspect that they are being followed and will have taken to the mountains.” There was a pause as the prince thought further. “To get to Appin, they’ll have to pass through the lands of the Campbells,” he said, eventually. “Why don’t you wait for them
at Inveraray, Kitor? I’ll keep in touch with you through the crystal.”

Kitor swallowed convulsively at the reprieve and tried his best to look capable and intelligent for, although he could only hear his master’s voice, he knew from the light that held him in its glow that the prince was still watching him through the crystal. His claws gripped the branch he was sitting on so hard that he was afraid it might break under the pressure, and it was only when his master bade him farewell and the glow faded that he relaxed his grip and sobbed with relief.

In Edinburgh, Ned Stuart put the crystal ball to one side and for many minutes gazed blankly into space. Black horses. Fine black horses that did not tire! A tight ball of fear gathered in his stomach. Could they be the flying horses of Ruksh?

He rose and strode agitatedly round the room. Fool that he was to have thought that the Turks had disappeared with their restaurant! Yet it made no sense that such horses could have come from Arthur’s Seat — for the Turks, after all, were just as much the MacArthur’s enemies as they were his. And hadn’t the MacArthur put a strong protective shield round the hill the minute he’d discovered they were in town, just as he himself had done round his own house?

But the horses of Ruksh!

How it had happened, he’d no idea but there was no getting away from it. The Turkish Sultan and the MacArthur must have joined forces against him. How else could Rothlan and his men be riding the horses of Ruksh?

He threw himself down in an armchair and crossed one immaculately-clad leg over the other, his face a cold mask. All was not lost. He still had the crown and his plans were almost complete. Nevertheless, he shifted unhappily at the thought that he was going to have to hurry things along. Much better to let the proof of his birth filter out bit by bit. There was nothing, he knew, that anyone could dispute — not the age of the paper he’d used, nor the ink; and he’d even been careful when
travelling
back in time, to write all the documents in the exact year of his supposed birth.

But how long, he wondered, would the Heralds take? Events were moving much faster than he had expected and, just as he couldn’t afford weeks of deliberation over his claim, neither could he afford to let Rothlan get within striking distance of the crown. He frowned. There might be a way, though! His friend, Cri’achan Mor, lived on the road to Appin and was surely
powerful
enough to deal with Alasdair Rothlan.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. If he made those doddering old fools in the College of Heralds verify his claim immediately, then he could easily do the rest. At least, he smiled somewhat ruefully, the Scottish spell seemed to be working well; too well, perhaps, for it certainly hadn’t been his intention to reduce Edinburgh to some sort of Scottish theme park. He shrugged. As long as it served his purpose, that was the main thing — for, with the spell in place, he knew beyond any shadow of doubt, that the people of Scotland would uphold his claim to the throne and support him to a man! And as he’d long ago made plans to keep the English seriously preoccupied, his imminent rise to power seemed to have a good chance of success, despite Rothlan’s untimely interference!

He rose abruptly and, throwing out his arms dramatically, drew on the power of the crown to cast a couple of very
powerful
spells.