The Snowy Tower (13 page)

All the tribes joined together during the day to play games and sport.

The children had toboggan races down the foothills, accompanied by wild cheering and hat waving. There were ski races, sled races and ice skating races, ski jumps and huge snowball fights.

Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana were encouraged to join in the ice skating, tobogganing and skiing. They fell over lots, and laughed along with everyone else when they landed hard on their bottoms again. The only activity where they were not hampered by their lack of experience was the snowball fights. They packed big cannon balls of cold, wet snow and flung them with deadly accuracy, causing shrieks of laughter and dismay from their victims.

‘Got you,’ screamed Saxon, leaping with delight, as one of his snowballs smashed square on someone’s nose. A return missile hit Saxon on the ear, disintegrating inside his collar.

Lunch was another social affair. Men barbequed sausages, ribs and steaks, which were handed around to everyone on round, flat bread. The four children wandered around the camp, licking their fingers, and chewing on sausage sandwiches. Aisha joined the other dogs by the fire to clean up the bones and scraps.

The biggest event of the day was a game called stickball, played in the afternoon on a big field that had been levelled and cleared of snow. It used a small leather ball, stuffed with straw, which was dyed bright scarlet so it showed up against the snow and mud. The tribes gathered on the sidelines, sitting on stools and blankets.

‘Each team is made up of the five best riders and horses from a tribe,’ Wilf explained. ‘The riders have to get the ball to their own base and shoot it through the goal posts. Each rider carries a long-handled net to scoop the ball up and throw to the other players on the team. There are four riders on the field and one who guards the goal posts to stop the other team from scoring. It is our favourite
sport because it requires speed, agility and bravery from the horses, and superb riding skills, accuracy and courage from the riders. Wait until you see a game!’

The game was very exciting. Each team was identified by the colour of the wool plaited into the ponies’ manes and tails, and the colour of the jerkins worn by the rider. The shaggy, sturdy ponies galloped from one end of the field to the other, sending clods of muddy snow flying up with their hooves. Horses wheeled on their hind legs, turning on the spot. Riders battled for the ball, holding their reins in one hand, wielding their nets like weapons. One would knock the ball out of the opponents’ net, then scoop it up with their own, spinning around, racing for the far end of the field. Team members would block opponents from reaching the ball using their horses’ bodies. Ponies frequently crashed into each other and once nearly barrelled into the crowd.

It was terrifying, exhilarating and nerve-racking. The children found themselves screaming encouragement when a pony galloped away with the ball, and groaning in disappointment when the ball was lost.

‘It is amazing no-one has been badly hurt,’
whispered Roana, covering her eyes as two ponies crashed together, vying for the ball.

‘Those ponies are fantastic,’ added Ethan, wishing his father were here to appreciate the perfect accord between the horses and their riders.

‘There is occasionally a nasty fall, but no-one has ever been killed,’ Wilf explained matter-of-factly. ‘Most of the riders are too experienced for such accidents. I’m riding for our tribe tomorrow – I just can’t wait. I’ve been practising for weeks.’

‘It looks like so much fun,’ said Ethan wistfully. ‘I’d love to have a go.’

‘Would you?’ asked Wilf, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

After the first match was finished the children went to watch Wilf limber up on his pony. The pony was dappled grey, strong and sturdy, with green wool plaited into his mane and tail. Ethan watched carefully as Wilf scooped up the ball with a flick of his wrist then hurled it at his makeshift goal.

‘Do you want to try?’ asked Wilf, noting Ethan’s assessing gaze. Wilf jumped down from his pony, and showed the children how to wield the net, how to flick the ball to free it from the net and how to knock it free from an opponents’ net. Wilf gathered up a net for each of them so they could try. They had
a mock match, running on their own two legs instead of riding, passing the ball to each other and aiming for the goal.

It was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Wilf coached them continuously, pointing out errors, tactics and hints, until they could pass, intercept and score with some proficiency.

That night they were all sitting by the fire, listening to an old woman telling hair-raising stories of snow trolls stealing babies from their mothers’ arms for their midsummer feasts. Wilf wriggled in between them, smiling conspiratorially.

‘I’ve organised it,’ he bragged.

‘Organised what?’ asked Saxon.

‘For you to play stickball tomorrow,’ Wilf announced. ‘In the youth tournament. With you four and me, we have enough for an extra team.’

‘Play in the tournament!’ exclaimed Ethan, grinning in delight. ‘Fantastic!’

‘Play stickball!’ retorted Lily in dismay. ‘What if one of us gets hurt? We have to climb up to the tower in a couple of days. We can’t do that if one of us has a broken leg! Or what if one of the horses was injured?’

‘Oh, come on, Lily,’ urged Ethan. ‘Don’t be a wet blanket! It will be exciting. We won’t get hurt. We’re
all excellent riders, and the horses are fit. We don’t have to play like maniacs, just to have fun.’

‘It does look like fun,’ Saxon encouraged, ‘and it would be nice to try something we can actually do. I’m sick of these mountain folk laughing at me every time I slip on my backside. They think we’re a bunch of hopeless southerners!’

Everyone was silent for a moment as they thought over the idea.

‘We have not even tried playing on a real horse,’ Roana objected.

‘I thought about that,’ Wilf whispered. ‘We’ll get up early tomorrow and sneak off back down the valley a couple of kilometres, where we can practise without anyone seeing us. Come on, let’s just try it!’

‘All right then,’ Lily decided. ‘But at the first sign of it getting too dangerous, we pull out – agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ chorused the others.

They rejoined the festivities. Saxon began to entertain some of the other children, telling some of his favourite jokes and riddles. Soon all the adults were listening in too, trying to guess the answers.

‘There are two farmers sitting under a tree. One farmer is the son of the first farmer, but the first farmer is not the father of the second. How can this be?’ Saxon asked.

Foreheads were wrinkled, chins were rubbed and possible answers whispered back and forth.

‘It’s impossible,’ declared one older tribesman.

‘It’s a trick,’ another stated.

‘No,’ Saxon retorted. ‘The first farmer is his
mother
!’

He offered another riddle. ‘It is impossible to hold it for an hour, yet weighs nothing at all. What could it be?’

‘It couldn’t be feathers … perhaps water in your hand?’

‘No, water weighs something, and some would be left. What could it be?’

‘Come on, tell us, southerner. Is it snow?’

‘No, it’s your breath!’ roared Saxon, expelling a loud breath as he did it. ‘You know, you can’t hold your breath for an hour or you’d die, and it weighs nothing at all.’

The tribesfolk all collapsed in laughter, bemused by Saxon’s ridiculous jokes.

In Tira, Lord Lazlac burst into the gardener’s cottage, where Marnie and Queen Ashana were unpicking yet another seam of crimson velvet
that they had just decided was not quite perfect. Two soldiers marched behind him, dragging another tall, dark-haired man, who was bleeding profusely from a cut over his eyebrow.

‘Willem,’ screamed Marnie, rushing to her injured husband. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’ Willem lifted his head and smiled reassuringly at Marnie to show he was still alive. His face was puffy and bruised, with one eye nearly swollen shut. Queen Ashana gasped in shock.

‘My dear,’ soothed Lord Lazlac. ‘Your poor friend here suffered an unfortunate accident while working on my temple. I just wanted to bring him to you to remind you that we
will
be married in two weeks, and I want that dress finished, perfect seams or no perfect seams. It seems to me that you all needed a little encouragement with your sewing. If there are any more delays, your friend here might just suffer another more serious accident.’

Marnie froze, her face a mask of shock and horror. Queen Ashana smiled thinly.

‘Of course the gown will be completed in time,’ she assured him. ‘We merely desired to ensure the gown was as stunning as your gorgeous design. Did we not, Marnie?’

Marnie nodded slowly, her eyes communicating wordlessly and frantically with her husband.

‘Good,’ Lord Lazlac purred. ‘The priests should arrive in a few days, the invitations have been delivered and preparations have begun for the feast. I don’t want any more delays.’

Queen Ashana forced a smile, picking up her needle and thread to show her compliance.

‘Take the prisoner back to the work site,’ instructed Lord Lazlac.

‘Please, may I tend to my husband’s wounds first?’ begged Marnie.

‘Certainly not,’ responded Lord Lazlac. ‘We have wasted enough time on him already. Get back to your work.’

Willem tried to stand on his own feet, to show Marnie he was not too badly hurt. The guards shoved him and dragged him roughly away, with Governor Lazlac following.

Queen Ashana and Marnie started sewing frantically.

‘Where are the children?’ wondered Marnie. ‘When will they be back?’

Early the next morning, the horses were groomed, saddled and bridled before most of the camp was awake. Mischief whinnied in distress as she was left behind with the mountain ponies in the yard. The children skirted the lake back to the south, crunching on crumbly biscuits and dried fruit. Wilf found a flat area, where the snow was light on the ground.

He opened a rolled blanket where he had hidden the long nets, ball and bandages. The bandages were wound around the horses’ fetlocks to protect them from gashes and strains.

When all was ready they started to play, two to a side with one as the goal keeper. It was fun. The sun
bathed the valley in a golden glow, shimmering and glittering on the white snow banks. The sky soared overhead, deep blue and clear. Up on the mountain tops they could see wind whipping crystals of snow into the air, forming misty dancing clouds, but down in the valley it was sheltered and warm.

The horses skittered and twirled, enjoying learning the new skills, turning on a gold crescent, galloping, stopping, turning, barging and blocking. The air was cold and clear, full of invigorating oxygen and fresh clean smells. Birds soared overhead, twittering and chirping. All the children rode as though they were part of their horses, communicating moves as fast as thought waves.

While they had never played stickball before, they had many other skills that helped them learn quickly – riding, balance, quick reflexes, athleticism, accuracy and courage. By the end of the morning session, they were quite competent.

Wilf nodded his head. ‘I think we are ready to play.’ They walked the horses gently back to camp, rubbed them down and gave them a good feed. Then the children sat and watched another couple of games of stickball. They appreciated watching the skill of the riders even more, now that they had learned how to play.

After a couple of hours Wilf nudged the others.

‘It’s time to get ready,’ he whispered. ‘We need to bandage the horses’ fetlocks, and plait their manes and tails. And I have borrowed some vests for us to wear.’

There was a mutter of interest and surprise as Saxon, Ethan, Roana, Lily and Wilf rode their horses onto the field, wearing their sky-blue jerkins. All of them felt their stomachs contract with nerves. The horses felt the excitement, prancing and cavorting, arching their necks proudly and flagging their plaited tails.

The opposing team rode their ponies onto the field, their manes and tails plaited with crimson wool. A shout of encouragement went up from the crowd and a slow chant rumbled up: ‘Snow Wolves, Snow Wolves, Snow Wolves.’ The opposing team saluted the welcome by galloping around the field, their nets raised above their heads on the long stick handles.

Lily fumbled her net and dropped it into the mud. A snigger of laughter rippled around the field, and Lily’s face flamed as she slid off Nutmeg to retrieve her net. The referee waited until Lily had remounted before striking his bell to start the game.

The scarlet ball was tossed into the centre of the
field. One of their opponents galloped down the field, circling around the ball before scooping it up, just to show off, and galloped back towards the northern goal post. Wilf, Ethan and Lily galloped after him, sending clods of snow flying in the air. Wilf barged the other pony, deftly knocking the ball out of the net, then scooping it up in his own. He leant so far out of his saddle when reaching for the ball that Roana felt sure he would fall to the ground.

In a second he was up, triumphantly bearing the scarlet ball. His pony spun on his haunches, then nimbly galloped the other way, dodging the opposition ponies. Saxon and Ethan were on his tail, blocking the attacking horses with warlike whoops. Before Wilf could aim for the southern goals, he was attacked with a vicious swipe from a stick, the ball stolen away.

‘Watch out, southerners,’ jeered one of the opposition. ‘Did Wilf forget your leading reins?’

‘Come on, southerners, you are supposed to catch the ball, not bounce it! What sort of overgrown cows are you riding anyway?’

‘Ignore them,’ cautioned Wilf. ‘Taunting is one of their tactics to make you angry and careless.’

At first Roana was nervous, skirting the action. Then the adrenalin kicked in and she was riding in
the thick of the game, blocking, barging, rearing, crashing, passing, scooping and pitching with the others. The opposition were arrogant, cocky and contemptuous, but they soon gave up taunting the southerners, as they realised they really could ride well. For long minutes no-one scored, the ball racing up and down the field furiously, then the Snow Wolves pitched the ball over Saxon’s head, to fly through the goal posts. The Snow Wolves cheered and jeered, galloping around the field with their fists raised triumphantly.

Wilf was a skilled blocker, and he saved several potential goals by a pony’s whisker, causing the Snow Wolves to curse in frustration. However, when the half-time bell rang, the Snow Wolves were still leading by one goal to nil. At half time, the teams changed direction, so they were aiming for the opposite goal posts.

The bell sounded, the ball was flung into the centre once more and play resumed. Ethan nimbly cut in front of a Snow Wolf, heading off the smaller pony. He scooped the ball, wheeled around and Toffee was off, racing like the wind. Saxon cut off an opponent chasing him down. Another Snow Wolf swung in from the side. Ethan passed the ball to Wilf, who ducked around the milling confusion of
horseflesh and cantered for the goal posts with Lily on his tail. A Snow Wolf rider cut in on Wilf so he passed the ball to Lily.

Lily deftly scooped the ball and galloped for the southern goal posts, straight for a Snow Wolf blocker. She swiftly swung the net around above her head a few times to build up momentum, then pitched it straight through the goal posts. A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

The Snow Wolves cursed and groaned, staring at Lily in disbelief. Ethan, Saxon, Roana and Wilf rode over, clapping Lily on the back and cheering in delight. All the players were concentrating keenly now. There was no more taunting or showing off from the Snow Wolves. Saxon saved another goal by deflecting the ball with his stick. Wilf nearly scored, but the ball smashed into the goal post, ricocheting off into the crowd.

With just a few minutes of play left, the Snow Wolves scored another goal, crashing the ball through the goals, taking them into the lead. The crowd cheered deafeningly, everyone excited about the tussle between mountain tribe and southerners. The scarlet ball was thrown into the centre one last time. A Snow Wolf scooped it up, nearly grazing the ground with his head. The pony wheeled and
galloped off, long before his rider could regain the upright position. Roana and Saxon were right beside him, jostling and knocking. Roana jerked the ball out of the Snow Wolf’s net and scooped it up as it bounced away.

The sand in the hourglass trickled away, until there were only a few grains left. Roana passed the ball to Saxon as two ponies raced straight for her. Saxon saw a gap in the defence and raced for it, urging Caramel into a flat gallop down the outside. Ethan galloped down the other side to meet Saxon and defend him. A Snow Wolf beat him to it, barging into Caramel with a scream. Saxon sent the ball sailing over the Snow Wolf’s head, where Ethan caught it.

Still riding at a canter, Ethan swung the net above his head three times then pitched the ball straight for the goals. The ball sailed through just as the bell tolled for full time. Another goal scored by the southerners, making the game a tie. The cheers erupted as spectators ran onto the field, screaming and laughing. The horses stopped, sides panting and heaving, slick with sweat, with white foam frothing at their mouth. Their ears flicked back and forth as they snorted and pawed the ground. Lily and Ethan patted their horses’ necks, soothing them
with their voices. Wilf cantered over and thumped them all on the back.

‘What a great game!’ Wilf exclaimed. ‘I didn’t hope for a tie. You all played superbly!’

The Snow Wolves rode over to offer their congratulations.

‘It’s rare to see young southerners who can ride like mountain tribes,’ growled one. ‘Most southerners do not have the mettle for mountain sports.’

The four children felt elated at their performance.

‘That was some of the best fun I’ve ever had,’ Ethan crowed. ‘Do you think we could introduce this game back home in Kenley?’

‘Why not?’ replied Saxon, grinning. ‘As long as you’re all on my team!’

The horses were walked up and down to cool off, then rubbed down and groomed, rugged up and fed armfuls of sweet dry hay in the yards.

That night there was much feasting, dancing, singing and laughing. Everyone was talking about the southerners tying with the Snow Wolves, and they received many accolades from the revelling mountain folk.

Dinner was large platters of roast pork, with strips of crunchy crackling and spicy apple sauce,
with mounds of baked potatoes, pumpkin and cobs of corn. Wilf, Saxon, Roana, Lily and Ethan sat in a circle by the fire, sharing from a single platter, eating with their fingers. Aisha and Jonte lay beside them crunching on bones. The two dogs fell asleep, nose to nose, their paws entwined.

‘Look,’ giggled Roana. ‘Aisha and Jonte look like they’re holding paws.’ Aisha stirred at the sound of her name, her ear cocked and one eyebrow raised, but did not open her eyes.

‘At least her wound is recovering well with the extra rest,’ added Lily.

Leila came over to check on the children, bringing another helping of pork and apple sauce. ‘Lachlander, the Snow Wolf chief, wishes to see you all,’ Leila said. ‘I think he wishes to congratulate you on your stickball game today.’

Wilf looked perturbed. ‘The Snow Wolf chief is the head chief of the clan gathering this year. Each year, a different tribe holds the post. I wonder what he wants?’

‘Go along and you’ll soon find out,’ smiled Leila. ‘He won’t eat you.’

‘Given half a chance, I think he would,’ Wilf muttered.

The Snow Wolf chief was sitting around a
separate bonfire with all the other chieftains, drinking ale and feasting.

‘Here they are,’ he boomed, chewing on a long rind of pork crackling. ‘The pesky southerners who shamed my young kinsmen.’ The other chieftains roared with laughter. ‘Well, you southerners certainly put on a good performance today, and you too, young Wilf. I am impressed by your bravery and skill. Not many youngsters, even among the mountain tribes, are skilled enough to ride in the stickball tournament.’

The children glowed with pride, murmuring their thanks.

The Snow Wolf chief stared at Roana quizzically.

‘The rumours I have heard are interesting,’ Lachlander continued. ‘I have heard that the black crows have imprisoned the young prince in the Tower of Snows, and that you four children are striving to rescue him. That you have travelled alone all the way from Tira, an epic journey in itself. I have heard rumours that make me think that you are not what you seem, and that you are, in fact, her royal highness Princess Roana, heir to the throne of Tiregian.’

A ripple of surprise echoed around the camp fire. Roana stiffened, then nodded gravely.

‘You are correct, sir, in everything you have surmised,’ Roana replied. ‘I am Princess Roana, and the Sedahs have imprisoned my brother, Prince Caspar, in the tower.’

‘Your father, the late king, would be very proud of you,’ Lachlander said. ‘I would like to offer you the help of the mountain tribes to rescue your brother. Wilf, tell us what you have planned already.’

The five children crowded closer, thrilled by the chief’s offer and eager to hear more.

Wilf briefly outlined his plans to take the four southerners up into the mountains on foot, behind the Tower of Snows, to spy on the Sedahs.

‘The five of us will climb up over the back of the mountain, from the east, wearing white hunting furs to camouflage us in the snow,’ Wilf explained. ‘The priests are more likely to be watching the track that comes from the west. We will watch the tower from behind, to see what we can learn about the black crow priests, and try to work out a way to get into the tower and help Roana’s brother escape.’ He glanced at Roana and she nodded, her face serious.

‘We will take two toboggans with us,’ Wilf continued. ‘So when we rescue him, we can escape quickly back down the mountain. It will take us
more than a day to climb up to the tower, but we should hurtle down the mountain in no time.’

A murmur of interest rippled around the listening chieftains.

‘A good plan,’ agreed Lachlander. ‘A small group of you in white furs should be inconspicuous, and you have excellent snow craft, I have heard, Wilf. Have you thought about how to help them escape back to the south, to the green lands?’

‘We will have their horses ready here, and they can ride back south the way they came,’ Wilf answered.

‘We plan to hire a barge in Bryn, which can carry us swiftly down the river, past Trowbridge to just upriver from the Jigadee Falls,’ added Ethan.

The Snow Wolf chief nodded sagely, as he analysed the plan. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘but I think I have a better solution – ice boats.’

‘Ice boats?’ asked Lily.

‘Some of my people will wait for you at the bottom of the mountain on the lake with ice boats,’ Lachlander explained, ‘Boats with a sharp bone keel designed to skate on ice, powered by sails. If the wind is fair you can fly down the lake over one hundred kilometres by ice boat, which should get you well away from the black crows and halfway to
Bryn. We can send some of our best men to meet you at the end of the lake with your horses. Then the horses will be fresh and ready to carry you to the barges.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ replied Ethan.

‘Wilf can guide you to the edge of the snow lands,’ Lachlander added. ‘Then you are on your own again.’

Everyone was quiet for a moment, hoping against hope that they would, in fact, make it to the bottom of the mountain, let alone back to Bryn.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Roana. ‘We appreciate your help and concern. Anything you can do to help us on our quest would be gratefully appreciated.’

‘My weather seer says that tomorrow would be an auspicious day for your journey up the mountain,’ Lachlander continued. ‘My men will set off, leading your horses and supplies to Lightning Crevasse, where you will meet them in the next few days. Another group will take the ice boats to the bottom of the mountain below the Tower of Snows. Both groups will wait for you for three days. If you have not come then, we will send a search party for you.’