The Starkin Crown (21 page)

Rozalina could not answer her. Her head had been locked into a witch's bridle, a cruel contraption like a cage, which enclosed her head, an iron curb-plate pressing down on her tongue so she could not speak. Since Liliana's hands had been locked in steel gauntlets, she was unable to do anything to help her.

It was their second day in the dungeons and already they were sick and weak. In that time there had been little to eat or drink, and no concession made for their personal comfort. Their own clothes had been roughly stripped from them, and a pile of uncured animal skins flung in for them to try to cover themselves decently. ‘What do you need clothes for? Wildkin animals,' the soldiers had shouted.

‘It's a blessing really,' Liliana had said to Rozalina. ‘These skins are warmer than our chemises'.

Rozalina had nodded and fashioned rough slippers for their icy feet, tying them up with leather thongs.

Liliana's weather witchery meant that snow was no longer falling, but the dungeons would be bitterly cold and damp even in the height of summer. The cold kept them awake and made them feel feverish and ill.

Once a day all four captives were dragged from their cells and paraded before the court. On the first day, they had appeared at suppertime. Hundreds and hundreds of roasted birds had been laid on immense silver platters, their aroma filling the air, torturing the prisoners' empty stomachs.

‘Your little friends,' Vernisha had cried, waving a tiny roasted lark on a skewer. ‘I have to thank you for calling them to your aid, we haven't eaten bird flesh in simply ages! Come and eat!'

King Merrik could not touch a mouthful, nor could Liliana, Zed or Rozalina, hungry as they were. The smell
made them feel ill. Vernisha laughed in glee and said cruelly, ‘What, you refuse the feast I've prepared for you? You'll eat nothing else until you've tasted your poor little feathered friends!'

So they had not eaten since, and their hollow stomachs were burning with pain.

Straw rustled near the cell door. Liliana's nerves tightened. She peered through the gloom and saw a large black rat dragging something under the dungeon door. She swallowed and clenched her swollen hands inside the steel gauntlets, ready to strike out if the rat attacked them.

Yet the rat only sat up and stared at them with the most piteous expression on its face, something bright dangling from its mouth. It crept closer and dropped the object at Liliana's feet with a clanking noise, then darted away through the door. Bemused, Liliana bent and picked it up. It was a ring of small keys.

‘Rozie, look!'

She passed the ring to Rozalina who at once began to try all the keys in the lock of the manacles that circled Liliana's wrist, keeping the gauntlets fixed on her hands. In seconds, the lock was loose and the gauntlets thrown on the ground. Liliana gasped in pain as the blood rushed through to her fingers, and she shook her hands. She then found the key to unlock the witch's bridle and the shackles around their ankles.

Taking each other's hands, the two queens did a little staggering jig in the straw.

The straw rustled again as the rat crept in under the door dragging a parcel wrapped up in a white linen napkin. This time Liliana approached the rat without fear, bending to take the parcel and unwrap it. Inside were floury white buns, a triangle
of soft white cheese, two thick wedges of bacon and egg pie, and a bunch of dried cloudberries still clinging to their stem.

‘Thank you,' Liliana said to the rat, who gave a courtly bow and scurried away under the door again.

Never had any meal seemed so delicious. Liliana and Rozalina devoured every last crumb and berry, wishing only for something to wash it down with. As if in answer to their wish, the rat reappeared dragging a bottle in a wicker case. He had some trouble manoeuvring the cork out with his sharp rodent teeth, but at last it popped out and the two queens were able to take turns in drinking one of the finest drops of brandywine they had ever tasted.

Only then did Liliana and Rozalina feel strong enough to turn their attention to the rat, who had watched them eat and drink with an expression of smug pleasure.

‘Tom-Tit-Tot?' Liliana asked hopefully.

In answer, the rat somersaulted forward into his usual hideous omen-imp shape, with black leathery wings, orange fur and a huge grin that showed a mouth full of fangs like a cat's. The omen-imp put one finger to his black lips and pointed at the door, then pulled out a tightly rolled note from a message tube attached to his leg.

My dear friends, do not fear. We know of your plight. Pedrin flies today for bargaining chip. Mags on her way. L & I will bring wildkin. Robin on own quest, may he be blessed with success, love, B.

Liliana and Rozalina read the message and then looked at each other with questioning eyes.

‘Bargaining chip? What can that mean? And what does she mean, Robin is on his own quest? I thought he was safe with her?'

‘Shhh!' Rozalina hissed as heavy footsteps marched past the door. She quickly drew the witch's bridle back over her head and crouched down in the straw. Liliana forced her hands back into the manacles, her heart in her mouth. A tiny grille in the door slammed open and one bloodshot eye stared through. Liliana dropped in a dispirited way, her body hunched over the precious note, the empty bottle of wine hidden behind her body. The grille slammed shut and the footsteps moved away.

Rozalina and Liliana grinned at each other in fierce excitement. Help was on the way!

The great hall of the old castle was packed with men and women and children, filling the cold, echoing room with a hum like bees in a summer garden.

The Marsh King sat on a dais at the end of the hall, with three men and women sitting on either side. Two were grey-haired and elderly, two were in the prime of their lives, and two were young, not much older than Peregrine himself.

Peregrine stood behind a lectern. He carried the falcon on his wrist as always, a visible symbol of his status. His knees were shaky and his stomach cramped. He looked down into a crowd of upturned faces, seeing Jack and Grizelda sitting next to Molly and her grandmother in the front row.

‘Stormlinn Castle has fallen,' he said. A roar of distress rose up. Peregrine waited for it to die down. ‘My father, King Merrik, and my mother, Queen Liliana, have been taken captive, as well as Queen Rozalina and her husband, Lord Zedrin. I do not know the fate of the hundreds of others who sheltered at the castle. I fear the worst'.

‘Then all is lost!' someone cried out.

‘Vernisha has won!'

‘What are we to do?'

Peregrine held up one hand. ‘All is not lost. As long as there is breath in my body I will fight to free my parents and restore the true king to the throne. I will need your help'.

The crowd muttered.

‘Knew the lad wanted something'.

‘A poor, dwizzen-faced lad like that, what can he do?'

‘Don't know what he thinks we could do. Much use we'd be a-marching against the starkin!'

‘I have a plan. It's not much of a plan yet, but it's something to begin with'. Peregrine raised his voice but could barely make himself heard over the buzz of people commenting and arguing. ‘I've come here to the marshes in search of something, something that was lost long ago …'

Someone shouted out a ribald comment, and the Marsh King's mother seized Molly's crutch and banged it loudly on the floor till the noise quietened. ‘Holy mackerel, you lot, where's your manners? Let the lad speak'. At last the vast hall was silent and she turned back to Peregrine, beaming. ‘There you go, love. Speak up'.

Peregrine drew a deep breath. He let his eyes roam over the hall and waited till the thudding of his heart had steadied. ‘Long ago, in the brave days of the Storm King, a magical spear was made that had the power to heal as well as to kill. It can bring thunder and lightning and storm, and raise the oceans, and shake the earth. It is said it can even harness the power of the wild magic that slumbers still in the secret places of the land. The spear of the Storm King never misses its mark, and it returns to your hand once you've thrown it. It was once the greatest treasure of the Erlkings of Stormlinn'.

He paused and took another deep breath, resting his wrist on the edge of the lectern so the effort of holding the bird's weight did not drain his strength. He looked intently at people in the crowd, willing them to listen, willing them to care.

‘But it was stolen. It was stolen by the starkin prince, Zander the Cruel, and thrown by him into the bog. I believe it is still there. I believe that I can find it and use it as my ancestor, the Storm King, once used it, to bring peace to this poor land of ours. But I need your help to find it'.

‘The bog's a mighty big place,' one man called out. Peregrine thought it was Frank.

‘Yes,' Peregrine agreed. ‘But we know it was thrown into the bog near a high hill, which has a lightning-blasted oak tree growing on it. Mistletoe grows in the tree …'

‘Why, he means Grimsfell,' several voices cried at once. ‘There's only one place where mistletoe grows in an oak …'

‘… and fair cleaved it is too, right down the middle'.

‘Yeah, it's Grimsfell he means'.

Relief made Peregrine giddy, his knees threatening to give way. He locked his legs in place, gripped the edges of the lectern and said, rather shakily, ‘Grimsfell? You know where it is? Can someone guide me there?'

Dubious glances were exchanged. ‘Eh, no-one goes near Grimsfell,' a man volunteered, possibly Frank or Fred.

‘Nah, it's haunted!' ‘Old Grim sneaks about there. He'll creep up behind you and strangle you with his bony hands!'

‘They say you can look down through the water and see all the old bones lying there'.

‘I can take you,' a clear voice said. Peregrine looked around gladly and saw Molly struggling to her feet, her crutch
clamped under one arm. ‘I'm not afraid. Isn't Old Grim a wildkin thing? And isn't his Highness heir to the wildkin throne?'

‘Thank you,' Peregrine replied gratefully.

‘Eh now, my moppet, don't you be saying that!' her grandmother said. ‘No need to go a-meddling in other folks' business. You stay home with your old nan and let someone else do the showing'.

‘It's all right, Nan,' Molly said. ‘I know where Grimsfell is. I can show his Highness the way, if his squire will pole the boat for me. Haven't we promised to support the king and do all we can to help him win back his throne? It seems a small thing to do'.

‘But the king's a prisoner now, and his castle taken,' said Bob, or maybe it was Bill.

‘Queen Vernisha takes awful hard against people who stand up against her,' said Gus, or maybe it was Ged.

‘Fred says there was a mort of starkin a-chasing the young feller. They'll know we've taken him in. They're sure to send soldiers to roust him out'.

‘Last time they sent those nasty great birds of theirs, we were near all roasted in our beds'.

Peregrine listened in dismay as people began to rise and shake their fists, and suggest they turn him over to the pretender-queen. He threw a glance of appeal to the Marsh King, but he sat quietly, his brown eyes narrowed, letting his people have their say.

‘If you give in to Vernisha now, she will crush you all!' Peregrine shouted. ‘She is cruel and vengeful! Your only hope is to help me defeat her!'

‘A boy? With nothing but an old spear?' someone jeered.

Shouts and catcalls rang out. Everywhere Peregrine looked were angry, frightened faces, shaking fists, booing mouths. An idea came to him. He slid his hand into his coat and pulled out his flute. Lifting it to his mouth, he played a deep, strange, booming call. It rang out through the great hall and everyone fell silent, turning to him with startled eyes.

‘The bittern is a bird both brave and wise,' he said. ‘It hunts with stealth and can stay hidden for hours. Its call terrifies all who hear it, for they know that the bittern will defend its territory fiercely, fighting to the death if need be. It is no wonder you of the marsh have taken the bittern as your badge'.

There was a long silence.

Peregrine's voice rang out strongly. ‘Of all the hearthkin people, you are the only ones to have flung off the shackles of slavery. All over Ziva, your brethren are starving and in misery. People are punished for singing and telling stories, for asking for mercy and justice, for dreaming of a better way. Whole villages are locked in their barn and burnt to death for who knows what trivial crime. I have seen their bones lying in the ashes. Some were babies'.

He heard someone gasp.

‘The swan symbol of the starkin no longer means faithfulness,' he went on, his voice gathering strength. ‘Vernisha has turned it into a symbol of treachery and betrayal. And similarly, the eagle of the wildkin people no longer stands for power and strength and royalty. The Erlqueen is captured, her castle fallen. Her people are hunted down and murdered …' Peregrine's voice broke. He had to bend his head for a moment, mastering his grief.