PART THREE
Thorn stared as the captain held the white-robed man prisoner before his gathered followers. One or two started to leap into action, making to circle the pit between them and their leader, but others stayed them.
The fairy held herself back too, still hidden away in the canopy. A false move here would mean bloodshed, and a feast for the den of snakes.
Hira called out to the motley band that faced her from across that pit. “Avast! Enough of this! You’ll drop your weapons now, and follow me back to shore.”
“Begone!” came the shouts from the kidnappers, and “Give us back our King!”
“Who are you, villain,” said one, “to defy the Lord of All Beasts?”
“What sorcery is this?” growled Hira at the fair-haired Finnhar, whose blue eyes were presently wide in terror, a bead of blood where Foe Cutter pressed at this throat. “What fell power has enchanted you,” she cried at the throng, “that you no longer know your captain?”
For these were the crew that Hira had thought lost to the accursed Isle of Beasts. Yet among them, not one seemed to know her face.
In all of this, Nettle had steadied his breathing. He was blinded with the covering over his head, but had listened and waited as he was led on this strange journey. He knew around half a dozen had captured him, and now heard Hira’s voice and another’s, but could not make sense of any of it.
All the while he had tried to work subtly at the knots that bound his wrists, hoping for a moment in which he might free his hands. Yet for all his struggling he only strained against his bonds.
Then there was a light so bright that even Nettle saw it behind the sack-cloth that blindfolded him, if only faintly. A burst of blue washed over the tangle of friends and foes, and the murmuring and clanking of readied weapons Nettle had heard fell silent.
The musical voice of Finnhar rose over the stillness. “Friends, friends. Why must we quarrel? You would not displease your king. Release me at once.” At that command came a slight shuffling Nettle could not place, then the mellifluous voice continued. “Now, unmask our prisoner. I would gaze upon my newest subject.”
Nettle squinted in the sudden glare as the cloth was pulled from his head. He saw Finnhar for the first time, pale in the dappled sun, his white robes shining. Beside him he saw Hira, who he had heard, her green blade held limply at her side.
“So,” drawled Finnhar, “this is the warrior that slayed a panther alone? And yet... like all the animals of this island, you too will succumb to your king.” He addressed the others. “Two soldiers added to our number! The great spirit rejoices!”
A cheer rose up around Nettle. He glanced this way and that, finding himself surrounded – the stone circle and the jungle beyond, Hira and this strange white-robed man, the brigands who had taken him, the pit of snakes. All had appeared suddenly, and all now stood between him and freedom.
Nettle felt the claw marks in his chest and shoulders pulse with pain. He gritted his teeth, the full despair of his predicament sinking in.
Why had he tarried at the oasis, to be set upon by brigand and beast? He admonished himself for ever leaving Thorn’s side. That cunning fairy would know what to do, if only she were here now.
And then all of a sudden there came a little bronze blur from the trees above, no falling leaf but a darting fairy who rushed at Nettle, flying swiftly to his hands and severing the ropes that bound them with a well-aimed swipe of her wings.
“Thorn!” exclaimed Nettle, overjoyed, as his friend rose smiling in front of his face. She placed a hand on his cheek, and at once Nettle’s wounds began to close and his great strength was returned to him.
Nettle and Thorn wheeled about, surrounded by Finnhar and his ensorcelled army.
The white-robed man raised a hand, and Nettle saw the ring with its bright blue gem upon his finger.
“Nettle, the ring! Don’t look!” yelled Thorn.
The warrior’s sword arm flew up to shield his eyes as the blue flash pulsed about the clearing once again. He lowered it in time to see Finnhar stagger, clutching his chest with that same hand, the power of the ring seeming to drain his own strength.
But the enchantment had no hold upon Nettle and Thorn. The warrior was too swift, and the fairy held a power of her own that could not so easily be tamed.
Hira and her crew, however, had not been so lucky. Finnhar pointed angrily at the pair they had surrounded at the snake pit’s edge, his musical voice blaring like a warhorn.
“Kill them! The great spirit demands sacrifice! Your king commands you!”
With that, the captain and her erstwhile crew advanced. From the pit raised the pointed heads of snakes, one after the other, which hissed and slithered towards Nettle’s heels. He watched them carefully, for he knew that if they sank their fangs into him even Thorn’s healing powers could not remove their venom from his blood.
“The serpents!” he shouted, warning her.
“He controls them!” said Thorn. “The snakes and the humans, all with the ring on his finger! He is no sorcerer, it’s all that ring’s doing.”
“Clever little thing,” cooed Finnhar, still hunched over from the exertion of his spell. His once tuneful voice rasped as he bellowed at the sailors. “End them now!”
“Stay away, Thorn,” warned Nettle through gritted teeth, as the weapons of the crew forced them back, heels teetering on the edge of the pit of snapping snakes.
“Nettle, your sword!” said Thorn, and he saw that one of the brigands had it in their clutches.
The warrior dove past their blades and pounced upon them, toppling the sailor who held his sword and wrestling the hilt back into his own grasp. The cutlasses of the others were already swinging down upon him, but Nettle’s bronze blade rose to meet them, driving back their pitiful attacks with a mighty blow.
He glared at Finnhar across the pit, and saw then that the hand on which the white-robed man wore his ring was withered and burned.
“He dare not use the ring again!” called Nettle to Thorn. “Its fell power is too much for him.” Finnhar bristled at this, backing away.
“Ha!” laughed Thorn. “No true sorcerer, and no true king.” And she flew at the fair-haired man, harrying him with her sharp wings, aiming for the silver on his finger.
Nettle caught the striking fangs of a snake on the flat of his blade and sent it flying back. He smiled in triumph as serpent and sailor alike scattered before his sword.
Then came a blow from above that nearly caught him off guard. Nettle scarcely brought his weapon up in time to meet the green stone blade of the captain. Hira’s face was blank, her dark eye unfocused but her strength unaltered by the power that controlled her.
Curses! Thought Nettle. By his honour he meant no harm to any here but the white-robed charlatan who had the crew of the Moon Chaser under his spell. But he could not match Hira’s skill with her enchanted blade for long, and certainly not while being attacked from all sides by man and beast. Nor could he dodge about like Thorn – he would soon have to draw blood, or worse, if only to save himself.
Across the pit Finnhar ducked and cowered from the fairy as she assailed him, trying in vain to reach his silver ring. If she found a moment in which to wrest it from him, thought Thorn, his mastery of the trinket would end, and with it the spell. Or else she’d gladly sever his finger with her wing, but Finnhar crouched over the ring, protecting it with his whole body.
Thorn had not the strength to break his defences, only cut at his robes and keep him from raising his hand again. Nettle might have dispatched the false king in a single blow, but the little spirit could only keep him at bay.
Nettle was at the pit’s edge, and Hira was upon him. There was a clang as he met her blade with his own, but the force of her blow was such that he began to stumble back, about to fall. The green blade pulled back, its edge as sharp as the day it was wrought, ready to deliver the final strike against its master’s foe.
It came down, and struck Nettle square in his chest – but though the blow was strong, it only knocked him down. The edge did not cut! That enchanted blade still knew its true master, and enough of her own mind still remained to bend it to her will. Nettle’s spirit soared to see a flicker of light within the captain’s eye, but he had still taken a beating. It might not pierce his flesh, but he had no desire to endure another blow.
“To me!” Nettle roared, and Thorn heeded without hesitation. She flew across the pit at Hira’s face fast as an arrow, a sudden shining blur, shimmering before the captain’s good eye. Her sword swung wide, and Nettle was saved – but his heavy body staggered still from the first hit, and he began to fall towards the hungry snakes below.
And yet the courage within him had taken hold. He spun, shifting his weight into the fall, aiming for the far side of the snake den, and leapt with all his might. His powerful legs propelled him, serpents hissing at his heels, and with his sword held high like the panther’s claws he landed clear of their reach, and as he did there came a terrible scream.
For he had landed on Finnhar, who had only time enough to look up with terror in his icy blue eyes before the warrior fell blade first upon him, and smote him there upon the ground. Scarlet seeped across the white of his robes as the charlatan spluttered, then fell still.
Thorn flew back to Nettle’s side. “It’s done! Look, they’re free now.”
Hira and her crew had stopped, stunned into inaction, murmuring in bleary confusion as their will returned to them. Then all at once they seemed to remember, and looking to the warrior and the fairy who had freed them they gave a great cheer, apart from the captain herself who simply smiled and mouthed her silent thanks.
The snakes hissed, startled and afraid, but were soon driven back into the undergrowth with shouts and threats from the crew’s scimitars. The seafarers began to chatter and laugh amongst themselves as if reuniting after a long voyage, and all of them crowded Hira and fussed over her, apologising profusely and swearing their fealty to the Moon Chaser once again.
Nettle and Thorn looked down at the dead Finnhar, his ring catching the light of the blazing sun.
“No good can come of such power,” said Nettle.
Thorn looked at her friend approvingly. “Aye. There are some treasures not worth the trouble.”
And so the ring lies still at the bottom of the ocean, somewhere off the coast of the place they call the Isle of Beasts.
THE END
NETTLE AND THORN WILL RETURN IN...
THE CHARIOT RACE
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