Winter of the White Wolf (Noble Heart Book 4) Page 4

  The snow was not as deep here in the forest as it had been out in the open, but still it was not easy getting through. He cursed the fact that they were leaving a trail behind them that clearly said, Here I am! Come and get me! He could not simply disappear into the trees. His only hope was that there would be new snow, enough to cover their tracks.

  Well, hopefully, he would make it to Conwy before Sir Noble caught up with him. He would melt into the background then, lost among the people and the buildings. He would have no trouble finding a place to hide there. He could talk anyone into anything. Some old widow lady would have pity on him and take him in, or perhaps he could talk his way into the home of an ignorant old man. He would wait there, then; bide his time until the search was called off. The young knight would not look for him forever. Surely there were more important things for him to do than to chase after one lone small thief. Simon Foster laughed aloud at the thought, causing the black horse to prance nervously. Stupid horse. What was he doing now?

  Valiant had come to a complete stop. Foster kicked his heels into his sides, but the warhorse just turned his head and tried to take a nip out of his leg. “Stop that!” Foster snarled. He grabbed a switch off a branch nearby and whipped at the horse with it. It did him no good. In fact, it made matters worse, for Valiant reared into the air and tried to throw the man from his back.

  Foster clung to Valiant’s mane, and managed to hang on, but as soon as he could, he slid down to the ground. “Stupid horse!” he began screaming. “Stupid, stupid horse!” He swung the switch viciously at Valiant’s face.

  Valiant reared back once more and struck out at the cruel man with his hooves. Foster jumped back, trying to get out of the way, but slipped in the snow and fell beneath the angry animal. He huddled there, his arms drawn over his head, expecting at any moment to feel a sharp hoof come crashing down upon him.

  Nothing happened. Finally Foster dared to open his eyes. The warhorse had backed off. His head was lowered, his ears were pinned back and he was staring at him from a few feet away. He snorted loudly, and took a step toward the man on the ground. Foster scrambled back through the snow and slowly got to his feet.

  He had been warned, and he knew it. Foster threw the switch away and stood silently before the horse with his empty hands held out before him. “Nice horse, nice horse,” he murmured softly. He didn’t mean it, of course, but he needed the black stallion in order to get away. If he could sweet-talk people, he could sweet-talk a stupid horse and make him do what he wanted. Foster had spent his entire life lying and using trickery. It was nothing new now to try those same tactics on a horse.

  He slowly took a few steps toward the wary horse, still talking softly as he approached. Valiant eyed the wicked man and sidestepped nervously. A few feet closer, and Foster cautiously reached for the reins. Valiant snorted once again and Foster jerked back, but when the horse made no other moves he grabbed hold of the leather straps. Valiant stood still.

  And he stood still. And he stood still. The harder Foster tried to pull the horse forward, the more firmly he planted his feet. Valiant refused to budge. Foster began to mutter under his breath, huffing and puffing and getting red in the face. “Stupid horse!” he hissed.

  Valiant took a step backwards, almost yanking Foster off his feet. He took another step, dragging the man back. Step by step, Valiant moved in the direction he wanted to go, taking the old criminal with him. Foster had no choice but to hang on to the reins. He was afraid if he let go the stallion would take off without him.

  Finally Valiant stopped. He had taught the man a lesson. Now perhaps he would let him get on again—but he wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Foster put his foot in the stirrup. Valiant was a big horse, and Simon Foster was a small man. It was a stretch for him to get his foot up there at all. Now with one of Foster’s foot hooked in the stirrup, Valiant pranced away. Foster hopped on the other leg, trying to catch up. Valiant stopped, and the man tried once more to pull himself up into the saddle. Valiant backed away again, going this way and that way and circling around. Foster’s foot was stuck in the stirrup, with his knee nearly to his chin, and he was forced to hop along, trying to keep up with the horse and clinging to the saddle for dear life. “Stupid horse! Stupid horse!” he was yelling by this time.

  At last Valiant stopped under a tree. Foster braced himself against the tree trunk and pushed. It gave him the boost he needed to finally swing his leg over and get up on the big warhorse. The branches were low, and he couldn’t sit up straight in the saddle, but at least he was up! Valiant lurched forward and Foster grabbed hold of his mane to keep from falling. A twiggy branch came close to poking him in the eye, but instead left a long scratch across his cheek.

  “Ha!” the man proclaimed triumphantly. “Now I’ll show you who’s boss!” Valiant tossed his head and snorted. Stupid man.

  Foster was worried. He knew he could not have had much of a head start before the young knight, and with their trail so easily visible in the snow, he had hoped to make a speedy getaway on the magnificent black stallion. Now he was delayed due to this horrible animal. The town of Conwy was still hours away. There was no way he would be out of these woods before dark now. He did not relish the thought of spending a cold night in the snow under the trees. He was not prepared for that. He had no food, no shelter – not even warm clothes. And although he had fooled the knight and the old woman into thinking he was really ill, now he feared he would truly be sick if he did not get out of the cold soon.

  Well, there was nothing he could do about the situation except push on and hope he stumbled upon some shelter somewhere. Perhaps a cottage in the woods, or even a cave. He could at least light a fire, if he could find some dry wood. It would be a long, cold, hungry night, but he had suffered worse before. It would be better than ending up in the dungeon at Caernarfon, by any means!

  He kicked his heels into Valiant’s sides and said, “Go! We can still get away from that young master of yours! There’s no way he can outsmart me, that is certain!”

  Valiant turned his head and nipped at Henry Foster’s leg again. Stupid, stupid man!

  _________

  CHAPTER SIX

  _________

  A Trail in the Snow

  Noble and Thomas followed the snowy tracks into the forest. It was not nearly as difficult as they had expected. The snow was not deep under the trees, and Valiant had broken the trail before them, so Brownie and Lacey did not struggle. They made good time for a while, although Noble knew they could not go as quickly as Valiant would. He couldn’t push these old horses as hard as he would like, for he could not risk wearing them out or causing an injury to them.

  They had not gone far when they came to a place where they found the tracks of a man, as well as those of a horse. “Look,” Noble said to Thomas, “Foster got off of Valiant here! I wonder why? See here—it looks as if he fell! There are many tracks in the snow, as though Foster was having trouble controlling the horse.” Noble started to laugh. “I think Valiant is giving him trouble.” Suddenly he felt better. Valiant was smart. He would not take kindly to being ridden by anyone other than Noble himself. Foster would have his hands full with the fiery steed—more than full, in fact!

  “I am sure they are not that much farther ahead of us,” Noble said now to the village boy. His heart felt lighter. As long as there was a tell-tale trail through the snow, as long as they pressed on, he was sure they would find the runaway thief.

  It was not Foster or Valiant that they found a short time later, however. Noble was studying the tracks in the snow when suddenly his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something off to the side of the trail. “Wait here,” he said to Thomas as he slipped off of Brownie. He waded through the snow to take a closer look.

  Someone—or something—else was following the thief and his horse, as well. There were more tracks in the snow. Paw prints. Several sets of them, in fact.

  “These are wolf tracks,” Noble said to Thomas from where he was crouc
hed in the snow. “There are wolves pursuing Foster and Valiant.”

  Goosebumps stood up on Thomas’s skin. He had heard the wolves howling the last few nights, of course, but it had not occurred to him when he followed Sir Noble into the forest that they might actually meet up with the ferocious beasts themselves! Now, seeing the tracks and knowing they were not far away, Thomas wondered why he had dared to come at all!

  Noble stood up and looked seriously at Thomas, who was holding the reins of both the horses. He felt responsible for all three of them. It was one thing to bring them into the woods chasing after Foster, and another thing to put them in danger of wolves! Thomas looked frightened, but as Noble watched, the innkeeper’s son took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and stood a bit taller. The two old horses pawed at the ground, eager to be on their way again.

  “What do you think, Thomas?” Noble asked quietly.

  “I think we should get going, sir!” Thomas said bravely.

  “Let’s go, then.” He really had no choice, after all. He could not take Thomas back to Aber or he would never catch up with Foster, and it was too dangerous to send him back alone. They mounted up once more and set off following the trail before them.

  The wind had died down, and though it was still cold, the sun was shining brightly through the bare trees. Noble was surprised the wolves would be roaming the woods at that time of day, but perhaps the lure of a lone horseman had attracted them to the hunt. All the more reason for him to find Foster first. The thought of a pack of wolves attacking Valiant made his blood run cold!

  They kept going as hastily as they could. Would they find Simon Foster first, or would the wolves find them? Noble was alert, constantly scanning the trees and brush around them. The wolf tracks continued on just off the trail they were following, but he knew if the pack caught their scent the beasts could just as easily double back and catch them by surprise.

  They did not pause to eat the lunch Master Locke had packed for them. Thomas was hungry, but he did not mention it. If the knight could go on, then so would he. He admired Sir Noble. What would it be like to be a part of the King’s Guard? This was his chance to find out!

  On and on they wandered through the trees. At times it appeared that Foster had lost his way, for his trail seemed to circle around this way and that way. Noble wondered why the wolves had not attacked. Perhaps they were waiting for nightfall. Surely they would catch up to the escaped prisoner before then!

  Brownie and Lacey were slowing down, though. They were creeping along steadily, as best as they were able, but Noble was beginning to feel it was hopeless. It seemed that Foster would slip out of his grasp, after all.

  The clouds were coming in once more as the sun slid toward the horizon. The light was dimmer now in the forest. Noble strained his eyes searching for dark gray shapes slinking through the shadows. If they did not find Foster and Valiant soon they would have to stop for the night. They could not hope to follow the trail in the dark.

  They came to a small stream crossing their path. There were icy patches near the banks, but the water still ran freely for the most part. They paused so that the horses could take a drink. Thomas knelt down to refill their water bags, as well.

  Noble gazed across the stream. “Look, Thomas!” he said. “There’s the trail on the other side!” He laughed in relief. “Why didn’t Foster just go down the middle of the stream for a while? He might have lost us then. Who knows how long it would have taken us to pick up the trail again?”

  Thomas nodded. “Apparently he’s not smart enough to think of that.”

  “Or perhaps he’s becoming over-confident. He thinks because no one’s caught him yet maybe we’ve given up the chase.”

  “Good! Let him think he’s safe!”

  Noble smiled. “Come on, Thomas. We’ll follow him for as long as we can.”

  Thomas was just climbing back into the saddle when suddenly they heard a noise, a horse whinnying in excitement. “Valiant!” Noble exclaimed. “Come on! They’re not far away!”

  Just then, though, they heard another sound—one that turned their blood cold! Snarling, growling, yowls and yelps filled the air, mixed with the screams of a man. The wolves had attacked at last!

  Noble and Thomas plunged through the stream and up the small bank on the other side. They kicked their heels against their horses’ sides, and the two old animals bravely surged forward. Their instincts told them to turn around and run, run far away from the ferocious wolves that could tear them apart, but the stout-hearted old horses would do their best to obey their young masters and carry them directly into danger.

  They did not have far to go. They came to the top of a small ridge and there below them they saw Foster and Valiant, their backs against a pile of boulders, fighting for their lives! Valiant was fighting, that is. Foster was on the ground, crouched behind the black stallion, while Valiant courageously faced their fierce attackers. The horse was reared up on his hind legs, his sharp front hooves slashing and tearing at the wolves before him. The four gray creatures slunk around him like ghostly figures, snarling and snapping their teeth, looking for a way to reach him while still evading those terrible hooves.

  Valiant could not last for long, though, standing alone against four savage enemies. Noble leaped off of Brownie and with a cry, raced toward his beloved horse. “Stay there!” he called back to Thomas. He stopped for a moment and fitted an arrow to his bow, letting it loose in a split second. The arrow found its target, and one of the wolves went down.

  Noble charged forward with his sword in his hand. Thomas was right behind him. He had no weapon, but the village boy had grabbed a long, thick branch from the forest floor and followed Noble. They were yelling and screaming as they came, wildly waving sword and limb.

  The other wolves stopped in their tracks, their attack on Valiant forgotten for the moment in their surprise at this unexpected charge from the rear. They retreated a few feet, slinking back nervously and eyeing the two boys with fear. No one came behind the young humans, though, with more swords or arrows, and the wolves quickly realized the boys were no great threat. They sprang forward to meet them, eager to enjoy an easier meal than the mighty black stallion would have been.

  The wolves were mistaken, though. The young knight who stood before them was skilled with sword and bow and showed no fear. Thomas had no weapon, but his courage matched Noble’s and he stood bravely at his side in the face of the wild beasts’ attack. They had another defense, as well – one that the wolves could not see. Noble called upon Him now, his Lord and protector. “Father, help us!” he cried as the gray beasts rushed at them.

  Noble swung and slashed at the wolves with his sword. Thomas jabbed the long branch toward them, shouting at the top of his lungs. Noble’s sword connected with one of the vicious animals. A sharp yelp split the air and another wolf crashed to the ground. The remaining two beasts jumped back, tripping over one another, trying to stay out of reach of the shining blade.

  Not for long, though. They spied the boy without a sword, the one with only a tree branch to shield him. Thomas had become separated from Noble in the heat of the battle and now he stood several feet away, alone and unprotected. The wolves sprang at him.

  They did not get a chance to touch him, however. Valiant leaped between them and the helpless boy and once again lashed out with his hooves, screaming in fury. Noble rushed in on their other side with his flashing sword, yelling wildly.

  It was too much. The pair of wolves backed away quickly, afraid to carry on the attack. They turned tail and ran, leaping over the snowy ground as fast as they could go. Noble watched as they melted into the trees.

  It was over at last. Their hunt for Foster. The battle with the wolves. Noble leaned on his sword for a moment and took a deep breath. “Are you hurt?” he asked Thomas. The boy shook his head, not able to speak yet. “I told you to stay with the horses,” Noble said, “but thank you. You are a brave lad, Thomas.” The boy did not answer, but the warm g
low of the knight’s praise flooded over him, helping to wash away the fear of the last few minutes.

  Noble looked over at Foster. The old man still crouched in the snow, knowing it would do him no good to try to run away now. The knight could easily catch him—and besides, there were wolves in the woods! He had no desire to run into them again!

  At last Noble turned his attention to Valiant. He could hardly help it, for the big black horse was nuzzling him now, practically knocking him off his feet! Valiant was clearly glad to see him again. Noble was just as happy to see his friend. “Valiant! How are you, boy?” He stroked the big horse and checked him carefully for signs of mistreatment by Foster. There was a mark on the horse’s face where the thief had whipped him with the switch, but other than that, he appeared to be in good shape.

  Thomas had run after Brownie and Lacey where they had left them on the ridge, and he came back now leading them by the reins. They whinnied softly at the sight of Valiant, and he neighed back in greeting.

  It was getting dark. Noble walked over to Foster. “God has spared you from a terrible fate, Simon Foster. The wolves were stalking you all day. It is fortunate for you that we came along when we did, or you would not have lived to see this night. We will stay here tonight and start back in the morning. For now I am going to tie you up, and I will not be gentle with you for I see that you whipped my horse in the face. You deserve far worse for stealing him in the first place, but I will leave that up for the king to decide when you come before him in Caernarfon.”