Winter of the White Wolf (Noble Heart Book 4) Page 7

  At last Foster and the men left the stable. Noble tossed the pitchfork and his bow and arrows out of the loft to the floor below and then lowered the ladder and scrambled down it. He looked around for anything that might be of help to him on the run. An old horse blanket hung on a hook on the wall. He grabbed it and spotted a small hatchet lying on the floor just beneath it. Noble tucked the little ax into his belt, and once again considered the scythe hanging on the wall. No, it would be too big and cumbersome to try to carry with him. The same for the pitchfork. Noble could not picture himself riding through the woods with it. He reluctantly laid it aside. He wished once more for his sword, but sadly, the hatchet would have to do.

  A few minutes more and he had found a few dried apples, the last of the year’s crop. They were dried and shriveled, fit only for the horses, perhaps, but Noble knew if he was hungry enough he would be glad to have them. There were some oats left in the bag they had brought back with them from their hunt for Foster, and Noble added that now to his small stash of supplies. A water bag lay carelessly on the ground next to a half-filled bucket of water. Noble filled it. He looked around once last time and spied a coil of rope. That, too, went into the pile with the rest. At last he gathered it all into a bundle and slung it over Lacey’s back.

  He had just begun to saddle Brownie when the stable door opened. Noble ducked down behind the old horse and held his breath. All he could see was a pair of feet from where he crouched. They came closer and stopped when they reached the ladder to the loft. Noble could almost feel the person thinking, I don’t remember seeing this ladder here before. Finally, though, the feet walked slowly away. He listened to the footsteps as they moved toward the door. They paused and there was silence for a minute until suddenly Noble heard a sharp crackling noise. The door slammed. Noble waited tensely, wondering if he was alone once more in the stable.

  Suddenly the smell of smoke drifted to Noble’s nostrils. He stood up quickly. Flames were licking at the straw bales that stood against the opposite wall. Foster had fulfilled his threat. They had set the stable on fire.

  The walls of the stable were made of stone, but Noble knew it would just be a matter of minutes before the roof and everything inside—the stalls, the hay, straw, tools, and most importantly the two old horses that had never hurt a soul—would be burnt to ashes. Foster and his men may not have known that he was in the stable, but they knew the horses were and they had set it aflame anyway.

  The fire was spreading rapidly. The door would be blocked by flames if they did not get out immediately. Noble grabbed the reins of the horses and struggled to lead them toward the door. They were already frightened and drew back sharply. Noble was almost knocked off his feet, but he held on tightly to the leather straps and spoke calmly into Brownie’s ear. The horse quieted and pressed closely against Noble. Lacey followed Brownie, and Noble was finally able to lead them both to the door.

  There was no time to check if the courtyard was empty, to see if it was safe to go out. The flames were at their heels now and spreading across the rafters. Thick smoke filled the air, choking and burning his eyes and throat. It was now or never. Noble pushed open the door.

  The snow was coming down faster and the wind had picked up, fanning the flames even more. Noble squinted his eyes against the onslaught of the snow and sleet hitting his face and glanced around quickly. There was no one in the courtyard. With another tug on the reins Noble started across the now slick cobblestones as quickly as he could. The horses were only too glad to follow him away from the fire and destruction of their home.

  They headed past the inn and back toward the forest. The snow was swirling around them, nearly blinding them in a thick cloud of white. They reached the edge of the trees, eager to enter the shelter of the forest from the storm around them.

  A shout reached his ears at that moment, muffled in the snow to be sure, but it drew his attention. He looked back, straining to see through the blizzard. Foster was standing outside the inn, shaking his fist at him and screaming in rage.

  _________

  CHAPTER TEN

  _________

  The Chase

  He knew it would be only a matter of minutes before The Wolf and his pack would be after him. Noble led the horses into the woods. Once out of sight of the inn he stopped for a minute to tighten the cinches of Brownie’s saddle and mounted. He felt better when he was on horseback. Foster and his men would be forced to chase him on foot. Surely he could stay far enough ahead of them that they would not be able to catch him.

  One other thing was in his favor. The snow was coming down so heavily that it was covering his tracks almost as quickly as he made them. It would not be as easy for them to follow his trail as it had been for Noble and Thomas to follow Foster’s a few days before.

  He could hear the voices of the men now, shouting to one another as they ran across the field. “Sharkey! Grimes! He went this way! Get him! He’ll not escape me again!” It was Foster’s voice above the others, above the howl of the wind, loud and angry and ugly. Noble spurred Brownie forward and the two old horses picked up their pace, eager to put some distance between themselves and the cruel men behind them.

  They had to proceed cautiously, though. The snow filled in their footprints, but it also disguised rocks and crevasses in the mountainous terrain. There was no safe path to follow. They stumbled along and at one point very nearly slid into a deep crack in the rock. He looked down into the narrow gap and shivered. If he had fallen in, he would have never been able to crawl out on his own.

  They were leaving no trail behind them, but this was a problem as well as a blessing. Noble hoped to draw the men and their evil schemes away from Aber, and especially the inn and Master Locke. If the hunt for Noble became too difficult they might give up too quickly and go back to their plans to plunder the village. Noble remembered the threats they had made against Thomas’ father all too well. If he was going to rescue the innkeeper he would have to do it very soon. He could not linger near the inn for long, and the gang’s willingness to brave the blizzard would be short-lived, he was sure. The opportunity to go back for Master Locke was very short. He would have to act quickly and soon.

  Noble breathed a quick prayer for guidance and then moved further into the forest. They rode straight into the trees for a short way, but as soon as he saw his chance to veer off and double back toward the inn he took it. The men would be here soon. He had to be out of sight when they came.

  Brownie and Lacey seemed to sense his urgency for they pressed forward as if a pack of hungry wolves were after them. They had no sooner passed a small stand of fir trees when Noble heard voices once more in the distance. He looked back the way they had come. The blowing snow and thicket of trees and brush blocked his view, but he knew it was them—Foster and his men. He left the horses for a minute and crept around the trees. There—several hundred feet away. He could just make them out, moving under the trees, moving away from him. Good! While they went off in the wrong direction, he would go back to the inn for Master Locke!

  Noble went back to the horses and led them into the thick growth of shrubs and trees. He tied them up and with a final pat for each of them, headed back to the edge of the woods. He would come out on the other side of the inn this time, he knew, and the way across the open field would be longer, but hopefully he would not be spotted.

  Noble moved quickly. He could no longer hear the men in the woods, nor catch a glimpse of them through the trees. There was no sign of them as he approached the field behind the inn. A black plume of smoke rose behind the inn, visible even through the snow storm. Noble ran across the field and raced around the building to the courtyard. The stable was still burning, although most of it was gone now. The roof had caved in, and a few flames still licked at the rubble within the stone walls. Noble ignored the fire and ran to the door of the inn. He burst inside, yelling as he entered, “Locke! Master Locke!”

  There was no answer. He ran up the stairs and looked through eac
h room. The room he had occupied earlier was just as he’d left it—chair in the middle of the floor, rope tied to the bed and dangling from the open window. Another large room had several beds in it. It was empty. A third room across the hall was obviously Master Locke’s room. It looked more lived in and was better furnished than those that he rented to his guests. That room was also empty.

  Noble ran back downstairs, calling for the innkeeper as he went. The common room showed signs that Foster and his men had sat around the table, eating and drinking and making their plans. Noble was about to pass through the room when suddenly something caught his eye. There standing next to the table with its tip stuck firmly into the wooden floor was his sword! Noble grabbed it, praising the Lord for this unexpected gift.

  He went on through to the kitchen in the back of the old stone inn. There was no one there. The fire had died out in the fireplace—something Noble knew would never happen in any home in the middle of winter. A few scraps of food were strewn over the kitchen table, left no doubt by the gang as they had helped themselves to Master Locke’s supplies. Of the innkeeper himself there was no sign.

  Noble was at a loss as to where to look. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and shouted once more, “Master Locke! Innkeeper! Where are you?” Still not a sound. Time was running out. Foster would be returning at any moment. They would not look for him for long out in the storm.

  Noble looked around. There had to be more to the inn than he had seen. Where did Thomas sleep? If he did not have a room upstairs then it must be down here. There—what was that? Behind a large cupboard Noble spied what he was looking for. A small doorway was carved into the stone wall, so short that Noble had to duck his head as he passed through.

  He found himself in a small room. It was Thomas’s sleeping quarters. A thin pallet was against one wall and a few pieces of clothing hung from a hook on another wall. A tiny window looked out to the field behind the inn. That was all. This room, too, was empty.

  Noble glanced out the window. The field was as empty as the inn. He half expected to see Foster and his gang appear suddenly out of the snow, but they didn’t. Noble turned away from the window and as he did he noticed one other thing in the small room.

  A trap door was built into the floor. Noble knelt beside it and slid his fingers into the notch that was cut in the wood. He lifted the door and peered into the hole beneath the floor. Rough wooden steps led down into the darkness. It probably was a cellar of some sort.

  Noble ran into the common room and grabbed a candle. A fire still glowed in this room where Foster and his men had sat, so he lit the candle from the fireplace and went back. “Locke?” he called as he went down the stairs.

  The space beneath the floor was even tinier than the room above it. And there in the dirt lay Master Locke, bound at ankles and wrists and with a gag in his mouth. His eyes were closed, but Noble could see he was alive, for he was shivering in the cold, dark hole.

  The young knight knelt by his side and shook the older man. “Master Locke? Master!”

  The innkeeper opened his eyes. He groaned when Noble pulled the gag from his mouth. “Thomas?” he asked.

  “Thomas is safe, Master Locke,” Noble said. “I sent him on my horse to Caernarfon to get help. King Stephen will send his knights as soon as he gets word what has happened. I am sure of it. But come now—we cannot linger here. Foster and his men will be back soon and we must be gone before they get here.” Noble sliced through the ropes that bound the poor innkeeper and helped him to his feet.

  “Let me help—” Noble had just begun to say when suddenly they heard the sound of footsteps and loud voices in the kitchen above. They froze. Trapped! The gang had returned and here they were trapped in this small space beneath the floor!

  Noble leaped for the steps with his sword in hand. He had just set his foot on the first step when suddenly Master Locke grabbed his arm. “Wait! Listen!” From the kitchen they heard a voice calling, “Tom! Tom Locke! Where are you?” Another voice chimed in. “What’s happened here? Where are you, Tom?”

  “They’re friends! My friends from the village! They come every morning and sit by the fire to visit. Willy! Jacob! I’m down here!” he called out.

  Noble breathed a sigh of relief and helped the innkeeper up the steps. By the time Noble himself had climbed back through the trapdoor Locke’s friends were in the small room with them, exclaiming over the bruises and cuts on Master Locke’s face and asking what had happened.

  “And your stable! It was quite the shock this morning to see the smoke and then to find your stable burnt down!” the man called Jacob said.

  “My stable has burnt!” The innkeeper looked dazed and confused. “What about the horses?

  “They are safely hidden in the woods, Master,” Noble said. “Foster and his men set fire to the stable, and they are threatening to do the same to the inn and probably half the village if we don’t find a way to stop them. But come now. They will be back at any moment and we must get you all away from here before they return. Jacob, Willy, I want you to take Master Locke with you and go to each home in the village,” Noble said urgently. “Gather the people—all of them—in the strongest building you have, and there together you must make a stand against Simon Foster and his gang if they appear. You cannot withstand them each on your own. They call him The Wolf and his men are his pack, and like a real pack of wolves they come into small villages like Aber, seeking to plunder and destroy everything in their path. I will try to distract and delay them for as long as I can, but in case that is not possible, the entire village must be prepared to fight together against them!”

  Jacob and Willy looked frightened. They were old men. Their youthful days of taking a stand against anything were long gone. “Do not be afraid,” Noble said gently to them. “The King’s Guard is on its way—or it will be soon—and they will surely defeat The Wolf and his evil schemes. Unfortunately, Foster has sent for the rest of his gang over in Bangor, and they, too, will soon be on their way here. It remains to be seen which group will get here first. But fear not! We have a righteous God who hates wickedness, lying and deceit, and the evil actions of men like The Wolf and his pack. He stands with you and for you, men, as He did with David the shepherd boy. We will call upon Him for He is a very present help in time of trouble.”

  Noble bowed his head right then and asked the Lord to protect and defend the village and all who lived within it. He asked for speed for the king’s men, and wisdom and strength for himself as he went up alone against Foster and his gang. When at last he said amen and lifted his head, the three older men were looking at him with respect. Who was this boy who wore the armor of the king, who showed no fear, who called upon the Lord with such great faith? They had never met anyone like Sir Noble before.

  “Hurry! You must go, and so must I!” Noble urged them now. He practically pushed the three men out the small door of Thomas’ room.

  Once outside, the innkeeper stared in dismay at his smoldering stable. He straightened his shoulders, though, and with many thanks to Noble, hurried with his friends out the gate and toward the village. Noble watched until they were out of sight and then turned back toward the forest.

  The wind was whipping the snow up in gusts of white across the field. He could see the trees now on the other side, though, and he hurried toward them, wondering where Simon Foster was.

  He did not have long to wonder. He was halfway across the field when Foster and his men suddenly came through the trees. They saw him immediately. With a shout, the chase was on once more!

  Noble veered away from them and headed diagonally across the back side of the field. They ran along the forest’s edge, hoping to cut him off before he reached the trees. Noble’s path was longer, but he was also faster than the three older men. He raced now with all his might toward the cover of the trees. It would be close!

  Foster fell behind his two men and stopped suddenly, screaming curses at Noble and urging his men to run faster, catch the brat
! Grimes stopped to fit an arrow into his bow. Zing! The arrow flew wildly far above Noble’s head. He fumbled for another arrow, but now he, too, was left far behind as Noble reached the edge of the woods and ducked under the trees.

  There was only one man left on his heels now—the one Foster had called Sharkey. Noble kept running. His plan was to draw the men back into the forest and away from Aber. He did not want to be caught, though, and the man still trailing him showed no signs of giving up. Far behind him, Noble could hear the other two shouting. They, too, were still following, although not as quickly. Noble pressed on, jumping over rocks and fallen logs, ducking below low branches, stumbling over hidden obstacles in the snow, swerving to avoid sudden trees that seemed to leap into his path. He prayed he would not fall into a crevasse, or break a leg in the wild run through the ice and snow.

  Sharkey was still behind him. Noble heard him fall once, but he was quickly back on his feet. Noble could hear his breath coming in great ragged gasps, and he knew the man could not keep up the pace much longer. They were drawing near to the place where Noble had left the horse. He did not want to take a chance on the animals being found, so once more he veered away off in another direction.

  The footsteps behind him were fading away. Noble glanced over his shoulder. Sharkey was trotting along, unwilling to stop but unable to keep up with the swift and sure-footed young knight. Behind him at least a hundred feet or more was the other man Grimes, and though he could not see him, he heard the angry voice of Simon Foster bringing up the rear.