John Flanagan - The Royal Ranger

His arm went back, preparing to bring the blade across the boy’s throat in a long slashing movement. Maddie knew she had to risk a shot now. If she hesitated, Tim would die.

She whipped the sling over and forward. The lead ball caught the moonlight, glinting once as it flashed towards its target. Then it smashed home below the Storyman’s raised right arm.

He gasped with the shock and the sudden, savage pain as the heavy lead ball splintered a rib. He dropped the knife and released his grip on Tim’s collar. He drew in a breath to scream and the action caused him more agony as the jagged ends of the fractured rib grated together. He screamed even louder, clasping both hands to his shattered side. He turned, stumbled on the uneven footing, then realised that there was nothing but air beneath his right foot.

For a moment, he seemed to waver, tottering off balance as he slowly leaned further over the drop. Then he fell, landing with a sickening crunch on the rocks below.

Maddie was already moving up the path. She gently caught hold of the young girl and helped her to her feet.

“Come on, my dear one. You’re safe now,” she said.

The little girl looked up at her, wide eyed. Then, slowly, a smile spread over her face as she realised that the terrifying Storyman was gone.

“I am. I’m safe now,” she repeated.

Maddie patted her shoulder and gently shoved her on her way up the cliff once more. The other children, who had been frozen in place, slowly began to move again.

“Faster!” Maddie urged, with an edge on her voice. “You’ve got to move faster.”

She turned back to help Tim Stoker to his feet. He had been sprawled on the rocks when the Storyman had released him. His face was white with fear as he remembered how close he had come to dying.

“You’re a brave boy,” she told him. It didn’t occur to her that he was only a few years younger than she. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, knowing his voice would quaver uncontrollably. She put a hand on his shoulder and urged him up the path after the others.

“Get moving, Tim. We have to get out of here.” She realised that it might help if she gave him a further task. “Keep them moving. Get them to move faster. Can you do that for me?”

His eyes were huge, the fear still in them. Then he gradually brought himself under control and nodded.

“Wh-where’s the Storyman?” he asked. He still wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment he was staring at that long knife as it prepared to slash down at him. The next, he was sprawling on the rocky path. Maddie squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“You don’t need to worry about him any more,” she said. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” he repeated, wanting to be sure. She nodded emphatically.

“Stone dead,” she said, suddenly aware of the unintended irony. Tim studied her face for a few seconds, then turned away, starting up the cliff.

“I’ll keep them moving,” he said. She watched him go and let out a long, pent-up breath. Then, just to make sure, she moved to the edge of the cliff and peered over.

The Storyman was a dark shape on the rocks below. His cloak fluttered in the breeze. He had landed on his back across an upthrusting rock and now his body was twisted at an unnatural angle. There was no sign of movement.

“Tell that in one of your stories,” she said savagely. Then she started up the path after the children.

Maddie reached the top of the cliff path to find the ten former prisoners huddled together, waiting for her. She retrieved her bow from the long grass where she had left it earlier that evening. She shook her head at the thought of it. It seemed to be days since the time when she had started down the path, not hours.

“Let’s move away from the cliff edge,” she said. She was conscious that, at any moment, Ruhl might give up his pursuit of Will and return to the camp to find his prisoners gone. There was no sense in standing against the skyline so that they could be seen from the beach.

The children shuffled a few metres away from the cliff, then stood in a half circle, watching her expectantly. There were six boys and four girls. She judged their ages to range from around ten to fourteen. She scanned their faces and saw a mixture of fear, bewilderment and relief. She took a few deep breaths. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins following the encounter with the Storyman and she knew that when she was excited or tense, her voice tended to go up into a shrill register. She had the good sense to realise that would be anything but encouraging for the children watching her.

“All right,” she said, when she was sufficiently calm. “Here’s what’s happening. You were captured by a slaving gang.”

“We were taken by the Stealer in the Night. He’s a spook,” one of the younger girls corrected her. At the mention of the name, the others looked around nervously. Unconsciously, they moved closer together.

Maddie shook her head and continued in a patient tone. “He’s not a spook and you don’t have to be frightened of him any more. He’s just a man—but he is a very bad man and he’s a slave trader. He was going to sell you all as slaves.”

“He said he was going to lock us away in a dark, dark dungeon and rats would eat our toes and ghouls would drink our blood in the night and he’d take out our eyes if we ever disobeyed him.” That was one of the younger boys. The others all mumbled agreement. Maddie made a calming gesture.

“He just said that to frighten you,” she told them. And it worked, she thought to herself. She paused, remembering the calming power of Will’s name when she had used it earlier that evening. Fight a spirit with a legend, she thought.

“Now, tell me, how many of you have heard of Will Treaty?”

Ten hands raised in unison and, in spite of the gravity of the situation, she had to smile. Everyone had heard of Will Treaty.

“Well, Will Treaty is my master, and he’s going to help us.”

Predictably, they all looked around to see where he was and she added, with a little asperity, “He’s not here now. He’s gone to chase the Stealer and his men away.”

That wasn’t exactly the way of it, she thought, but it was close enough for the moment. She decided the exact truth could stand a little colouring.

“And when he catches the Stealer, he’s going to kill him,” she told them. That seemed to give them a certain amount of encouragement. They liked the idea of the famous Will Treaty killing the Stealer who had caused them so much pain and terror.

“How will he kill him?” asked the boy who had spoken earlier. She looked at him, realising that, being a boy, he wanted grim and gory details. But she didn’t think the time was right for that.

“Never you mind. He’ll find a way.”

“I hope he hurts him!” the boy said viciously. “I hope he really, really hurts him.”

“I’m sure he will, and we’ll ask him all about it when we see him,” she said. Then she clapped her hands together to get their attention away from the Stealer and his imminent, painful demise. “Now!” she said briskly. “We have to get moving. We can’t stay here and we have to get to Ambleton as fast as we possibly can. The bigger ones can go on foot. But you smaller children can ride.”

She put her fingers in her mouth and gave out a low whistle. She heard a brief whinny in reply, then Tug and Bumper trotted out of the dark. She and Will had brought them forward earlier in the evening, sensing that some of the smaller children might need to ride.

Will had declined to take Tug with him.

“I’ll want to let Ruhl keep me in sight when I’m leading him away. If I’m mounted, he’ll give up. Or he’ll realise I’m faking if I don’t make a clean getaway. Better to leave both horses with you. They can help with the children.”