The Bad Shepherd bawled unintelligible words in reply. Please! We’ll give you anything you want. Rufus darted forward, but the fiend hoisted Tully above his head like a bag of apples and prepared to hurl him against the nearest wall, to dash out his brains. The Bad Shepherd burst, berserking, into the street and the other children screamed. Crowing, he shook the boy wildly, squeezing the breath from him. His bloody fingers caught Tully by the throat and he kicked the wicker fence down. Letting loose an insane shriek, he lunged forward. The Bad Shepherd’s repulsive snarl widened to a leer and the deranged malignance in those eyes burned even more fiercely. He stared open-mouthed at the tall, ragged man, unable to move. It was the nightmare apparition everyone in the Kingdom feared most, even more than Haxxentrot. Thick brows growing halfway down a thin, hooked nose sheltered two brown, glaring eyes that bulged outward. His straggly beard was greasy and knotted and his red, blood-wet lips parted in a repugnant, feral snarl, baring stained and broken teeth. His black hair was long, dirty and matted and his haggard face was ingrained with filth. It was a man – but a savage, brutal distortion of a man. Seeing Pog’s light and hearing Tully’s strangled cry, the figure sprang up. A bloody hole had been punched into each of their snowy breasts.Ī tall figure, dressed in a shabby, tattered robe and soil-clogged sandals, was crouching over the last limp bird – ripping out its heart. Their white corpses were strewn wantonly about the ground. The horror of what he saw there made the boy choke with shock. The turnip lantern’s candlelight flooded down into the garden. A fence of wicker hurdles, twined about with fading nasturtiums, prevented them waddling into the village to peck and hiss at passers-by. Mistress Sarah’s six geese were penned in the garden around the back. “Besides, Pog will protect me.”īefore his brother could grab him, Tully darted into the alley between the hovel and the cottage. “Everyone, into ours, quick!” Rufus whispered, pushing them towards their cottage. They made a frightful racket whenever they heard footsteps on the road. They were so anxious and afraid they barely noticed the smell that hung about Dung-Breathed Billy’s hovel, but when they passed Mistress Sarah’s cottage, they suddenly realised the geese had ceased honking. They were gladder than ever to have their neepjacks with them. #Google books freax and rejex windowsThe children wished the small windows were aglow with cheery firelight to unburden their hearts and spur them on their way, but every dwelling was shuttered and deserted. A hostile pulse threaded the night and every corner seemed crowded with unfriendly eyes. The village had never appeared so sinister and threatening before. Echoing and reverberating down the narrow thoroughfare, even their honking sounded shrill and strange. Hurrying through the deep shadows, their only welcome was the din of Mistress Sarah’s geese. They had imagined all types of terrors chasing them through the fields. With wand and shield in hand, the Holy Enchanter pursued her through the air.īursts of emerald fire and bolts of purple lightning flashed and flared between the stars as a mighty contest of magick commenced.ĭown in the village, Tully and the others came running up the street, breathless and frightened. In the sky the Ismus glared at Haxxentrot in the distance. One leaped into the bonfire rather than face the terrible wrath of the Jack of Clubs and the villagers drove the rest into the path of the sweeping blades with their flaming torches. The cats hissed and roared, but could not escape. Double tails were sliced through and left wriggling on the ground like furry snakes. Swords carved deep into tough green sinew. Ironheart reared and pounded one of their heads into the grass with his hooves, mashing it like an overripe damson. Soon the hill rang with screeching yowls of pain as the horses plunged into the fray and the cats felt the keen edges of Mooncaster steel. After him rode a host of knights from every Royal House. With a fearless shout, the Jack of Clubs, riding on Ironheart, last of the untameable steeds, came charging through the encircling wall of sulphurous smoke. The monstrous felines wavered and cast their almond eyes down the slope. “Hold fast, my gentle lambs! Despair ye not! Deliverance is nigh!” Then, high overhead, as he flew over the hilltop, the voice of the Ismus called out words of hope. Claws lashed out, cloth and flesh were torn, fire swung round in blazing arcs, fur was scorched and children screamed. Pushing their children behind them, they waited for the huge cats to strike. On the hill the villagers had reached the bonfire and were wielding flaming brands.
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