CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: BLACK CLOISTER.
Frost crackled crisply under the oxen's hooves and then collapsed completely under creaking wheels. Neb didn't try to avoid the resulting icy puddles. He stumbled behind the wagon with his eyes fixed on its tail gate, and his wrists bound behind his back. He tried to ignore the constant cramp in his arms. Instead, he focussed on the rope tethering him to the wagon's tail gate, desperate to keep it slack. If he allowed the rope to tighten, the noose around his neck closed off his windpipe.
Earlier, Neb had heard Alfred remonstrating with Kattin. She'd sniffed, and said "So what if he trips and strangles himself? Alive or dead, it doesn't matter to me – why should you care about the whelp?" Alfred had clamped his lips shut. But claiming he wanted to lighten the oxen's load, he walked alongside the wagon and kept one eye on Neb.
The wagon's wheels jolted out of their ruts, jolting Neb from his misery; Alfred cursed and hurried to calm the oxen. Neb glimpsed Samara's dark head. She perched on the very edge of the wagon's front bench, as far as she could from Kattin. Kattin half rose from the front bench and shook the reins in her hands. They slapped against the oxen's backs; Alfred hauled on the animals' halters and the wagon jolted forwards again – but not for long. The incline beneath Neb's feet grew steeper, the wagon creaked to a halt and then rolled backwards. Neb tingled with alarm; but before his legs could obey his mind's commands to move, Alfred acted. With a curse he dragged the paddle shaped brake against the solid wood front wheel. The oxen lowed. Kattin's whip snapped over their backs, but they still refused to start up the steep slope in front of them. Alfred prodded them forwards with the point of his sword: 'move, you mangy bags of bones!' If Neb could have spoken, he would have offered to help push the wagon. Not from a desire to be helpful, but for a chance to stretch his limbs and to be free from the noose around his neck. Without consulting Kattin, Alfred reached for Samara and dragged her from the wagon's seat. He wrapped a thick rope around her wrists as he hustled her in Neb's direction, and then Samara too was tethered behind the wagon. Neb wished he could speak to her, but a gag smothered his mouth. Kattin twisted in her seat to glare at Neb and Samara long and hard, as if this whole mess were somehow their fault. Then, still holding onto the oxen's reins, she jumped down from the wagon's seat. She shook the reins. 'Walk on,' she instructed.
'Get up now! Get on!' Alfred bawled, and prodded the oxen into movement. With only Vander's corpse and the semi-conscious Eric's weight to pull, the wagon jolted into motion, and then tilted as it began to ascend the hill.
Samara's face was a blur of white in a mess of dark hair. Her eyes were unseeing. She pitched forwards suddenly; Neb thrust his hip and upper body in front of her, trying to stop her fall. Samara regained her balance, but continued to lean against Neb. Although her wrists were bound, she managed to clutch at his tunic with her fingers. In this crablike manner, they stumbled uphill behind the wagon. The oxen bulked again at the hill's crest. Alfred cursed and Kattin rained her whip over the animals' backs and heads.
Samara slumped against Neb, he longed to slump too, but allowed her to lean against him. She spoke urgently, barely moving her lips.
'Call Balkind. As soon as the chance arises, summon your griffin.' She manoeuvred her hands behind Neb's back. Her fingers brushed against the beads she had given him.
Neb glanced down, Samara's face tilted up at him, her eyes glittered. Despite the gag in his mouth, Neb was surprised into speech. However, all he could manage was a wordless grunt, but Samara understood him.
'Call with all your heart. Call, and Balkind will answer,' Samara muttered fiercely. The wagon lurched forwards and Samara's face slackened again as Alfred's shadow fell across them. Without looking at Neb, he cut Samara free. Then he ushered her to the front of the wagon and hoisted her onto the seat next to Kattin. The wagon picked up speed as it rolled downhill. The wretched oxen were no better off as Alfred dragged at the brake and Kattin wrenched on the reins in an effort to keep the wagon's pace steady.
Neb splashed through the puddles, barely noticing them. The bracelet around his left wrist burned against his skin; his heart stuttered with excitement. Samara's words played again and again in his mind. If he called, and if Balkind answered … he stopped there, not yet daring to believe. But then he recalled what Lady Lydia had said. Samara had called him a "griffin riding fool". Neb's mouth tightened around his gag. This was one fool who wasn't about to give up hope.