The Shadowmagic Trilogy. John Lenahan

– where Fergal was it must have been deafening.

      The road ahead forked – we needed to go right if we wanted to get to the border of the Fililands, but Fergal in his panic kept going straight. We followed, not daring to shout. Fergal’s breakneck speed was finally working – the swarm was diminishing. The flies couldn’t keep up. When his vision cleared, Fergal slowed to a halt. I was quite impressed by the fact that during the whole ordeal, he had never shouted out. It didn’t make any difference though – they had seen us.

      Fergal and the rest of us were in plain view of a major camp of Banshees. A handful of them were standing around a small fire in front of about fifty tents. They were obviously surprised that the four of us would just gallop into view, but their confusion didn’t last long. One of them let loose a scream and, not unlike the flies, the camp suddenly came alive. Hundreds of black-haired Banshees poured out of their tents. All of them armed, many with bows.

      ‘I’m not an expert or anything,’ I said as calmly as I could, ‘but I think we should – get the hell out of here.’

      ‘Good plan,’ Fergal said, and we took off like four mice in a cathouse.

      Luckily they were on foot, or we would have been dead meat. As it was, they covered a lot of ground for guys that had just gotten out of bed. We pulled ahead of them, but not as much as I would have liked – these guys were quick as well as handy with the old bows and arrows. I have never been shot at with a gun but I think I would prefer it to being the target of an archer. This was the third time this week someone had fired an arrow at me and I knew it was going to produce nightmares. At least with a gun you can’t see the bullet come at you – arrows you see all the way until they either hit you or miss. It only takes a second but it’s the most frightening second in your life. The other problem is that the relief you feel when one misses you is short-lived, because there are usually more arrows following. After seeing three shafts over my shoulder just narrowly miss me as I galloped at full speed, I turned my attention straight ahead and waited for one to plant itself in my back.

      We got to the fork where Fergal had taken the wrong route, and went left. The Banshees were out of bow range and falling behind but we could see that they were not giving up. They let loose an ominous yell when we took the left fork.

      Essa slowed down. ‘This path seems to be going in the right direction. If we can get into the Fililands, we can lose them in the forest.’

      ‘If?’ I said. ‘Can we get a bit more positive here?’

      ‘I can’t be sure that there is no blackthorn fence bordering the Reedlands,’ she said, ‘it’s just a guess.’

      ‘At the moment it’s very important that you are right.’

      Our pursuers were out of sight but we could still hear them scream periodically. On either side of the path was a deep, foul-smelling swamp – there was no turning off this road. If the path ended in blackthorns – we were done for. I remembered the Banshees’ yell when we took this route and wondered if they knew something that we didn’t. We rode in silence, straining our eyes and trying not to let the others see how scared we were.

      We rounded a hill and saw it. The path led straight into – a wall of blackthorns.

      ‘This is not a good thing,’ I said.

      Araf and Essa sped ahead, Fergal and I followed.

      ‘You won’t be too bad with that snap spell protecting you,’ Fergal said.

      ‘It only works with relatives,’ I said, without thinking.

      ‘What?’

      Me and my big mouth – ah, what the hell, we’d probably be dead soon anyway. ‘My mother told me that my protective spell only works with relatives. So, Fergal, I guess that means you and I are related somehow. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but I wanted to talk to my parents about it.’

      ‘So you and I are blood relatives?’

      ‘I think so.’

      ‘Like cousins?’

      ‘Maybe.’

      ‘I never had a cousin,’ he said.

      ‘Me neither.’

      ‘I’d like it, Conor, if you really were my cousin,’ he said, flashing me one of his famous Fergal smiles.

      ‘Me too.’

      The closer we got, the worse it looked. These thorns were more menacing that the ones bordering the Hazellands. Araf and Essa had dismounted by the time we caught up.

      ‘This is not a good thing,’ I repeated.

      ‘There are only two options,’ Araf said. ‘We try to make it through the swamp or we stand and fight.’

      Fergal got down and went to the edge of the path. It was definitely not a pretty swamp. The water was black, and choked with unhealthy-looking white roots and reeds, pale imitations of real vegetation. Fergal took a rope out of his pack, tied it around his waist and handed the other end to me.

      ‘This is not a good thing,’ he said and smiled.

      ‘I’ll keep a good hold on this end – cousin.’

      He didn’t hesitate, he just jumped right in. I thought it was the bravest thing I had ever seen. I had an instant vision of him disappearing under the black ooze and never being seen again, but the water only came up to his waist. The stench that wafted up from the disturbed water almost made me retch – how Fergal didn’t lose his lunch I will never know.

      ‘The footing on the bottom seems pretty solid,’ he shouted. ‘If you can stand the smell I think it might work.’

      So my choice was: fight to almost certain death, or go in there. It smelt so bad I was still leaning towards stand and fight when my mind was made up for me. All of the vines and roots in the water were converging on Fergal.

      ‘Fergal, get out!’ I yelled.

      I didn’t have to ask him twice, I think he could sense that something was wrong. He got to the bank before the vegetation took hold. The vines that had been creeping up on him seemed to realise that he was trying to escape. They wrapped around him with the speed of a striking snake. He was dragged back into the water with such force, I was almost pulled from my saddle. Araf and Essa ran to the edge of the swamp. Fergal went under. I wrapped the rope around the pommel of my saddle and told Acorn to pull. Sometimes Acorn could give me a hard time, but when the chips were down, I had no better friend. Acorn pulled and Fergal broke the surface with his Banshee blade in hand. He hacked and scrambled onto the road, spluttering, sore and stinky – but unharmed. I jumped off Acorn.

      ‘Are you alright?’

      He nodded, trying to get back his breath.

      ‘I thought I lost you there,’ I said and hugged him. Boy, did he stink.

      Araf and Essa started digging a shallow gutter. For a moment I wondered if it was our graves. They ripped buttons off their clothes and threw them into the trench.

      ‘Do either of you have any gold?’ Essa asked.

      ‘No,’ I said, ‘my mother gave me an amulet but I used it.’

      ‘I have some,’ Fergal said, getting to his feet.

      He took off his shirt and removed the gold wire that held his Banshee blade in place and handed it to Essa. Her eyes lit up.

      ‘Perfect!’ she exclaimed, and kissed Fergal on the cheek. From the look on her face you could tell that she instantly regretted it. Other than not dying, getting Fergal into a bath was our top priority.

      Essa and Araf stretched the gold wire along the trench along with the gold buttons. Essa dropped to one knee and incanted a spell that caused the gold to glow and then hum. She stood up, sighed and then she and Araf covered the gold over with