The Death of Yorik Mortwell Read Free Page A

lined the drive like sentries. Yorik marveled at how quietly he moved. He seemed to weigh almost nothing at all. His feet, stepping lightly, did not crunch on the gravel. He did not even need to breathe. He moved with perfect silence, one with the night. He looked up at the stately Manor and remembered the ruby knob cutting the air. He felt angry and invincible.
    He heard a growl and stopped.
    One of the hounds crouched on the gravel drive between Yorik and the Manor, in the shadow of a weeping spruce.
    Yorik knelt and lowered his balled fist. “Here, Hatch,” he said calmly. “What are you doing out of your kennel at night?” His first instinct was to return this escapee to the Kennelmaster. But why should he? He no longer served Lord Ravenby. He served the Princess, and he was certain she would not care if a few of the hounds ran loose.
    Hatch did not heel. He growled a rumbling threat and showed his white teeth.
    “Heel!” ordered Yorik, clicking his tongue.
    Another growl, from the left. Two more hounds, Oke and Dye, padded closer on the short grass. There appeared to have been a mass break from the kennels.
    Yorik rose slowly. He knew better than to show fear. He remembered what his father had taught him.
Never show fear to hounds. And never run from a pack
. This lesson had been meant for the hunting packs they sometimes encountered in the common forest, not for the hounds of Ravenby. These dogs were Yorik’s friends.
    But now he could see dark forms darting from the shadow of the Manor. Growls and woofs surrounded him. He heard hot, panting breaths. A whiff of burning phosphorus floated on the air.
    He fixed on Hatch, the pack leader. “Hatch, boy,” he called. “It’s Yorik. Heel!”
    Hatch ignored him. The hunting pack tightened on Yorik like a noose.
    Well
, thought Yorik.
Let them come. What can they do to a ghost?
    Then Hatch slid from the shadow into soft moonlight. Yorik saw the familiar shape of the hunting hound—and something more. Hatch was enclosed in a green shine. No, not a shine, Yorik realized. An outline, an encompassing likeness of a larger Hatch, its fire eyes glowing like embers in a pit, its pale green teeth reflecting the moon. Hatch the hound was enveloped by this shape, this demon-hound, which moved with him as one. The other hounds, also bound in demon forms, crept onto the path.

    Yorik fled for the gates.
    The hounds did not bay as they did when they chased game. But Yorik heard the smack and hiss of flying gravel and knew they pursued. He felt as he imagined the fox feels as death closes in.
    In seconds Yorik was through the gates. He turned. There was no hope in running farther. If the gate did not stop the hounds, then—he didn’t know what.
    The pack had stopped short of the gates. They paced and prowled behind the iron bars, watching hungrily with fiery demon eyes and growls that sent tremors through the earth.
    “Come!” thundered a voice. Yorik knew that voice. It was the Kennelmaster. The hounds retreated from the gates as their master emerged from the shadows, bundled deeply in scarves, his breath puffing in clouds.
    “Mr. Lucian!” called Yorik. He stepped closer to the gate, eyeing the green shapes circling ominously.
    The Kennelmaster clenched the iron bars with gloved hands. He thrust his sharp nose between the bars, eyes crinkling as he peered into the dark. He did not look at Yorik.
    “Mr. Lucian …” Yorik brought up a hand in greeting.
    “D’you hear that, boys?” called Mr. Lucian softly. He relaxed his grip and turned to the hounds. “That moaning there in the shadows? ’Tis not a Dark One. ’Tis only a wee ghost. We need not fear. I’ll soon drive it off.”
    One by one, the green glows winked out. Then all Yorik could see were the hounds, his former friends, gathered behind Mr. Lucian.
    The Kennelmaster opened his battered coat. He withdrew a candle and match. He lit the candle.
    The candlelight cut into Yorik. He winced and flinched back from