Hercufleas by Sam Gayton Read Free Book Online

smouldering holes in the end of his blue cloak.
    â€˜That was midnight velvet!’ Prince Xin snarled, perfect face twisted with rage. Because he stopped playing the flyte to speak, he dropped to the ground. Greta swung her axe again, but he caught the handle and wrenched it from her grasp.
    â€˜Now you will see why they call Ugor the Ballistic Barbarian,’ Ugor grinned, reaching for his gun on Onk-Onk’s saddle.
    â€˜No, no, no!’ said Prince Xin crossly. ‘Don’t
shoot
her! Then it will be obvious she has been murdered. Stickler won’t want the rest of Avalon to find out about this! No, I have a
much
better idea. Watch!’
    He sprang forward, dodging Greta’s wild punches. He snatched her up, kicking and screaming, with one hand. With the other he began to play his flyte.
    They rose up into the fog. Hercufleas’s stomach lurched. Higher, higher, higher they went, until the ground below disappeared and there was nothing but whiteness all around. Then they burst out above the mist. The cold stars shone like blue diamonds beside a sliver of moon.
    Far below, Ugor was shouting. ‘Where you go, Xin? What you do?’
    Hercufleas knew. Once he got high enough, Prince Xin would simply let Greta go. All they had to do was lay her body at the bottom of the island’s cliffs. It would look as if she had lost her footing in the mist. A tragic accident.
    Beautiful, haunting music came from the flyte. The arpeggios rose, higher and higher. Any moment, they would reach a crescendo, and Greta would drop like a stone. She twisted and screamed, trying to get free, but Prince Xin was too strong, and gradually the fight ebbed from her.
    With a desperate scream, Hercufleas launched himself from her shoulder.
    â€˜Whatever size his enemies, the winner’s always HERCUFLEAS!’ he bellowed.
    And landing on the flyte, he bit Prince Xin’s fingers as hard as he possibly could.
    â€˜OWWW!’
    At once the haunting music stopped and they were all tumbling down, head over heels through the air. Hercufleas clung to the flyte for dear life. Prince Xin snatched for the instrument, but Hercufleas gnashed at his fingers again and he jerked his hand away with a howl. Greta lunged for the flyte, brought it to her lips and managed to blow a single high note that pinned her in place in the air.
    Prince Xin grabbed at her feet. He pulled off a clog and disappeared with a hideous shriek down into the fog.
    Three seconds later, the shriek ended in a sickening thud on the shingle below.
    Down on the ground, Ugor roared.
    Hercufleas opened his eyes. His arms and legs were wrapped around the end of the flyte. Prince Xin’s sickly-sweet blood was still in his mouth, tasting of jasmine and malice. Shakily he pulled himself up and stood on the tip of the instrument. Greta was still playing the high note, like the wail of a boiling kettle, keeping them suspended in the air. Her eyes were wide. Her pupils were almost crossed, staring at Hercufleas on the end of the flyte.
    â€˜Whatever you do,’ he shouted, ‘don’t stop playing.’
    Greta nodded, but now the high note was beginning to wobble. She was running out of breath.
    She gasped a lungful of air, but as the note ended, the flyte’s magic ceased. They plunged down. Greta sank into the mist up to her knees, then blew the same note and jerked to a stop again.
    â€˜Can you play something higher?’ Hercufleas yelled. ‘To take us up?’
    Greta screwed her eyes shut, she shook with effort until she was beetroot red, but no matter how hard she blew, she didn’t have the breath or skill to make the flyte take them higher.

    They fell further down into the mist as she took another breath.
    And again: lower.
    Lower.
    â€˜You coming back down to me, little Greta,’ said Ugor from below. His voice was much closer now. ‘Ugor waiting for you. You die for poor Prince Xin.’
    Now they were level with the