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  Chapter 11 –The Dark Side

  In the corner of a dark, damp cave three large brown horses stood inside a thick-barred cage. They were restless in the cramped enclosure and stamped their hooves against the stone floor as they tried to move around in the small space. The noise echoed sharply, in the small space. Green moss grew through cracks in the rock walls where the cage stood and cold water dripped down onto the horses from the ceiling above. The cave sat beneath a large range of hills and the opening to it provided a view along the length of a green valley, across empty fields and down to a large, sand-coloured racecourse in the distance.

  The three horses were tired after being dragged across the hilly countryside by the Spriggans but they were too scared to sleep. They had been poked and prodded along by hundreds of the ugly little creatures after they had been taken from the boat. They watched their tiny kidnappers now as they grouped close to a small fire on the other side of the cave, muttering amongst themselves. From the snatches of conversation the horses had been able to hear, the Spriggans’ scheme had not gone to plan and their boss was not happy – not happy at all.

  A small, fat Spriggan clan leader marched into the group, waddling from side to side on his short, podgy legs. His skin was an odd green colour and he had horrible brown warts all over his ugly little face. He shoved the smaller Spriggans away from the warmth of the fire as he strode in the centre of the group.

  “Wot do’y mean y’only got ‘free of them nags? Wot ‘appened to the plan – where ar’ the rest of ‘em?” The fat Spriggan spat his words at the group, who shrank away from him and his horrible warty face.

  A small squeaking voice drew his attention: “But dem ‘orses sir. They fought us an’ stuff – see this?” The small Spriggan said, stepping forward and pointing towards a large red lump on his head. “One of ‘em kick me ‘ere in me noggin’!”

  “Dem ‘orses sir, dem ‘orses…” The fat Spriggan repeated in a squeaky voice, mocking the smaller one. “Wot are you scared of ‘orses for? I’ll give you somefink to be scared of you great useless lump of cow droppins!’” He finished his sentence by whacking the smaller Spriggan on the noggin with the large rod he held in his hand. “We need these stupid nags for the boss – if he don’t get ‘em we’ve more to worry about happenin’ to our noggin’s than a whack from some stupid ‘orse! ‘Ee needs seven of ‘em for ‘is plan and if we wanna get on well in this new world ‘e’s plannin’ then we’ll deliver ‘em. Right?” When no one spoke his lip curled into an angry snarl. “I said – RIGHT?!”

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Right.”

  A chorus of voices agreed grudgingly with his command.

  “Good!” The lead Spriggan straightened himself to his full (but still very small) height. “Well, what are you’s waitin’ for? Get yourselfs sorted and get dem other ‘orses, you worfless bunch of pong-pigeons!”