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nd then he heard the soldiers triumphant cry. Angus knew hed been spotted. The forest drew closer, but how quickly would the soldiers horses cover the distance? Angus lungs burned for air and his legs begged a rest, but he didnt allow himself to slow. He plunged into the forest and ignored the whipping he took from low branches. He had no sense of how close his pursuers were, but between one moment and the next he knew he was as good as caught if he continued on a straight course. He turned hard to the left and fled eastward. His eyes were wide with fright and he understood the fear of the hare when pursued by the fox.

The Grey GhosT

The Grey GhosT

Julie hahnke

When Black Duncan Campbell starts murdering his neighbors in 16th-century Scotland, eleven-year-old Angus suddenly finds himself the sole survivor of Clan Macnab. Aided by a goshawk and a pine marten, and urged forward by a mysterious luna moth, Angus must uncover his clans heritage, reveal ancient secrets, and try to end the Campbells bloody rampage. Join Angus adventures in The Grey Ghost, the first book in the new fantasy series, The Wolfs Apprentice.
ISBN-13: 978-1-933002-98-9

illusTraTed By Marcia chrisTensen

By Julie hahnke

-The Wolfs Apprentice Series-

THE GREY GHOST

Julie Hahnke
Illustrated by

Marcia Atkinson Christensen

PublishingWorks Exeter, NH 2009

Copyright 2009. Julie Hahnke. Illustration 2009. Marcia Atkinson Christensen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval systemexcept by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper without permission in writing from the publisher.

PublishingWorks, Inc. 60 Winter Street Exeter, NH 03833 603-778-9883 For Sales and Orders: 1-800-738-6603 or 603-772-7200 www.publishingworks.com
Designed by: Kat Mack LCCN: 2008939064 ISBN: 1-933002-98-0 ISBN-13: 978-1-933002-98-9 Printed in Canada.

THE GREY GHOST

To Phil Englehardt, whose passion, compassion, twisted humor, and huge dreams brought my PublishingWorks relationship and this series into being. May Saint Fillan motorcycle beside you!

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Prologue

A WORD ON LANGUAGE
This story follows the Scottish practice of referring to mountains as bens, broad valleys as straths, steeper-walled valleys as glens, and lakes as lochs. The ch in loch is hard, so Loch Dochart would be pronounced Lock Dockart. Castle Eilean Rn is pronounced Castle Eee-lin Ron. Additionally, a glossary and other supplemental information can be found in the back of this book.

he cottage rested serenely in the deep night. The rising shoulder of Ben Lui hugged the farmstead to the mountains breast. The moon, waxing toward fullness, washed the valley in soft light. The air was still as if the stars held their breath. But the earth, in silent watchfulness, noted a tremor. Miles to the east the ground reverberated. The rhythm was nearly chaotic as a half dozen horses galloped westward. Their pace was frenzied, driven by the harsh soldiers they bore. Drawn swords glinted with evil winks in the light of torches. The ground shuddered with the approach of the horses, but the strath remained eerily silent. The orange glare of the torches stained the moonlight as the war band rode up the easy slope. Those within the cottage dreamt the peaceful dreams of the innocent as the soldiers set about their dark task.

1 Fire
uncle, Tantie! Angus shouted. He tramped around the cottage scanning the nearby hillsides. His searching gaze reflected the urgency in his voice. He glanced uneasily at what had been his home. The walls of stacked stone were strangely bare without roof, door, or windows. The fire had burned itself out, but smoke still bellowed up from within. The cottage stared back at Angus like a charred skull. Nuncle, Tantie! he called again, but in the growing light he could find no trace of his uncle or aunt. Angus, lad! The young shepherd turned and spied Father Gilfillan lumbering up the strath, the abbots walking stick carrying more of a burden than it should. Father Gilfillan was abbot at the Priory of Saint Fillan, several miles up the next glen, and was the cottages closest neighbor. I saw the smoke this dawn, the father said. Are you all right, son?

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Angus explained, I was up country with the sheep when I saw the fire last night. Ive only just arrived. Did my aunt and uncle make it to the priory? The abbots brow creased. Wait here, son. Father Gilfillan buried his mouth and nose in the sleeve of his cassock and stepped carefully within the burnt walls. Angus couldnt help himself and crept forward until he could peer through the doorway. The smoke stung his nose and eyes, and the bitterness made him choke. Everything within was a shade of black: piles of ash and charred stonethe indistinguishable remains of what he had called home. The abbot gingerly toed a small bit of metal with his sandal. The father stepped out through the doorway, swallowing a deep breath of clear air. He led Angus away from the smoking ruins and they sat in the grass. Angus, lad, Father Gilfillan said in a voice husky from the smoke, do you remember three years ago when your parents died from the wasting illness? How they slowly grew weaker and sicker? It wasnt easy watching it happen. The father
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brushed his eyes with the back of his hand. Son, your aunt and uncle are here. They never left the house. They went quickly, praise God for that. While the English pride themselves on their civility and gentility, Highlanders pride themselves on their toughness and their ability to adapt. In the year 1526, there was little that was civil or gentle about the Scottish Highlands. To survive, you had to be able to take changing circumstances in stride. Yet Angus was only eleven years. And in that short lifetime he had lost first his parents, and now his aunt and uncle. For the moment his elevenness overcame his toughness, and he sobbed in Father Gilfillans arms. Angus tears both started and stopped with the abruptness of a cloudburst. Afterward, he sat numbed by the emptiness that filled him. Hed lost his aunt and uncle in the fire, but hed also lost his daily routine and the motivation it carried. What mattered now? On whom could he rely? What would he do next? The abbot reached into his satchel and withdrew some smoked trout and an oatcake. Angus accepted the food in silence.

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You should go to your cousin Brian at Loch Dochart Castle, the abbot advised. Hell take you in and foster you well. Father Gilfillan helped himself to an oatcake. Youre a Macnab, Angus. As long as you have your clan, you have a family. The abbot arose. Come, Ill give you escort. Father Gilfillan started down the strath. But Father, well save an hours walk if we travel up country. Father Gilfillan chuckled and patted his ample belly. Ah, ladyou mistake me for a mountain goat. Hill walking is a sport of the young and nimble. Im neither. If you wish my company, itll have to be the long way around. Angus thought for a moment and seemed to reach a decision. Im all right, Father. Ill go through the bens. It will give me a chance to look in on the sheep. So be it, the abbot replied. Angus had started up the path when Father Gilfillan called to him. Son, do you remember your lessons? Angus turned. Which ones, Father? The events that took place when Saint Fillan first settled here.
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Angus knew the storyevery Macnab did. When Saint Fillan first came to Glen Fillan and set about clearing the land upon which hed build his priory, a wolf attacked his ox and killed it. Rather than kill the wolf in return, the saint allowed it to accept the yoke, which it wore, taking the oxs place. Fillan, in the old language, meant wolf. Aye, FatherI do. Very well. The abbot was thoughtful for a moment and then looked up with a warm smile. God go with you, my son.

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2 The Tipsy Badger

ngus was glad he chose the hilly path to Loch Dochart. There was no question he enjoyed the warmth of the hearth and a cooked meal, but he felt more at home sleeping under a craggy peak than anywhere else. The mountains were his world and as he climbed, it was as if each rock and each stone whispered comfort and sympathy to him. Bless the bens! he whispered back. His sheep were right where hed left them the night before. There was good grazing this high up Ben Lui, and the sheep wouldnt wander far on the steep slopes with such fine grass at hand. Nevertheless, he chanted a prayer of protection.

May Fillan watch over the flock, On ben, on glen, on strath. May Fillan protect the flock, Against eagle, against wolf, against fox. May Fillan preserve the flock, From injury, from sickness, from death.
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It was mid-afternoon before Angus descended the shoulders of Ben Ducraig, down into the village of Crianlarich. He was still two miles from Loch Dochart Castle, but Angus wanted to stop by the Tipsy Badger and have a word with Alan. Crianlarich sat at the crossroads of the main road that ran eastward through Glen Dochart to Killin, and the north-south route that continued up past the Priory of Saint Fillan to the Bridge of Orchy. Both roads were well used, so it was natural that Crianlarich had a howff, or pub, where travelers could pause for a mug of ale and share their news and gossip. As master of the Tipsy Badger, Alan Johnstone was one of the better-informed individuals in the area. Horses were thick around the Tipsy Badgers hitching post, but they werent the tired farm animals with which Angus was familiar. These beasts were muscular and alert. They bore expensive leather saddles strapped with gear and weapons. These were clearly soldiers horses, but the tartan on their saddle blankets wasnt the Macnab colors. Angus crept behind the building and carefully opened the back door. He stole into the kitchen, which was

deserted, but he could hear mens voices booming from the common room beyond. The volume suddenly increased, as the kitchen door swung inward and Alan backed into the room balancing a tray piled with bowls and plates. At the sight of Angus, Alans eyes widened. By my beard! he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Angus, you havent chosen the best time for a visit. Ive a room full of Campbells out there. And theyre in a right surly mood. Theres been a fire. Angus blurted. My aunt and uncle are dead. As he recited the details to Alan, and explained that Father Gilfillan had sent him to his cousin Brians for fostering, Angus could feel his earlier tears welling up within him. Alan, I dont Hush, son, Alan gently commanded. Theres been a spot of trouble. The Campbells have taken the castle at Loch Dochart. He looked Angus over. We cant have you wearing the clans colors, lad. If any of the Campbell men see you in that kilt youre as good as dead. Alan rummaged in a cupboard and withdrew a length of wool tartaned a somber brown. Wear

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this, he told Angus. And pack yours well out of sightits a death sentence. Angus removed his kilt reluctantly and buried it deep in his rucksack. He wrapped Alans wool around his waist, changing out of the Macnab red and green for the earth tones of the cloth hed been given. Hed always been proud to be a Macnab. He was unaccustomed to hiding the fact. We must tell the Laird so he can send a ransom for the prisoners, Angus urged. The Macnab treasury had ample gold. The Laird would have no difficulty paying the Campbells to free Brian and the other men of Loch Dochart Castle. Alan gazed into Angus eyes with a look of pain. There wont be a ransom, lad. There are no prisoners. These are the men of Black Duncan.

3 Black Duncan

he infamy of Black Duncan Campbell was known throughout the Highlands. How he ruthlessly murdered his cousin, Campbell of Cawdor, to gain leadership of the clan. How he boasted hed one day walk from the west shore of Scotland to the east shore, all on Campbell land. And how he coldly exterminated neighboring clans so that he might prove his boast. Aye, Alan agreed, Smooth John should be told, if he doesnt already know. Smooth John Macnab was Chief, or Laird, of Clan Macnab and he governed clan matters from his castle, Eilean Rn, in Killin. He was also Angus great-uncle. Just then the door to the common room flew open and a tall soldier in the green and blue kilt of a Campbell bellowed into the kitchen, Barman, we need more ale! With no warning, Angus received a staggering blow to his left ear that knocked him to his knees.
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Youre worthless as a scullery boy! Alan shouted. You think your job is to break my crockery, rather than wash it. Alan turned to the soldier and said in a far kinder voice, Coming, good sir! One moment, while I finish with this mangy cur. The instant the door closed, Alan helped Angus up. Im sorry, Angus! That was for your own protection. If you appear to have no value to me, theyll take no interest in you. Angus held his hand to the side of his head, but his thoughts werent of the ringing in his ear. There were rulesa code of conduct that soldiers followed. If you took a castle, you ransomed back the prisoners. You didnt butcher them! It seemed Black Duncan didnt care much for the rules. Angus, I cant leave the pub. You must carry word to the Chief. But, Alan warned, his gaze boring into the shepherd, you must take a care for yourself. If Black Duncan is fancying to claim Macnab lands as his own, he wont be leaving survivors behind to challenge his right. This is not a safe moment to bear the name Macnab. Angus swallowed as if a stone had lodged in his throat. The ringing was fading, but his mouth was suddenly dry.
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You cannot take the Dochart road, Alan advised. The Campbells will cover it like fleas on a mongrel. Go north. Up through Glenlochay. That path is less traveled. Alan insisted Angus spend the night and leave the next morning at first light. The soldiers will be up late drinking and boasting. Youll find nary a soul about come dawn. Theyll all be sleeping it off. Angus laid out his bedroll in the larder on the chance that a soldier might return to the kitchen. He lay in the dark breathing in the smells of ham, flour, onions, rosemary, and cheese. The larder was cramped and he missed the open night sky. It was as if the Campbells had taken even that away from him. Angus worried for his cousins soul. Father Gilfillan had said the soul peace together with Angus that morning, so Angus knew his aunt and uncle would find their way to God. But no one had said it for Brian and the families who lived with him in the castle. Would their souls find their way? Angus couldnt remember the prayers exact words, but he knew their intent. This he could do for his cousin.

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May Fillan meet their souls And guide them on their path, May Fillan speak to God And tell him who they are, May God grant them rest So they may be at peace. Satisfied, Angus took a deep breath of the ham and onion air and fell asleep.

4 Armed and Dangerous

ngus struggled up out of a troubled dream. At first the lack of a moon and stars disoriented him, and then he remembered he was in the larder. Come, its nearly dawn, Alan urged from the doorway. You should set on your way. Do what you can to avoid the Campbell soldiers. But if your path does cross theirs, act as humble as a servant. Theyre dangerous men and quick to take offense. They wont think twice about killing if it suits them. Go thencarry the news to the Macnab! Angus slipped out the kitchen door into the twilight that precedes dawn. The sun hadnt yet crested the peaks to the east, so the air still carried the nighttime chill of mid-August in the Highlands. Trusting thered be few abroad at this hour, his plan was to stick to the road for a mile westward and then climb up the narrow streambed, which would lead him northeast toward the River Lochay.

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He set out at a measured lope and made good time as the sky gradually lightened. He was only a furlong or so shy of the turnoff when he suddenly felt a rapid staccato tapping through the soles of his boots. A horse was galloping upon the road!

The boulder-strewn bank of the river was closer than the tree line of the forest to his right. Without breaking stride, Angus darted left and threw himself into the water, angling behind a large rock he hoped would conceal him. He pushed himself lower in the water as a soldier wearing the Campbell colors rode into view, driving hard toward Crianlarich.

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Angus tried to hush his labored breaths and avoid any motion that might draw the eye of either horse or rider. As soon as the soldier had passed, Angus climbed up out of the river. Dripping beside the road, he tried to hear if other soldiers might follow. Convinced that none did, he charged off at a sprint. After leaving the road, Angus climbed for another two hours and then rested by a mountain tarn that served as headwaters for the River Lochay. His mind wouldnt release the events of the past day. Brian and all within the castle at Loch Dochart were dead. More than dead. They were murdered. Brians men, but also the mothers, grandmothers, and wee children that lived there. Every soul. Nuncle would often praise the Macnabs fairness: how the Laird was just and wise. What would Smooth John do? What was the just and wise way to deal with murderers? The soldier Angus evaded had carried a mace. Its spiked and weighted head was intended to crush a mans skull or chest. Had the soldier crushed Angus kinsmen? The women and children? Angus was glad he wasnt clan Chief. He would have difficulty being just and wise.
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He continued along the forest track, following the stream that would eventually swell into the River Lochay. The waters gurgle, accompanied by the occasional warblers song, soothed Angus mind into numbness. Over the next several hours the streams impatient tumbling slowed and its banks widened as the trail gradually descended into the glen. Angus came upon the village of Glenlochay late in the afternoon. To call it a village was generous. It was little more than a small collection of cottages. It didnt see travelers with any frequency, but the grassy glen offered abundant grazing for sheep, and the rich soil along the river was ideal for growing crops. As Angus came among the houses, he was startled when a man on horseback rode out from behind one of the cottages. His free hand gripped a burning torch. You thereboy! Halt! he commanded. He was a Campbell.

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5 The Stones of Glenlochay

ngus was a shepherd. His experience was with sheep, not with soldiers and particularly not the Campbell kind, who regarded murder a pastime. If Angus had considered his actions rationally, hed have known he could never outrun a mounted soldier, that to try would only worsen his predicament. Unfortunately, the terror that filled him tossed aside any rational thinking, and he turned to flee. But with his first step, he ran hard into the flank of a horse. A second soldier had ridden up behind him! The new soldier grabbed a fistful of Angus hair with a fierce yank. Angus couldnt control the cry that escaped him. He would later notice the soldiers bear-like appearance: his hulking frame covered with an abundance of wiry dark hair. But at that moment he saw nothing beyond the bone that hung from the soldiers belt. It wasnt thick enough to be a cattle bone, but it was long. It had to be a human leg bone.

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And where might you be going? The soldiers voice was a low growl that dripped with menace. As the soldiers horse stamped in place, the mans firm grip on Angus hair kept pulling this way and that. Angus scalp was screaming. Yet, in his pain and fright he was able to remember Alans warning. Nowhere, boss. Angus prayed the men couldnt see the tremors he felt shimmying through his body. The horse . . . it just startled me. Whats your name? The large soldier gave another yank that brought tears to Angus eyes. Its Angus, boss. Angus . . . Johnstone. Any houses up that way? The soldier gestured up the path Angus had just descended. No, boss. That wasnt a lie, but if there had been homes higher up the glen, Angus still would have said no. A lit torch in broad day could only mean one thing. So you say. Yet youre coming from somewhere, you piece of lice. With his free hand, the soldier pressed the point of his sword hard into Angus Adams apple. When we finish here well drag you up and take a look. If youve been false, well gut you like a pig.
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Har! The soldier behind Angus laughed with a sniveling voice that came more through his nose than throat. We might just kills you anyway. Get on with it, Hatch, ordered the soldier who held Angus. Hatch came into view as he rode past Angus and raised his torch to the thatched roof of the nearest house. Damn it, Hatch! Thats not the waystart it low. The burly soldier shoved Angus away with such force, a handful of hair remained in the mans fist as the shepherd fell to the ground. While the soldier edged his horse toward Hatch, Angus scrambled behind a nearby cottage. With only one house between him and the soldiers, Angus knew theyd find him quickly. He dashed behind another house and found himself at the edge of the village. He had no choicehed have to cover the long, grassy rise to the edge of the forest before the soldiers overtook him. Angus sprinted up the side of the glen toward the cover of the trees as if the fairy folk pursued him. He heard the angry shout of the soldier who had grabbed his hair. And then he heard the
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soldiers triumphant cry. Angus knew hed been spotted. The forest drew closer, but how quickly would the soldiers horses cover the distance? Angus lungs burned for air and his legs begged a rest, but he didnt allow himself to slow. He plunged into the forest and ignored the whipping he took from the low branches. He had no sense of how close his pursuers were, but between one moment and the next he knew he was as good as caught if he continued on a straight course. He turned hard to the left and fled eastward. His eyes were wide with fright, and he understood the fear of the hare when pursued by the fox. Yet neither a boy, nor a hare, can run forever. And when his lungs and his legs could stand no more, Angus collapsed on the floor of the forest behind the trunk of a pine. He lay face down in the leaf litter, gasping great gulps of air and listening for the sounds of horses. Hours must have passed, but Angus didnt dare move until the days light began to fade. Even then, he crept silently to the edge of the forest to peer out. In the dimming light, a trail of smoke rose up

from what used to be Glenlochay. There were no lazy curls or eddies; the smoke climbed with purpose, hurrying up to heaven. Angus whispered the soul peace for the villagers of Glenlochay. The Campbells were keeping Saint Fillan busy. Angus hid among the trees until the sun had set. Not far past Glenlochay a circle of standing stones haunted the glen. The tall stones had stood for thousands of years, silent witnesses to a prehistoric time. The ring of stones had a sinister reputation and local folks avoided it; even horses shied if riders ventured too near. Angus would sleep within the stone circle. Whatever its reputation, it felt considerably more wholesome than the Campbells.

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6 The Macnab
hen Angus awoke the next morning, whispers of dreams on the verge of memory taunted him. No soldiers had troubled him during the night, and he was safe for the moment. That seemed as if it should be enough, but the nagging sense that something more was required wouldnt leave him. His encounter the previous afternoon convinced him of the dangers on the roadeven a lessertraveled path such as Glenlochays. He would journey up country today, over the eastern shoulder of Ben Chuil, and approach Killin from the safety of the high ground. It was a damp morning, and the air was thick with mist. Low clouds marched through the glen, shrouding the peaks of the nearby bens and casting the sky a glum twilight. The weather suited Angus mood.

A deep voice vibrated through Angus dreams that night, speaking over and over. At first, words werent discernableit was more a low rumble. But as it spoke again and again the rumbles formed into a message. The voice said, You are the last.

Castle Eilean Rn was the seat of Smooth John, the Macnab. Angus hadnt been to the castle since the last Gathering of the Clan, a year September.
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The Gathering was a two-day celebration sandwiched between the early harvest in August and the late harvest in October where the Macnabs and their septsfamilies of other names allied with the clanwould come together. There was nary a Macnab belly that wasnt stuffed to belching at a Gathering, and there was no occasion in the years calendar that brought greater solidarity and clan pride. Yet how many Macnabs would be left to gather at Eilean Rn this season? Each year at the Gathering, the Macnabs grandson, Callum, five years Angus senior, held court among the younger Macnabs. Callum swelled with the knowledge he would someday rise to the title of Laird himself, and he delighted in showing off the castles hidden passages, the unused dungeons, the finery within the treasuryanything mysterious or impressive found its way into Callums annual tour. Callum exuded confidence like a hypnotic aura, and Angus willingly played his role as loyal subject and awed cousin. Callum would turn sixteen years this summer and he was versed in weaponry. Would he be riding with the Macnab men to deal with the Campbells?

Angus trekked across the cloudy slopes of Ben Chuil throughout the morning. By the time he took his midday meal the mist had concentrated into a steady rain. He continued on for what might have been an hour longer when the ground began to fall before him, leading him down out of the clouds. Angus was anxious to pass his news to the Laird, and he felt relief that his mission would soon be over. Carrying word of the awful events was a burden that didnt sit comfortably. It was consoling to know that those better equipped to deal with this crisis would soon take charge. As the River Dochart flowed eastward, approaching Loch Tay, its rocky bed sluiced and channeled the water into a series of rapids and waterfalls known as the Dochart Falls. Amidst these, several outcroppings were large enough to form islands in the middle of the river. Eilean Rn stood upon one such island, connected to the shore by a stone bridge. Angus peered across at the castle from the edge of the forest. It was a goodly distance, but the young shepherd had sharp eyes able to spot an errant sheep high up a hillside. Angus didnt need

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to glance up to confirm that a Campbell banner flew from the tower, because even at this distance he could recognize the object that hung from the castle gate: it was the head of the Laird.

7 Innis Buie
ngus staggered deeper into the forest. He moved on instinct, simply trying to distance himself from the horror at Eilean Rn. His grief finally overcame his desire to run, and he collapsed at the foot of an oak, weeping through gasped breaths.

When Angus was eight years his parents had taken sick. First his father and then his mother. For months he watched them grow thinner and weaker. Early on, his father was unable to perform his chores. Later he lacked the strength to stand or walk. In the end he could only lie on his cot, unable to even turn himself. His skin hung like a wet rag over his protruding skeletonan empty husk of the man hed been. When his father died, his mother was only yet confined to a chair, but she and Angus both knew what would come. It would have been more merciful if his parents had passed together. Being powerless to heal his mother was far more terrible now, knowing what
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her future held. Yet, she never complained. She rarely troubled Angus for her own comfort, so he desperately asked if she wanted some food, a drink, a pillow. His mind raced trying to anticipate what might bring her ease. As she grew too weak to move her head, she had him turn her so she could gaze at him. In a hoarse whisper she crooned, My son. My son. You are my son. Angus stormed Saint Fillan with prayers. Would the saint heal her? Would he make her strong again? Would he speak to God for her: that she not die; that she recover? He would never tell another falsehood. He would say prayers and blessings three times a day. He would follow all of Father Gilfillans teachings. He would make himself pleasing to God in every way he could imagine. Maybe even thinking up some new ways that God hadnt yet imagined. Please? Just please dont let her die! Father Gilfillan explained to Angus that Gods plan isnt one we can always understand; that you cant expect him to give you what youve asked for, simply because youve prayed with passion.

On the morning she died, Father Gilfillan explained that Angus mother and father were now together with God and Saint Fillan, and that was a wonderful thing. Angus shouldnt feel sad for them. But Angus did feel sad: a sadness broader and deeper than Loch Tay; an emptiness heavier than all the rock of Ben Lui; and a fear that coursed more fiercely than the Dochart Falls. He was alone. Kneeling on the forest floor, weeping harder than the rain, all of those memories flooded back. Father Gilfillan had said that as long as Angus had his clan, he had a family. But now he had neither. Innis Buie was the ancient burial grounds of Clan Macnab. Similarly to Eilean Rn, Innis Buie sat on an island below the Dochart Falls. An ancient stone bridge led to the isle. The isle was wooded with a clearing in the center where tombstones marked the Macnabs who slept beneath. A large stone sepulcher, flanked on either side by a stately pine, held the bodies of the clan Chiefs. All, that is, except Smooth Johns. Even Angus parents rested

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in Innis Buie. The Laird had come for their burial. All the Macnabs had come. The Laird told Angus that the Macnabs look after their own and that he would ensure Angus didnt want for any need. Angus stumbled over the stone bridge to Innis Buie. No Campbells would come hereMacnab spirits guarded over the burial grounds. Angus found the cross that marked his parents grave and cradled himself in the grass at its base. He just wanted to be with his people. The voice returned to Angus dreams that night. But this time it had more to say. Over and over, it rumbled, You are my son. I shall give you a brother and a sister. A brother and a sister.

8 The Millers Wife

he feel of sunlight on his cheek pulled Angus up out of a deep sleep. Not fully awake, he noted a warm softness covering his left hand. It reminded him of his mothers dress when he would sleep beside her as a wee child. His face eased into a smile. He opened his groggy eyes to see a nut-brown ball of fur nestled on his hand. Startled, but curious, he tried to hold still and not snatch his hand back. However, he must have moved, because a slender muzzle with intelligent, black eyes poked up and peered at him. Its creamcolored throat and chest, with cream splashes inside its ears, were unmistakable: it was a pine marten. The

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marten uncurled its sinuous body and stretched without apparent fear. Angus likewise sat up and stretched, and was surprised by the bold stare of a goshawk looking down at him from a stone cross. Good morning, Angus called. That the hawk didnt take flight surprised him. The presence of the hawk and marten heartened Angus. Father Gilfillan had taught that when the animals of the forest are tame around a person, theyre acknowledging that persons respect for the earth. In Saint Fillans time, wild animals often approached the saint. Angus face eased into a smile. The goshawk, a fierce hunter, seemed content to offer Angus its companythis was surely what Father Gilfillan had meant. Angus looked down to greet the pine marten and his smile vanished. The martens hindquarters and tail were sticking out of his rucksack. Thats mine! he shouted. He grabbed the
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rucksack away from the pine marten. It cocked its head and gazed at him with raspberry stains on its lips. Angus store of food had been running low. As he rummaged through his rucksack he found that the marten had been quick and efficient: now he had none. Of the families that lived in Killin, Angus best knew the millers. Donald Macandeoir ran the gristmill situated on the River Dochart just below the falls. The mill was close to Innis Buie and Angus knew he could trust the Macandeoirs, so he crossed the bridge and hurried down the road. The mill was a three-story building with a giant water wheel that dipped down into the river. Beside it stood the Macandeoirs cottage, where the miller lived with his wife, Nessa, and Robert, their son of eight years. Angus knocked on the cottage door. The door opened a crack and then suddenly it was pushed wide. Nessa Macandeoir pulled Angus into her home with startling urgency, shutting the door behind her. Saint Fillans stones! she exclaimed. Angus Macnabwhat are you doing here? Where did you come from? Her wide eyes held a look hed
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seen in rabbits eyes after theyd been snared and knew they were headed for the soup pot. Bless the saint that youre not wearing the clans colors, she added. Missus Macandeoir, may I please speak with your husband? Angus asked. Her eyes welled with tears. Alas, no lad. Im sorry. Black Duncan and his soldiers have taken over Eilean Rn. Theyre not gentle men, and theyve killed all the Macnabs they could lay hands on. Im sorry, Angus, but the Laird is dead. Angus nodded slowly. I know, mum. Theyve also taken the castle at Loch Dochart. And they killed my aunt and uncle. I only survived because I was up country with the sheep. I came to bring word to the Macnab, but his head hangs from the castle gate. Thats why I wanted to speak to your husband. Oh lad, she hugged Angus and held him close. Her apron smelled of lavender. He could feel the soft taps as her tears struck his shoulder. They killed Donald and wee Robert. The miller and his sonand they werent even Macnabs! He hugged her back. Im so sorry, mum.

9 The Price of Flour

hey held each other in silence until long after Nessas tears subsided. Angus hadnt forgotten his hunger, but after having witnessed the death of her husband and young son, would the millers wife care about Angus dilemma? He couldnt even offer to buy the foodhe had no coins. Missus . . . Missus Macandeoir . . . Angus, you may call me Nessa. Yes, mum. She lifted his chin with her forefinger. Her hazel eyes, red and puffy, held a sad smile as she gazed into his brown, questioning eyes. Yes, whom? she chided. Yes . . . Nessa, he answered. He stared down at his hill boots not knowing how one politely begs for food. Before he could frame his question, she laid an arm around his shoulders and led him to a chair. Angus, lad, weve both suffered at the hands of evil men. Theres nothingnothing I wouldnt do for
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you if I could. I dont bear the name Macnab, but the Macandeoirs have always been a sept loyal to the Laird. She paused as if to consider an idea. Son, if Black Duncan was as thorough as I suspect, and youre the last Macnab, you are now the Laird. That was more than Angus could fathom. He felt overwhelmed by his hunger, the recent events, and their implications; now it was his turn to cry. Through his tears he blurted, Mum, I just want some food, please! Oh, Angus! Nessa held him tightly, rocking gently back and forth, just as his mother had once held him. His aunt and uncle rarely demonstrated their emotions. They were decent, hard-working folks, but they werent his mother and father. Nessa finally released him and set about preparing his breakfast. She explained how she had no meat. The soldiers had taken all her pigs and goats. They overlooked the chickens, so she could offer him an egg. And a miller is never without flour, she joked, as she tore him a healthy crust of wholegrain bread. Angus was famished, but he tried to use his manners and eat at what his aunt wouldve called a

civil pace. Nessa was quiet while he ate. She offered him more bread, which he readily accepted Tantie never made bread this fine. He longed to ask for another egg, but he didnt know how many chickens Nessa had or how often they laid, so when she offered he politely declined. After he finished she cleared his plate. But while Angus was feeling better for having eaten, Nessa was looking more worn. Angus . . . She paused as if unsure what she wanted to say. Or perhaps she knew, but she wasnt quite sure how to say it. Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to have you stay here with me. She gazed down at the wooden floor for a moment, and then directly into Angus eyes. But its very dangerous right now. And certainly not a place for you to be found. Those soldiers didnt hesitate. They rode right up to my husband and ran a sword through his chest. Her voice broke and her eyes glistened, but Nessa continued as if telling her story was her only way to fight back. One of the foot soldiers swung his halberd at Roberts neck as if engaging in a sport. Despite Nessas effort to check her grief, a small animal

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sound escaped her. I buried his head with his body. An awkward silence fell. Angus, theyll be back tomorrow. They threatened to torch the buildings if I dont have two barrels of flour milled for them. This is no place for the last Macnab.

10 Mysterious Bounty
ngus struggled to absorb this latest news. If they did that, where would you live? he asked. If I dont have the flour, theyll kill me first and then burn the mill. Nessa was rightthey would kill her. Angus was having difficulty thinking like a Campbell. You will have the flour for them . . . wont you? he asked. Nessa sighed. The lever that adjusts the millstones has jammed, and I cant free it. Ill help you, Angus offered. Together we can do it. Nessa shook her head. No, its too dangerous for you here. He shook his head with stony resolve. Im not leaving until you have two barrels of flour. Nessa nodded. I know that look. My Robert would get it when a stubborn mood came over him. She seemed to give in. Very well, let us see if we can mill some flour.

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Angus followed Nessa across to the mill and they climbed up to the second floor. The millstones were two massive circular stones, nearly as wide as Angus was tall. One sat above the other, and the upper stone turned by the action of the water wheel. The grains of wheat were crushed between the stones, yielding flour and chaff. Much of the art of milling was in the fine adjustment of the narrow gap between the stones. This controlled the coarseness of the flour and also allowed the chaff to separate properly. It was this adjustment lever that had jammed. Nessa showed Angus the lever, and sure to her word it was stuck fast. If, together, they lacked the strength to release the lever, perhaps there was another way . . . When clearing new land to farm, Angus uncle often had to contend with moving boulders many times his own weight. His uncle possessed a genius for levers and pulleys and other ways to maximize mechanical effort. And in watching his uncle work through a problem, Angus had picked up some of his tricks. Angus toured the different floors of the mill, observing what tools and equipment he might
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employ, and a plan slowly came to him. The mills water wheel turned a long horizontal shaft on the first floor that led to a set of gears. The gears drove a vertical shaft that ran up to the second floor and turned the millstone. Pulleys hung from the third-floor ceiling that allowed bags of grain to be hoisted up to the millstones and bags of flour to be lowered back down through trap doors. Angus tied a rope to the end of the frozen leverfrozen in the up positionand led it down through the trap door to the ground floor. He then guided it under the horizontal shaft coming off the water wheel, and ran the rope all the way up to the third floor. There, he threaded it through a pulley and pulled it snug. He backed off the rope, giving himself a few feet of slack, and was ready. Angus stood over the trap door, grasping the rope tightly. He took a steadying breath and then jumped down through. He nearly lost his grip when the rope jerked taut, but then an instant later he dropped another six inches as the lever sprung free. Oh, you lovely boy! Nessa beamed with what was likely her first smile in days. She helped Angus
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down out of midair and planted a kiss on his forehead. They worked together through the rest of the day, Nessa overseeing the proper grinding of the wheat, and Angus learning the duties of a mill boy. By the time the sun was low on the horizon theyd ground the two barrels of flour the Campbells would come claiming on the morrow. Angus, would you stay and share what little dinner I can offer? As Nessa locked up the mill, Angus noted the moon had risen and was full tonight. A full moon was believed to bring good fortune. Angus hoped it proved so tomorrow when the Campbell soldiers called. Come, lad, lets say a prayer over Donalds and Roberts graves before we go in. She led Angus behind the cottage. There he saw two mounds of freshly dug earth, one longer than the other. But that wasnt what caught Angus attention. A dead hare rested on the millers grave. On his sons grave lay a dead grouse. Someone had left them freshly caught game!

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11 Pip
rateful, although baffled over whod left the game, Nessa set about preparing their dinner. Angus said little while she dressed the meat and cooked the meal. He replied to her questions with short answers, as if preoccupied. When they sat down to eat, Angus fidgeted with the food on his plate and then looked up into Nessas expectant eyes. Missus . . . I mean, Nessa, he stammered. I should stay here with you. When the soldiers come tomorrow they can speak to me. Youll be safer if I give them the flour. As Angus spoke, Nessas eyes widened. Angus Macnab, when those soldiers come youll be nowhere near this mill. I can deal with the soldiers, he argued. Nessa shook her head. Angus, think about what the Campbells have already done. Theyll kill you the moment they see you. Youd be throwing your life away.

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But they killed my aunt and uncle and I let it happen. I should have been there. His voice choked. Loch Dochart Castle and Eilean Rnall lost. And all Ive done is run from the Campbells like a scared rabbit. He lifted his chin in defiance. Someone has to stand up to them. Someone has to make them pay! Angus, justice and revenge are not the same thing. Nessa reached across the table and laid her hand over his. And justice, at the moment, is not our priority. In Smooth Johns absence we must see to our own protection, since he cannot. Thats more important right now. She drilled Angus with an expression that brooked no argument, yet her voice was rich with concern and compassion. Go back to Innis Buie tonight. Youre safe there. I want your word youll stay there tomorrow. Nessa raised a finger to cut off Angus attempted protests. Ill be fine with the soldiers, thanks to your help today. The flour is what they want, not me. She squeezed Angus hand. Now give me your word. Angus reluctantly agreed and they finished their meal. Before Angus left, Nessa packed his rucksack with meat, boiled beets, and a loaf of bread.
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Angus laid out his bedroll back at Innis Buie. He had barely shut his eyes when something brushed his cheek. He fanned his hand across his face, trying to shoo the pest, but the fluttering returned. Go away, he mumbled. He swept his hand over his face again. Arrived. Here. Yes, here. Macnab. Here, here, here. Im here. The voice was a soft squeak. Nearly inaudible. At first Angus thought he dreamt it. But the wisps against his skin were real, and he sat up and opened his eyes. A pair of pale green wings with curling tails bounced in the air before him, luminous in the moons glow.

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I love the night. Love it. Mysterious, miraculous, mine. Love it. Love, love, the luna moth squeaked. How can you talk? Angus demanded. Because I must teach you. Teach. Train. And I doubt, doubt, dont believe youd understand moth, luna moth pheromones, it answered. Angus had to lean forward and concentrate to understand the moth. I can barely hear you. You expect a lot, lot, lot from a moth.

Angus shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming. What do you want? Learning. You must learn. Much to learn. Little time. Not much. One night. The moth fluttered closer to Angus left ear, which made it easier to hear, although now he couldnt see its hoppity flight. Youre the last. Last keeper. No more. None. Its tiny voice piped. It went on. Full. Luna. Very full. Grande. Full, full. Full of power. Full of magic. Angus could no long hear the soft wingbeats, so he looked to his left and was surprised to see the moth was gone. He glanced up and down searching for it, and he jumped when the voice squeaked into his right ear. Train you. Teach, teach. Little time. Full, full moon. One night. What is it you must teach me? Macnab. Keep, keep, keep. Last. Fini. Angus ground his teeth. Youre not making any sense. Who sent you? The force of air from his question blew the moth backward. Spirit. Earth, earth. Mother. Spirit. How about a name, he pushed.
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Name? Name? Pip. My name is Pip. Pip, Pip, Pip. Me. Pip? Angus repeated. Names. Other names. Yann, Yann, Yann. Tethera. Yann. Angus frustration flared. I have no idea what youre talking about! Luna, luna. Setting luna. Hurry. Pip was flitting about more anxiously. Learn. learn. Tethera. Yann. Find, find, find the staff. The staff. Hurry. It was getting more difficult to see the fretful moth. There was less lightthe moon must be near to setting. The staff. The staff. Hurry, little time. Find the staff. Pips voice was growing more distant, and the night was swallowing the scant light that remained. From the darkness came one last squeak, but it was so faint, Angus wasnt sure if he heard it correctly. It sounded like, Find, find, find.

12 Tethera and Yann

ngus dreamt that he was suffocating. Had the Campbells set fire to the building? Was the smoke choking his lungs? He gulped for air, but he still couldnt breathe. Gasping, he awoke from his dream to find thick fur blanketing his nose and mouth. Pushing the fur aside, he realized it was a brown tail and it extended from his rucksack, which hed been using as a pillow. What are you doing? Angus yelled, though he knew exactly what the pine marten was doing. He wondered if there was any food left for his breakfast. It wriggled backward out of the rucksack and stared at him with a greasy mouth. I was hungry. Who . . .? Angus looked about trying to identify the speaker. The pine marten cocked its head and continued to gaze at Angus. Me. I answered your question.

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Angus shook his head. He wasnt hearing a voice. The words were spoken in his mind. He peered at the marten. You? Yes. How are you doing this? Angus demanded. Its simple. You ask a question, and I answer it. You didnt speak yesterday morning. You didnt ask any questions. This is ridiculous. How can I be talking to a pine marten? Last night you had little difficulty talking to a moth. You heard that? It was hard to miss. You were shouting. And the moth wasnt the one hard of hearing. Who was he? A luna moth. I know that. I mean who was he? A luna moth. Angus huffed a sigh of exasperation. He grabbed his rucksack. And keep out of my food! I caught it. Caught what? I caught the hare. Yann captured the grouse. Whos Yann?
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The goshawk from the previous morning glided down out of a nearby pine and landed on a gravestone close to the marten. Its gold eyes stared at Angus. I am Yann. Yann . . . that was one of the nonsense words Pip kept repeating. Yann . . . and . . . Tethera, Angus recalled. Yes? The pine marten answered. This is crazy, Angus said, animals talking in my head. Not all animals, Yann corrected. Just us. Why you? Yann continued, We are your . . . companions. Your brother and sister. Who told you that? Angus demanded. The pine marten interrupted. The Spirit of the Earth, of course.

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13 Getting Acquainted

he weasel is impertinent, Yann said. The weasel is hungry, Tethera complained. Angus dug through his rucksack. Shed eaten all the meat, most of the beets, and a third of the loaf of bread. Thats hard to believe, he said, since you left so little. Im always hungry, she stated. He tore a heel of bread for himself. I suppose you expect me to share whats left with you. Yann and Tethera answered simultaneously. Yann said, We are the wild creatures of the earth, not pets. We can feed ourselves. Tethera said, Yes please! Angus scowled at the pine marten. He nevertheless tossed her a small crust of bread. There was comfort having companions, even if one was a pine marten and the other was a hawk. The young shepherd found himself sharing his concerns with his new friends. I hope Nessas all right today. He sighed. We could watch her for you, Yann suggested.
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Angus looked up. What do you mean? We could be your eyes and ears, Yann replied. The hawk launched skyward, sweeping his wings with explosive pulls of force. His grey-striped underbody rose quickly through the trees. Angus stood and craned his neck to follow the goshawk as he climbed toward the clouds. Prepare yourself, Yann said. Before Angus could wonder what that meant, he staggered with vertigo as his vision shifted. He was suddenly looking down from a great height. The ground was far below, yet Angus felt no sense that he was falling. He realized he was seeing through Yanns eyes. He focused his attention on the panorama beneath him. He marveled at the keenness of Yanns vision. He was high enough to survey the peaks of the neighboring bens, and view a great distance along the road between Killin and Crianlarich. And yet, gazing downward at the river isle of Innis Buie, his sight was so sharp he could see his own self standing up and gazing skyward in awe. Thats sufficient, Yann announced. Angus reeled as his own vision returned to him.

I can do that, Tethera chimed. Before his equilibrium had a chance to recover, Angus vision once again shifted. This time he was looking up at himself from a perspective close to the ground. He could see his head still upraised, gazing toward the sky. Angus willed his head to turn downward, but his perspective didnt alter. He continued to gaze up from the ground and he watched his head swing down until his vision locked on his own eyes. Suddenly released from the pine martens view, Angus stomach rebelled. He dropped to the ground clutching his belly as he resisted the urge to vomit. As the wave of nausea passed, Yann landed on a nearby gravestone. You must learn to speak with us, however, Yann told him. Im speaking with you now. Youre speaking out loud, the hawk said. If separated, we wont hear you. You must speak in our minds. How do I do that? Angus asked. Form a picture of us and then phrase your sentence mentally, Yann explained. Angus tried to do as instructed, but he had

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difficulty forming a clear enough picture of either animal. After several attempts he tried a different approach: he spoke their names in his mind. Tethera, Yann, can you hear me? Yann replied, If you dont wish to mumble, you must enunciate your question more clearly. Angus again thought their names. Sorry. I heard you fine, Tethera announced.

14 The Soldiers Return

he sun was high overhead as Angus paced the burial grounds, constantly peering skyward trying to catch a glimpse of the

goshawk. Yann, whats happening? Can you see the mill? Are the soldiers there? The hawk replied, Nothing has changed since you asked a few minutes ago. Tethera, where are you? Have you made it to the mill? Im inside a rotting log, the marten replied. Why? Angus asked. Because its filled with tasty grubs. Tethera, please continue on to the mill! Angus felt small and defenseless. And if he was crouched in fear from the relative safety of Innis Buie, how must Nessa be feeling? There had to be something he could do.

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He held his eyes tightly shut. May Fillan give us strength, Please speak to God and make him listen!

It was just after midday when Yann reported that a pair of horsemen rode out from Eilean Rn. They turned up river after crossing the bridge from the castle. Tethera, where are you? Angus asked. Im at the mill, the pine marten replied. Angus vision suddenly swam with an orangishbrown blur flecked with white.

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Youre in Nessas hen house! I just love eggs. Leave those chickens aloneyou cant steal the eggs! The woman does, Tethera said. Theyre her eggs. No, Tethera argued, theyre the chickens eggs. Tethera, stop bothering those chickens. Yann, what are the soldiers doing? Theyre headed to the mill, Yann answered. Tethera, can you climb a tree? Im an excellent climber. Goodheres what I want you to do . . .

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Follow Angus south in The Strath of Death, book two in The Wolfs Apprentice series.

Gloss of Terms

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Ben

A Scottish word for mountain.

Gloss

An explanatory note included with a text or manuscript.

Cassock

A long-sleeved, floor length gown worn by an abbot or priest, often with a rope or sash tied around the waist.

Halberd Howff Jamb Keep

A long-handled pole arm fitted with an axe blade.

Claymore

A Scottish word for pub or tavern.

A Scottish two-handed sword.

Crozier (Pronounced crow-zure)

The vertical posts in a door frame.

A staff with a curve or bend at the end, carried by an abbot or priest as a symbol of office. It represents a shepherds staff.

The stronghold of a castle.

Cuirass Dirk

An armored, sleeveless breastplate.

Laird

A Scottish word for lord, as in lord of the manor or clan.

A long-bladed dagger.

Larder Lintel

Furlong Glen

A pantry used for storing food.

A unit of distance equal to 1/8 mile, or 220 yards.

The horizontal beam that tops a door frame.

A Scottish word for valley, steeper walled than a strath. =174< =175<

Loch

(Pronounced lock) The Scottish word for lake.

Pommel

The rounded knob at the base of a sword hilt, usually weighted to help counterbalance the weight of the blade. The pommel can be used as a crushing weapon.

Scullery

A smaller room in a kitchen used primarily for dishwashing.

Gloss of Weapons

Sept

A family allied with a particular clan, but possessing a different name than the clan. (For instance, the Macandeoirs are a sept of Clan Macnab.)

Strath

A Scottish word for valley, broader and more open than a glen.

Tarn

A small mountain lake.

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A - Short Sword

The short sword, or sword, evolved from the Roman gladius and was the primary weapon of most medieval armies. It was a single-handed sword, two to two-anda-half feet long. It could be used in a slash attack, but it was more commonly used in a thrust attack. When used with a sturdy shield, it allowed a soldier to slip within his enemys weapon arc and deliver a quick, fatal stab.

B - Mace

The mace was a specialized blunt instrument used to bludgeon ones opponent. It was two to two-anda-half feet long with either a wooden or metal handle and a heavy, round metal head, sometimes spiked. Maces had a swing attack where the goal was to crush an enemy with the weighted head of the weapon. Spikes allowed better penetration of armor, but because of the weight of the head, a crushing blow from a mace could seriously wound or kill an enemy without penetrating his armor. Maces were favored by warrior priests and monks who believed that if they must kill in battle, it was holier to do so without shedding blood.

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C - Halberd

The halberd was an axe on a stick, and was a popular weapon among Highland soldiers. The seven-to-nine-foot shaft was typically of a hard wood like oak or ash, since a shaft splitting or breaking during battle could be lethal. Halberds were a foot soldiers weapon. While they could be carried on horseback, a soldier wouldnt wield a halberd from a horse. The halberd had a swing attack and was an effective foot weapon against mounted soldiers. Halberds often had a spike at the tip of the shaft and one on the backside of the axe blade, which provided a secondary pierce attack with either a forward jab or backswing.

also made it difficult for an enemy to close in within the reach of his own weapon. The area at the base of a swords blade, just before the blade meets the hilt, is known as the ricasso. On a claymore the ricasso was typically left unsharpened and sometimes even wrapped in leather. If a soldier needed more control in close fighting, he could choke up on the blade with one hand on the grip and his other on the ricasso. This is how a claymore wouldve been used in a thrust attack.

D - Claymore

The claymore was the weapon most strongly associated with Highland soldiers throughout history. It was a massive two-handed sword often five to six feet in length. The claymore had three forms of attack. The most common form was a swing attack. Taking advantage of the heavy weight of the blade, a soldier would swing the sword overhead at an enemy before him and gravity would do the rest. A claymore swung in this fashion could easily cleave through shield and armor. The length of the blade =180<

By reversing his wrists, a soldier could use the weighted pommel of the hilt in a crush attack, bringing the pommel down on the head of his enemy.

E - Dirk

The dirk was another Scottish weapon. It was a long dagger with a shortened sword blade mounted on a daggers hilt. The slim blade was typically between twelve to eighteen inches in length. The hilt lacked a guard and the grip was usually of wood. Dirks symbolized a Highland warriors bravery and stature, and unlike other knives, they were never =181<

used for domestic chores, such as skinning a hare or gutting a fish. Rather, the ornately decorated hilt and scabbard were worn proudly on the soldiers right hip. Theyre still worn with formal attire in Scotland today. The dirk had a thrust attack and a slash attack, but because of the blades short reach, it was most commonly used in close hand-to-hand combat or in a stealth attack.

A graduate of Dartmouth College, Julie Hahnke is a competitive bagpiper and she descends from Clan Macnab. Already plagued by a neighborhood coyote, her two cats refuse to allow her to associate with pine martens or goshawks at home. She lives in Eastern Massachusetts. This is her second novel.

Marcia Christensen is a water-color artist who has exhibited widely throughout the United States and has won many awards for her work. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband Jim and small Pomeranian, Winka. Her grandson Ben was the model for Angus.

www.wolfsapprentice.com
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Fantasy

$12.95

THE GREY GHOST The Wolfs Apprentice series Julie Hahnke Marcia Atkinson Christensen 978-1-933002-98-9 $12.95, casebound, 208 pp. Ages 8-12 May Marketing: Regional author publicity in New England, including print review and feature campaign Regional author tour in New England Interviews, events and high resolution images are available. For all media queries please contact Carol Corbett: 603-772-7200, Carol@PublishingWorks.com. Note to Reviewers: This copy is not final and changes will be made before the book is printed. If any material from the book is to be quoted in a review, please check it against the text in the final bound book available in April 2009. To Place an Order: Please call 1-800-738-6603 or fax POs to 603772-1980 or email Carol@PublishingWorks.com. UNCORRECTED PROOF SPECIAL ADVANCED READING COPY NOT FOR SALE PROPERTY OF PUBLISHINGWORKS, INC. FURTHER INFORMATION ON COPYRIGHT PAGE