Spook’s: Dark Assassin (The Starblade Chronicles)

by Joseph Delaney

  I had come to Malkin Tower not only to be with Alice but to help to defend it against the Kobalos. It would have been hard for them to breach its defences. Was this attack the best option? I wondered. Who knew what forces would oppose us? I wasn’t prepared to throw my life away on some foolish doomed assault – although there was no point in staying trapped inside the tower. The Malkins had left a small force to defend it, but there were probably still zanti lurking below; if this attack failed, they would eventually break through the door.

  Malkin Tower was located just within the Devil’s Triangle; at its northern apex lay the village of Bareleigh, home of the Mouldheels; to the southeast was Roughlee, home of the Deanes. We were now heading southwest towards Goldshaw Booth, which formed the third point of that dark triangle, and soon left the trees of Crow Wood behind. When I glanced back, I could still see the tower rising above them.

  The Malkins had sprinted across the clearing into the trees, brandishing weapons, shrieking and shouting defiance, expecting a battle. But any enemies hiding there had already withdrawn, so now we slowed down and trudged across the soggy ground towards Goldshaw Booth. The Malkin force was still being led by Makrilda; meanwhile I stayed to the rear of the main band of witches.

  By now the moon had set, and to the east the sky was already growing lighter. The vast bulk of Pendle Hill obscured most of the heavens to our right. Soon I estimated that we were approaching the village. There was no sign of campfires ahead, but there was smoke in the air; I could taste it in the back of my throat.

  In the distance I could hear what sounded like the occasional boom of thunder coming from the direction of Burnley … or was it the firing of a big eighteen-pounder gun? There was a barracks in Burnley. Maybe County soldiers were fighting the Kobalos there.

  As we approached the village, we saw bodies lying on the ground – so many that we had to pick our way through them. These were Malkin witches who had died defending their village, but I realized that there were an equal number of dead Kobalos warriors, and even more zanti.

  The Kobalos mages had sought to end the magical threat posed by the Pendle witches and had gone some way towards achieving that aim. The force of surviving Malkins – those able to fight and wield dark magic – had been vastly reduced, but they still had their coven of thirteen.

  Then, ahead of us, I heard shrieks – and the unmistakable sounds of battle. The Malkin vanguard had engaged the enemy.

  I started to move forward through the press of witches. When I reached the fighting, I put down my bag and staff and pulled the Starblade from its scabbard – just in time to face the first of the zanti. I started slicing and stabbing, with devastating effect.

  Soon I became lost in the moment, cutting and parrying, moving steadily forward, hearing the clash of weapons and the screams of the wounded and dying. I saw Makrilda ahead and to my left, fighting with efficient fury. I doubted whether she was the equal of Grimalkin, but I could not deny that she was forcing the enemy back. In time, who knew what she might achieve?

  But first she had to survive this battle.

  At first we seemed to be winning, steadily driving the Kobalos and zanti back, but then, very suddenly, things changed.

  All at once my limbs felt as heavy as lead and I could barely draw breath. Immediately I knew that dark magic was being used against us. It was like an avalanche rushing down a mountainside, threatening to crush and overturn everything in its path.

  I had experienced a similar feeling at the Battle of the Wardstone. So powerful was the magic used against us then that for a while not one member of our force, which included many witches, had been capable of taking a step forward. But seventh sons of seventh sons have a degree of immunity against dark magic. My master, John Gregory, had managed to resist the spell first, and soon he’d been joined by Grimalkin. They’d fought back to back until he was slain. Separated in the press of battle, I hadn’t even seen him fall.

  The effect was similar now. I felt the blast of dark magic forcing me back. I was in no immediate danger because I was gripping the Starblade; but I glanced about me and saw the strained, twitching faces of the Malkins. Some were attempting to mutter counterspells, but their eyes were bulging, their skin stretched tightly across their cheeks as if they were braving a gale-force wind.

  I saw that Makrilda was in serious trouble. A huge warrior, clad in full armour but for the helmet, was driving her backwards. She was still able to fight, but her blows were lethargic and weak. I knew that, hobbled by Kobalos magic, she would soon fall victim to the whirling sabres.

  Then I realized that the Kobalos before her was far more than just a warrior. His face was shaven: he was a mage and, judging by his size, almost certainly a High Mage.

  Was this Balkai? I wondered. Was he the source of the blast of power that had stalled our advance?

  CHAPTER 25

  THE PORTAL

  GRIMALKIN

  I STOOD BESIDE Thorne and once more combined the power of the cauldron with the power that lay within me. The four paths slowly began to spin. Soon they were whirling by so fast that I could hardly distinguish them. For a while there were many more than four.

  This was the hardest thing I had ever attempted with the cauldron. This time I needed access to two places.

  At last it was done. Ahead of me, at the end of the path, I could see the towers of the castle in Polyznia; when I turned to gaze in the opposite direction, through the trees, I spotted the dark tower in Cymru.

  Then I turned once more and took the path towards Polyznia.

  Reaching Earth was easier this time. There was hardly any pain – just a mild discomfort that passed in seconds. I wondered if it might be because I had spent time inuring myself to pain of all kinds. When I was alive, I’d even managed to ignore the constant agony of the silver pin that had held my shattered leg together. Perhaps I had carried that strength across into the dark with me? If so, that training had served me well.

  Whatever the cause, the result was good. Previously, the moment when I landed on Earth had been very dangerous in my debilitated state. Now I could appear and immediately strike swiftly at my enemies, whatever the situation.

  I reached the edge of the trees, and stood gazing at the castle that had once belonged to Prince Stanislaw. He was dead, slain in battle, and it was now in the hands of the Kobalos.

  It was dark; a cloudy night with no stars or moon visible. However, the green tinge meant that I could see clearly, every detail more vivid than when I’d gazed upon this scene with living eyes. This castle, I remembered, was hard to defend, and had been used as a hunting lodge; here Prince Stanislaw had entertained his nobles. As the first Kobalos crossed the Shanna River, it had been abandoned.

  Few of the enemy were in sight; half a dozen warriors stood guard before the main entrances. Of course, the Kobalos front line was hundreds of miles to the south and most of their soldiers would be stationed there. They probably assumed that this castle, deep behind their lines, was safe from threat.

  Now I would try to implement Lukrasta’s plan.

  The tallest of the castle’s turrets was my objective. That was where the portal to the lair of Talkus was located. I quickly became an orb, and soared above the trees towards that turret. Passing through the ancient stones, I found myself at the top of a spiral of stone steps facing a heavy wooden door. To my surprise, it was open, hanging from its hinges. Someone had forced their way in. I knew that Jenny had locked it after leaving. So who had done this? I wondered.

  I returned to my human shape, drew a long blade, then stepped through the doorway and entered a small antechamber containing a table and chairs covered in a thick layer of dust. The portal lay beyond the next door, which had also been forced open. As I entered the larger room, I saw that apart from the two bodies lying in the entrance – no doubt Kobalos soldiers who had blundered in looking for loot – it was exactly as Jenny had described it to me. The bodies were dry and shrivelled, the flesh burned to the bone in plac
es. They had been blasted by the Targon, the guardian of the portal.

  This chamber had once been someone’s luxurious living quarters, but the damp had spoiled it. Water dripped from the ceiling, and the saturated carpets were dark with mould. Four couches surrounded what appeared to be a dark well. This was the portal to the domain of Talkus.

  Jenny had described how a wine glass standing on top of the stones around the portal had appeared to fill with red wine, seemingly out of thin air, with not even a ghostly hand visible – though the stench that filled the room told her that it was blood, not wine. The glass had toppled down into the darkness, and she had waited to hear the splash … but it had never reached the bottom, and she had realized that this well was a door to the Kobalos dark. Moments later the room had grown warmer and the terrible tentacled guardian of the portal had risen into view.

  There was no warmth here, just a chill damp. Perhaps the guardian would sense me and stir into action, rising up to confront me? I waited, but nothing happened, so I pushed my way between the couches and reversed my long dagger. I scratched the point along the top of the stones, making a grating sound that filled the whole chamber and echoed back up from the depths of the portal.

  Still there was no response.

  I leaned over and peered down into the darkness. Then I coughed phlegm up into my throat and spat a thick globule down into the darkness. ‘Here I am!’ I cried. ‘Come and face Grimalkin if you dare!’

  There was a stirring far below, a breath of warmth in my face, then increasing heat; the stones began to steam. The temperature increased rapidly, and something began to rise out of the well towards me. The stones were now hissing and spluttering. Then the creature below took a deep breath, sucking air into its lungs like the huge bellows of Hephaestus’s forge.

  I retreated a little way, knowing what to expect. A bulging, glowing mass rose above the lip of the portal and hovered in the air above, long tentacles coiling and writhing, glowing eyes glaring at me. The Targon stank of rot and decay.

  I stepped back again, slowly retreating towards the back of the chamber. The ghost of a Kobalos mage that haunted one of the other towers had told Tom and Jenny that the dark guardian was bound here and could not leave the portal – though its tentacles could surely extend into the furthest corner of this chamber.

  ‘Here I am, you ugly blob of slime!’ I taunted. ‘Here I am!’

  I waved my blade at it, and it began to drift towards me, tentacles extended. As soon as it reached me, I sheathed my blade and once again became an orb of light. I soared above it and sped through the narrow gap between its enormous scaly back and the ceiling. Then I dived down into the blackness of the portal, heading for the lair of Talkus.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE TWO TOWERS

  THOMAS WARD

  I STRUGGLED FORWARD, holding my sword at the ready. If the mage slew the Malkins’ assassin, the witches would quickly lose heart and flee – I was sure of it. This was a critical moment.

  It was a battle to reach Makrilda, and I thought I was already too late: she’d fallen to her knees, helpless before the descending sabres of the huge mage. But by sheer force of will, no doubt aided by my natural immunity against dark magic, I stood between the mage and the assassin.

  I saw him glance at the Starblade, but then he attacked, sabres whirling. I retreated two steps, then brought the sword down, aiming for his left shoulder. He blocked the blade expertly, but the force of the contact made him stagger backwards a step.

  Now the mage drew himself up to his full height and glared at me, his eyes full of arrogance. ‘I knew that we would meet one day. I also foresaw the outcome – your death!’ he boasted. ‘I am the one born to slay you!’

  I stared up into his eyes. ‘Do they call you Balkai?’ I asked, realizing that, all around us, the battle had come to a halt; that all waited to see what would happen next. The mage had already defeated Makrilda; if I also fell to his blades, then he and the Kobalos would have won.

  ‘No, my name is Kordo,’ he replied. ‘Balkai is the greatest of all mages, far more powerful in magic and martial skills than I could ever hope to be. Despite that, I am the one who will end your life. That sword will not save you.’

  I felt a moment of disappointment at the discovery that this was not Balkai. To slay him would have been a significant step towards victory over our enemies. But if I could defeat this mage, my victory would turn the tide of battle here.

  ‘What you didn’t foresee was your own demise,’ I told him. ‘Prophecy is unreliable, and even the greatest of scryers cannot see their own death. You say you saw my death? Well, learn this before you die! We make the future with every step we take. Nothing is fixed – nothing at all!’

  It was what my master, John Gregory, had taught me. It was what I truly believed.

  Then I attacked, driving Kordo backwards. He fought well, but I soon got through his defences and the sword bit into his armour high on the left shoulder.

  The armour worn by a Kobalos High Mage consists of a long coat of layered metal plates; the hem comes well below the knee, and even the throat is well-protected – but for some reason these mages often fight without a helmet. Whether this is out of bravado or is designed to encourage an opponent to concentrate on the head while they ready some counterblow, it is impossible to say. But strangely, Kordo’s lack of a helmet made me wary of attempting a cut to the head.

  Besides, his armour, impressive as it was, could not protect him fully against the Starblade. I’d cut through such armour before. Not only that; when I grew filled with self-belief, the Starblade increased in power. Now I could feel it responding to each flex of my muscles and movement of my legs and arms, as if it was an extension of my own body.

  I truly believed now, and knew deep down that I had the skill and speed to slay this warrior mage. I’d never felt more determined. I continued to drive him backwards, and started to cut away pieces of his armour – a plate low on his left side; another high on his right shoulder, which began to ooze blood.

  I concentrated hard, careful not to make a mistake, for I wore no armour: one successful strike from those dual sabres would maim or even kill me.

  However, if the tide started to turn against me, I had one final card to play; a gift that had come to my rescue on several occasions in the past: I had the ability to slow or even halt time. It was a difficult gift to use, and my skill had waned. I knew that my gifts were not stable; they could not always be commanded with ease.

  So I fought on, relying on my combat skills until I saw the uncertainty growing in Kordo’s eyes. His best efforts had been unable to pierce my defences; his magic could not harm me. The more his confidence waned, the more mine waxed.

  But in one last effort he rallied; I was forced to retreat, countering each of his desperate blows, waiting for my chance to finish it. I struck him only once more, but it was enough. I brought the Starblade down in an arc, dashing his sabres aside, slicing deeply into the side of his neck. He fell down dead at my feet, his blood soaking into the ground.

  I had been right about his defeat turning the tide of battle: giving a great howl of despair, our enemies fled immediately.

  Led by Makrilda, the Malkins raced after them, screaming in triumph without even a backward glance at me.

  For a moment I almost followed, to add my strength to their attack. But then I thought better of it. I’d done enough here. Without my contribution they’d have lost, so let them finish it. I went back to collect my staff and bag, then headed first west and then south.

  I intended to get clear of the Pendle district, though I had no specific destination in mind. I desperately wanted to find Alice, but I’d no idea where to look. I hoped she would make contact again, but I couldn’t rely on it. She’d gone off so suddenly. Couldn’t she have left a message for me with one of the witches? I thought angrily. Her behaviour did not bode well. Had she betrayed me? I wondered.

  I decided to cross the River Ribble and head back tow
ards Chipenden. And if there were enemies still lying in wait there, then it would be all the worse for them: it didn’t matter how many there were – I’d make my approach down the ley line and feed them to Kratch.

  As I walked, I could still hear booms and crashes from the direction of Burnley. I was now convinced that it was cannon fire: a battle was taking place. I’d been taking my time, but when a County storm came blustering out of the west, I picked up my pace.

  When the light began to fail, I still hadn’t crossed the river. Still, I knew where I could shelter for the night. Nearby stood a ruined farmhouse, one I’d often used with my master. Only one wall was standing, but there was a cellar. It smelled musty, but at least it was dry and provided cover from the driving rain.

  After lighting a candle, I settled down on the cold flags. I was exhausted and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

  I was awoken by a disturbing noise – as if someone was scratching on the wall with some tool; or perhaps with a claw.

  I came to my feet cautiously and picked up the candle. Listening carefully, I quickly found the source of the sound: it came from high on the back wall. I saw that small spidery letters were appearing there, etched into the mossy stones. Was someone or something in the cellar, invisible to me but writing on the wall?

  I held the candle close and read:

  Tom, this is Alice. I’ll meet you at the Samlesbury Bridge east of Priestown. Join me there just as soon as you can. We need to travel to Lukrasta’s tower in Cymru.

  I’d been waiting for a message from Alice, but I was annoyed by its content. Suddenly I wondered if it really was from her. Perhaps I was being lured into a trap.

  ‘Can you hear me, Alice?’ I demanded.