The Winter Knights

by Paul Stewart

  ‘Let them feast indeed, Captain Sigbord,’ he said grimly. ‘Yet if this winter doesn't end soon, we shall all end up as raven meat.’

  •CHAPTER TWENTY•

  THE WINTER KNIGHTS

  An Ancient Barkscroll from the

  Great Library of Sanctaphrax

  I, Quode Quanx-Querix, first Knight-Scholar of Sanctaphrax, must set this down in blackroot ink on barkscroll parchment, and lodge it for all time in the Great Library, newly built this short while since, that the scholars who come after might heed my warning, if, as I fervently hope, our young city survives.

  I, who built the Great Pulpit Hall, the first building on the sacred rock of Sanctaphrax, and founded the Order of Knight-Scholars, have seen much in my long life. I have seen the First Scholars conjure marvels from the air, spread the light of knowledge from the shining beacon of Sanctaphrax into the farthest reaches of the dark Deepwoods, from whence all manner of diverse tribes and creatures have been drawn to encamp below our floating rock. I, too, have seen the darkness that has been sucked from the sky and made manifest in the Great Laboratory of the First Scholars; an abomination that, even now, makes my blood run cold.

  I, and my fellow Knight-Scholars, did battle the monstrous creation the First Scholars unleashed into the stonecomb, and many brave souls had the life sucked from their bodies. But we prevailed, and entombed the abomination in a chamber deep within the rock from whence there is no escape. Loud were the lamentations when the Great Laboratory was likewise sealed for all time, its terrible history recorded in the blackwood carvings in the Palace of Lights, but even the most fervent of the First Scholars conceded the wisdom of this act.

  If only I could record that here the sorry history of the First Scholars’ sky-meddling came to an end, but I fear I cannot, for it is not so. Their experiments with the very matter of the sky have had consequences too terrible to have been foretold. The sky has sickened over Sanctaphrax, the balmy breezes and fragrant zephyrs have curdled into blizzards of snow and ice that have no end. There can be but one answer to this wintry plague that even the sealing of the Great Laboratory has not assuaged.

  The sky must be purified, and there is only one substance in all the Edgelands that has the power this task demands. I speak of sacred stormphrax, most precious distillation of the Great Storm, the shards of which I, Quode Quanx-Querix, founding Knight-Scholar of Sanctaphrax, was the first to bring back from the Woods of Twilight.

  Now I shall set forth on my final voyage into Open Sky beyond the Edge to restore the stricken sky, by seeding it with stormphrax. This, my final testament, shall be read by scholars hence, only if my desperate enterprise meets with success.

  Farewell.

  ‘Are you sure, Phin, old chap?’

  ‘Take a look for yourself!’ Phin turned and thrust the brass telescope into Raffix's hand as he joined him on the foredeck of the old sky ship.

  A strong north-easterly wind was buffeting the starboard side of the Cloudslayer, making the rickety vessel creak and groan as it bobbed about on the end of its tether. Below them, on the ship's flight-rock platform, Stope the grey goblin forge-hand fought to keep his balance as he attached the last of the fire floats to the flight-rock, and released them.

  Dancing on the end of thin, silver chains, the intricate metal floats fanned out around the rock like a swarm of luminescent fireflies. Another gust of icy wind hit the flight-rock, and the floats clustered here and there over its surface as the glowing sumpwood charcoal inside was drawn to the coldest spots. The Cloudslayer stopped bucking and swaying and Stope climbed to his feet, smiling broadly.

  ‘They work!’ he exclaimed. ‘The fire floats work! I always knew they would – in theory. But now …’

  Just then, in the distance, the bell at the top of the Great Hall tolled eight hours. From far below the Gantry Tower, there came the sounds of raised voices, and the thuds and clangs of doors and gates being slammed and barred.

  ‘Quick, Phin!’ shouted Raffix, snapping the telescope shut and racing over to the helm. ‘Release the tether!’

  Phin didn't need telling twice. He tore over to the ship's prow and sliced through the tolley-rope with a single blow of his sword.

  ‘Tether released!’ he bellowed back.

  Silhouetted against the low milky sun, the great sky ship rose up from the Gantry Tower, creaking and groaning louder than ever as it did so. At the helm, Raffix's hands darted feverishly over the flight-levers, raising and lowering the weights and sails, as the Cloudslayer was caught by a gust of icy wind.

  ‘Hold on tight!’ he shouted to the others as the old sky ship sped high over the rooftops of the Knights Academy.

  Round the Great Library it wheeled, the hanging-weights grazing the building's pointed wooden roofs as they passed overhead; then on low between two tall swaying towers which tinkled and chimed in the wind. They skirted the tall latticed tower of the College of Cloud. They darted between a cluster of Minor Academy domed minarets …

  ‘Mind that archway!’ Phin bellowed.

  Raffix tugged hard on the flight-levers. Stope shut his eyes tight and clasped the main mast as, all round his head, the fire floats whirred in a sparkling cloud. The sky ship skimmed the top of the arched walkway – causing two academics to duck down, and then wave their fists angrily after the runaway vessel as it soared back into the air.

  ‘Loftus Observatory ahead!’ Phin yelled from the prow. ‘Quick, Raff! Quick!’

  On the rock-platform, Stope opened his eyes and gasped. Suddenly he understood why the other two had set sail so urgently. ‘Quint!’ he cried out. ‘Hold on! We're coming!’

  Far up the observatory tower, just below the top, one of the gantry platforms had collapsed. And there, hanging precariously from an open door, was Quint. Dressed in an old suit of stormchasing armour, he clutched the handle of the door with one gauntleted hand, while in the other, he clung to the wrist of a girl who dangled below. Only moments before, they had been standing on the gantry platform staring open-mouthed with surprise at each other. Then, with an awful metallic clang! the platform had given way.

  ‘Save yourself, Quint!’ Maris screamed. ‘Save yourself!’

  Quint's shoulders felt as if they were on fire. His eyes were blinded with sweat and he could feel the door beginning to give way as, one by one, the screws holding the hinges popped out and clinked against his armour as they fell.

  ‘Won't … let go …’ he grunted, as the door gave a sickening jolt. ‘Won't … Won't !’

  ‘Aaaargh!’ screamed Maris.

  All at once the door hinges gave way with a splintering creak. For a moment, it came almost as a relief to Quint that the intense pain had suddenly lifted and that he was falling. His hand still clutched Maris's wrist as the heavy gantry door whistled past them …

  Ummph!

  All the air was knocked out of his lungs as, suddenly, his fall was cut short and the roaring sound in his ears was replaced with the sound of creaking wood and strange whirring hums.

  ‘I've got him!’ a familiar voice rang out somewhere above him.

  Quint squinted up into the pale yellow sunlight. And there, overhead, was the gnarled and pitted hull of the Cloudslayer coming closer by the second as he was winched up by the scruff of his heavy black cloak. The pain had returned, tearing at the muscles of his right shoulder, but Quint no longer minded.

  ‘Phin? Is that you?’ he croaked, his throat dry and sore.

  ‘Hold on, Quint,’ his friend shouted down. ‘Just a moment longer …’

  His armour clanked against the rickety balustrade as Phin, helped by Stope, hauled Quint aboard, followed by the limp body of Maris, her wrist still clamped in Quint's gauntleted hand.

  They all collapsed in a heap on the foredeck. And as the old sky ship swooped off over the ice-bound city, they lay there for a moment, panting and struggling for breath. Phin was the first to climb to his feet. He detached the grappling hook from Quint's cloak and smiled down at him.

&n
bsp; ‘Thought we'd lost you for a moment there,’ he said. ‘And who's this?’

  He nodded towards Maris, who had come to, and was looking up at him with startled eyes. She turned her gaze away and inspected her wrist.

  ‘You can let go now, Quint,’ she said softly.

  ‘Why, this is Mistress Maris, Master Quint's friend,’ said Stope. ‘Good old gauntlet locks!’ he muttered as he clambered to his knees and bent down over Quint, who was still gasping for air.

  The grey goblin flicked the catch on Quint's cuff, and the gauntleted fingers clicked back.

  Quint sat up with a groan of pain, and turned to Maris. ‘I thought … I feared …’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, Maris, what were you doing up there?’ he said, his voice hoarse and racked with emotion.

  ‘Me? What do you mean?’ she said, her own voice beginning to crack and quaver. ‘You told me to meet you there …’

  Quint's brow furrowed. ‘I told you?’

  ‘Yes, you. In your last letter,’ said Maris. Her cheeks were turning pink and blotchy. ‘Oh, those horrible letters, Quint. All that unpleasantness about the money …’

  Quint tore off his gauntlets and took her hands in his own. ‘Maris,’ he said softly. ‘Maris, I don't know what you're talking about …’

  ‘And how in Sky's name could you say I wasn't a true friend?’ She was sobbing now. ‘A true friend! Why, I've done everything you asked me to in those letters of yours,’ she wailed. ‘I'm as true a friend to you as Vilnix Pompolnius!’

  ‘Vilnix?’ Quint said, startled. ‘What's he got to do with this?’

  Maris paused and wiped her eyes. ‘He brought me your letters …’ she began.

  ‘No, miss, I brought you Master Quint's barkscrolls,’ Stope interrupted. ‘All wrapped in a lullabee burner I made myself,’ he added. ‘Remember?’

  ‘Not that letter,’ said Maris, smiling at the grey goblin. ‘That was a lovely one …’ She turned back to Quint. ‘I mean the other letters you sent. The ones you gave Vilnix to give to me …’

  Quint frowned. ‘I didn't give any letters to Vilnix Pompolnius,’ he said, cold anger growing in his voice.

  ‘But they were in your handwriting, Quint, I swear …’ Maris began.

  ‘Why, the crafty little barkslug!’ exclaimed Phin, shaking his head, ‘forging your handwriting, while all the time sucking up to you. The nerve of that Vilnix Pompolnius! Did he really think he could get away with it?’

  Quint lowered his head. ‘He almost did,’ he said, with a shudder. He squeezed Maris's hand softly. ‘Leave Vil-nix to me. The important thing is that you're safe now. Or at least, you will be when we drop you off in Under-town …’

  ‘Drop me off!’ Maris exclaimed, getting to her feet. ‘Nobody's going to drop me off! Now I've got back to Sanctaphrax, I'm staying – and I don't care what anybody says!’

  ‘But Maris,’ said Quint. ‘We're leaving Sanctaphrax …’

  Maris's jaw dropped. ‘You are?’ she said, startled. It was true. The sky ship had already sailed beyond the West Landing – where there seemed to be some commotion going on at the treadmills – and was high above Undertown. ‘But where are you going?’

  Quint strode over to the prow and pointed into the dark clouds billowing beyond the Stone Gardens. ‘Open Sky,’ he said.

  Maris looked up from the ancient barkscroll with its beautiful writing – slanting and angular, and decorated with great ornate loops. The blackroot ink had scarcely faded since the day Quanx-Querix's sharpened snowbird quill had first dipped into the ink-pot.

  ‘And Philius Embertine found this in the Great Library?’ she asked.

  Phin nodded. They were all clustered round the helm, where Raffix was busily adjusting the flight-levers as the Cloudslayer sailed on, its sides buffeted by snow-flecked winds.

  ‘But he's shut up in the Hall of High Cloud now,’ Phin said. ‘Hax is keeping him a virtual prisoner there.’

  ‘A prisoner?’ said Maris with a shake of her head. ‘How terrible.’ She glanced round at Quint. ‘I mean I knew he was ill, but this …’

  ‘The thing is,’ Phin went on, ‘Philius realized how important the barkscroll was. That's why he went to so much trouble to get hold of stormphrax. He wanted Screedius Tollinix to cancel his stormchasing voyage and sail into Open Sky instead – “not to take from the sky, but to give back”. Those were his words. I didn't understand them until later when I read the barkscroll …’

  ‘But his friend Screedius left before he could tell him of his discovery,’ said Stope.

  ‘Which is why Phin, Stope, Quint and I realized it was up to us to carry out the old hall master's wishes,’ said Raffix, realigning the neben-weights.

  ‘By flying into Open Sky and purifying it with this,’ said Quint, holding up the light-casket.

  Maris's eyes widened. ‘Stormphrax,’ she breathed. ‘But how?’

  ‘Don't you see,’ said Quint, urgently. ‘By giving back to the sky, not taking from it.’

  ‘And we do it, the Winter Knights!’ added Raffix, proudly.

  Maris held out a hand and touched the small hatch on top of the illuminated box.

  ‘Careful!’ warned Quint. ‘It's only stable in twilight, remember! When the time comes, one of us will release it into Open Sky …’

  ‘Which one of you?’ asked Maris, scarcely able to believe what she was being told.

  ‘We haven't decided yet,’ said Phin. ‘Raffix is most senior, but Quint thinks it should be him – says he feels responsible for everything that has happened …’

  Quint's face reddened.

  ‘But why, Quint?’ Maris began. She stopped and put a hand to her mouth. ‘… It's because you served as my father's apprentice, isn't it?’ she said. ‘He opened up the Great Laboratory, and you helped him …’

  Quint stared back into her eyes and, without saying a word, nodded grimly.

  ‘Oh, Quint,’ Maris sighed.

  ‘It still isn't too late for us to drop you off somewhere safe,’ said Quint. ‘If that's what you'd prefer.’

  But Maris shook her head. ‘I thought you knew me better than that, Quint,’ she said sharply. ‘When I make up my mind about something, I don't change it …’ Her voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘By using the Great Laboratory, my father not only summoned up a gloam-glozer, but because of his experiments …’ She looked down at the barkscroll and traced a line with her finger. The sky has sickened over Sanctaphrax, she read, the balmy breezes and fragrant zephyrs have curdled into blizzards of snow and ice that have no end.

  Quint nodded. ‘And it's up to me to put that right,’ he said, his voice low, yet determined.

  ‘It's up to all of us, old chap,’ said Raffix. ‘Now look lively, everyone. We're passing over the Stone Gardens!’

  Quint and Maris crossed the deck and, hands resting on the balustrade of the port bow, looked below them. The great stone stacks were buried in snow, pitted here and there with holes made by rocks freezing and breaking free. Quint turned to Maris and, seeing her eyes full of tears, remembered the last time the pair of them had been in the Stone Gardens.

  ‘You're thinking of your father, aren't you?’ he said, putting his hand on hers and squeezing it warmly.

  She nodded. ‘I used to think he was so clever, so brave … Yet he died because of that monster he created. And now this …’ She swept her arm in a wide arc that encompassed the snow-covered scene below them. ‘If he truly was responsible for this endless winter, then instead of uniting Sanctaphrax by bringing earth- and sky-scholars together, he succeeded only in’ – her voice faltered – ‘destroying everything he cared for most …’

  She stopped, unable to go any further.

  Quint put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Not everything,’ he said. ‘You're still here …’

  ‘We're approaching the Edge!’ Phin's agitated voice rang out above the sound of the gathering wind that whistled through the hull-rigging and set the mainsail slapping against the mast.

  Quint lo
oked down. Sure enough, far below them, was the Edge itself. Snow had started falling once again – a swirl of huge, feathery white snowflakes that clung to the hull-rigging and coated the decks. The fire floats whirred and hummed round the rapidly cooling flightrock like angry wood-wasps and a shudder passed through the beams of the old sky ship. Quint's heart missed a beat.

  Mark well, the three rules of sky sailing, Quint, his father's voice echoed in his head. Never set sail before you've plotted a course. Never fly higher than your longest grappling rope. And on no account venture into the uncharted areas of Open Sky. Yet that, Quint realized, was precisely what he and the other Winter Knights were about to do.

  Below them now, at the very tip of the jutting rock, was the Edgewater River, frozen solid in its cascade. Like the drippings of some mighty candle, the frozen river had formed a vast colonnade that stretched from the lip of the rock down into the void below. For a moment it stood out, sparkling and clear, before swirling mists and thickening blizzards closed in around the Cloudslayer and, like a dream, the vast pillar of ice faded from view.

  Quint gripped the balustrade as the Cloudslayer began to buck and sway. Despite the best efforts of Stope's fire floats, it was clear that the old sky ship couldn't withstand the icy onslaught much longer. The snow on her decks thickened as the howl and wail of the snow-laden winds rose, until all other sounds – even the shouts of the Cloudslayer's crew and the splintering creaks of its protesting timbers – were drowned out.

  A bank of freezing mist shot by and the heavy clouds abruptly parted. It was at that moment that Quint looked up and saw a sight that only Quode Quanx-Querix, founding Knight-Scholar of Sanctaphrax, had ever seen before …

  •CHAPTER TWENTY ONE•

  CLOUDEATER

  The massive eye – as big as the great oval window in the barracks hall of the Knights Academy – swivelled in an ice-pitted socket, the light glistening on its gelatinous surface. A thick filmy mucus swam across it, and gathered in a claggy mass in one corner.