‘He’s been teaching our carpenters how to build more effective bows and carts and other contraptions. But he’s run out of ideas now. We no longer have use for him.’
‘So why have you brought him to me?’
‘He has asked that we allow him to return home, as thanks for his service.’
Fabian sat forward, gripping the Blackstone spikes on the arms of his chair.
‘And where is home, sir?’ he said, taking note of the tattered waistcoat the man was wearing, woven from finer wool than he had ever seen. The man looked over his shoulder at Alexander, who leant in closer and kissed him on the forehead.
Tobias began to snigger.
‘Tell him,’ Alexander whispered, running his fingers through the man’s hair.
‘The city of Lambelee, Lord Fabian. In The Light,’ the man said. Several of his teeth were missing; the words whistled past his lips as he stared dejectedly at his feet.
Fabian sucked in his breath and spat at the floor. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled.
‘Get up. I grant you your freedom,’ he said. The man stared at him warily, his watery-blue eyes trying to discern the trick at hand. ‘Get up!’ he shouted.
Alexander stepped out of the way.
The man looked around at them all. Finally, he tried to stand.
Fabian waved his hand as if swatting a fly. The man’s feet flew out from under him; he landed on his shoulder with a bone-shattering crack and screamed.
‘Whoops! The floor is a tad wet. We have a leak,’ Fabian said, pointing at the ceiling. His sons laughed. ‘Get up,’ he said again.
The man got to his knees, clutching his shoulder. He made no attempt to stand. Fabian rose from his chair and came down the steps towards him.
‘Please, no! No more! I have suffered. I can take no more. Please!’ the man begged, holding up his good arm.
Fabian walked on past him to the doors at the end of the hall.
‘Bring him,’ he called. Vrax began to descend the steps. ‘Not you,’ Fabian said, pausing. Vrax stopped.
Alexander looked between them, pocketing his knife. Then he seized the man by the back of his waistcoat and hauled him to his feet. The man yelped like a dog as Alexander forced him out of the hall after his father.
Fabian strode along the parapet, his blood boiling. The rain fell hard, pelting his head, chasing the grease from his long, black hair. He stopped suddenly, turning on the man and grabbing him by the neck.
‘Look!’ he snapped, slamming him against the wall.
He stared out over the swamplands below. A low mist hung over the bog. On the hills that rose from the murky, fetid water stood crumbling stone huts, black with damp. Skeletal livestock wandered along the submerged paths between the hills; the light from the lanterns illuminated their sores and festering wounds. Horses stood tied to posts, their eyes closed against the rain, drenched hides twitching in the cold. The people tending to them were pale and sickly-looking, their bodies hunched and fragile.
‘You have suffered?’ Fabian hissed. ‘Hand him to me,’ he said, pushing Alexander’s hand away and snatching a fistful of the man’s waistcoat. ‘We are off to the West Tower!’
‘The West Tower?’ Alexander said, looking uneasy.
‘Is that not what I said?’
Alexander patted the man on the back sympathetically and walked away.
Fabian smiled into the rain. He could smell the man’s fear. He stooped low to speak into his ear again.
‘Shall we?’
The man shook his head hopelessly as Fabian pushed him across the parapet towards the tower, which loomed in the distance, a black shard of stone rising up to meet the heavens.
When they came to the iron door, Fabian kicked it open, shoved the man through the doorway and stopped him suddenly with a tug. A fierce wind rushed through the windows high at the top of the tower. Fabian lifted his head and breathed in the cold air, while the man stared, transfixed, at the large, barred hole in the ground. He trembled on the thin shelf of stone that ran the perimeter of the tower as, down in the hole, something began to move.
‘Do you see them down there?’ Fabian whispered, tightening his grip on the man’s waistcoat. ‘I imagine you’ve heard the tales.’ He kicked the man’s feet out from under him, suspending him over the cage. ‘I can assure you, they are all true,’ he said.
The man screamed as he looked down at the beasts. Black poison oozed from their beaks and pooled around their scaled talons. Their dark wings flapped excitedly and a gurgling noise rattled in their throats as they looked up at him dangling over the iron bars; eyes, black as night, devouring him from the depths of the pit. Worgrims.
The man screwed his eyes shut. ‘I pray to the White Witch. May she protect me and end my suffering. May she save me from this dark, evil place and deliver me back to the light,’ he muttered feverishly.
In one quick motion, Fabian flicked his wrist, the cage opened, and the man plummeted into the hole.
Fabian left the tower to a frenzy of screaming and tearing, stopping to look out over his lands again. He pulled his black, feathered cloak about himself as the winds buffeted him. Somewhere in the distance, a dying lamb bleated. He crossed over to the other side of the parapet and stared at the Dark Forest; its shadow crept all the way up the hill, falling over half of the castle. No fire could warm the parts it touched, nor could any man tolerate the unnatural coldness for too long. Fabian dug his nails into the stone until he felt a biting pain and looked down to see blood trickling from his fingertips.
He returned to the hall and slammed the door shut. Tobias took his legs down from the arm of his chair. Vrax and Alexander watched him cautiously from the steps. He strode towards them, coming nose to nose with Vrax, and breathed heavily for a time before he could muster his words.
‘What is this?’ he murmured. Vrax said nothing. ‘WHAT IS THIS?!’ He sprayed the words in Vrax’s face but, still, he said nothing. Fabian stepped back and looked at the others. ‘Their people talk of troubles when they know nothing of real suffering. Look at us, too weak to dream of hope! I will not live out my days here. This is no life.’
He approached Alexander and pointed a finger at him. ‘I want what is mine. Their lands belong to me and to you. I will take them back from those tyrants. If it’s the last thing I do, I will take them. I’ll break the spell, I’ll breach the border, I’ll kill them all. I’ll end their line. And you will help me. Find me a weakness!’ he said. Alexander nodded. Fabian looked at Tobias. ‘You and your brothers will do your duty,’ he said. Then he turned back to Vrax and his eyes narrowed. ‘Do not fail me.’
One by one, his sons crossed their arms over their chests and disappeared, until Fabian was the only man left in the room.
4. THE DARK FOREST
When Lucian awoke that morning, he went straight to the castle guards with an order. Find the bald man. He gave them permission to use force to extract information from the people of Lambelee. It wouldn’t take long. Fear had a way of making people talk. He suggested they first pay a visit to the landlord of the Snake’s Head Inn at the bottom of Stone Lane. He was most likely to know who the man was and where he lived; alehouse keepers knew everyone.
He decided to conduct proceedings in the entrance hall, for all to see. He perched on a step halfway up the staircase, waiting, while Matthew’s advisors stood in a cluster at the bottom, looking at each other uncomfortably. When he heard a commotion just beyond the courtyard, he smiled.
‘Here he is,’ he said, as two guards carried the man through the castle gates, kicking and struggling in his long nightgown. They moved swiftly across the courtyard and into the entrance hall, where they put him down. He shook them off and stared up at Lucian, his face flushed with anger.
‘This is outrageous!’ he cried. ‘I demand to know why I have been plucked from my bed by these brutes!’
Lucian tittered mockingly, amused by the spectacle.
‘I was watching you
yesterday,’ he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. ‘You were not impressed with the performance. Why?’
‘In what realm is it unacceptable for an old man to take pause to catch his breath? Answer me that, boy!’
‘Be careful now,’ said Lucian, his smile vanishing. ‘I have people who tell me you are a Mordark sympathiser, that you conspire against my family. What am I to do with this information?’
The bald man balled his hands into fists and looked around the hall, exasperated. ‘What people? Name them! I am a true supporter of your family. But I won’t be treated this way by you. I will answer to your father and no one else!’
Lucian had not expected such impudence from the man. He glanced at a corridor branching off from the entrance hall; servants had begun to gather there, watching from the shadows. He felt his blood rising and smiled tightly.
‘My father is not here,’ he said, standing to descend the stairs. ‘I have taken over his duties in his absence. So, you will answer to me.’
The bald man grasped the stair rail and put his foot on a step as he leaned forwards and sneered, ‘You aren’t fit to rule.’
The words struck Lucian like a cold slap to the face. He stared for a moment, stunned. Then an advisor below shouted, ‘Treason!’
Lucian drew his hands to his chest and felt a cool wind, a lightness in his head, before the weight of the world fell upon him again. He opened his eyes. He was standing behind the bald man at the bottom of the stairs. The man turned around and his eyes widened with fear. Lucian filled his lungs and shrieked, pulling a knife from his sleeve and slashing the man’s chest in a blind rage. The man cried out and fell back onto the steps.
‘Banish him!’ Lucian screamed. ‘Banish him!’
The guards seized the bald man and dragged him out of the hall and down the steps into the courtyard. But Lucian was still furious; it did not feel like punishment enough.
The courtyard was packed with servants and workmen, who cleared a path as the guards hauled the man towards the gates. Lucian flew down the steps after them, his blade dripping with blood. People began to gasp as he came at the man again, slashing his back, tearing through the nightgown. The blacksmith’s hammering stopped. A horseshoe fitter was knocked from his stool as a young filly kicked out in fright. Lucian cut and sliced relentlessly, until three pairs of hands prised him away. He turned on the three horror-struck advisors, panting for breath.
‘Come back inside, Lord Lucian,’ said the fat one, Alder Stonedge, stepping away from him as he spoke.
Lucian looked around the courtyard. Every face was turned towards him, frozen in shock. He walked back to the castle, scowling, as the bald man’s ravaged body was carried away into the square.
He paced up and down the entrance hall. How could someone so lowly dare to speak to him that way? Did the Mortenstone name carry so little respect? Or was it him? Was he not fearsome? He paused when he glimpsed the servants in the corridor, still watching, like mice eager for a morsel to take back to the kitchens or gutters or wherever it was they came from. He gritted his teeth. They could have more than a morsel. He threw the bloodied dagger at them with all his strength. There was a gasp and a crash as the blade knocked the silver tray from one of their hands - he didn’t see who, for they promptly vanished, leaving the upturned tray behind.
Lucian smiled to himself and flexed his hand, but his smile faded when he looked down at his clothes. They were ruined.
*
The guards dragged the bald man across the cobbles of Stone Lane. He left a dark trail of blood in his wake. Iris watched from a herb stall further down the lane. As they passed her, her heart began to beat wildly. Others looked on in silence.
She had been nervous the previous night when her father announced he was leaving with Saskian at dawn for the Low Lands. Her mother had persuaded him to place Lucian in charge. Iris had given him a pleading look, which he ignored, though she was certain that he, too, knew it was wrong. Instead, he removed the silver ring from his left index finger and placed it in Lucian’s hand.
‘The Ring of Rulers,’ he said. Lucian’s eyes had sparkled.
Iris put down the herbs and followed the blood to the end of the lane. From there, she watched the guards cross the Grassland with the bald man, who stumbled, half-conscious, between them. Several people gathered around her to watch, muttering to one another in hushed voices. She heard one of them whisper Lucian’s name.
When the guards reached the edge of the Dark Forest, they propped the man on his feet, struck him when he collapsed onto them, and pushed him into the shadows. Iris felt cold all over as the darkness swallowed him. She bit her lip, remembering the family who had gone the same way years before.
‘Iris!’ came a hoarse whisper from an alley next to the Snake’s Head Inn across the lane. Thomas poked his head out and beckoned her over. She rushed to him.
‘What’s happening?’ she said.
‘That was Gerald Swampton, the animal healer. Lucian attacked him and banished him - but he’s innocent!’
Iris had never seen her brother so outraged.
‘Ride to father. Tell him to come home quickly,’ she said.
Thomas nodded, crossed his arms over his chest and disappeared as an icy wind swept down the alleyway.
Iris waited there in the gloom until the guards passed back along the lane. The one nearest to her wiped his bloodied hands on his cloak and muttered something that made the other laugh. When they had gone, she came out of the alley.
There was a commotion outside the tavern. One man was gesticulating and pointing after the guards; his eye was swollen and turning a deep shade of purple. Most of the people who had stood to watch the guards banish the bald man surrounded him now, shaking their heads. Iris slipped past them all and returned to the edge of the lane, where she stared out at the Grassland. There was no sign of Gerald Swampton. She bit her lip. It would be hours, perhaps even a whole day, before Thomas returned with their father. What would have become of Gerald by then? With a quick glance over her shoulder, she made up her mind. And she bolted.
She felt exhilarated, alive, as she charged across the Grassland, eyes streaming, the wind roaring in her ears.
As she passed into the forest’s shadow, she slowed. This was the closest she had ever come to the Dark Forest. She walked the rest of the way, feeling a sudden loss of conviction. The trees were as wide as the houses on Stone Lane and taller than Mortenstone Castle itself. Everything beyond was dark and quiet. She stopped, pressing her hand against the scaly bark of a tree, and peered in.
‘Hello?’ she said, stepping forwards onto a twig. It snapped and she moved back in fright. Her call went unanswered but she had an odd feeling that someone or something within was listening. ‘Mr Swampton?’ All was still. She looked over her shoulder one last time before she walked into the forest.
The silence was heavy and strange. It seemed to have a presence of its own, as if the forest was holding its breath. There was a wrongness to it all; the trees were twisted and deformed and there was a grey, deadened tinge to the bark, which appeared to be rotting. The ground was infested with black nettles and dead branches. Iris trod cautiously over them, looking back at the Grassland often, to make sure it was still there and, as she wandered deeper into the forest, to work out how quickly she could make it back. Five strides became ten, and ten became twenty, until the Grassland disappeared completely from view. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She felt small. The tree limbs over which she climbed were bigger than she was.
Suddenly, an ear-piercing screech sliced through the air. She stopped dead. The sound echoed through the dark woods, growing more and more distant. It was just a crow. Just a crow. She was shaking now. She wanted to go home.
‘Mr Swampton?’ she whispered, her voice quivering. But no one was there. Her words shrank into the dark quiet.
As she turned to go back, something grabbed her foot. She screamed as it pulled her down. She fell to the ground
hard and rolled onto her back, fighting to get her arms free from the tangles of her cloak. She looked down at her foot in terror, as a black, gnarled tree root began to wrap itself around her ankle. She kicked and kicked. The root squeezed her foot tighter, winding its way up towards her knee like a snake. She leant forwards and struck it with her fists and then dug her fingers underneath it and prised it from her leg. As it writhed in her hands, she pulled her leg free and let go, crawling away frantically. Then, she pushed herself to her feet and began to run, back through the forest, leaping over unearthed roots until her lungs burned. Sweat trickled down her forehead, but she felt cold.
When her legs grew stiff and tired, she staggered on, pushing through the pain, hugging her arms to her chest. Her foot was throbbing. Pieces of skin from her leg were lodged under her fingernails.
Suddenly, she stopped. She had come to the edge of a clearing. She stared at the trees on the other side; the bark seemed darker, almost black, in the dull light that filtered down through the thinning canopy above. As she looked around from tree to tree, her heart began to pound faster and faster. She had come the wrong way. The Light was far behind her. The knots in her stomach tightened. She would have to go back the way she had come, face all the horrors again. She looked over her shoulder, scanning the forest. She couldn’t run; her feet had already begun to swell. She was exhausted. She turned her back on the clearing, staring into the darkness. Which path had she taken? She couldn’t remember.
‘Is that it?’ a voice behind her said. She froze. Every muscle in her body clenched tight. She turned around.
A boy with brown hair and bright eyes was leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing. He smiled wryly at her and stood up straight, unfolding his arms. He was tall, far taller than she was. He looked strong.
‘I don’t bite,’ he said, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. ‘I’m walking, just like you.’ He began to walk in a wide arc, moving closer to her. Her heart was pounding furiously as he circled her. ‘What is a girl like you doing all by herself in the Dark Forest?’ he said, stopping to kick at the dirt.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 3
