‘It’s good wine,’ the beast commented. ‘Your old father made it with his own hands. So I’ll be only too happy to drink your share too. We wouldn’t want to waste it, would we, little Nessa?’
Again I didn’t speak, but began looking at the room in more detail, my eyes taking in everything: the bottles and jars on the rows and rows of shelves; the long table in the far corner of the room, decorated with what appeared to be the skulls of small animals and birds. My eyes stopped their wandering at the three lambskin rugs that adorned the floor. Each one was a most vivid shade of red. Surely that wasn’t just dye . . . could it be blood?
‘I see that you’re admiring my rugs, little Nessa. It takes a lot of skill to keep them looking that way. Blood never wants to stay red for long outside a body.’
At those words I began to tremble from head to foot.
‘The truth is, Nessa, I’d like to taste a little of your blood now.’ I cringed away from the beast in fear, but he continued, ‘However, you’ve shown good faith by coming to see me, making me believe that you will keep to the terms of the trade I made with your father. That’s why I asked you here. And you have passed the test, satisfying me that you are a person of honour who can keep to an agreement. You have also been gracious enough to refuse the wine, so that now I have all ten bottles to myself. So I am going to let you go home.
‘Be ready at sunset tomorrow,’ he told me as I started to breathe a little more easily. ‘Kill and salt three pigs, but collect every last drop of blood and fill a milk churn with it – the journey will make me very thirsty. Pack up cheese and bread and candles and two large cooking pots. Oil the wheels of your largest cart. I’ll bring horses, but you must provide the oats. And take plenty of warm clothes and blankets. There might be snow before the week is out. We will take your two sisters to their relatives, as I promised. Once that is done, I will take you north and sell you in the slave market. Your life will be short but useful to my people.’
I walked slowly home, numbed by what I had learned. But there were practicalities to consider, such as dealing with the farm animals. They would be best given to one of our neighbours. I had a lot to arrange before my life changed utterly. I was going to become a slave of the beasts and would surely not survive for very long.
I ARRIVED AT the farm at sunset, as promised, and was pleased to find the three Rowler sisters ready for the journey.
Three stout trunks waited in the yard, and upon the smallest sat Bryony, nervously picking the loose threads from her woollen gloves. Susan was standing behind Bryony, her mouth pulled down into a pouty sulk, while Nessa paced up and down impatiently. It was getting colder by the minute. They had sensibly chosen to wear their warmest woollen dresses, but their coats were thin and threadbare, offering little protection against the cold.
I halted at the open gate and stared at the girls, almost drooling. And on looking more closely, I saw that the flesh of the youngest sister would be very tender and best eaten uncooked; even raw it would melt off the bone. As for Susan, there was plenty of meat on her older bones, but I knew that her blood would be even better. I would need all the discipline I could muster to keep to the terms of my deal with the dead farmer.
Dismissing such thoughts from my head, I urged my black stallion into the yard, his hooves clattering on the flags. Behind me I led a white mare and a heavy shire horse for drawing a cart in which the two younger sisters could ride. I had stolen all three horses that very day.
I circled the yard three times before coming to a halt, then leaned down and showed my teeth in a wide smile. Terror flickered upon the faces of Bryony and Susan, but Nessa walked boldly up to me and pointed towards the shed just beyond the stables.
‘The cart’s in there,’ she said, her chin raised defiantly. ‘It’s already loaded with the provisions, but the trunks were too heavy for us . . .’
I leaped down from my horse and flexed my hairy fingers close to Nessa’s face, making the bones crack. Then, in no time at all, I harnessed the shire horse to the cart before tossing up the three trunks – feeble humans; the trunks were as light as air.
Then I smirked when Nessa noticed the freshly sharpened sabre at my belt, the one that had belonged to her father.
‘That is my father’s sword!’ she protested, her eyes widening.
‘He won’t be needing it now, little Nessa,’ I told her. ‘Anyway, we have no time to waste dwelling on the past. This white mare’s for you. Chose it specially, I did.’
‘Are my sisters to ride in the cart?’ she asked.
‘Of course – they will find it far better than walking!’ I declared.
‘But Susan has no experience in handling a horse and cart, and the going may become difficult,’ Nessa protested.
‘Fear not, little Nessa: the shire horse will be obedient to my will and your sisters will come to no harm. They can simply sit in the back of the cart.’
It had been but the work of a minute to breathe into the nostrils of the big horse and use my magic to claim its obedience. It would follow in my wake, moving only when I moved and halting when I brought my own mount to a stop.
‘You said you would bury my father,’ Nessa accused suddenly, ‘but his body was still lying there. Don’t you worry – I did it myself with the help of my sisters. However, it suggests to me that you don’t keep your promises, after all.’
‘I always keep to a trade, Nessa – but that was no such thing, merely a kind offer that I meant to carry out. Unfortunately I’ve been busy getting hold of these horses and didn’t have time. It was better that you should bury him though. It might make up for running away and leaving him to die alone.’
Nessa didn’t answer but a tear ran down each cheek and she quickly turned her back on me and struggled up into the saddle while her sisters climbed into the cart. As we rode down the track towards the crossroads, the air grew even colder and frost began to whiten the grass.
It had been difficult obtaining three horses at such short notice. I avoid killing or stealing within my own haizda, so had been forced to range far beyond it to acquire the mounts.
I hoped that Nessa wouldn’t notice the dark bloodstain on the left flank of the white mare.
There had been conflict between my people and humans for at least five thousand years. At times, during periods of Kobalos expansion, it had flared up into outright war. Now it was merely a simmering hostility.
My private domain, my haizda, is large, containing many farms and a number of small settlements which I husband and control. But once beyond its borders I become a lone enemy, likely to attract all sorts of unwelcome attention. No doubt, seeing the purrai in my possession, humans would band together and attempt to take them from me by force. For that reason it was necessary to be vigilant and travel mostly by night.
Just before dawn on the third day, it began to snow.
At first the dusting was very light, hardly adding to the white coating of frost. But the snow persisted, grew heavier, and the wind started to blow hard from the west.
‘We can’t travel in these conditions,’ Nessa protested. ‘We’ll get trapped in a drift and freeze to death!’
‘There is no choice,’ I insisted. ‘We must go on. I am hardy and can endure, but if we stop now, you poor weak humans will die!’
Despite my words I knew that the weather would soon bring us to a halt. The girls couldn’t survive more than a few days in these conditions so I was forced to change my plans.
Although the heavens were now lit with the grey light of dawn, I decided to take a risk, and after a short rest we continued on our way. We headed west now, rather than south, right into the teeth of what had become a blizzard.
At first Susan and Bryony sat cowering under the tarpaulin in the back of the open cart; both kept complaining of the cold, but I could hardly blame them for that. Then, after an hour or so, they said that when sheltering from the weather under the tarpaulin, the movement of the cart made them feel sick, so for the rest of the day th
ey kept their heads above it, exposed to the bitter cold and damp of the blizzard. It was only a matter of time before they froze to death.
As the light began to fail, we were moving through a dense wood of spruce and pine, heading down a slope towards a frozen stream with an even steeper slope rising beyond it.
‘We’ll never get our horses up that incline!’ Nessa shouted. She was right.
At the bottom on the left stood a five-barred gate. Here, giving the purra a wicked grin, I dismounted. After a good deal of scooping of snow and pulling and tugging, I managed to open it wide enough for the horse and cart to pass through.
A cinder track ran alongside the stream, and upon this the snow had been unable to take a hold: each snowflake had melted immediately on making contact. The track was actually steaming.
I watched Nessa dismount and lead her own mare through the gate. She reached down to test the surface with her fingers.
‘It’s hot!’ she squealed, drawing her fingers away rapidly.
‘Of course it is!’ I said with a laugh. ‘How else could it be kept free of snow?’
Nessa walked back to the cart and spoke to her sisters. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘I’m so cold,’ Susan complained, ‘I can hardly feel my hands or the nose on my face.’
‘I feel sick, Nessa. Can we stop soon?’ Bryony asked.
Nessa didn’t reply but looked up at me. ‘Where are we going?’
‘A hostelry,’ I replied and, without bothering to elaborate, I leaped back onto my horse and took up the lead once again.
The spruce and pine gave way to deciduous sycamore, oak and ash trees, which were waiting, bereft of leaves, for the coming of the short summer. These trees pressed in upon us, dark and thick, their stark branches hooked like talons against the grey sky. It was strange to see such trees so far north.
Soon there came a strange silence: the wind suddenly died away, and even the clop of hooves and the rattle of the cartwheels seemed muffled on the cinders.
Bryony, the youngest child, started to sob with cold. Before Nessa could ride closer to offer her words of comfort, I turned and hissed at her to ensure her silence, placing my finger vertically against my lips.
After another few moments, I saw through the trees a faint purple light that blinked on and off like the opening and closing of a giant eye. Finally a building came into view.
It was a dark tower, enclosed by a high circular wall complete with battlements, and a portcullis that could only be reached by means of a drawbridge crossing a wide moat.
‘Is this what you call a hostelry?’ Nessa demanded angrily. ‘I’d hoped for an inn with welcoming fires and clean rooms where we might take refuge from the blizzard and sleep in comfort. My sisters are half frozen to death. What is this strange forbidding tower? It seems to have been constructed by other than human hands.’
The tower itself was about nine storeys high and the size of three or more large farmhouses combined. It was built of a dark purple stone, and the whole structure gleamed as rivulets of water cascaded down its sides. For, although snow was still falling heavily from the darkening sky, all around the tower the ground was completely clear. Both walls and ground were steaming, as if some huge fire burned deep within the earth. The fortress had been constructed over a hot-spot, an underground geyser that heated the stones of the tower.
I had spent a night in this tower almost forty years earlier, on my way to sell a slave and meet my legal obligations under the law of Bindos. However, at that time it had been ruled by someone who was now dead, slain by Nunc, the High Mage who was the tower’s present incumbent.
I smiled at Nessa. ‘It is not a hostelry for your kind. But beggars can’t be choosers. This is a kulad, a fortress built by my people. Better stay close to me if you wish to survive the night.’
As we moved forward, I heard gasps from the two younger sisters, and the portcullis began to rise. The sound of chain and ratchet could clearly be heard, but there was no gatekeeper, and nobody came out to either greet or challenge us.
I guided the purrai across the circular inner courtyard towards stables with fresh straw for the horses and a lean-to under which the cart could be sheltered from the worst of the elements. Then I led them through a narrow door to a spiral staircase that rose widdershins up and up, into the dark inner tower. Every ten steps there were torches set within iron holders bolted to the wall. Their yellow flames danced and flickered, although the air was perfectly still, but they were never enough to dispel the shadows that gathered above them.
‘I don’t like this place,’ Bryony whimpered. ‘I can feel eyes watching us. Horrible things hiding in the darkness!’
‘There’s nothing here to worry about,’ Nessa told her. ‘It’s just your imagination.’
‘But there could be insects and mice,’ Susan complained. Succulent she might be, but that purra’s voice was starting to irritate me.
We began to climb the stairs; wooden doors were spaced at intervals, but then we came to three set quite close together, so I chose these for the sisters. Each had a rusty iron lock into which was inserted a large steel key.
‘Here’s a warm bedroom for each of you,’ I said, my tail rising in annoyance. ‘You’ll be safe enough in here if I lock the doors. Try to sleep. There’s no supper, but breakfast will be served soon after dawn.’
‘Why can’t we all just share a room?’ demanded Nessa.
‘Too small,’ I said, opening the first of the doors. ‘And each has only one bed. Young growing girls like you need your rest.’
Nessa looked in and I saw the dismay on her face. It was indeed small and cramped.
‘It’s dirty in there,’ Susan complained with a pout.
Bryony began to cry softly. ‘I want to stay with Nessa! I want to stay with Nessa!’
‘Please allow Bryony to share my room,’ said Nessa, making one last desperate appeal. ‘She’s too young to be left alone in a place like this . . .’
But I paid no heed and, twisting my face into a savage expression, pushed her roughly inside. Next I slammed the door behind her and twisted the key to lock her in. I quickly did the same for each of her sisters.
But although cruelty is in my nature, it was not this that prompted my behaviour now. I had done it for their own safety, confining each separately to mark them as three distinct items of my property, according to the customs of my people.
I’d had no choice but to bring the three girls here – they would soon have died of exposure outside. We were now well beyond the last human habitation and this was the only refuge that was available. It was a dangerous place, even for a haizda mage, and I could not be sure of a welcome. Now, as was customary, I had to ascend to the top of the tower to make obeisance to its lord, Nunc. He had a formidable reputation and ruled by fear.
He was a High Mage, the most powerful rank of Kobalos mage. As outsiders who dwell within our own individual territories far from Valkarky, we haizdas do not fit within that hierarchy of mages. I do not fear a High Mage, but would if necessary make obeisance to him. If I were forced to fight him, I was not sure what the outcome would be. Nevertheless I was curious to meet Nunc in the flesh and see if he lived up to the stories told about him. It was said that, in a raid against a human kingdom, he had devoured the monarch’s seven sons in front of him before tearing off that unfortunate king’s head with his bare hands.
As I climbed the spiral staircase, the air grew warmer and more humid and my discomfort grew. Such was the peculiarity of the High Mages that they sometimes actively sought out a harsh environment in order to prove their hardiness.
Even though I was now within sight of the top landing, no guards were visible. Yet my tail told me that many of Nunc’s servants were nearby, in the subterranean areas beneath the tower.
There was only one door on the landing, and I pushed it open. I found myself in the anteroom. This was a bath house where Nunc’s servants and guests could cleanse their bodies before proceed
ing further. However, I’d never seen one quite like this. In such rooms, the water was often uncomfortably warm, but the temperature here was extreme. The air was full of suffocating steam and I immediately began to struggle for breath.
The entire room, but for a perimeter strip of stone and a narrow arch that provided a bridge to the far side, was given over to a huge sunken bath filled with water so hot that it was generating steam as I watched.
Nunc, the High Mage, was immersed in the bath up to his armpits, but his knees were visible, and upon each he rested a huge hairy hand. His face was very full, and shaved according to the custom of Kobalos mages. The short stubble was black, but for a long grey patch low on his forehead – a duelling scar of which he was very proud.
Although Nunc was huge – half as big again as me – I felt not in the least threatened by his bulk. Size was relative, and as a haizda I could, in a moment, blow myself up to an equal size.
‘Enter the water, guest,’ Nunc boomed. ‘My house is your house. My purrai are your purrai.’
Nunc had addressed me in Baelic, the ordinary informal tongue of the Kobalos people; it was years since I’d last heard it and the language sounded strange, almost as if the time I’d spent near humans had made my own people now seem alien. Immediately it made me wary. I had never met Nunc before, and for a Kobalos to speak to a stranger in Baelic implied warmth and friendship, but worryingly was frequently used before offering to trade. I had nothing I could barter.
I bowed and, after removing my belt and sabre, which I carefully positioned against the wall, undid the thirteen buttons of my coat and hung it on one of the hooks on the back of the door. It was somewhat heavier than usual, for the lining contained the three keys to the girls’ rooms. Next, I removed the diagonal straps and scabbards with the two short blades and set them down next to the sabre.
Finally I tugged off my boots and prepared to enter the water. It would take great concentration and willpower for me to endure such a boiling temperature, but I had to immerse myself, if only for a short time, in order to comply with the customs of hospitality. I must not give Nunc an excuse to act against me in any way.
The Spook 9 - Slither's tale Page 3
