Spook's: The Dark Army

by Joseph Delaney

  We waited for several minutes and I started to become anxious again. Had she been discovered? Had something happened to her? The Kobalos mages had powerful magic. Would Lenklewth, the second most powerful mage in the Triumvirate, somehow know of her deception?

  I needn’t have worried. Grimalkin reappeared under the portcullis. She had reverted to her own shape once more and beckoned us forward. We ran across the drawbridge and gathered inside the wall. There were several Kobalos bodies on the ground, and they had died violent deaths at her hands.

  I noted the looks of astonishment on the faces of our men. They were clearly impressed by what she’d achieved.

  I’d hardly had time to take that in when Grimalkin pointed to the open door of the tower. At a word from her, three of our archers took up their positions, guarding the door and protecting our rear. The others followed us quickly into the tower.

  A staircase led upwards in a widdershins spiral, but the ceiling continued uninterrupted above our heads, so we couldn’t see how far up it went or whether our enemies were waiting to ambush us. There were no landings – just openings that gave access to each floor. I could smell new wood – the floors appeared to be of fairly recent construction.

  Grimalkin pointed upwards and I took the lead, racing up the steps, the Starblade gripped in my left hand. We climbed very swiftly, our boots thundering on the wood. At the first floor Grimalkin put a hand on my shoulder to pull me to a halt and I heard her sniff three times. She was long-sniffing for danger, trying to detect Kobalos who might be concealed above – though I felt no chill running up and down my spine; no sense that the dark was nearby. Hopefully, that meant that Lenklewth was not in his kulad.

  Apparently satisfied that all was well, the witch assassin released my shoulder and I led the way to the next floor. As I passed the opening, I glanced into a large room. It was empty, and the polished wooden floor looked very new. I wondered why it wasn’t furnished.

  The next floor was the same, and the one after that. But then there was a disturbing noise from behind us: the shriek of metal; the clank of chains. The portcullis was being lowered.

  The three archers had been instructed to guard the gate. The noise could mean only one thing: they were already dead or out of action. Our enemies were behind us.

  Grimalkin signalled that we should halt and listen. Suddenly we heard boots pounding up the wooden stairs towards us.

  She turned quickly and snapped out an order in Losta. I knew that there wasn’t time for her to translate for my benefit, but the men froze for a moment and looked doubtful. They were wondering why she was giving the orders, so I nodded in agreement and the soldiers obeyed.

  At our rear, two of our three remaining archers turned to face the approaching Kobalos and knelt, nocking their arrows and pulling their bows taut. Behind them three of our swordsmen crouched down, weapons at the ready.

  ‘Let me take the lead,’ Grimalkin said. ‘There may be magical traps ahead. I will trigger them but if I’m immobilized be ready with the Starblade.’

  I pointed upward as if giving her the order to take the lead.

  Grimalkin ran up the steps and I followed with the remaining soldiers. Now Grimalkin and I had only one archer and three swordsmen to help us penetrate the lair of the mage.

  The next floor was empty, and the next. There were other doors in each room, but Grimalkin didn’t bother to check these. Whatever lay behind them, she had no doubt established that they presented no danger.

  I began to wonder if there was anybody at all in the upper floors. It now seemed likely that our attack had been foreseen. The Kobalos might have abandoned the top rooms of the tower, trapping us and sending warriors up the spiral staircase after us; more warriors than we could ever hope to defeat.

  I was at Grimalkin’s shoulder when we reached the top floor – the place where she thought Lenklewth stored his magical artefacts.

  We emerged into a small tiled antechamber which led to an open door.

  When we peered through, the large room beyond it seemed to be filled with mist. The witch assassin entered slowly and I followed, gripping the Starblade. Half of the room was occupied by a huge sunken bath filled with what appeared to be very hot water. Clouds of steam rose from it, so dense that Kobalos could have been lurking unseen in the corners of the room. Then I saw that a small bridge crossed the bath and led to another door.

  Grimalkin stepped forward and sniffed loudly three times. She took a second slow step. I could tell from her cautious approach that she was still wary.

  The thought came to me that something might be hiding beneath the surface of the water. It looked extremely hot, but that meant nothing. A Kobalos High Mage, or one of his creatures, might be unaffected by scalding water.

  Grimalkin stepped onto the bridge and took a couple of paces forward. I followed, looking down nervously at the steaming water. She signalled to the four warriors behind us to remain where they were.

  We crossed the bridge and went through the door into a spacious room with a flagged floor. At its centre stood a large oak desk, the edges inlaid with strips of silver. Weapons were displayed on all four dark-panelled walls: axes, sabres and spears – along with weapons I had never seen before, some a bit like County scythes, but curved into spirals.

  The room was empty. Thankfully, the mage was not at home. We looked about us, examining our surroundings. Some of the carved wall panels depicted warriors and battle scenes; the image on one was duplicated in the single large painting that hung on the wall – that of a huge Kobalos warrior on horseback. It was extremely life-like and seemed to demand our attention. We both stepped forward to examine it more closely.

  The warrior’s left eye was transfixed by a long spear that was protruding from the back of his head; he was falling off his horse.

  ‘That is the last king of Valkarky,’ said a deep voice from behind us. ‘He was killed by that lance which they called the Kangadon, meaning the Lance That Cannot Be Broken. It was afterwards that the Triumvirate of High Mages began their rule!’

  It could have been the Kobalos High Mage, who had made himself invisible.

  But I knew that voice . . .

  We both turned to confront the speaker.

  I stared at him in astonishment and then anger. It was the dark mage Lukrasta.

  TOM WARD

  ‘WHERE IS THE Kobalos High Mage?’ Grimalkin demanded, glaring angrily at Lukrasta.

  ‘He is very close,’ he replied, a touch of mockery in his voice. ‘Would you like to speak to him?’

  I stared at my enemy, the one who had taken Alice away from me. A long moustache hung down over his lips, which were very pink as if suffused with blood; they were parted in a smile, revealing sharp white teeth.

  He was on our side – an ally in the fight against the Kobalos – but I still considered him my personal enemy and struggled to keep my feelings in check. I met his arrogant eyes and anger flared through me.

  The last time we’d met we had fought with swords. I’d won and he had been at my mercy, but Alice had begged for his life. I’d listened to her, though this was not the only thing that had influenced my decision to spare him. Part of me – the part that came through my lamia blood – had wanted to kill him. However, from my father I’d inherited a sense of right and wrong. The mage had been at my mercy, but I was unable to slay him in cold blood.

  Now I gripped the Starblade tightly, knowing that it would protect me against his magic. As I did so, I wondered where Alice was. When I’d fought the Shaiksa assassin, she and Lukrasta had combined their magic to control me. They might do it again.

  ‘Yes, if he is your prisoner, I do wish to speak to him!’ Grimalkin declared angrily. ‘There is much to be learned. But why are you here?’

  Lukrasta smiled and seemed about to reply, but then, from the antechamber, we heard a sudden scream and the sound of arrows being loosed. Grimalkin and I ran to the doorway, but the steam from the bath was now so dense that we could only see va
gue shapes that seemed to be struggling to stay upright. There were curses, a groan of pain, another scream, and then silence.

  I thought Grimalkin would leap forward to join the fray – but to my surprise she took two rapid steps backwards and moved into a defensive crouch, long blades at the ready. She almost collided with me and I had to step aside hastily.

  Then I saw what had caused her to retreat. A huge insect-like creature with a long snout was crawling towards us, its thin multi-jointed legs stepping delicately across the bridge. It was a skelt.

  These deadly creatures had long, sharp bone-tubes which they used to pierce their prey and suck their blood. Standing upright, they were taller than a human.

  The skelt was quickly followed by two more, which scuttled towards us. I realized that they must have been concealed in the scalding water.

  Skelts had once been rare, but I had seen hundreds of these creatures in one of the domains of the dark. They had cut the body of the Fiend into pieces and carried them to a lake of boiling water, where they had disappeared.

  I suddenly remembered that the powerful new Kobalos god Talkus was supposed to take the form of a skelt. For one terrible moment I feared that he might be here.

  However, I had no time to reflect upon this: we quickly backed away into the mage’s room, and the skelts pursued us, water dripping from their bodies, tendrils of steam twisting up towards the ceiling. Why didn’t Grimalkin attack? I wondered. Were there too many? Did she fear the presence of Talkus too?

  Then I heard a deep voice behind us. It wasn’t Lukrasta’s. It had a harsh, guttural quality . . . It wasn’t human.

  ‘Witch, you are not the only one able to shape-shift!’

  I looked over my shoulder and saw, in the place of Lukrasta, a Kobalos warrior who must have been all of seven foot tall. He was clad in full armour, though his head was bare. The sight of his shaved face sent a tremor of fear through my body, for this was the mark of a mage.

  My heart sank into my boots. It had to be Lenklewth, the powerful mage Grimalkin had hoped to avoid.

  ‘In me you have met your match!’ he hissed at the witch assassin.

  She stepped towards him, blades at the ready, eyes glittering with fury.

  He gestured with his left hand and, to my shock and dismay, Grimalkin fell to her knees, her blades slipping out of her grasp to fall upon the flags. Her face was twisted in agony and suddenly blood spurted from her nose and began to drip down her chin. Then red rivulets trickled from each ear.

  I watched in horror. The mage had tricked us, drawing us up into his tower, and now he had brought Grimalkin to her knees with a mere gesture. She had seriously underestimated his capabilities. I had never seen her vanquished like this, reduced to such pitiful weakness. It was terrifying to witness such a thing.

  Now he turned towards me and made a similar gesture. I felt nothing and I saw him frown. I realized that the Starblade was protecting me from his magic.

  Grimalkin seemed to be struggling for breath, but then I saw that she was desperately trying to say something. At last she forced the words out with a spray of blood. ‘Kill him now!’ she gasped. ‘But you must keep hold of the sword!’

  I raised the Starblade and stepped towards Lenklewth. My sword hadn’t enabled me to see through his illusion, but it would protect me against a direct attack by dark magic.

  However, I was still not strong and hadn’t practised with the sword since I’d returned from death. I would no longer possess the skill and strength with which I’d defeated the Shaiksa assassin at the river ford. My arms trembled.

  ‘You have more resistance than the human witch,’ the mage rasped.

  As a seventh son of a seventh son I had some immunity against dark magic but I knew that it was mostly the blade that was deflecting it. I had to hold onto it at all costs.

  I heard a scratch-scratching on the flags behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that two of the skelts were behind me. The desk was between us, but more skelts were now scuttling across the bridge and entering the room.

  The danger was increasing by the moment so, wasting no time, I swung my blade towards Lenklewth’s head. The Starblade felt heavy and unwieldy and I knew my blow would fail. Despite his size, he stepped back nimbly and avoided it with ease, then spun away and seized a huge double-bladed battle-axe off the wall. He crouched down, gripping it with both hands, waiting for me to attack.

  As I advanced towards him, he straightened up to his full height, raising the axe high above his head, then swung it down at me in an arc. Had the blow landed, it would have cleaved me in two. I barely managed to step aside before it clanged against the flags.

  I darted in before the mage could raise the axe again and aimed the Starblade at a point high on his shoulder where neck and shoulder armour joined. The blow rang against the metal but failed to find the vulnerable point. Again we circled each other. Already, after just one attack, I was breathing hard and my legs felt weak.

  Grimalkin was on her hands and knees, head down. A small viscous puddle of blood and spittle was forming on the flags underneath her open mouth. She’d been rendered helpless by the mage’s powerful magic.

  I knew I had to finish this quickly because I had little stamina. I was concentrating on my opponent, calculating my next move, when suddenly I felt a sharp stabbing pain in the back of my calf. I looked down and saw that a skelt had pierced me with its bone-tube. At that moment of distraction the mage struck. He swung his axe at me horizontally and I barely managed to block the powerful blow.

  The Starblade went spinning out of my hand and clattered to the floor.

  I quickly stooped to retrieve it, but I was too late; I was already beyond its protection.

  The mage smiled, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Bile rose up in my throat. I was choking, drowning.

  Within seconds I knew no more as Lenklewth’s magic cast me down into darkness.

  TOM WARD

  I AWOKE WITH a blinding headache; when I sat up, the world spun about me. I felt sick and struggled not to vomit.

  After a few moments the worst of the nausea had left me and I looked around the small room in which I’d been imprisoned. There was no window, but a rusty spike on the wall to my left impaled a candle; the flickering flame showed me the dismal interior of my cell. The floor was flagged and the stone walls were splattered with blood. Many were old, dark stains, but some looked new. People had died or been tortured here.

  In the corner lay a heap of dirty straw – my bed – and there was a hole in the floor. I got to my feet and walked across to examine it. Immediately I recoiled: it stank of urine and excrement. I knew what it was for – and knew also that before long I would be forced to use it.

  Next I noticed a jug by the door. It contained water. My mouth was dry, but could I trust it? Could it be poisoned?

  Why bother, I asked myself, when they could just use a blade to finish me off any time they wished?

  I groaned when I remembered how easily I’d been defeated. How easily the mage had disarmed me! I felt ashamed. I should have kept hold of the sword. Grimalkin’s gift of the blade had been our one chance, and I had let her down. All that training had been for nothing.

  But then my thoughts took me in another direction and I grew angry. Weak as I was, I shouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place. I’d warned Grimalkin, but she’d ignored it and kidnapped Jenny in order to make me bend to her wishes.

  I walked over to inspect the wooden door. It was stoutly made, the lower half clad with steel. There were no bars – no way to see out of the cell; not even a keyhole. Back in the castle was the special key made by Andrew, the brother of my dead master, John Gregory. Andrew was a master locksmith and that key had allowed me to escape from other dungeons and places of confinement. But it wouldn’t have helped me here. No doubt the door was securely bolted on the other side.

  I sniffed the water before taking a sip. It was warm, but tasted fine. Everything in this tower was
warm. There must be some source of heat underground. Maybe there was a hot spring? I thought. Then I remembered the Fittzanda Fissure, where the ground shook and jets of steam spurted up from the ground. The tower could be built upon a similar area of volcanic instability.

  Driven by thirst, I began to gulp the water down. After a few seconds I was almost sick and had to stop. So I put down the jug and began to pace backwards and forwards, trying to think.

  We’d been defeated so easily. The Kobalos mage had set his trap and we had rushed into it like lambs to the slaughter. He had assumed the likeness of Lukrasta and I’d been totally fooled. My usual sense that something from the dark was near had failed me. Kobalos High Mages were exceptionally strong in their use of dark magic. What was even more worrying was the way that he had also duped Grimalkin and quickly overcome her with his magic.

  In her desperation to learn the secrets of Kobalos magic, she’d been reckless. Jenny’s account had told us that the kulad contained a large force of enemy warriors, yet we had attacked it with just twelve men. And we hadn’t known for sure that the mage would be away in Valkarky.

  I suddenly realized that in order to take on his likeness, Lenklewth must have known about Lukrasta. He must have met him – perhaps he had already destroyed him? I had no love for Lukrasta, but if he had been defeated already, it did not bode well for our chances of survival.

  In the distance I heard a scream. It sounded female. Perhaps it was one of the human slaves the Kobalos called purrai? I knew that they treated them with great cruelty. Or had the scream been wrenched from Grimalkin’s throat? I wondered.

  Only once had I heard her cry out in pain – when I had helped her mend her broken leg. To regain her former mobility she had used magic and a silver pin to the hold the broken bones together. When I had tapped the silver pin home she had screamed in agony. Silver causes great pain to a witch – she had to live with it for the rest of her life; this was the price she had to pay if she wanted to continue as a witch assassin.