“Should I put his boots and socks back on?” I asked.
Grimalkin nodded, and with some difficulty I tugged on the socks and then pushed his feet into the boots and laced them up.
As we prepared to leave the tent, I took one last look at Tom. The witch assassin had closed his eyes, and he could almost have been asleep.
Outside the tent, Majcher was waiting. He and Grimalkin exchanged a few words in Losta.
“The burial will take place tomorrow at noon,” she told me as we walked back toward our tent. “Prince Stanislaw will attend to honor Tom. He was impressed by his courage and fighting prowess. The funeral procession will leave from here tomorrow morning. They are preparing a headstone for his grave, and asked me what I wanted to be carved upon it. I left it to the prince to decide. After all, whatever they write, it won’t be true. I wish he could be buried next to his master in the garden at Chipenden, but that is impossible.”
I awoke soon after dawn, after barely an hour’s sleep. Instantly, the memory of Tom’s death was like a needle piercing my heart. My eyes began to brim with tears.
Grimalkin was awake; she was sharpening her blades. I watched her in silence.
It had rained hard during the night. The noise as it drummed on the ground and the roof of our tent had repeatedly awakened me—that, and the memory of the terrible thing that had happened. Now I could smell the rich aroma of earth and grass.
“Later today, after he is buried, I will take you home, girl.”
“I have no home,” I responded bitterly, but I was secretly relieved to discover that she didn’t intend to abandon me here. Yes, I did very much want to return to the County.
“Your home now is Chipenden, and no doubt Judd Brinscall will move in and become the new Chipenden Spook. You will become his apprentice.”
“He won’t take me on. He has already refused at least five times. He doesn’t like me. He set his dogs on me and just laughed when one of them ripped my skirt.”
“He will do as I say!” Grimalkin exclaimed fiercely. “You have earned your right to be trained, and it will happen.”
I was stunned by the vehemence of her response. I suddenly realized that she truly could coerce Spook Brinscall into taking me on. But did I want it that much? Could I bear to be trained by him?
The witch picked up the Starblade and balanced it on her knees, looking thoughtful.
“What will you do now?” I asked.
“I will spend the winter back in the County. Tom is dead, and I am truly sorry that it happened. But although my first plan has been thwarted, it cannot be the end of my endeavors. I will travel north again next spring and continue to learn what I can about our enemies. If we are to have any chance of survival, it must be done. The threat grows by the day. The Kobalos may even attack the northern principalities this winter.”
32
A Terrible Mistake
TOM Ward was dead. On the day of his burial Grimalkin and I left our tent about an hour before noon. I looked up at the sky. It had stopped raining for now, but to the south, clouds threatened another deluge.
When we arrived at the tent of Prince Stanislaw, Tom’s coffin was resting on the grass in the open. The prince was standing next to it, a sword at his hip, flanked by two of his guards. He looked angry—more ready for battle than for a burial. But he nodded to us, then beckoned four of his men forward, and they hefted the coffin up onto their shoulders.
Without further ado, we set off north. The prince and his escort led the way. I was surprised to see how many warriors lined the route, with many others joining the procession behind us. I suppose they must have been impressed by the fact that, although he had been fatally wounded, Tom had first put an end to the assassin who had been killing their own champions for so long.
I remember thinking that the burial site must be on high ground, because we were trudging upward. It made sense. No doubt the river flooded the plain in spring as the snow and ice melted.
At last we reached an open grave with a large headstone. The bottom of it was full of water. There were other graves too—perhaps a couple of dozen in all—but they had been filled in. Some were recent, the earth freshly mounded; others had become shallow depressions, and others still were already covered with grass. Just two or three had headstones; most had a rough wooden cross, while a few lacked any marker at all. The challenge of the Shaiksa assassin had lasted for months. No doubt these were the graves of those who had died at his hands.
We took up positions close to the open grave, facing the headstone. Grimalkin stood on my left; the high steward, Majcher, on my right; and Prince Stanislaw beyond him. The guards waited behind us.
Standing behind the stone was one of the bearded and gloved magowie, no doubt the one who advised Prince Stanislaw. He held his arms wide and began to chant in a singsong voice. I was glad that I couldn’t understand a word that he was saying—it was just so much false nonsense. All that was required to show respect to the dead was a few quiet words.
So I said them, silently, inside my head.
Thank you for taking me on as your apprentice, Tom Ward, and for giving me a second chance when I ran from the ghasts. I’ll miss you. You didn’t deserve to die like this. And you would have become a really good spook, one of the best ever—your master would have been proud of you. Thank you for having faith in me. . . .
Suddenly my doubts fled, and I made up my mind. Tom had believed in me and had wanted to train me to the best of his ability. So I would go on, despite my hatred of Judd Brinscall.
I’ll do my best to be a good spook too. Thank you for setting me on the right path. Thank you for everything.
I glanced at Tom’s coffin, which had been set down next to the grave, beside the mound of earth from the excavation. It was hard to believe that his body was lying inside it, cold and still, and would soon be interred in the damp earth. I would go back to Chipenden with Grimalkin while he stayed here, and soon winter would be upon us; snow would cover his grave.
I tried to put the depressing thought from my mind, telling myself that the contents of the coffin were just Tom’s remains. By now his soul would have passed through limbo and gone to the light. But he was so young. He hadn’t had time to live his life fully. That was what made me sad; that, and the loss of the master who would have trained me, guided me, and eventually become a colleague—and maybe, if I was really lucky, a close friend.
I glanced at the headstone and read what had been carved upon it.
HERE LIETH PRINCE THOMAS OF CASTER,
A BRAVE WARRIOR
WHO FELL IN COMBAT
BUT TRIUMPHED WHERE OTHERS FAILED
The final two lines were a warped assessment of what had happened. It seemed no triumph to me. This was all a terrible mistake, and now the lie was inscribed forever upon his gravestone. Tom was a young spook who had fought the dark . . . this should have been mentioned.
I heard a deep growl of thunder and looked up. Dark clouds were above us; the storm was almost here. Moments later, it began to rain hard, and there was a flash of lightning almost directly overhead, along with a boom of thunder that seemed to shake the ground beneath our feet.
The magowie was still chanting, but his voice could not compete with the storm. The pounding rain drenched my hair and clothes. I wondered if the prayers would be cut short—the priest would have neither the nerve nor the sense to curtail the service, but a nod from the prince should be enough.
I glanced at him, but in the gathering gloom his face was impassive. He seemed content to stand there, getting soaked to the skin. It was growing really dark—we’d need lanterns soon.
But then, at last, the prince raised his hand and gestured toward the grave. In response, the magowie came to a stuttering halt, and the four warriors who’d acted as pallbearers stepped forward, two on each side of Tom’s coffin. There were two ropes beneath it, and using these, they took up positions near the grave and began to lower it down. They were having difficulty holding
on to the rope, which kept slipping through their fingers.
The coffin wasn’t going into the grave evenly. At one point they almost lost it, but at last it splashed into the water at the bottom of the pit, and they pulled the ropes free. I saw that the coffin was almost covered by the rainwater that had accumulated.
I was surprised when the four men then picked up spades and began to fill in the grave. The custom back in the County was for each mourner to throw a handful of soil over the coffin and then leave; the gravediggers only began their work when everybody else had left.
So, with lightning flashing and thunder crashing overhead, we all watched the men working: rain ran down their faces and dripped from the ends of their noses as they hastily threw sodden earth onto their wooden target.
Then I heard another sound—an eerie screech from almost directly overhead. I looked up, and the flash of lightning blinded me for a few seconds. When I could see again, I noticed that everyone else around the grave was looking upward, shielding their eyes against the driving rain. Even the four men had stopped work.
There was a figure up there, high above us. I could make out wings—huge wings, compared to the slender body. It was the being we had watched hovering over us while the three magowie foretold the coming of a champion to defeat the Shaiksa assassin and lead humans across the river to victory.
It hovered there, but suddenly folded its white wings and dropped down toward us like a stone. When it came to a halt, it was less than thirty feet above our heads—near enough for me to make out the beautiful face shining with silver light.
But then I was distracted by another noise, which drew my eyes downward.
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I wasn’t the only person now staring down into the grave. The casket was slightly tilted, and the sodden earth that covered it was sliding away to reveal the wet wooden surface.
Grimalkin hissed in anger and stared up at the winged being . . . but I was filled with new hope.
The coffin was moving.
Could it be that Tom was alive?
Grimalkin’s Notes
The Contents of the Glass Containers
THESE are all biological, and in most cases held within some preserving material, usually a gel. Some are seeds; others animal (mammalian or reptilian samples plus hybrids).
Many are still alive, held in a state of suspended animation. I believe that, if planted, the seeds would grow. The same is probably also true of the animal samples. (I tested only three, which confirmed this.) They are all capable of development and growth, but into what I cannot say without further dangerous experimentation.
However, we know that the Kobalos have used dark magic to create many special creatures, such as builders (the whoskor, which maintain and extend the walls of Valkarky) and fighting entities (such as the haggenbrood). They may well use similar creatures in war. It could be that the dead haizda mage was preparing to create such entities locally and hide them within our borders, ready for a preemptive strike.
The First Animal Sample
I removed this sample (labeled ZANTI on the jar) from its gel preservative and introduced it to a growth medium (two parts human blood, three parts ground bone of sow, two parts sugar, three parts human spittle).
The sample was placed within the most powerful containment environment that I could generate—a large pentacle whose inner circle was fifty feet in diameter—in a meadow at least two hundred yards from the nearest tree. I also protected the pentacle from prying eyes and intrusion with spells of cloaking and menace.
As I had predicted, the sample began to grow on the night of the full moon. At first the entities resembled small insects; they scuttled about on the grass. However, just before dawn, they burrowed into the soil; it was possible that they could not function in sunlight.
Soon after dusk the following day, they emerged again. After a while I noticed two things. They were fewer in number, and those that remained were somewhat larger, about the length and thickness of my index finger. It seemed likely that they were devouring each other in a process whereby only the fittest might survive.
This process continued for seven nights before I intervened. By then, just two of the creatures remained. Approximately human in shape, they were very thin, with spindly scaled arms and legs. The head of each was hairless but covered with black scales, and the small eyes were wide-set like those of a bird, allowing 360-degree vision. In height they came up to my shoulder, but the final victor might well have reached a height of at least eight feet.
I stepped into the pentacle and despatched both of them with my blades. Unlike the haggenbrood, which I fought in Valkarky, the zanti did not share a single mind and seemed unable to fight as a unit. Additionally, although their hands and feet were clawed, they had no weapons. No doubt their Kobalos masters will have crafted specialized weapons for them.
I think a lone armed and full-sized zanti would be a much more formidable opponent.
The Second Animal Sample
Experiment One
I placed the second sample (labeled ZINGI on the jar) into a growth medium identical to the first, and again used a pentacle for containment, along with spells of cloaking and menace.
The sample started growing immediately, even though the sun had not gone down. This suggested to me that they could function in daylight, which made them more formidable than those in the first experiment. My assumption proved to be correct: they were active throughout the whole twenty-four-hour cycle and never slept.
The creatures were small at first, but their original shape did not alter despite many subsequent growth spurts—again the result of devouring one another.
They were covered in brown hair, and each had six three-jointed, muscular legs. Their bodies were cylindrical and formed of three segments. From the first protruded what appeared to be a long, thin tusk; beneath this was a wide mouth. They did not have eyes or noses, and must have used other senses to locate their prey.
The first stage (devouring one another) continued until only five remained. At this point, each was about the height of a sheep, but perhaps three times as long.
Now they began to look elsewhere for sustenance.
The spell of menace should have driven off any creature that attempted to approach the outer rim of the pentacle. However, the creatures (which I have nicknamed stingers) somehow managed to summon their victims with an even more powerful force . The first of these were birds.
A large black crow landed on the pentacle where the stingers were confined. The first of the creatures darted forward and stabbed its tusk into the breast of the bird, which immediately collapsed, its legs twitching and its whole body suffering violent convulsions. Within seconds, the other four fierce entities had devoured it. Their wide mouths had double rows of needlelike teeth, which they used to tear the bird into small pieces.
Crows, wood pigeons, seagulls, geese, ducks, and magpies suffered a similar fate. They did not summon smaller birds. After that, it was the turn of rabbits, hares, and even a deer. All ignored the spell of menace and were drawn into the pentacle to their deaths.
Then, toward nightfall, the stingers became aware of me. They gathered on the edge of the pentacle, sharp tusks pointing toward me. I was filled with the urge to enter the pentacle. They were attempting to summon me to my death.
I was their new prey.
They did not get their wish. Only a fool enters a bear’s den when it can be killed from a distance. I countered their summoning spell, then used my throwing blades to slay all five of the creatures. They did not die easily.
My subsequent dissection of their bodies revealed the reason. Each segment had its own heart, lungs, stomach, and brain tissue.
Experiment Two
My findings prompted me to repeat the experiment. This time I caught one of the stingers early, when it was no bigger than a domestic cat. I removed and burned the foremost of its segments and waited for the result.
It was as I had predicted
: the wound quickly ceased to bleed, and within forty-eight hours, the creature had regenerated its missing segment.
Once more I terminated the experiment.
The Third Animal Sample
I placed the third sample (labeled VARTEKI on the mage’s jar) in the same growth medium, and again used a pentacle for containment and spells of cloaking and menace to deter intrusion. But the containment was insufficient. From the very beginning, things did not go well.
The sample started moving immediately, so fast that I saw only a blur of motion. The entities went underground, too fast for me to count them.
I expected them to emerge, like the creatures in the other experiments. But only one returned to the surface, and it was still quite small—no bigger than a hare. I wondered if it had reached its maximum size. After all, it had no others of its kind to devour.
The vartek had a long tubular body, the top covered with black scales, a short thin neck, and a round head with elongated jaws, a wide mouth, and two bulging eyes. It resembled a monstrous millipede, with a multitude of long, sticklike legs.
Three days passed, and each night the creature went underground, tripling in size each time it emerged. I was puzzled. What could it be eating that made it grow so rapidly? I felt very uneasy and decided to resort to scrying. It is fortunate that I did so; otherwise, the County would have suffered many violent deaths.
I had less than twenty-four hours to prepare for what I had foreseen. I had only just taken up position close to the trees when the vartek erupted from the ground outside the pentacle. It was a deep burrower, evidently capable of tunneling through rock.
The creature was now about the size of a bull, but perhaps five times longer; however, I believe that it had not yet attained its full size. At rest, its long belly touched the ground. As it moved, it extended its legs, which tripled its height. When it opened its mouth, I saw that its teeth were very unusual. There were three rows in both top and bottom jaws, and they seemed to be able to move; the creature could change the angle of its bite and lengthen and shorten the teeth.
A New Darkness Page 20
