The Winter Knights

by Paul Stewart

  At the very tip of the cliff, the great frozen pillar of water groaned and shuddered as the newly-awakened river flowed over and around it, loosening its grip. As the lone sky ship passed high overhead, there came a resounding crack! and the mighty pillar of ice – three times the size of the Sanctaphrax rock – finally broke free, splintering and shattering into countless million brittle shards as it tumbled down into the void below.

  The sky ship continued on its lonely way, high above the frothing turmoil of the swollen river now pouring freely once more over the edge. Ahead of the battered vessel lay the Stone Gardens.

  Dropping down low over the once mighty stone stacks, which stood like islands amidst the swirling snowmelt, the crew of the sky ship gathered excitedly at its balustrades and gazed down. The rocks seemed to have retained their caps of snow, yet as they drew nearer, the crew could see that this covering of white was in fact alive. Thousands of white ravens had settled – cawing and screeching on the topmost stones – and were now flapping and jostling for position.

  A command from the helm sent the crew scuttling back to their stations.

  With Raffix at the helm, Stope and Phin at the flight-rock and Quint and Maris at the prow, the Cloudslayer came down lower still as it approached the jumbled roofs and turrets of Undertown. Beneath them, the streets were alive with activity, as if some giant had just kicked over a woodant nest.

  There were lugtrolls shovelling the dwindling drifts of snow away, gnokgoblins and cloddertrogs sweeping the pouring water down the drains. From the edge of every roof, icicles dripped, before shattering and breaking off as great chunks of compacted snow above them suddenly shifted, slid down the sloping tiles and tumbled noisily to the ground below. After so many months of snow and ice there was, at last, no need to remain barricaded in against the cold, and it seemed as though every door and every window in the great sprawling city had been flung wide open.

  There was water everywhere, gushing down pipes and pouring along gutters, sluicing the dirt and dregs of winter away in a great frenzy of spring cleaning. And if Undertown was a changed place now that the stranglehold of ice and snow had finally released its grip, then Sanctaphrax was all but unrecognizable.

  ‘Look,’ gasped Maris, clutching at Quint's arm.

  Melted water was pouring down from every rooftop, every gable, every ledge; every banked-lintel and flying-buttress; every archway, avenue, bridge and hanging-walkway. From the moment the thaw began, the water had been steadily seeping down into the porous floating rock and collecting in the stonecomb.

  Now, all at once, the pressure which had been building suddenly became too much. With a loud hiss and a high-pitched whine, the trapped water burst out of the rock from all sides. Countless jets showered out from every crack and crevice in the vast spherical rock, filling the air with a halo of spray that, in the sunlight, turned to a magnificent rainbow which bathed the floating city in dazzling coloured light. And, as the ice continued to melt, the jets grew thicker and stronger, cascading down onto Undertown below as the great floating rock glided across the sky on the end of its anchoring chain.

  With a leisurely shift of a flight-lever, Raffix brought the old sky ship round in the sky and set a course for the floating city. Ahead, the Gantry Tower stood tall above the rooftops at the eastern end of the Knights Academy. As the Cloudslayer approached, the smiles of its crew turned to frowns and they exchanged anxious looks. The snow might be melting, but it was clear that something was still terribly wrong in the Knights Academy below.

  Take the Inner Courtyard, for example. It looked like a battlefield …

  There were bodies everywhere. Some still lay where they had fallen, their bodies horribly twisted into grotesque shapes, blood staining the ground around them. Others had been moved and lay in rows, the thick white shrouds which covered them making it look, for a moment, as though the snow hadn't melted after all. At the far end of the courtyard, the great ironwood doors to the Academy Barracks hung shattered from their hinges, whilst in the distance the tilt trees were lying scattered in a mass of splinters and broken branches.

  As Raffix brought the Cloudslayer carefully down in the sky, Phin jumped onto the landing jetty and tethered the tolley-rope to the mooring-ring of the Gantry Tower. One after the other, the Winter Knights climbed from the ship, their legs suddenly wobbly as they set foot on firm ground. The joy and elation they had all felt as they approached the academy had disappeared, to be replaced with shock and bewilderment.

  Keeping close together, they trooped down the gantry steps, and in through the narrow side entrance that led to the Central Hall of the Upper Halls. As they stepped through the doorway, they were struck by the atmosphere of the place – the loud conversations, the stifling heat, the smell of blood … It was so different from the hushed, deserted hall they had left earlier that day.

  The pulpits were now crowded, loud animated discussions taking place at their tops, while below them the hall resembled a vast sick-room, with low sumpwood cots laid out in rows and thick blankets draped over their occupants. High professors and Lower Hall squires alike passed among them, ministering to the wounds of the injured and closing the eyes of the dead.

  At the end of one of the rows, Raffix noticed a tiny quarm crouched down at the foot of a floating cot. It was whimpering softly as it rocked slowly, back and forwards, back and forwards. The body of a second quarm lay nestled in the arms of the cot's occupant.

  ‘Fabius Dydex,’ Raffix whispered, shocked at the sight of the professor's waxen, lifeless face. He approached the cot and kneeled down, tenderly stroking the quivering head of the little quarm. ‘There, there, Howler,’ Raffix whispered. ‘Your master's gone.’

  As if in answer to his words, the quarm turned and scurried up onto Raffix's shoulders and buried its head in the folds of his cape.

  ‘Looks like you've made a friend there,’ said an Upper Hall squire, approaching the little group now gathered around the professor's cot.

  Raffix looked up. ‘Lubis?’ he said, clearly shocked by the squire's appearance. ‘Lubis, is that you?’

  The Upper Hall squire attempted to smile. He was sallow and drained-looking, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. When he spoke, his voice was choked and raw, and the words seemed to tumble out in a torrent, like melting snow water.

  ‘Daxiel Xaxis and the gatekeepers locked all the doors at dawn, and we woke to the sounds of battle down in the Inner Courtyard …’ the squire began, fixing Raffix with a haunted stare. ‘We couldn't just stay locked up there. The honour of the Upper Halls was at stake. Fabius Dydex rallied us, and we fought our way down the Central Staircase, paying in blood for every step we took - but making the gatekeepers pay as well!’

  Raffix nodded, his heartbeat quickening.

  ‘Flayle and Beltix fell on the Upper Landing,’ Lubis continued. ‘And Memdius … dear old Memdius. He died in my arms as we fought our way through the dormitory closets. But we made it out into the Inner Courtyard with Fabius Dydex at our head, and … and …’

  The Upper Hall squire's face crumpled up, and he covered it with shaking, blood-stained hands.

  ‘That's … where … he met his death …’

  The little quarm on Raffix's shoulder shivered and let out a small, mournful howl.

  ‘Where were you, Raffix,’ the squire sobbed, ‘when the Upper Halls needed you?’

  The Winter Knights looked at each other. Suddenly it didn't seem right to boast of their great triumph out in Open Sky – not here in this place of death and suffering.

  The blood had drained from Raffix's face and his eyes sparkled from behind his spectacles.

  ‘I was in the Gantry Tower, aboard the Cloudslayer …’ he began, but the Upper Hall squire wasn't listening.

  Slumped at the foot of the floating cot, he was sobbing and rocking back and forth, just as the little quarm had done.

  Quint laid an arm on his friend's shoulder and led him away. ‘Leave him, Raff,’ he said gently. ‘He won't u
nderstand right now, but there is someone who will.’

  ‘Philius Embertine!’ said Phin. ‘Come on, we must tell him that everything the barkscroll said was true, and more!’

  The five of them set off, hurrying from the Upper Halls, down the stairs and along the dark, narrow corridors towards the Hall of High Cloud, and the small, forgotten room where Philius Embertine was being held prisoner. Every step of the way was punctuated with the aftermath of the great battle they had missed – smashed doors, broken bits of weaponry and the discarded robes of the gatekeepers, their logworm insignias now torn and blood-spattered.

  They arrived outside Embertine's room to find the corridor deserted except for the slumped body of a gatekeeper, a crossbow bolt embedded in his chest.

  ‘It's one of the guards,’ said Phin, stepping over the dead cloddertrog and pushing the door slowly open. He peered through the narrow crack into the shadowy room, a single candle beside the bed, low and sputtering. The soft, yellow light fell on the pinched and drawn face of the old hall master, who lay propped up against grubby pillows, his breath coming in snatched, wheezing gasps.

  ‘Hall Master Embertine,’ Phin whispered, striding into the room. ‘It's me …’

  All at once, there was a noise from behind the door and a brawny individual leaped out, grabbed Phin by the shirt and shoved him back against the wall, the blade of a long thin knife held to his neck.

  ‘Who are you?’ he growled. ‘Speak up, before I slit your scurvy throat from ear to ear.’

  Stepping silently into the room, Quint drew his own knife and pressed the point into the back of Phin's assailant.

  ‘Drop the knife,’ he hissed. ‘Now.’ There was a clatter as the knife fell to the floor. ‘Now turn round and tell us who you are,’ Quint demanded.

  As the young guard turned, it was clear from his uniform that he was an academic-at-arms – a rock-guardian, judging from his half-armour and the twin crossbows strapped to his belt.

  ‘I … I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought … I thought …’ He motioned towards the door. ‘I thought you were gatekeepers,’ he said. ‘Like that evil guard out there.’

  Quint nodded.

  ‘They starved and beat the hall master, you know,’ the young academic-at-arms said. He shook his head. ‘And on Hax Vostillix's orders. Sky curse his soul!’

  Raffix's eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Hax Vostillix is dead?’

  ‘Ay,’ came the reply ‘Murdered in his chamber by earth-scholars - at least that's what some reckon. Poisoned by woodwasp larvae. Ate him, inside out. That's why the gatekeepers attacked us - it was the excuse they were looking for …’

  Just then, from the bed, a faint voice could be heard. ‘Someone … someone's there,’ it said. ‘Let me see your face.’

  Quint turned and crossed the room to the bed. He placed his hands on Philius's shoulder, and was shocked to feel how thin and bony it had become. The old hall master stretched out a gnarled hand and clasped Quint's forearm, his fingers closing round the metal armour.

  ‘Screedius?’ the old professor wheezed. ‘Screedius, is that you?’

  Beside him, Phin reached into his jacket, pulled out the ancient barkscroll and handed it to Quint.

  ‘We … we voyaged to Open Sky,’ Quint said gently. ‘Just as Quanx-Querix did,’ he added, waving the yellowed parchment in front of the old professor's face. ‘And we took the stormphrax with us.’

  ‘Oh, Screedius, Screedius.’ Philius's weary eyes suddenly sparkled with life. He leaned forward and gripped Quint by his hand. ‘Screedius, you gave the sacred stormphrax back to the sky, just as Quanx-Querix did before you? And did it work?’ His frail voice rattled querulously. ‘Did you heal the sky?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Quint assured him. ‘Just as Quanx-Querix once did, we healed the sky and winter has passed …’

  ‘Winter has passed,’ the old professor repeated serenely, his face suddenly suffused with a beatific smile. ‘Thank Sky for that. My old friend, Linius Pallitax, would be so happy to know that the sky has been healed. So happy to know that the evil he caused by opening the Great Laboratory has been undone … But you must promise me one thing, Screedius, for the sake of Linius Pallitax!’

  The hall master's grip on Quint's arm tightened as he pulled Quint closer towards his own unseeing eyes.

  ‘For the sake of the greatest, most honourable, the truest Most High Academe there ever was …’

  Behind him, Quint heard Maris stifle a sob.

  ‘Anything,’ he whispered to Philius. ‘Just name it.’

  ‘You must never speak of your voyage again,’ came the reply, ‘to anyone. The Ancient Laboratory is locked, the stonecomb sealed. If Sanctaphrax ever learned that Linius was responsible for the terrible winter, his reputation would be ruined and his statue would be pulled from the viaduct and smashed to a thousand pieces … Hax's thugs beat me and starved me, but I refused to tell them about the scroll and the stormphrax. And you, Screedius, have rewarded me … Now promise never to speak of it again!’

  ‘I promise,’ said Quint softly.

  Philius Embertine smiled and let go of Quint's arm. ‘Thank you, Screedius Tollinix, Knight Academic,’ he breathed. ‘Now I can begin my voyage to Open Sky …’

  And with that, his eyelids flickered heavily and closed. Then, the same serene smile on his face, he breathed out – long and rasping – and fell still.

  Quint reached forwards and pulled the old professor's sheet slowly up over his face.

  ‘He's at peace now,’ the academic-at-arms said softly. ‘They can't hurt him any more …’

  He turned and looked at the two knights academic, one in armour as bright and shiny as if it had just been forged; the other's, battered and ancient-looking. And their three companions – a little grey goblin, a serious-faced girl with tears streaming down her cheeks, and an academic-at-arms who he seemed to vaguely recognize from the barracks; a swordmaster apprentice.

  ‘What was he babbling about at the end?’ he asked. ‘Voyages and ancient laboratories … and Open Sky?’

  The small group exchanged looks, and then the knight in battered armour spoke.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. A trace of a smile crossed his lips as he glanced at the girl. ‘Nothing at all.’

  *

  Over the next few days life returned to normal in the Knights Academy. Little by little, bit by bit, the stains and scars of both the terrible winter and the bloody battle were removed.

  The dead were dealt with as tradition decreed. Gnokgoblins, woodtrolls and mobgnomes were burned on floating funeral-pyres that their spirits might be released and ascend to Open Sky. Cloddertrogs were buried in the Mire outside Undertown, and the few waifs from amongst the hall servants who had died in the Battle of the Central Staircase were sent floating down the Edgewater on small coracles decorated with flowers.

  Philius Embertine and Fabius Dydex were accorded different rituals, as their status demanded. Carried down to the Stone Gardens on raised biers, their bodies were laid out amongst the growing stacks and devoured by the flocks of white ravens. It was the first such ceremony since the funeral of Linius Pallitax himself.

  As for the living, they too ensured that life would return to the way it had been before the momentous upheavals. The great ironwood wheels and the log burners they had shifted up and down the stricken rock were dismantled, and the giant fromps were returned to the Deepwoods and, on Fenviel Vendix's instructions, set free. The Hall of Grey Cloud had been stocked with prowlgrins once more. And the Knights Academic mounts, Tash included, were back on their perches on the central roost. The academics-at-arms — though diminished in number – assumed many of the roles of the erstwhile gatekeepers, the hated red-logworm insignias giving way to simple black tunics with numerous duelling patches.

  The Winter Knights returned to their duties as if nothing had happened; Stope to the Forge, Phin to the Academy Barracks, and Quint and Raffix to the Upper Halls. Quint gave up his study dormitory to Maris and moved in wit
h Raffix, just while the high professors set about re-organizing the ravaged Upper Halls – but they both knew that this arrangement couldn't last.

  ‘You must go and see the twin Most High Academes as soon as the Grand Inquiry has finished,’ Quint told her three days after their voyage to Open Sky. ‘And I'll send Nibblick with word to my father. I'll ask him what he thinks you should do.’

  ‘And what about Vilnix Pompolnius?’ Maris asked.

  ‘You leave him to me,’ Quint said. ‘He's hiding out somewhere in the academy, but he can't hide for ever. In the meantime, I've got an inquiry of my own to finish …’

  He patted the miniature painting set into the handle of his sword – but when Maris pressed him, he wouldn't say any more.

  The following day, the Professors of Light and Darkness convened a Grand Inquiry to report on the death of Hax Vostillix. As the sun rose high in the sky, academics from all parts of Sanctaphrax began streaming into the glistening Lecture Dome of the Hall of High Cloud, the windows that had been broken in the aborted uprising now mended.

  The two professors – dressed respectively in their new white and black robes – had already taken their places on the ornate buoyant lectern before the first arrivals appeared at the doors. And, as the professors and under-professors, apprentices and acolytes took their places in the bench-tiers and balconies, the twin Most High Academes viewed them sternly, their two bearded faces revealing not a trace of emotion. Only when everyone was seated did the Professor of Darkness climb to his feet.

  For a moment, the whispering grew louder, echoing round the great domed chamber like a mass of hissing hover worms. The Professor of Light raised his staff, and the hall fell still.

  ‘As twin Most High Academes of Sanctaphrax,’ he began, in his thin reedy voice, ‘it is our sad duty to report on the untimely death of Hax Vostillix, Hall Master of High Cloud.’