by Paul Stewart
‘Yes, old friend, remarkable it may well be,’ said Thorne, standing up and going red in the face as he strained to break the grip of the snail slime. ‘But unless one of us can reach that grease over there, we’re trapped here.’ The grey goblin nodded towards the stone bowl and axe in front of them. ‘And we all heard what that queen of theirs said . . .’
‘We shall bathe the High Cavern in your blood,’ said Cade miserably. He couldn’t even feel his toes, let alone move his feet.
‘Cade.’ It was Celestia. Her voice was urgent and excited. She reached out and gripped Cade’s hand. ‘Cade, look!’
Cade tore his eyes away from the long-handled axe with its curved blade of crystal. ‘What?’
She was looking up, her eyes narrowed and brow creased. He followed her gaze, puzzled at first. And then he saw it, a small patch of light high up in the darkness above. A small patch of light that was framed like a porthole by the jagged rock of the cavern ceiling. A small patch of light that hadn’t been there before . . .
‘The sky,’ he breathed.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Celestia.
‘By all that is sacred, Celestia, I believe you’re right!’ Blatch Helmstoft exclaimed. ‘It must be where all this fresh air is coming from!’
‘A way out,’ said Thorne bitterly, attempting to free his feet, then slumping back on his rock seat. ‘If only we could reach it.’
Slowly the dark blue turned to silver, until the patch of sky looked like a coin at the bottom of a black pool, and a ray of light pierced the misty gloom of the cavern’s vaulted ceiling.
Suddenly, through the light, a dark shape appeared . . .
· CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT ·
JUST THEN, FROM far below, there was the sound of a snail-shell horn being blown, low, booming and sonorous. It was answered by another one, then another, and another . . .
‘They’re coming back,’ Cade breathed.
Thorne slumped forward and Celestia groaned softly.
A voice rang out. ‘Stay there! I’m coming to get you!’
It was coming from the patch of sky in the cavern ceiling. The next moment, a rope ladder tumbled down, unrolling as it came until it was hanging in the air, the bottom almost touching the floor of the cave. It flexed and danced, and as Cade peered up, he saw a figure emerging from the shaft of light and climbing rapidly down the ladder towards them.
‘Gart?’ Cade shouted. ‘Gart, is that you?’
Stepping down onto the cave floor, Gart Ironside pushed his goggles up onto his head and nodded grimly. ‘I saw you heading into the caverns yesterday,’ he said. ‘I should have warned you. You see, Cade, this is all my fault . . .’
‘Your fault?’ said Cade. ‘But how?’
The sound of the horns reverberated through the cave.
‘Never mind that now,’ Thorne interrupted brusquely. ‘The bowl over there,’ he said, pointing to the base of the wall. ‘We need it to get unstuck. And quick.’
Cade saw the confusion in Gart’s eyes, but he didn’t question Thorne’s words. Instead, leaving the rope ladder dangling behind him, he hurried across to the bowl and brought it back to Thorne, who tipped it up and poured some of its thick oily contents over and inside his boots. Instantly the slime started to dissolve, and when Thorne braced his leg his boot came away from the ground with a plashy squelch. He passed the bowl to Blatch, and worked away at freeing his other foot.
The sound of the snail-shell horns rang through the caverns once again. They were louder than before, and there seemed to be more of them, summoning white trogs from all parts of the vast cavern below, Cade guessed, to witness the coming execution.
‘I’ve got the phraxlighter’s flight levers on hover,’ said Gart. ‘But the wind’s getting up, so we need to hurry.’ He turned and started the long ascent of the swaying rope ladder. ‘Climb up after me,’ he shouted back.
Free now, Thorne got to his feet. He took hold of Blatch’s arm and pulled him up out of the sticky slime that was slipping down his legs and gathering at his ankles. Celestia took the bowl from her father and poured the grease into and over her boots, then passed it to Cade.
Thorne held the ladder steady for Blatch as the explorer began to climb, then held out a hand and helped Celestia to her feet. Long silvery strands of gluey slime stretched from the soles of her boots to the rock floor, then snapped as she stepped free.
From the entrance to the tunnel came the ominous sound of shuffling feet and the clink-clink of crystal shards.
Cade tipped the heavy stone bowl and sloshed the oily liquid down into his boots, then over the toe-caps and heels. The grease felt warm and fiery on his skin, making his feet tingle. He felt the slime melt away as he wiggled his toes.
The snail-shell horns echoed around the High Cavern again, a dozen of them, one after the other in quick succession. And Cade heard the click-clack of the white trogs’ strange language coming from the entrance to the spiral tunnel.
Celestia turned to him. ‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘I’m fine,’ said Cade. One foot was free now and, with his hands gripped around his knee, he was struggling to release the other. ‘You and Thorne go. I’ll be right behind you.’
‘Hurry, lad,’ said Thorne, climbing the ladder, followed by Celestia.
Cade wrenched at the boot and, with a sudden squelching crack, it came free. He leaped to his feet and ran to the bottom of the rope. Celestia had already climbed half a dozen rungs or so.
Hands shaking and heart thudding, Cade began to climb as fast as he could – but the rope rungs sagged under his weight, making the going hard. Hand over hand, foot after foot, he climbed higher.
The gap between Celestia and himself was growing. She was silhouetted, dark against the shaft of light shining down from the opening in the ceiling. It illuminated a large white stalactite that hung down from the centre of the cavern roof. Beyond her, Cade caught sight of Thorne, who was climbing up through the opening towards the hovering phraxlighter.
The cave was echoing now with the rising click and clack of the white trogs. It sounded like a night-chorus of woodcrickets.
Cade glanced down. Hundreds of the trogs were spilling from the tunnel entrance and spreading out across the cave floor, their faces raised as they stared up at him. In their midst, standing on one of the blocks of stone, was their queen. The expression on her face was one of cold fury. As Cade watched, she twisted round, and the crystal dagger in her hand glinted as she drew back her arm . . .
Cade turned away, reached up and hauled himself higher into the shaft of light. All at once, he felt a heavy thud at his shoulder. Then pain. A white searing pain that shot down his spine, along his arm, up his neck and across his back.
His head swam as he dragged himself up another rung of the ladder. Then another. His body felt as though it was loaded down with leadwood. His legs trembled. His temples throbbed.
His shoulder was burning . . .
He looked up. Celestia was being helped up through the hole in the roof. The shaft of light from the opening in the roof of the cavern filled his head with pain, and he screwed his eyes shut. He hugged the rope ladder. He tried to climb further, but couldn’t.
He could not move.
‘Cade . . . Cade . . .’
Cade opened his eyes. Gart was descending, coming down towards him. Below Cade, the rope ladder juddered rhythmically. White trogs must be climbing up towards him. Cade kept his eyes on Gart, willing himself not to look down.
A few rungs above him now, Gart stopped, then reached into the depths of his jacket and drew out his hand. Grasped in his fingers was a magnificent blood-red jewel.
Cade felt the last of his strength ebbing away, the pain spreading out from his shoulder to every part of his body, so intense that he could hardly breathe.
Must hold on, Cade told himself as the ladder juddered below him. Must hold on . . .
Gart reached out across the void towards the white stalactite. Cade stared
up at him, unable to move. Any moment now, a slime-rope, a crystal-shard spear, a white trog fist would land on him, pull him back down, away from the light . . .
As Cade watched, Gart pushed the red jewel into the hollow at the tip of the stalactite. Its limestone tendrils gripped it like fingers.
All at once, the shaft of light hit the tip of the stalactite. It passed through the jewel and became defused, and bathed the cave below in a deep red glow.
‘The spirits have been restored!’ the white trog queen’s voice rang out. ‘Their spirit-blood bathes the walls of the High Cavern once more . . .’
Cade’s fingers peeled off the rung of the rope ladder, his head fell back and his legs buckled – only for Gart’s arm to fold itself round him and catch him before he had a chance to fall.
‘Lammergyre! Push forward on the flight levers!’ Gart’s voice sounded close in Cade’s ear. ‘Take us up!’
The next moment, the rope ladder gave a lurch and they started to rise. The luminescent cave walls slid by in a blur. Suddenly the opening in the cavern ceiling enveloped them and they emerged into a dazzle of sunlight.
Above him, Cade saw the blurry outline of the hovering phraxlighter. The rope ladder was winched up. Hands reached down and grabbed him and pulled him into the small vessel, then laid him gently down. Cade closed his eyes, exhausted by the pain.
Celestia’s voice rang in his head. ‘Stay with us, Cade. Open your eyes . . .’
He felt fingers probing . . . hands cradling his head . . . his jacket being pulled away . . . the clatter of a crystal shard hitting the deck . . . a warm compress enveloping his shoulder . . .
He couldn’t breathe. The searing pain grew even more intense.
‘It’s no good,’ Celestia breathed. ‘We’re losing him.’
· CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE ·
THE PAIN THROBBED. The pain burned.
Cade writhed and twisted. His fingertips explored the bandage at his shoulder. He probed. He smoothed. He tried to ease away the throbbing, burning pain that raged beneath it.
‘Easy, Cade . . .’
‘Lie still . . .’
The words buzzed and echoed. They made no sense. He had to soothe away the pain.
‘Shhhh . . .’
Hands took his arm, folded it down, put it to his chest, gently but firmly. He felt himself being rolled onto his side. He heard sounds. Hissing and humming. Everything seemed to be gently swaying. Beneath him was a blanket that was warm and soft and smelled of woodsmoke.
He raised his head, opened his eyes . . .
Celestia was staring down at him, her green eyes filling with tears. Behind her were Thorne, Blatch and, turned half away, his face in profile, Gart Ironside. A thin plume of steam drifted over their heads.
Where was he? Cade wondered.
‘You were hit by a dagger,’ Celestia said softly. ‘In your shoulder . . . I’ve removed it. And I’ve applied a poultice and bandaged the wound.’ She reached out and placed a hand on Cade’s forehead. Her touch felt cool and dry. ‘You’re burning up,’ she said, and her face grew serious once more. ‘We think the blade of the knife was coated with some kind of poison.’
‘Venom,’ her father broke in. ‘Possibly from the venom sacs of the cave-spiders.’
Thorne snorted. ‘Poison, venom . . .’
‘There’s a difference,’ Blatch said. ‘Poison is ingested. Venom is introduced into the blood, with fangs, with knives. It’s harder to counter its effects,’ he added, his voice hushed. ‘Far, far harder . . .’
Cade closed his eyes. The words were beginning to congeal; booming one moment, fading to nothing the next.
‘Stay with us . . .’
‘Hold on . . .’
‘Cade . . . Cade . . .’
He thought of something he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat. And when he tried again, he couldn’t remember what they were.
He was cold. So cold. The blanket had been wrapped around him, but he couldn’t stop shivering; couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering. His head spun, his body felt heavy. Everything became dark . . . and muffled . . . and numb . . .
And Cade melted into the blackness.
He dreamed that he was falling down a deep, dark well – only to be caught.
Hands. Cade could feel them. Hands shoving themselves under one arm, under his legs. More hands at his back and head. He bounced and swayed. The pain in his shoulder intensified. It felt as though he was being branded.
He was hot. So hot. His skin was on fire and his blood was boiling.
The hands shifted position, turned him round. He was back resting on something soft. The hands withdrew. Suddenly there was water in his mouth . . .
At least, that was what he thought at first. ‘Drink this, Cade.’ Except it wasn’t like water at all. It was thick and claggy and sour, and he spat it out.
Cade’s eyes cracked open. He peered groggily out through the narrowed slits.
Faces swam before him, refusing to come into focus. Creased brows. Red eyes. He wanted to talk to them; wanted to speak. But his lips were swollen and blistered, and his throat was raw. No words would come.
He gave up. He closed his eyes.
His mother’s face appeared before him. He could smell her sweet perfume. ‘Cade,’ she whispered, and he felt a coolness touch his forehead, soft fingers caress his temples. ‘Hold on, my sweet, brave boy,’ she breathed. ‘Hold on . . .’
Cade felt scalding tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘Cade? Can you hear me, Cade?’ It was his father, his kindly eyes full of concern. ‘You’re strong enough to beat this, Cade, I know you are.’ He tapped the roll of scrolls he held in his hand against Cade’s chest. ‘You kept these safe for me. I knew you would. I could always depend on you, my dear, dear son . . .’
A deep, dark sob rose up from Cade’s chest, catching in his throat, round and smooth as a lake pebble, and impossible to swallow back down. The faces of his parents faded back into the pulsing darkness, and he was alone again. Alone with the pain that burned his skin and gnawed at his bones. His head hammered. He couldn’t breathe . . .
All at once, there was wetness at his face. He winced. Wetness again, across his nose, on his cheeks . . .
He parted his eyelids once more and peered out through narrow cracks. Blurred before him was a creature. Round, grey. Yellow eyes. Broad, slavering mouth. A slurping tongue . . .
He jerked his head away.
Another creature stood close by. Huge and hulking, with a massive misshapen head. It loomed closer. Thin lips parted. Teeth bared.
‘Master . . . C . . . Cade . . .’ it growled.
‘No, no,’ Cade cried out.
He thrashed his arms. He kicked out with his legs. He struggled to escape the terrifying creatures that stood before him, threatening to tear him limb from limb, to devour him . . .
He slumped back exhausted and closed his eyes, and gave in once more to the pain and the darkness. As if stirred by pumping bellows, the fire in his shoulder and in his head suddenly raged once more. He felt sick. He felt dizzy. He couldn’t move. It was as though he was above a blazing fire, tied to a spit that was slowly turning round and round. Then blackness . . .
There was something at his lower lip. It was hard and smooth. A bottle . . .
He tried to turn away. But his head was held still. He opened his eyes. Before him, blurred, as though he was looking up through a pool of water, he saw a large face – brown fur flecked with white bristles, large tusks, and the deepest, kindest, wisest eyes he had ever seen . . .
A trickle of water flooded over his tongue. This time it was neither thick nor claggy nor sour, and he did not spit it out. Instead, he swallowed, once, twice, three times.
The water extinguished the blazing fire, and the excruciating pain dulled to a throb – then faded away completely. The pressure on his chest lifted, and he could breathe easily once more.
The face rippled and shimmered
before him and, as Cade relaxed, his eyelids became impossibly heavy. They closed . . .
With a contented sigh, Cade drifted into a deep, deep, dreamless sleep.
· CHAPTER FORTY ·
CADE OPENED HIS eyes and stared up. The pain hadn’t returned and his head felt clear. He stretched where he lay, flexing his legs, arching his back, revelling in the feeling of his muscles tensing and relaxing.
Rumblix hopped down from his perch at the end of the hammock and bounded up Cade’s chest to lick his face. The creature’s breath was warm and sweet.
‘And good morning to you too, boy!’ Cade said, reaching up and tousling the thick beard beneath the pup’s chin.
He sat up. The cabin was cool and bathed in early morning sunlight that streamed in through the windows and set the dancing motes of dust sparkling in its blade-like rays.
The last thing he remembered was clinging to the rope ladder, too terrified to look down, too weak to climb up, the sound of vengeful white trogs ringing in his ears. Yet here he was in his cabin, in his hammock, with an unfamiliar brown and white checked blanket over him that smelled faintly of woodsmoke.
Lying here in his bed, Rumblix purring contentedly in the crook of his arm, it was as if the events of the last few days had all been some horrible nightmare. The drowning pools . . . The execution blocks . . . The huge crystal axe . . .
Cade sat up and looked out of the cabin window. It was open and a soft breeze, laced with grassy freshness, was coming in from the lake. The sun was glinting on the water, on the meadowland flowers fringing the shore, on the jagged treetops in the distance and the rocky outcrops beyond. It looked as though everything had been freshly polished. There were hammelhorns on the west shore, their heads down and hoofs deep in swampy mud as they grazed on the seedheads of the spiky reeds. There were fowl coming in from the east, flapping low over the surface of the lake. From the distant ridges to the south came the chittering cries of gangs of weezits, and the booming cough of a rutting tilderbuck. Above, the sky was blue and clear, save for a line of fluffy white clouds that drifted slowly from east to west.