Behind it, a stairwell curled in both directions. Gonda shuddered.
Carith Drombo had come up from the altar room and had snatched Tiggy while Gonda’s back was turned. And where had she taken him? Back down?
No.
Carith still believed Tiggy was the malgrim. She had taken him up. She was going to - what? - unleash the malgrim’s full power and destroy the palace, herself included?
No.
She wants me, Gonda knew. She’s using Tiggy as a hostage until I give myself up so she can have her renewal.
If she hurts one hair on his head... Gonda began to climb the stairs to the roof. My Lady Drombo has got at least one more surprise coming her way.
***
The Duke reached the foot of the mound. He hacked at the once-deads that were swarming after Broad. Arms and legs continued the climb while the torsos from which they’d been separated rolled uselessly in the mud.
“Broad?” he called out between slashes. “Did it work?”
“I don’t know,” said Broad. “Sorry. I mean, I don’t know, Your Grace. He’s in there still. Shade. He hasn’t come out.”
Smedlock sat up. His blank eyes lifeless, his expression empty. Broad and the Duke backed off as the wizard got to his feet.
“Is he...” The Duke was horrified.
“I don’t know. Your Grace.”
Unlike the once-deads, Smedlock did not lunge toward the living. Instead he walked down the mound and into the swarm. He passed through the soldiers unmolested; in fact, they turned and followed him. He led them away from the mound and across the plain, picking up those who were still occupied with the ailing Lughor. They trudged toward the palace behind their hooded leader.
“What’s he doing?” said Broad.
“Beats me,” said the Duke. “Although that’s not the outcome I would prefer.”
“You’re finished!” announced Argolef. “On your knees, usurping dog!”
“What?” said the Duke, turning around as though noticing the king of the Eastern Realm for the first time. “Oh, hello.”
With a snarl, Argolef rushed at the Duke and ran him through with his longsword.
“Your Grace!” cried Broad, catching the Duke in his arms. Fine bodyguard I turned out to be.”
Argolef raised his sword as though to strike off the youth’s head. A bolt of lightning struck it. The king was galvanised. He dropped his weapon and keeled over like a felled tree.
“Your Grace!” Broad searched the Duke’s face for signs of life. One eye opened and then the other. The Duke pushed the youth away and got to his feet. Broad was astonished. The Duke reached under his breastplate and showed him the tiny pendant.
“Great stuff, goldinium,” he laughed in surprise.
“That’s Lughor’s!” said Broad.
“He gave it to me. Pretty glad he did, I can tell you.”
“But if you’ve got that... that means...” Broad struggled to complete the line of reasoning. Both men looked across the plain. Lughor, abandoned now by the once-deads was on one knee, leaning on his broadsword for support. Even from a distance, they could see he was spent.
Argolef stirred. Broad stood over him.
“You’re under arrest,” he announced. “For attempted murder of the Duke.”
“Do you know who I am?” snarled the king.
“Memory loss is no defence,” said the youth. He pulled Argolef to his feet.
“Idiot.” He was astounded to see the Duke upright and apparently unscathed.
“Argolef!” grinned the Duke. “I must thank you for this impromptu state visit but I suggest you return to the Eastern Realm forthwith and we’ll say no more about it.”
“But-” The king’s blue moustaches twitched.
“But nothing,” said Broad, stepping between them. “You heard His Grace. Piss off.”
“You heard my man,” said the Duke. “Piss off.”
Argolef was outraged. “No one speaks to me like that.”
“We just did,” said Broad. “I can go stronger if you like.”
Argolef grunted. He stooped to retrieve his sword but Broad shook his head. Alone and unarmed, the king of the Eastern Realm walked away.
“Is this wise, Your Grace? Letting him go?”
“Who can say? We’ve been waiting centuries for them to make a move. Now we’ve shown them what we’re made of in Glaur, he might think again. I don’t want war.”
“Bad luck,” said Broad, gesturing at the Potlar plain. “We’ve got one.”
***
“Let him go!” Gonda yelled. Carith Drombo was holding Tiggy near the edge of the roof. The drop would kill him. Or set him off, killing everyone. Or so she believed.
“You submit then, to the renewal?” Carith’s voice was even deeper than before. Along with some of the features of fireworks master Frent, the signs of great age were manifesting themselves upon her. Her hair was a shock of white, showing her yellowed and mottled scalp in places where it had thinned and vanished. Lines scored her face and her skin was sallow and saggy like a loose-fitting, misshapen garment, with her protruding collarbones the hanger.
“Not on your nelly,” said Gonda. Her hand flew out, across the plain. Overhead, thunder rumbled and a fork of lightning stabbed down from the clouds –the same fork that struck Argolef and kept Broad’s head on his shoulders.
Carith gaped. “You are a sorceress, then?”
“Not bloomin’ likely,” Gonda sneered. “I’m the malgrim.”
Carith shook her head in disbelief. “Lies! It’s the boy! Malgrims don’t live that long.”
“Everyone’s an expert all of a sudden,” said Gonda, taking a step toward them. “Let the boy go and I’ll be kind.”
Overhead, black clouds gathered as though especially for Carith. She looked at them nervously. A distant rumble startled her.
“Oh, yeah!” said Gonda. “That’s me, that is. Do you want to see what else I can do?”
“That’s fine,” said Carith. “Let’s go indoors, out of this weather, and talk about things like reasonable people.”
“No, thank you,” smiled Gonda. “Come on, Tiggy.” She held out her hand. The boy reached out but the witch would not release his other hand.
“I think not,” said the witch, her voice cracking. She pulled the boy to her and lifted him in her skinny arms.
“You’re finished, Drombo,” said Gonda. “You’ll kill no more young women.”
Carith Drombo poked out her tongue. She jumped off the roof, taking Tiggy with her. Gonda darted forward, screaming the boy’s name, but she was too late to reach him.
Down came the thunder.
Twenty-Eight
Smedlock was almost at the western gate when it happened. The Duke’s men were ready: archers had arrows trained on the once-deads leading the horde, others had the sack open, lest any enemy foot cross the threshold.
The air was filled with noise. Thunder, angry and deafening, bombarded the ears of everyone in the palace and on the plain. The living pressed their hands to the sides of their heads, doubling over in pain. Every cell, every fibre, vibrated with the low sound.
The once-deads did not react to the noise but the effect on them was almost instantaneous. Vibrations in the air shook them apart where they stood, reducing them to the tiniest pieces. Weapons and armour clattered to the ground with no one to bear them. In one almighty roar, the thunder reduced the army to next-to-nothing, and then silence, equally deafening.
The Duke and Broad, their arms around Lughor stood transfixed, watching the once-deads dissolve around them.
“Well, I’ll be-” said the Duke.
“You what?” shouted Broad, wiggling a finger in his ears. With an effort, Lughor stood.
“The pen
dant, Your Grace; it saved us from the thunder.”
“My word!” gasped the Duke. “Good job we were all linked at the time, eh? The stars must truly be on our side.”
Lughor grunted. He didn’t know why people had to bring the stars into things. It was fellow-feeling between humans that had saved them. By helping him, the Duke and the kid had saved themselves. That’s what friendship does.
They offered to help him walk to the palace but he shook them off. He hobbled alongside them, clearly in a lot of pain but not dead yet.
“One hundred and ninety nine...” he gasped between painful breaths.
“I beg your pardon,” said the Duke.
“That’s how many times they got me,” said Lughor. “I have only the strength of one man left.”
“Oh,” said Broad. “Who’s that then?”
Lughor frowned. “Why, me, you fool!”
“The strength of one is all any man can hope for,” said the Duke. “It is enough.”
To the cheers of the men, they reached the gates.
“I don’t understand,” said the Duke. “My men are yet living? The thunder spared them?”
“Gonda wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Broad pointed out. He saw Smedlock’s robe lying empty on the ground and stooped over it. “Shade!”
He picked up the garment and shook it. A turnip fell out.
“He’s made his last bowl of navarin,” observed the Duke.
Broad was heartbroken. He held the smelly garment to him and wept.
“Talk about overreacting,” said Shade. “You need a bath, mate.”
Broad blinked and looked up. Shade was standing over him, grinning. The soul-taker read the youth’s baffled expression and explained. “You should have known I wasn’t dead, because you’re still alive, you knobhead. We’re linked, remember. What saved you saved me as well. I was working the wizard, like a puppet. I was going to lead him and his nasty bunch right into the sack. Like that bloke in the story with the rats. The thunder knocked me out of him.” He looked across the plain. “Your girlfriend did a good job.”
Broad blushed. “She’s not my-” His expression changed and he sprang away. “Gonda! I’ve got to find her!”
“No rest for the wicked,” said Shade, streaming after Broad.
The Duke called for men to take Lughor inside. The warrior refused their aid but followed them indoors to be examined by the surgeon.
Marmellion looked across the plain. “Burn it,” he commanded. If there was anything, any scrap, any atom of once-dead matter out there, it had to be destroyed. He couldn’t have his people breathing it in. Today the threat of evil had come from without. He did not want to face his own subjects, poisoned by evil from within.
***
Carith Drombo lumbered around the palace grounds. She was limping, her foot broken, but she clung onto the boy - the normal, useless, little boy - as though he was the greatest treasure in the realm. The fall had been broken by a tent of all things! The Duke had set up a tent in the grounds from which he and she would have watched yet another of his bloody fireworks displays to honour their anniversary.
Him and his fireworks! They’ll be the death of him - unless I get to him first.
But first, the renewal.
The little boy would not be useless after all. She had never tried it with a male - well, not before Frent. The fireworks master had been too old and tainted by life. The little boy was young - no kidding! - and innocence personified. Using him would surely repair the damage and rejuvenate me. Then, I’ll move away from Glaur and start anew. Perhaps in the Eastern Realm; I hear their king is still single...
Cheered by this plan, Carith skirted around the building, looking for the cellar doors. Once in, she could reach the altar room in no time. Ho-ho, she laughed. She would soon be as good as new.
“Stop right there, old woman!” the Duke commanded. “Put the child down.”
He had turned the corner to find a wrinkled crone limping around in one of his wife’s best frocks.
He does not know me, Carith realised! Her mind raced to work things to her advantage.
“I found him, Your Grace,” she bowed her head. “On the roof. Some girl had left him stranded there.”
“Very good,” said the Duke. “Let him come to me. You shall be paid for your pains.”
“He’s afraid, Your Grace. He’s better off with his old granny. Aren’t you, boy?”
Tiggy did not respond. His eyes were fixed on the Duke. Or rather on a spot beyond the Duke as Gonda raced toward them, breathless from her descent.
“Tiggy!” she cried. The little boy held out his hand, straining to get to her. But the witch would not let him go. He stamped on her broken foot, causing her to shriek and hop. He ran toward Gonda.
“No, Tiggy,” she said flatly. “The Duke will look after you now.”
The Duke scooped up the boy. They watched as Gonda bore down on the old woman. She pulled something from the pocket in her skirt.
“An old bag for an old bag,” she scowled.
Carith frowned in confusion. She tried to back away but her broken foot made her stumble and fall.
Broad and Shade arrived on the scene.
“Gonda!” Broad cried. “Be careful with that thing!”
Thing, thought Carith Drombo? I’ve been called some names in my time but-
The distraction was all Gonda needed. She opened the sack and held it over the ageing witch’s head. The sack yawned hungrily. Carith looked up into its blackness, its bottomless void, and realised too late what was happening. The sack took her head first. Her arms flailed around, trying to find something in this world to hold on to. Her hand seized on the goose girl, the long nails digging deep into the flesh. Gonda screamed. Black clouds rolled overhead. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The witch would not let go. Even though the sack was working its way over her shoulders and down her arms to her elbows, she held onto the goose girl. Gonda struggled to get free. Broad approached to take her arm.
“No!” she roared, her words forcing him back like a blast of air. “Stay back,” she pleaded in her usual voice. “Don’t touch me.”
Broad backed off, helpless.
The sack was down to Carith’s waist. One arm was completely swallowed but the other that held Gonda was still visible - for the time being. The sack chomped its way to the wrist, the hand, the fingers, working its way onto the goose girl’s arm as well.
Sky and ground shook. Gonda pleaded with them all to run as far and as fast as they could. She didn’t think she could control herself this time. This time the thunder would kill them all.
With one last lingering look at Tiggy, Gonda resigned herself to her fate. Broad called her name but she refused to look at him. Her mind was made up. There was only one way to save them all.
She let the sack devour her without struggle. Last to go was her free hand. It clutched at the hem of the bag, taking it in with her.
The sack ate itself and vanished.
Twenty-Nine
Broad, Shade, the Duke and Tiggy stood looking at the spot where the sack had been for quite some time, ignorant of the clear blue sky above and the birdsong that had returned to the trees.
Shade put an insubstantial hand on Broad’s shoulder. The youth appreciated the gesture but did not feel the touch. He took Tiggy in his arms and kissed his forehead.
“Gonda,” said Tiggy, surprising them all. “Gone.”
“Yes,” said Broad. “Gonda’s gone.”
“I don’t understand,” said the Duke. “Who was that old bat she was wrestling with? And has anyone seen my wife?” He clapped his hands together and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m exhausted but I still think I could manage my wedding night, what!”
“Er - Your Grace,” said Shade. “That old bat was your
wife. There’s one or two things you don’t know about her.”
“Oh?”
“Walk with me,” Shade ushered the Duke aside to fill him in, leaving Broad to look after Tiggy.
“She was a good girl,” said Broad.
“Monster,” said Tiggy.
“No! You must never think that. She saved your life. She saved us all. From herself.”
“Broad,” said Tiggy, throwing his arms around the youth’s neck.
“That’s my name,” said Broad. “Don’t wear it out.”
***
They went to visit Lughor. The warrior was a little embarrassed to be found in bed with his wounds bandaged. He offered to get up in case anyone else wanted a lie down but the Duke told him not to be silly.
“You’ve earned your rest, old boy,” he said. “And about - I don’t know - two hundred medals besides.”
Lughor grunted. He didn’t want medals; he just wanted to serve. The Duke unhooked the goldinium pendant and placed it in the warrior’s hand, closing the fingers over it.
“I think you have more need of this at present, my friend. And Broad will look after me until you’re back on your feet,” the Duke assured him.
“Tiggy too!” said Tiggy. They laughed.
“Since when have you been talking, young fellow-me-lad?” Lughor let the boy hold one of his thick fingers.
“Gonda gone,” said Tiggy sadly.
Lughor ruffled his hair. “I know, chick.” He looked at the Duke. “We have been manipulated, Your Grace, by wizards seeking power to rule. But their conspiracy has been destroyed.”
The Duke snorted. “No wizard shall rule as long as I am alive. Now, listen: I have had papers drawn up, adopting Tiggy as my own son. It’s the least I can do after that poor girl’s sacrifice. He shall want for nothing. We shall have fireworks tonight!” the Duke clapped his hands. “Respectful ones, of course. To commemorate our losses. And I know to you all she was an evil witch of indescribable proportions but to me, she was my wife. And so, in memory of the woman I took her to be, I shall have one last plate of her damned peppered eggs if it kills me!”
Navarin, Thunder and Shade Page 32