Silverthorn

by Raymond E. Feist

  Those who stood in the shelter of the abbey looked at one another, astonishment on their faces. For a long moment they said nothing, then they began to relax. ‘That was … incredible,’ said Laurie, ‘I don’t know if I could find the words to describe it.’

  Arutha was about to speak, but something in the way Jimmy and Martin both cocked their heads to one side made him stop. Jimmy said, ‘I hear something.’ They all stood silent for a moment, then could hear a distant sound, as if some great bird or bat flapped giant wings in the night.

  Jimmy ran from the building before anyone could stop him, nearly spinning as he scanned every quarter of the night sky. Looking back over the roof of the abbey, towards the north, he saw something that made his eyes widen. ‘Banath!’ he exclaimed and dashed to where the old monk still stood, unmoving and silent. Micah seemed in some sort of trance, eyes closed. Jimmy gripped his arm and shook him. ‘Look!’ he shouted as the monk opened his eyes.

  Micah looked to where the boy pointed. Blotting out the large moon in the night sky was something that flew towards the abbey, propelled on giant, powerful wings. Instantly the monk shoved the boy away. ‘Run!’

  The push sent Jimmy away from the abbey, so he raced across the courtyard to where a lone wagon sat, filled with fodder for the stables, and dived under it. With a roll and a turn, he lay still, watching.

  A thing of despair fashioned in a shape of utter horror descended from the sky. Wings a full fifty feet in width flapped lazily as it dropped down to where the old monk stood. It was a twenty-foot-tall composite of everything loathsome to sane beings. Black talons extended from grotesque parodies of bird claws, atop which rose legs reminiscent of a goat’s. But where haunches should have been, only great wattles of fat, huge rings of blubber, shook and quivered, hanging impossibly down from below a manlike chest. Over the body a thick wet-looking substance oozed downwards in rivulets. In the centre of the thing’s chest, a blue-coloured but otherwise normal-looking human face stared out in wide-eyed horror, constantly twitching and screaming in gibbering counterpoint to the thing’s own loud bellows. Each arm was powerfully fashioned, long and apelike. It shimmered in faint light, rapidly changing, first red, then orange, yellow, and onward through the spectrum until it was again red. And from it emitted a mixture of foul odours, as if the vile smell of every decaying and festering thing in the world had been distilled down and infused into the creature’s being.

  Most horrid of all was the head, for in supreme cruelty, whatever or whoever had fashioned the misshapen monster had adorned it with a woman’s head, large to fit the body, but otherwise normal. And the ultimate jest was in the features of that face, for, in precise imitation, the thing bore the likeness of Princess Anita. Wild tresses seemed to blow in all directions, framing her features in a cloud of red hair. But its expression was one of a street whore, lewd and wanton, as the thing salaciously licked its lips and rolled its eyes towards Arutha. Blood-red lips split into a wide grin, showing long fangs in place of human eyeteeth.

  Arutha looked on the thing with a disgust and loathing that rose up to banish any thought save to destroy this obscenity. ‘No!’ he shouted as he began to pull his sword.

  Gardan was instantly upon him, driving him to the floor of the building, bringing his strength to bear to hold him down, yelling, ‘That’s what they want!’

  Martin lent his strength to stop Arutha, and he and Gardan pulled the Prince away from the door. The creature turned to look at those within the door, absently flexing its claws. Pouting like a little girl, it suddenly leered at Arutha, then stuck out its tongue, wiggling it suggestively. Then with a bellowing laugh, it rose up to its full height and roared at the stars, arms stretched high overhead. With a single step, it moved towards the doorway where the Prince waited. Then suddenly it rocked forwards, shrieked in pain, and turned around.

  Arutha and his companions looked past it to see a blue-white bolt of energy returning to Brother Micah’s hand. He had struck the first blow while the thing had been distracted. Again he cast his hammer. In a blur it flashed to strike the thing in its huge stomach, bringing another bellow of pain and rage, as a trickle of steaming black blood began to flow.

  ‘My, my!’ came a voice from behind Arutha.

  Laurie saw that Brother Anthony had come up from some deep vault beneath the abbey and was peering intently at the creature. Laurie said, ‘What is that thing?’

  Showing no emotion except curiosity, the archivist said, ‘I believe it to be a conjured creature, something fashioned by magic means, brewed up in a vat. I can show you some references in a dozen different works on how to create them. Of course, it could be some rare naturally occurring beast, but that seems highly improbable.’

  Martin rose, leaving Gardan to restrain Arutha. He unlimbered his ever present bow, quickly strung it, and fitted an arrow to his bowstring. The creature was advancing upon Brother Micah when Martin let fly. The archer’s eyes widened as the arrow seemed to pass through the creature’s neck without effect.

  Brother Anthony nodded. ‘Yes, it is a conjuration. Notice how it is impervious to mundane weapons.’

  The creature swung one of its mighty fists down at Brother Micah, but the old fighter simply raised his hammer as if to block. The creature’s blow halted a full foot above the monk’s upraised hammer, recoiling as if it had hit stone. It bellowed in frustration.

  Martin turned to Brother Anthony. ‘How do you kill it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Each of Micah’s blows draws energy away from the spell used to create it. But it is a product of tremendous magics, and it might last a day or longer. Should Micah falter …’

  But the old monk was firm on his feet, answering every blow with a parry and wounding the creature, seemingly at will. While it seemed pained by each wound the hammer made, it gave no sign of being weakened.

  ‘How do you make one?’ Martin asked Brother Anthony. Arutha was no longer struggling, but Gardan still knelt with his hand upon his shoulder.

  Anthony, caught up for a second in Martin’s question, said, ‘How do you create one? Well, it’s rather complex …’

  The creature became increasingly enraged by Micah’s blows and hammered uselessly at the monk. Tiring of this tactic, it dropped to its knees as it levelled a blow at Micah, overhand as if driving a spike with a hammer, but at the last instant it shifted its aim and slammed its massive fist down on the ground next to the monk.

  The jolt caused Micah to stumble slightly, which was the only opening the creature needed. Instantly sweeping its hand sideways, it knocked Micah across the courtyard. The old monk hit the ground heavily, rolled awkwardly, and lay stunned, his hammer bouncing away from him.

  Then the thing was again moving towards Arutha. Gardan leapt to his feet, pulling his sword as he dashed forwards to protect his Prince. The veteran captain stood before the thing, which grinned hideously down at him, the terrible parody of Anita adding a sickening element to the confrontation. Like a cat playing with a mouse, the creature pawed at Gardan.

  From out of an inner door, Father John reappeared, holding a large metal staff topped with an odd-looking seven-sided device. He stepped before Arutha, who was trying to move to aid Gardan, and shouted, ‘No! You can do nothing.’

  Something in his voice told Arutha it was futile to attempt to engage the thing, and the Prince retreated a step. The Abbot turned to confront the conjured creature.

  Jimmy crawled out from under the wagon and came to his feet. He knew the uselessness of drawing his dirk. Seeing the supine figure of Brother Micah, he ran to see how he fared. The old monk was still senseless, and Jimmy pulled him back towards the relative safety of the wagon. Gardan hacked uselessly at the creature while it played with him.

  Jimmy cast about and saw the mystic hammer of Brother Micah lying off to one side. He dived for it and grabbed the haft on the fly, coming to rest on his stomach, eyes upon the monster. The thing had not noticed the boy’s recovery of the weapon. Jimmy felt surprise when he
lifted it, for it was twice the weight he expected. He rose to his feet and ran to stand behind the monster, confronted by its foul, fur-covered hindquarters, arching above his head as it reached forward to grab Gardan.

  The captain was seized in a mammoth hand that lifted him towards the widening mouth. Father John raised up his staff and suddenly waves of green and purple energy flowed from it, washing over the creature. It howled in pain and squeezed Gardan, who cried out in concert.

  Martin shouted, ‘Stop! It’s crushing Gardan!’

  The Abbot ceased his magic and the thing snorted as it tossed Gardan at the door, seeking to injure its tormentors. The captain slammed into Martin, Brother Anthony, and the Abbot, knocking them to the ground. Arutha and Laurie both sidestepped the flying bodies. The Prince turned to see the leering parody of Anita’s face bending towards the door. The creature’s wings prevented it from entering the abbey, but long arms came snaking through the door, reaching for Arutha.

  Martin rose, helping the shaken Abbot and Brother Anthony to their feet. The archivist said, ‘Yes! Of course! The face in its chest! Kill it there!’

  Martin had an arrow nocked in an instant, but the crouching thing hid the target. It reached through the door for Arutha, then suddenly it was sitting back on its haunches, howling in pain.

  For an instant the face in the chest was visible, and Martin pulled back as he said, ‘Kilian guide my arrow,’ and let fly. True to the aim, the shaft flew and struck the insane face in the chest square in the forehead. The eyes in that face rolled up and closed as red, human blood billowed from the wound. The creature stopped rock-still.

  As all watched in wonder, the creature began to quiver. It grew instantly more brilliant in colour as the lights within flashed rapidly. Then all could see it was becoming transparent, insubstantial, a thing of coloured glowing smokes and gases, swirling in a mad dance as they slowly dissipated on the night wind. Their lights faded until once again the courtyard was empty and silent.

  Arutha and Laurie came up to Gardan, who was still conscious. ‘What happened?’ the Captain asked feebly.

  All eyes turned to Martin. He indicated Brother Anthony, who responded, ‘It was something the Duke asked, how one of those things is made. All the foul arts to make such a being require some animal or human to work upon. That face was all that was left of the poor demented soul who had been used as a focus to create the monster. It was the only mortal part, subject to mundane injury, and when it was killed, the magic … unravelled.’

  Martin said, ‘I’d not have made that shot had it not reared back like that.’

  “Most fortunate,” said the Abbot.

  ‘Fortune had little to do with it,’ said a grinning Jimmy. He held Brother Micah’s hammer as he approached. ‘I stuck it up the arse.’ He indicated the stunned Micah. ‘He’ll do all right,’ he said as he gave the hammer to the Abbot.

  Arutha was still shaken by the sight of Anita’s face atop that horror. Laurie, with a weak smile, said, ‘Father, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, have you some wine we might drink? That was the worst smell I’ve ever endured.”

  ‘Ha!’ Jimmy said indignantly. ‘You should have tried it from my end!’

  Arutha watched the dawn break over the Calastius Mountains, the rising sun an angry red orb. In the hours since the attack the abbey had returned to a semblance of order and quiet, but Arutha felt only turmoil within. Whatever lay behind these attempts upon him was powerful beyond anything he had anticipated, despite clear warning from Father Nathan and the High Priestess of Lims-Kragma. He had grown incautious in his haste to discover a cure for Anita, and such was not his nature. He could be bold when needed, and boldness had won him several victories, but of late he had not been bold, only headstrong and impulsive. Arutha felt something alien, something he had not endured since he was a boy. Arutha felt doubt. He had been so confident in his planning, but Murmandamus either had anticipated every move or somehow could react with unbelievable speed each time Arutha made a step.

  Arutha came out of his musing to see Jimmy beside him. The boy shook his head. ‘Just shows you what I’ve always said.’

  Despite his concerns, Arutha found himself slightly amused by the boy’s tone. ‘What is that?’

  ‘No matter how canny you think you are, something can come along, bam, and put you on your prat. Then you think, “That’s what I forgot to consider.” Eagle-eye hindsight, old Alvarny the Quick used to call it.’

  Arutha wondered if the boy had been reading his thoughts. Jimmy continued. ‘The Ishapians are sitting up here, mumbling prayers to themselves, and convinced they’ve got a real magic stronghold – ”nothing can breach our mystic defences,”’ he mimicked. ‘Then along come those balls of light and that flying thing and whoops! “We didn’t consider this or that!” They’ve been jabbering about what they should have done for an hour. Well, I guess they’ll have something stronger around here soon.’ Jimmy leaned back against the stone wall facing the cliff. Beyond the walls of the abbey the valley was emerging from the shadows as the sun reached higher in the sky. ‘Old Anthony was telling me that the spells necessary for last night’s show took some doing, so he doesn’t think anything magic will come this way for a while. They’ll be strong in their fortress … until something comes along that can kick down the gates again, as it were.’

  ‘Something of a philosopher, are you?’ Arutha smiled slightly as Jimmy shrugged.

  ‘Scared to pissing in my trousers is what I am, and you’d do well to be scared as well. Those undead things in Krondor were bad enough, but last night, well, I don’t know how you feel about it, but if I were you, I’d consider moving to Kesh and changing my name.’

  Arutha smiled ruefully at that, for Jimmy had made him see something he had denied. ‘To be honest, I am just as scared as you, Jimmy.’

  Jimmy looked surprised at the admission. ‘Truth?’

  ‘In truth. Look, only a madman would not be fearful of facing what we have, and what may come, but what matters isn’t whether or not you’re frightened, but how you behave. My father said once that a hero is someone who simply got too frightened to use his good sense and run away, then somehow lived through it all.’

  Jimmy laughed, boyish glee making him seem as youthful as his years rather than the man-boy he looked most of the time. ‘That’s a truth, too. Me, I’d rather do what needs be done, quickly, and get on to the fun. This suffering for grand causes is the stuff of sagas and legends.’

  Arutha said. “See, there’s a bit of the philosopher in you, after all.’ He changed topics. ‘You acted swiftly last night, and bravely. Had you not distracted the monster so Martin could slay it –’

  ‘We’d be on our way back to Krondor with your bones, assuming it didn’t eat them,’ finished Jimmy with a wry grin.

  ‘Don’t look so pleased at the prospect.’

  Jimmy’s grin broadened, ‘I’d not be, fact is. You’re one of the very few I’ve met worth having around. By most standards this is a merry bunch, though the times are grim. I’m sort of having fun, if the truth be known.’

  ‘You have a strange sense of fun.’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘Not really. If you’re going to be scared senseless, might as well enjoy it. That’s what thieving’s about, you know. Breaking into someone’s home in the dead of night, not knowing if they’re awake and waiting with a sword or club to spread your brains out on the floor when you stick your head in the window. Being chased through the streets by the city watch. It’s not fun, but it sort of is, you know? Anyway, it’s exciting. And besides, how many can boast they saved the Prince of Krondor by goosing a demon?’

  Arutha laughed hard at that. ‘Hang me, but that’s the first thing I’ve had to laugh aloud at since … since the wedding.’ He placed his hand upon Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘You earned some reward this day, Squire James. What shall it be?’

  Jimmy’s face screwed up in a display of hard thinking. ‘Why not name me Duke of Krondor?”

 
Arutha was thunderstruck. He started to speak, but stopped. Martin approached from the infirmary and, seeing such a strange expression on Arutha’s face said, ‘What ails you?’

  Arutha pointed to Jimmy. ‘He wants to be Duke of Krondor.’

  Martin laughed uproariously. When he quieted. Jimmy said, ‘Why not? Dulanic’s here, so you know his retirement’s not bogus. Volney doesn’t want the post, so who else are you going to give it to? I’ve a fair wit, and I’ve done you a favour or two.’

  Martin continued laughing while Arutha said, ‘For which you have been paid.’ The Prince was caught between outrage and amusement. ‘Look, you bandit, I might think about having Lyam give you a minor barony – very minor – to take charge of, when you reach your majority, which is at least three years away. For now you’ll have to settle for being named Senior Squire of the Court.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘He’ll organize them into a street gang.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘at least I’ll have the pleasure of seeing that ass Jerome’s face when you give deLacy the order.’

  Martin stopped his laughing and said, ‘I just thought you’d like to know Gardan will be fine, as will Brother Micah. Dominic is up and about already.’

  ‘The Abbot and Brother Anthony?’

  ‘The Abbot is off somewhere doing whatever abbots do when their abbeys have been desecrated. And Brother Anthony is back looking for Silverthorn. He said to tell you he’ll be in chamber sixty-seven if you wish to speak with him.’

  Arutha said, ‘I’m going to find him. I want to know what he’s discovered.’ As he walked away, he said, ‘Jimmy, why don’t you explain to my brother why I should elevate you to the second most important dukedom in the Kingdom?”

  Arutha walked off in search of the head archivist. Martin turned to look at Jimmy, who grinned back at him.

  Arutha entered the vast chamber, musty with age and the faint odour of preservatives. By flickering lantern light Brother Anthony was reading an old volume. Without turning to see who entered, he said, ‘Just as I thought, I knew it would be here.’ He sat up. ‘That creature was similar to one reported killed when the Temple of Tith-Onanka in Elarial was invaded three hundred years ago. It was certain, according to these sources, that Pantathian serpent priests were behind the deed.’