Then, from the corpse, we heard an unmistakable groan.
JENNY CALDER
GRIMALKIN WAS THE first to reach Tom. She lifted him out of the mud and carried him in her arms like a child, pushing through the crowd and ignoring even the prince. She was hurrying back towards the camp. I ran after her, calling her name, but she never even glanced back.
Soon we were back in the tent where we had washed the corpse – which now seemed very much alive. Grimalkin laid Tom on the pallet and covered him with a blanket. He was breathing and giving the occasional moan, but he didn’t open his eyes.
‘Tom! Tom!’ I cried, kneeling beside him, but Grimalkin pushed me away.
‘Leave him, child! He needs to sleep deeply,’ she commanded, giving me a glimpse of her pointy teeth. She seemed concerned, but angry too. Being a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, one of my gifts is that of empathy – but it didn’t work with the witch assassin. Perhaps she had magical barriers in place.
Soon Prince Stanislaw, escorted by four guards, came to see Tom; he had a brief animated conversation with Grimalkin in the local language, Losta; she didn’t bother to translate for me so I don’t know exactly what was said – though sometimes I can read people’s thoughts, and the prince’s mind was open to me. He was excited and astonished and filled with rapture, believing that he had witnessed a miracle. He was happy for Tom too; happy that he still lived, and fervently wished for a full recovery. But beneath all these thoughts was calculation: already he was anticipating using Tom as a figurehead to rally more troops and launch an attack upon the Kobalos.
After the departure of the prince we were left alone in the tent. Grimalkin sat beside Tom, staring down into his face while I paced back and forth in agitation, my mind racing with what I had seen. I longed to ask Grimalkin how he was doing, but her expression was forbidding. At last I blurted out my question.
‘Will he get better?’ I asked. ‘Is it possible?’
‘Come here, child,’ Grimalkin told me. ‘Look at this . . .’
I approached the low trestle table where Tom lay. She pulled back the sheet and pointed to the place where the Kobalos’s sabre had transfixed his body. I had seen scales around Tom’s wound before, but now it had closed right up, sealed with scales.
‘It’s a miracle!’ I exclaimed. ‘The angel has restored him to life!’
Grimalkin shook her head, looking nothing like her usual confident self. ‘It was not a miracle and that creature was no angel. In part, the healing came about because of the lamia blood that courses through his veins – something that he inherited from his mother. But he was certainly dead, and restoring him to life required a dark magic so powerful that everyone who witnessed it should be afraid.’
Lamia witches were shape-shifters. In their ‘domestic’ form they had the appearance of human women but for the line of green and yellow scales that ran the length of their spines. In their ‘feral’ shape they scuttled around on all fours with sharp teeth and talons, crunching bones and drinking the blood of their victims.
I knew that Tom’s mam had been a healer and a midwife but to my astonishment Grimalkin had revealed that she had also been a lamia. She had passed on to Tom the ability to heal himself. But surviving death was something far beyond that.
‘Who used the magic?’ I asked.
Grimalkin didn’t answer. Was she even listening to me? I wondered. She seemed to have retreated into her own private world. I heard a murmuring outside, and rather than repeating my question I went over and lifted the tent flap. Scores of warriors stood outside, staring at the tent.
I returned to Tom’s makeshift bed. He was breathing slowly, in a deep sleep, but looked as if he might open his eyes at any moment. I wondered fearfully if he could really be himself after such a trauma? He might have been tipped into insanity or have no recollection of his former life.
‘There are ranks of warriors outside. What do they want?’ I asked Grimalkin.
She sighed, drew back the blanket and inspected Tom’s wound again. She spoke so quietly that I had to lean closer to catch her words. ‘They want this sleeping “prince” to lead them across the river and destroy the Kobalos. They have seen Tom defeat the Shaiksa; now they have witnessed his return from the dead, an even greater accomplishment. They want what I wanted. We have reached the position I hoped for all along. But someone else has brought us to this point; someone who had already planted the seeds of this harvest months before we arrived here with Tom; someone who has seen the larger picture of events and schemed to bring about this very situation.
‘Months?’ I asked. How could she know this?
‘The winged being has been appearing to the magowie for some time. It has been controlled by someone who hides in the shadows so that I cannot see him.’
‘Do you know who it is?’ I asked, suddenly afraid. I had thought Grimalkin was the great schemer, but now, it seemed, there was someone too powerful for even her to detect.
‘I know only one person capable of such powerful dark magic,’ she said. ‘A human mage I have encountered before. His name is Lukrasta, and he once served the Fiend. His purpose now is to ensure the survival of humanity and the destruction of the Kobalos.’
‘Tom told me a little of Lukrasta – isn’t he the dark mage his friend Alice now works with?’
‘Yes, that is the one,’ the witch assassin admitted, her face grim. Her mouth twitched, and I wondered if she was afraid . . .
‘But don’t we all want the same outcome, then?’ I asked. Surely this mage Lukrasta would be a valuable ally.
‘Lukrasta is indeed fighting on our side against the Kobalos – but sometimes the means he uses are too terrible, and the goal is not worth it,’ Grimalkin replied, shaking her head. ‘I watched the final stage of Tom’s struggle with the assassin very carefully. He fought perfectly, exactly as I had trained him – but as he delivered the killing blow, he made an elementary mistake. His stance allowed the Shaiksa to deliver the killing thrust.’
‘But the Kobalos warrior was highly skilled. Are you sure Tom made a mistake? Anybody can make a mistake in the heat of battle, surely?’
‘I am certain, child,’ Grimalkin retorted angrily, showing her sharp teeth. ‘Tom Ward would never have made such an elementary mistake of his own volition. I think his actions were influenced by some magical force. He had to die so that these warriors could witness his resurrection; they are now more likely to follow him into battle obediently and without question. The winged creature and the prophecies made by the magowie . . . it all fits together only too well. We have been used as part of a clever scheme, pawns in a much larger game.
‘Think what has been done and how it has been done!’ she spat. ‘Tom has suffered to meet the needs of this mage. He died a painful death and perhaps an even more painful resurrection. We are all expendable. Tom Ward and Lukrasta are enemies. Last year they fought, and Tom won. There is something cruel and vindictive about what has been done here – in hurting Tom, the mage has exacted a painful revenge over his rival.’
‘How is Lukrasta Tom’s rival? Is it because of Alice? Does Tom still care for Alice?’ I hoped he didn’t – it couldn’t be good for a spook to be so close to a witch.
Grimalkin smiled bitterly. ‘Alice and Tom were very close – he is hurt by her absence. Now she is closer to Lukrasta than she ever was to Tom. Yes, they are truly rivals for the friendship of Alice.’
For a while I did not reply. I’d never seen the witch assassin so upset before. I could feel myself wilting under the fierce heat of her anger. Then at last I screwed up my courage and asked the question that had been bothering me.
‘How could Tom have been manipulated by a magical force during his battle with the Shaiksa? He was wielding the Starblade that you forged for him. You both thought that made him invulnerable to magic.’
‘It should have done so. I believed that it would protect against any dark magic intended to harm him – magic wielded by both humans and Kobalos. T
hat is what worries me. The magic used against Tom was more powerful than the blade. I suspect that Lukrasta and Alice combined their magical power to achieve that.’ Grimalkin’s hands were trembling slightly – but was it from fear or anger?
After a while she spoke again, her tone softer and friendlier. ‘You look tired, girl – you have been through a lot. I will watch over Tom. Go back to our tent and sleep. I will ask the prince to provide you with an escort through the camp.’
I hesitated. I was reluctant to leave Tom. I really wanted to be there if he woke up, but Grimalkin was staring at me, and I was forced to look away from her fierce gaze.
Within the hour I was back at our own little camp, watched over by a couple of the prince’s guards. I was tired, but I fed and watered the horses before crawling under my blanket. Almost immediately I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was late morning when I awoke and went outside. I saw that the guards were gone, as had most of the nearby tents. There was no sign of human activity.
I was puzzled and tempted to investigate further but the horses badly need to be exercised, so I put aside my curiosity and dealt with their needs first, riding them along the riverbank. It was a fine bright morning and I enjoyed the gallop. I was so pleased that Tom seemed to have a chance of recovering, but that was balanced by what Grimalkin had told me of Lukrasta and Alice. How could Alice be Tom’s friend and yet conspire to cause him such pain?
As I approached the camp again, I saw the witch assassin striding towards me between the remaining tents.
‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.
‘They’ve set off for a castle belonging to Prince Stanislaw. We are to stay there for a time while we strengthen our forces and prepare to cross the river into the Kobalos lands.’
Her words filled me with utter dismay. I couldn’t believe that they were still planning the attack. I’d been hoping that Tom would be able to travel back to the County.
‘What about Tom? Is he conscious?’
‘No, he is still in a very deep sleep. He is being carried there on a cart, watched over by the prince’s guards. We need to strike camp and follow.’
The journey to the castle took us through a great forest of tall spruce and pine trees. How I longed to be back amongst the oaks and sycamores of the County. When Tom recovered he would surely need a period of convalescence. He certainly wouldn’t be strong enough to ride at the head of an army. Grimalkin had talked of crossing the river to attack the Kobalos, but perhaps I could persuade him to go home? I would certainly try my best.
Grimalkin was not best pleased when the castle finally came into view. ‘This is no place to position an armed camp! It will be impossible to defend!’ she exclaimed.
Set on high ground, rising out of the haze from hundreds of campfires, the castle was a beautiful and impressive sight, surrounded by pine trees and wild meadows. However, it lacked the moat and high defensive walls of castles that I’d seen back in the County.
‘No doubt Prince Stanislaw uses it as a base to hunt boar and deer,’ she continued. ‘It’s a place to entertain his nobles and other princelings. We should have gone further south, closer to the capital. Our Kobalos enemies might seize the initiative and attack first.’
I had only seen one of the Kobalos so far – the assassin that Tom had defeated in single combat. Yet I knew that many of their warriors dwelt across the river, and that even greater numbers lived in the great Kobalos city called Valkarky. Their intention was to kill all human men and boys and enslave the women. The threat they posed was terrifying.
They had their powerful new god, Talkus, whose birth had encouraged them to invade human territory.
He had also drawn other Old Gods to his side.
The most formidable of these allies was Golgoth, the Lord of Winter who shared the Kobalos’ love of the frozen wastes; he was a god who threatened to bring ice and snow to the whole world creating a new Age of Ice. These gods, the Kobalos and their battle-entities were the dark army that we faced.
When we reached the castle, we were treated with courtesy and our horses were fed and watered. Somehow they found room for them in the crowded stables. The castle was very full as well. The rulers of the other principalities had brought their warriors to join the cause and resist the expected Kobalos attack, and each had been given quarters there. The consequence was that I had to share a small room in the southern turret with Grimalkin.
Still, our room had two narrow beds. I was grateful for that because in sleep Grimalkin can be terrifying. Sometimes she cries out as if in agony or speaks harsh angry words in some foreign language; most scary of all is the way she sometimes grinds her teeth together and growls deep in her throat.
Time passed slowly and I moped in my room, making notes on what had happened and writing this account in Tom’s notebook. Occasionally I broke the tedium with a brisk walk in the cold, pacing back and forth within the courtyard. I really wanted to explore the grounds, but the soldiers camped there were loud and boisterous, and I avoided them.
Grimalkin seemed to spend all her time by Tom’s bedside, but when I tried to see him, she wouldn’t let me enter the room.
Then, on the third morning, she came and told me that Tom was conscious and wished to speak to me.
So this will be my final entry in his notebook.
I am happy to return it to him, but I wonder what will happen now. Will he want to go home? I really hope so. I am about to find out.
THOMAS WARD
ALICE TURNED AND smiled at me. We’d just cooked two rabbits in the embers of our campfire. Now we were eating them, the tender meat almost melting in our mouths.
I smiled back. She was a really pretty girl with nice brown eyes, dark hair and high cheekbones. It was easy to forget that she’d been trained in witchcraft by a witch called Bony Lizzie. But we’d just survived a terrible threat from the dark and Alice had helped me – so rather than imprison her in a pit, the Spook had given her another chance. I was taking her to stay with her aunt at Staumin, to the west of the County.
We finished the rabbits and sat in silence. It was one of those comfortable silences where you didn’t need to speak. I felt relaxed and happy; it was good to just sit there next to her, staring into the warm embers of the fire.
But suddenly Alice did something really strange. She reached across and held my hand.
We still didn’t speak and stayed like that for a long time. I looked up at the stars. I didn’t want to break away but I was all mixed up. My left hand was holding her right hand and I felt guilty. I felt as if I was holding hands with the dark – I knew the Spook wouldn’t like it.
There was no way I could get away from the truth. It was very likely that Alice was going to be a witch one day. It was then that I remembered what Mam had said about her – that she’d always be somewhere in between, neither wholly good nor wholly bad.
But wasn’t that true of all of us? Not one of us was perfect.
So I didn’t take my hand away. I just sat there, one part of me enjoying holding her hand, which was comforting after all that had happened, while the other part was overcome with guilt . . .
All at once I found myself lying in my bed. My heart sank like a stone.
It had all been a dream about what had happened years earlier during the first months of my apprenticeship.
I’d enjoyed those moments with Alice, but now I remembered more recent events. Our close friendship had lasted years and I’d truly loved her – it was Alice who had brought it to an end. She’d betrayed me and gone off with the mage, Lukrasta. The pain of it was still as fresh now as the moment it happened.
Alice had become a witch. She had gone to the dark. I had lost her for ever.
I looked at the weak sunlight streaming into the room and shivered. They still hadn’t returned my clothes and, pulling the heavy woollen gown about me, I left my bed for the first time since regaining consciousness. Once again I remembered the sudden pain as the sabre entered my flesh;
I remembered falling into the darkness of death.
There was an ache in my belly and the floorboards were cold. My knees trembled as I walked unsteadily over to the window seat and peered down.
This castle was the most northerly seat of Prince Stanislaw of Polyznia. Grimalkin had already told me that it could not be defended. She seemed to be finding fault with everything. I had tried to remain calm in her presence but I felt increasingly bitter at the way she had manipulated me, bringing me to this northern principality without telling me that her intention was for me to fight the Shaiksa assassin. Her scheme had led to my death.
I looked through the window at an army made up of the prince’s own blue-jacketed forces and those from the other northern principalities that bordered the Kobalos territory. I could see part of their camp from the window. Their fires had created a brown haze that hung over the meadows between the castle and the forest.
Reinforcements were also joining us from the larger Germanic kingdoms immediately to the south. We would need every man we could get but there would never be enough of them.
Somewhere across the Shanna River, two hours to the north, were our enemies – the Kobalos army, which was many times the size of our own. They could attack at any time.
They were a fierce race of bestial creatures, and their new god Talkus had increased the power of their mages and fuelled this war. He might now be the most powerful entity of the dark. That was why I had let Grimalkin persuade me to travel here – to gather information that might help to defeat them long before they fought their way to the sea and threatened the County.
We had destroyed the Fiend only to find something worse taking his place.
Following the predictions of the magowie, the wise men who served the rulers of the principalities, thousands of men-at-arms had converged on this castle and now, because of my victory over the assassin, I was supposed to lead them. But I was a spook, not a prince. I didn’t want to lead them to their deaths.
Spook's: The Dark Army Page 2