The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  Chapter III - Changeling?

  Chapter IV - Decisions

  Chapter V - Alice Deane

  Chapter VI - A Dreadful Prophecy

  Chapter VII - The Journey Begins

  Chapter VIII - The Young Ladies

  Chapter IX - What I Am

  Chapter X - A Delegation of Thirteen

  Chapter XI - Night Attack

  Chapter XII - Lamias

  Chapter XIII - My Blood

  Chapter XIV - Portents

  Chapter XV - The Approach to the Ord

  Chapter XVI - Fill the Cup!

  Chapter XVII - Fire Elementals

  Chapter XVIII - A Bargain

  Chapter XIX - Your Fate

  Chapter XX - The Truth of Things

  Chapter XXI - A Sharp Tooth

  Chapter XXII - Last Words

  Chapter XXIII - His Fearsome Majesty

  Chapter XXIV - It Can’t Be True!

  The Journal of Thomas J. Ward

  Credits

  Copyright

  CLASH OF THE DEMONS

  CHAPTER I

  The Maenad Assassin

  I awoke suddenly with an urgent sense that something was wrong. Lightning flickered against the window, followed almost immediately by a tremendous crash of thunder. I’d slept through County storms before, so it wasn’t that which had woken me. No, I had a feeling that some kind of danger threatened. I jumped out of bed, and suddenly the mirror on my nightstand grew brighter. I had a glimpse of someone reflected in it, and then it quickly vanished. But not before I’d recognized the face. It was Alice.

  Even though she’d trained for two years as a witch, Alice was my friend. She’d been banished by the Spook and had returned to Pendle. I was missing her, but I’d kept my promise to my master and ignored all the attempts she’d been making to contact me. But I couldn’t ignore her this time. She’d written a message for me in the mirror, and I couldn’t help but read it before it faded away.

  What was a maenad assassin? I’d never heard of such a thing. And how could an assassin of any kind reach me when it had to cross the Spook’s garden—a garden guarded by his powerful boggart? If anyone breached the boundary, that boggart would let out a roar that could be heard for miles and then it would tear the intruder to pieces.

  And how could Alice know about the danger anyway? She was miles away, in Pendle. Still, I wasn’t about to ignore her warning. My master, John Gregory, had gone off to deal with a troublesome ghost, and I was alone in the house. I had nothing with me that I could use in self-defense. My staff and bag were down in the kitchen, so I had to get them.

  Don’t panic, I told myself. Take your time and stay calm.

  I dressed quickly and pulled on my boots. As thunder boomed overhead once more, I eased open my bedroom door and stepped out cautiously onto the dark landing. There I paused and listened. All was silent. I felt sure that nobody had entered the house yet, so I began to tiptoe down the stairs as quietly as I could. I crept through the hallway and into the kitchen.

  I put my silver chain in my breeches pocket and, taking up my staff, opened the back door and stepped out. Where was the boggart? Why wasn’t it defending the house and garden against the intruder? Rain was driving into my face as I waited, carefully searching the lawn and trees beyond for any sign of movement. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark, but I could see very little. Even so, I headed for the trees in the western garden.

  I’d taken no more than a dozen paces when there was a blood-curdling yell from my left and I heard the pounding of feet. Someone was running across the lawn, directly toward me. I readied my staff, pressing the recess so that, with a click, the retractable blade sprang from the end.

  Lightning flashed again, and I saw what threatened. It was a tall, thin woman brandishing a long, murderous blade in her left hand. Her hair was tied back, her gaunt face twisted in hatred and painted with some dark pigment. She wore a long dress, which was soaked with rain, and rather than shoes, her feet were bound with strips of leather. So this is a maenad, I thought to myself.

  I took up a defensive position, holding my staff diagonally, the way I’d been taught. My heart was beating fast, but I had to stay calm and take the first opportunity to strike.

  Her blade suddenly arced downward, missing my right shoulder by inches, and I whirled away, trying to keep some distance between myself and my opponent. I needed room in order to swing my staff. The grass was saturated with rain, and as the maenad came at me again, I slipped and lost my balance. I almost toppled over backward but managed to drop down onto one knee. Just in time I brought up my staff to block a thrust that would have penetrated deep into my shoulder. I struck again, hitting the maenad’s wrist hard, and the knife went spinning to the ground. Lightning flashed overhead, and I saw the fury in her face as, weaponless, she attacked again. She was shouting at me now, mad with rage—the harsh guttural sounds contained the odd word that I recognized as Greek. This time I stepped to one side, avoided her outstretched hands with their long, sharp nails, and gave her a tremendous thwack to the side of her head. She went down on her knees, and I could have easily driven the point of my blade through her chest.

  Instead I transferred my staff to my right hand, reached into my pocket, and coiled the silver chain around my left wrist. A silver chain is useful against any servant of the dark—but would it bind a maenad assassin? I asked myself.

  I concentrated hard, and the moment she came to her feet, she was illuminated by a particularly vivid flash of lightning. Couldn’t have been better! I had a perfect view of my target and released the chain with a crack! It soared upward to form a perfect spiral, then dropped around her body, bringing her down on the grass.

  I circled her warily. The chain bound her arms and legs and had tightened around her jaw, but she was still able to speak and hurled a torrent of words at me, not one of which I understood. Was it Greek? I thought so—but it was a strange dialect.

  It seemed the chain had worked, though, so wasting no time, I seized her by her left foot and began to drag her across the wet grass toward the house. The Spook would want to question her—if he could understand what she was saying. My Greek was at least as good as his, and she made little sense to me.

  Against one side of the house was a wooden lean-to where we kept logs for the fire, so I dragged her in there out of the rain. Next I took a lantern down from the shelf in the corner and lit it so that I could get a better look at my captive. As I held it above her head, she spat at me, the pink viscous glob landing on my breeches. I could smell her now—a mixture of stale sweat and wine. And there was something else, too. A faint stench of rotting meat. When she opened her mouth again, I could see what looked like pieces of flesh between her teeth.

  Her lips were purple, as was her tongue—signs that she’d been drinking red wine. Her face was streaked with an intricate pattern of whorls and spirals. It looked like reddish mud, but the rain hadn’t managed to wash it off. She spat at me again, so I stepped back and hung the lantern on one of the ceiling hooks.

  There was a stool in the corner, which I placed against the wall, sitting well out of spitting range. It was at least another hour until dawn, so I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the rain drumming on the roof of the lean-to. I was tired and could afford to doze. The silver chain had bound the maenad tightly, and she’d no hope of setting herself free.

  I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when a loud noise woke me. I sat up with a jerk. There was a roaring, rushing, whooshing sound, which was getting nearer by the second. Something was coming toward the lean-to, and I suddenly realized what it was.

  The boggart! It was rushing to attack!

  I hardly had time to get to my feet before the lantern went out and I was blown onto my back, the impact driving the breath from my body. While I gasped for air, I could hear logs being hurled against the wall, but the loudest sound of all was that of the maenad screaming. The noise went on in the darkness for a
long time; then, but for the pattering of heavy rain, there was silence. The boggart had done its work and gone.

  I was afraid to light the lantern again. Afraid to look at the maenad. But I did it anyway. She was quite dead and very pale, drained of blood by the boggart. There were lacerations to her throat and shoulders; her dress was in tatters. On her face was a look of terror. There was nothing to be done. What had happened was unprecedented. Once she was my bound captive, the boggart shouldn’t have so much as touched her. And where had it been when it should have been defending the garden?

  Shaken by the experience, I left the maenad’s body where it was and went back into the house. I thought about trying to contact Alice with the mirror. I owed her my life, and I wanted to thank her. I almost weakened, but I’d made a promise to the Spook. So, after struggling with my conscience for a while, I simply had a wash, changed my clothes, and waited for the Spook to return.

  He came back just before noon. I explained what had happened, and we went out to look at the dead assassin.

  “Well, lad, this raises a fair few questions, doesn’t it?” my master said, scratching at his beard. He looked seriously worried and I couldn’t blame him. What had happened made me feel very uneasy, too.

  “I’ve always felt confident that my house here at Chipenden was safe and secure,” he continued, “but this makes you think. Puts doubts in your mind. I’ll sleep less easily in my bed from now on. Just how did this maenad manage to get across the garden undetected by the boggart? Nothing’s ever gotten past it before.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “And there’s another worrying thing, lad. Why did it attack and kill her later, when you had her bound with your chain? It knows not to behave like that.”

  Again I nodded.

  “There’s something else I need to know—how did you know she’d gotten into the garden? It was thundering and raining hard. You couldn’t possibly have heard her. By rights, she should have entered the house and killed you in your bed. So what gave you warning?” asked the Spook, raising his eyebrows.

  I’d stopped nodding and was now gazing at my feet, feeling my master’s glare burning into me. So I cleared my throat and explained exactly what had happened.

  “I know I promised you I wouldn’t use the mirror to talk to Alice,” I finished, “but it happened too quickly for me to do anything about it. She’s tried to contact me before, but I’ve always obeyed you and looked away—until now. It was a good thing I did read her message this time, though,” I said a little angrily, “otherwise I’d be dead!”

  The Spook stayed very calm. “Well, her warning saved your life, yes,” he admitted. “But you know how I feel about you using a mirror and talking to that little witch.”

  I bristled at his words. Perhaps he noticed, because he let the matter drop. “Do you know what a maenad assassin is, lad?”

  I shook my head. “One thing I do know—when she attacked, she was almost insane with fury!”

  The Spook nodded. “Maenads rarely venture from their homeland, Greece. They’re a tribe of women who inhabit the wilderness there, living off the land, eating anything from wild berries to animals they find wandering across their path. They worship a bloodthirsty goddess called the Ordeen and draw their power from a mixture of wine and raw flesh, working themselves up into a killing frenzy until they are ready for fresh victims. Mostly they feed upon the dead, but they’re not averse to devouring the living. This one had anointed her face to make her appear more ferocious, probably with a mixture of wine and human fat, and wax to hold the two together. No doubt she’d killed someone recently.

  “It’s a good job you managed to knock her down and bind her, lad. Maenads have exceptional strength. They’ve been known to tear their victims to pieces using just their bare hands! Generations of them have lived like that, and as a result they’ve regressed so that now they’re barely human. They are close to being savage animals, but they still have a low cunning.”

  “But why would she sail all the way here to the County?”

  “To kill you, lad—that’s plain enough. But why you should pose a threat to them in Greece, I can’t imagine. Your mam’s there fighting the dark, though, so no doubt this attack has something to do with her.”

  Afterward the Spook helped me unwrap my silver chain from the body of the maenad and we dragged her into the eastern garden. We dug a narrow pit for her, deeper than its length and breadth, me doing most of the work as usual. Then we eased her into that dark shaft headfirst. She wasn’t a witch, but the Spook never took any chances with servants of the dark—especially those we didn’t know too much about. One night when the moon was full, dead or not, she might try to scratch her way to the surface. She wouldn’t realize that she was heading in the opposite direction.

  That done, the Spook sent me down to the village to find the local stonemason and blacksmith. By late evening they’d fashioned the stones and bars over her grave. It hadn’t taken my master long to deduce the answer to his two other questions. He’d found two small wooden bloodstained troughs right at the edge of the garden. Most likely they’d been full of blood before the boggart had drunk its fill.

  “My guess, lad, is that there was something mixed into the blood. Maybe it made the boggart sleep or confused it. That’s why it didn’t detect the maenad entering the garden and later killed her when it shouldn’t have. Pity she died. We could have questioned her and found out why she’d come and who’d sent her.”

  “Could the Fiend be behind it?” I asked. “Could he have sent her to kill me?”

  The Fiend, also known as the Devil, had been loose in the world since the previous August. He’d been summoned by the three Pendle witch clans—the Malkins, Deanes, and Mouldheels. Now the clans were at war with one another—some witches in thrall to the Fiend, others his bitter enemies. I’d encountered him three times since then, but although each encounter had left me shaken to my very bones, I knew it was unlikely the Devil would try to kill me by his own hand, because he’d been hobbled.

  Just as a horse can be hobbled, having its legs tied together so it can’t wander too far, the Fiend had been hobbled by someone in the past, his power limited. If he chose to kill me himself, he would rule the world for only a hundred years, a span that he would consider far too short. So, according to the rules of the hobble, he had one choice: get one of his own children to kill me, or try to win me to his side. If he could manage to convert me to the Dark, he’d rule the world until its very end. That’s what he’d tried to do the last time we met. Of course, if I died by some other hand—that of the maenad, for example—then the Fiend might slowly come to dominate the world anyway. So had he sent her?

  The Spook was looking thoughtful. “The Fiend? It’s a possibility, lad. We must be on our guard. You were lucky to survive that attack.”

  I almost reminded him that it was the intervention of Alice rather than luck but thought better of it. It had been a hard night, and nothing would be gained by annoying him.

  The following night I found it hard to sleep, and after a while I got out of bed, lit my candle and started to reread Mam’s letter, which I’d received in the spring.

  Dear Tom,

  The struggle against the dark in my own land has been long and hard and is approaching a crisis. However, we two have much to discuss, and I do have further things to reveal and a request to make. I need something from you. That and your help. Were there any way at all to avoid this, I would not ask it of you. But these are words that must be said face-to-face, not in a letter, and so I intend to return home for a short visit on the eve of midsummer.

  I have written to Jack to inform him of my arrival, so I look forward to seeing you at the farm at the appointed time. Work hard at your lessons, son, and be optimistic, no matter how dark the future seems. Your strength is greater than you realize.

  Love,

  Mam

  In less than a week it would be midsummer, and the Spook and I would be traveling south
to visit my brother Jack’s farm and meet Mam. I had missed her and couldn’t wait to see her. But I was also anxious to find out what she wanted from me.

  CHAPTER II

  The Spook’s Bestiary

  THE following morning it was lessons as usual. I was in the third year of my apprenticeship to my master and was studying how to fight the dark: in the first year I’d learned about boggarts, in the second, witches; now my topic was “the history of the dark.”

  “Well, lad, prepare to take notes,” commanded the Spook.

  I opened my notebook, dipped my pen into the bottle of ink, and waited for him to begin the lesson. I was sitting on the bench in the western garden. It was a sunny summer’s morning and there wasn’t a single cloud in the wide blue sky. Directly in front of us were the fells, dotted with sheep, while all around we heard birdsong and the pleasant drowsy hum of insects.

  “As I’ve already told you, lad, the dark manifests itself in different ways at different times and different places,” said the Spook, beginning to pace up and down in front of the bench. “But, as we know to our cost, the most formidable aspect of the dark in the County and in the wider world beyond is the Fiend.”

  My heart lurched and I had a lump in my throat as I remembered our last encounter. The Fiend had revealed a terrible secret to me. He had claimed that Alice was also his daughter—the Devil’s daughter. It was difficult to imagine, but what if it was true? Alice was my closest friend and had saved my life on more than one occasion. If what the Fiend had told me really were true, it would mean that the Spook had been right to banish her. We could never be together again. The thought of it was almost impossible to bear.

  “But although the Fiend is our biggest concern,” continued the Spook, “there are other denizens of the dark who, with assistance from witches, mages, or other meddling humans, also are able to pass through portals into our world. Numbered among them are the Old Gods such as Golgoth, whom you’ll remember we dealt with on Anglezarke Moor.”