The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  In the middle of the room was a large empty space, where the floor was covered in sawdust that was dotted with patches of fresh blood. They were clearly staging dogfights there. I saw money changing hands—men gambling on the outcome of each fight.

  Lord Barrule got to his feet and raised his hands high. As he did so, the tumult of barking ceased and, but for a faint whimper here and there, all the dogs fell silent.

  As I watched, horrified, two of the cages were opened and the dogs dragged into the center of the chamber by their leather collars. They were forced to face each other, their noses almost touching. Although powerful, big dogs, they appeared cowed and terrified. Their handlers left them there and retreated back toward the doorway where we were standing. The shaman suddenly brought his hands down and clapped loudly three times. On the third clap, the dogs were instantly transformed from timidity to aggression and leaped forward savagely.

  The fight was fast and furious. They tore at each other with their teeth, the first blood being drawn in just seconds. It was cruel and horrible and I couldn’t bear to look, so I cast my eyes down to the ground. Unfortunately my ears were still open to what was happening. Eventually one of the dogs let out a shrill cry and then fell silent. There was a burst of applause, a few cheers, and the odd curse of disappointment from the losers. When I looked up, the winning dog was being led back to its cage; the losing animal was lying on its side with its throat torn out, fresh blood soaking into the sawdust.

  I was forced to witness another three contests, each time terrified that one of Bill Arkwright’s dogs would be dragged out to fight. And what if they made two of them fight each other? I’d no doubt that the shaman had the power to make them kill their own kin.

  But, to my relief, the fighting was at last over for the night and the gamblers got to their feet and started to leave. I was frog-marched back to my cell and left in the darkness once more. Why had I been taken to watch that cruelty? I wondered. Was it simply sadism—a wish to make me suffer in anticipation of what was going to happen to Claw, Blood, and Bone? It wasn’t long before my question was answered.

  There was a shimmer in the darkness by the tunnel, a luminosity in the air. I stood up in alarm. Was it the buggane in its spirit form? But the shimmer quickly assumed an appearance of solidity, taking a shape I recognized: a tall, skeletal figure with a cruel expression, dressed in a dark robe. It was the shaman, Lord Barrule. Although he was somewhere else within Greeba Keep, he was projecting his spirit into my cell.

  “The buggane certainly wants you, boy,” the apparition said. “It likes what it sniffed, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Did you enjoy what you saw tonight?”

  I shook my head.

  “It could have been much worse. I could have pitted your own dogs against each other. The mother against her whelps, perhaps. It could still be done. . . .”

  I didn’t reply. I had rarely seen such malevolence and cruelty in a face. This man was capable of anything.

  “I’d spare your dogs if you were willing to put your own life on the line. You’ve seen my gambling friends. I’d like to offer them some special entertainment tomorrow night: a spook’s apprentice, in combat with a witch. Who would prove victorious? The outcome is uncertain enough to make it interesting, even though the odds are firmly on the witch. But you’d be free to use the tools of your trade. I’ve left you your silver chain, and I’ll return your staff. Defeat the witch and I’ll let you go. You can even take your dogs with you. But lose and I’ll make them fight to the death!”

  “You want me to fight Adriana?” I asked. I couldn’t believe what he was asking me to do.

  “No, you young idiot! Not that foolish girl. I’ve got other plans for her! You’ll face a much more dangerous opponent—one who’s from your own neck of the woods. I mean Lizzie, the bone witch!”

  CHAPTER XI

  The Witch’s Pet

  “BONY Lizzie’s here?” I asked in alarm.

  “She’s my prisoner, boy. And soon she’ll be dead—that’s if you have the skill and guts to put an end to her! What do you say?”

  I didn’t reply. Was it a trick, or a real chance at freedom?

  “Of course, if you lose, you’ll forfeit your own life. I’ve made the witch the same promise. And I’ll let her take her pet away with her, too; lose, and it dies with her. Come on, make up your mind. Don’t keep me waiting!”

  “Her pet?”

  “The other witch. The one she controls. No doubt she came with her from over the water. Together they cut the throats of those poor fishermen. For that they both deserve to die. My own money will be on you. I like to bet on long shots.”

  What choice did I have? I gave the merest of nods to signal my acceptance of his offer. Immediately the image of the shaman began to fade as he withdrew his spirit back into his body.

  The next day they fed me well. The first meal was a hot plate of lamb with roast potatoes and carrots.

  “Eat up, boy! My master wants you fighting fit!” jeered the mocking guard who handed me the meal. “And you’ll need every last ounce of strength to face what he’s got planned!”

  He and his companion left, laughing as if at some private joke, and were back just over six hours later with a delicious venison stew. I ate sparingly, despite the fact that I had eaten little the previous day and was very hungry. I needed to prepare myself to face the dark—though I also knew I would need all my speed and strength to overcome Lizzie: it would be a difficult test. I could use my staff and chain against her, but no doubt she’d be armed, too; a bone witch like Lizzie was skilled in the use of blades. And if she won, she’d take my bones.

  And who was this other witch, the “pet” whom she’d brought over from the County with her? She was a completely unknown entity—probably a young witch Lizzie had taken under her wing to train. Maybe it was one of the witches who’d released her from the pit in the Spook’s garden. She would be dangerous, too—one more servant of the dark to worry about.

  I had plenty of time to think. Mostly I worried about Alice. What had become of her? I took the blood jar out of my pocket and held it in the palm of my right hand for a while. How long would it be before the Fiend realized that she was no longer protected? I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Alice.

  Then there was my master. Had he managed to escape? I wondered. If so, I knew he’d be planning to rescue me. It seemed hopeless. Most probably he’d be imprisoned himself. Could I escape from Greeba Keep before that happened? Would the shaman really let me go if I defeated Lizzie? Was he likely to keep his word?

  There was poor Adriana, too. What did the shaman mean by saying he had “other plans for her”? How could I just abandon her?

  My fruitless speculations were brought to a halt by the arrival of the guards, this time to take me to face Lizzie. When we entered the long room, I noticed that there were a lot more men sitting on the straw bales. Many were standing, too, and money was changing hands, but they all fell silent when I was brought in, staring at me in mute appraisal.

  The dogs were in their cages against the left wall of the room, and to my relief Claw, Blood, and Bone were still among them. Would the shaman really let me take them with me if I won? I’d no choice but to fight anyway. If I did nothing, Lizzie would soon put an end to me.

  It was then that my eyes settled on the farthest cage, the one nearest the entrance to the buggane’s tunnel. Yesterday it had been empty; now there was something inside it—but not a dog. At first glance it looked like a bundle of dirty rags. But then I made out a figure curled into a ball, hands gripping ankles, head resting on knees.

  Lord Barrule got to his feet and came across the sawdust floor toward me. “Are you ready, boy?” he asked. “I have to tell you that most of the sensible money is on the witch. We all saw what she was capable of when we captured her. Five of my men died; another two lost their minds. So we’ve tried to give you a fighting chance. We’ve done the same to her as we’ve done to her pet. Come and see.”r />
  He led the way to the farthest cage, the guards pulling me after him. He halted there and pointed down at the bundle of rags on the filthy straw. I saw the pointy shoes even before she raised her head.

  It was Alice, and at the sight of her my throat constricted with emotion. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears, and her expression was one of pain and hopelessness. They had stitched her mouth shut with thin brown twine. Her lips were tightly bound together so that she couldn’t speak.

  “I’ve had the same done to her mistress. The witch can’t utter spells now, boy! But no doubt Lizzie will still manage something.”

  At that moment, had my staff already been in my hands, I would have thrust its silver-alloy blade into his heart without a moment’s hesitation. I was furious at what had been done to Alice. But then despair took over. If I won and the shaman kept his word, I’d be free to take the dogs with me, but Lizzie would die and so would Alice. Either way, I’d lose.

  Still, at least I knew that she hadn’t been seized by the Fiend and dragged off to the dark. Things looked grim, but as my dad used to say, while there’s life there’s hope.

  “Right! Let’s make a start!” Lord Barrule said, and as he returned to his seat, the guards dragged me to the very center of the long chamber. A dozen yeomen came in, each gripping a long spear, and formed a wide circle about me; then each went down on one knee, facing me, so that the gamblers behind would still have a clear view. Their spears were pointing inward, and it was clear that their purpose was to mark the boundary of the arena and prevent any escape or retreat from the contest.

  Lord Barrule stood up and raised his hand, and I heard a commotion from the doorway, the same one from which I’d entered. Bony Lizzie was brought into the room, kicking and struggling—it took four men to control her.

  Two of the yeomen guards moved aside to allow them into the circle, and she was forced to face me. It was the Lizzie I remembered—almost the spitting image of Alice, but older, in her late thirties perhaps, and with shifty eyes and a sneering expression. Her lips were stitched together just like Alice’s. The moment she saw me, the witch stopped struggling and a strange, sly look came into her eyes; one of calculation and cunning.

  Someone behind me pushed my staff into my left hand. Instantly I transferred it to my right, feeling in the left pocket of my cloak to check my silver chain. That would offer me the best chance of victory. One disadvantage was that I still ached from the beating I’d received when I was captured. The food I’d eaten had made me stronger physically, but I was far from my best.

  One of the yeomen handed Lizzie two long knives, each murderously sharp. Our eyes met again, and I released the retractable blade on my staff with a click and held it diagonally across me. Lizzie might not realize that I had the chain. For now, I would keep it in reserve.

  Lord Barrule clapped his hands three times, and silence fell over the gathering. I could hear Lizzie breathing hard through her nose, almost snorting. I suddenly remembered something about her: in the past she’d always seemed to have her mouth slightly open—no doubt she naturally breathed through it. Or maybe she had a cold? Either way it would be to my advantage if she was struggling for air.

  “Let the contest begin!” cried Lord Barrule. “A fight to the death!”

  Wasting no time, Lizzie lunged at me with the blade in her left hand, but I parried it with my staff and began to retreat widdershins, against the clock, moving warily in a slow circle. Her face began to change, eyes bulging. Now, instead of hair, a nest of black snakes writhed from her scalp, forked tongues flickering, their fangs spitting a cloud of venom toward me. A wave of fear washed over me, and I staggered and took a step backward, a chill gripping my heart.

  She was using dread against me—the enchantment used by malevolent witches to make themselves terrifying, freezing their helpless opponents to the spot. Such was Lizzie’s power that she could cast it without the incantation. What would she be capable of if her mouth were not stitched?

  I took a deep breath and resisted. I’d faced worse than this last summer in Greece, when I’d tried to enter the Ord, the terrifying citadel of the Ordeen. If I could withstand that terrible pulse of fear—it had caused the instant death of brave warriors—I could overcome whatever Lizzie could throw at me.

  I stepped forward and swung my staff at her head. She leaned back, almost overbalancing, and retreated. Now the snakes had disappeared, to be replaced by hair again, her face almost human. The spell was fading. And then a voice spoke right inside my head. . . .

  Fool! We should work together!

  Was it the buggane? But it was a harsh, sibilant voice—not the insidious whisper that I’d been told about. Then I heard it again.

  Neither of us can win here. He intends to slay us both!

  It had to be Lizzie. But how was she doing it? What spell could grant her that power?

  I refused to listen and whirled in fast, avoided a stab from her left hand, then cracked her on the right wrist to send the blade spinning from her hand.

  There were loud whoops of excitement from the spectators—along with a few groans. I wondered what Lizzie was doing. How could we work together? Was she mad? How could we hope to escape from this room together?

  Help me! Do it for my daughter, Alice, or we’ll all die here!

  Her use of Alice’s name angered me, and I thrust my left hand into my pocket and coiled the silver chain about my wrist. As I did so, Lizzie attacked, moving in quickly and catching me off balance. I leaned away, but I wasn’t fast enough. I felt a sharp pain as her blade slit my forehead below the hairline. I staggered backward, just managing to block the next blow with my staff, and felt warm blood running down into my left eye. How bad was the cut? I wondered. How deep?

  I used the back of my hand to wipe blood from my eye, but it only made it worse. I could hardly see out of that eye now. You needed both eyes to judge distance correctly, so I knew I’d have to use my silver chain quickly, or it would be too late. Once again I thrust my left hand into my pocket and coiled the chain about my wrist.

  It was easier to cast a chain about a witch when she was moving right, left, or away from you. But Lizzie was attacking again, running straight for me; this was the most difficult shot of all. I had no choice but to attempt it, so I cracked the chain, sending it spiraling toward her.

  It dropped over her head, then down over her body, bringing her to her knees. The remaining knife fell from her grasp as the chain tightened. It wasn’t a perfect shot, because it had dropped over her from shoulder to knee, leaving her head free. Usually a spook needed to bind a witch’s mouth so that she couldn’t chant dark magic spells, but this time it didn’t matter because her mouth was already stitched shut. A wave of relief washed over me. Under the circumstances, the shot wasn’t so bad after all. I’d won. Throwing the chain was a skill I had honed to a fine art. All those long hours of practice with the post in the Spook’s garden had paid off again.

  And then there was a brief moment of doubt. Had it been a little too easy? I thought to myself. Was this defeat serving Lizzie’s purpose in some way?

  “Kill her!” shouted Lord Barrule, rising to his feet.

  I lifted my staff and pointed the blade at Lizzie’s heart. But then I hesitated. I couldn’t do it. I’d killed other creatures of the dark before, but never in cold blood like this. Usually, whether bound or not, they’d still presented a threat to me and I’d had to do it quickly. But Bony Lizzie was secure. There was no way she could hope to free herself. Not only that—she was Alice’s mother. There was no love lost between them, but it made it hard. So I lowered my staff.

  Well done, boy! I heard Lizzie hiss. Now see what I’ve got planned!

  I looked up at Lord Barrule, who was shaking his head. “Can’t bring yourself to do it?” he called out, his voice echoing around the chamber. “I’m surprised. What sort of master trained you? What kind of a spook’s apprentice are you? That was our bargain: kill the witch to gain what I prom
ised. Now you’ll have to do something else to earn your freedom. You’ll fight the witch’s pet!”

  My heart sank right down into my boots. He was going to make me fight Alice, and there was no way out of it. Two yeomen went over to the far cage. I stared in horror as they pulled her out. The sight of her twisted my insides, wrenching my emotions. Her eyes were wild and full of pain, and what had been done to her mouth was cruel beyond belief. The twine that bound her lips together was cutting into the soft flesh, making them red and swollen.

  They dragged her into the circle of spears to face me. Lizzie’s blades were pushed into her hands. There was a murmur of conversation from the gamblers and the chink of money as the bets were placed once more. I struggled to think of some way out of our predicament, but nothing came. It seemed hopeless. Whatever happened, one of us would die.

  Our eyes met. Alice’s were glistening with tears. Blood was still running down my forehead, and I brushed it away with the back of my hand. How could I fight Alice?

  The shaman clapped his hands three times to signal the beginning of the contest. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Alice raised her blades, then rushed toward me as if to take me by surprise. I couldn’t believe it. Would she really hurt me after all we’d been through together?

  Horrified, I stepped back, instinctively holding my staff across my body, preparing to meet her attack.

  CHAPTER XII

  The Bone Yard’s Eye

  I should have known better than to think Alice would attack me.

  I wasn’t called on to use my staff because she simply brushed past me to reach Lizzie, who was still bound by my silver chain. She knelt down beside her and, before I could react, used a blade to slit through the twine that stitched her mother’s lips together.

  Had Lizzie been waiting for this to happen all along? If she’d tried to free her own lips with her knife during our struggle, I’d have immediately attacked her with my staff. Had she planned to wait for Alice to do it?