I went down to breakfast and was soon tucking into pork sausages and bacon while my master questioned our host further about our enemies, the goat mages.
I was only half listening to what was being said. I wanted to get Alice alone as soon as possible so that I could ask her about last night. Was Grimalkin on her way to join us at last? Would she reach us before the protection of the blood jar failed? Why hadn’t Alice mentioned her conversation to the Spook as well? There was something strange and worrying going on here.
“I need a bit of air. I’m going for a walk,” I said, getting to my feet. “The dogs could do with some exercise anyway.”
“I’ll come with you,” Alice said with a smile. Of course that’s what I’d planned; she couldn’t afford to be separated from the blood jar.
“It would be best not to wander too far from the house,” said Shey. “Kenmare is a refuge, but even though I have guards watching the approaches to the town, the area is not entirely safe. Our enemies will almost certainly be watching us.”
“Aye, lad. Take heed,” added the Spook. “We’re in a land that’s strange to us, and we’re dealing with the unknown.”
With a nod of agreement, I left the dining room with Alice. We went to the kennels to collect Claw, Blood, and Bone, and were soon passing through the front gate and striding briskly down the slope away from the house. It was a fine, sunny morning again, the very best that could be hoped for in late winter, and the dogs raced ahead excitedly, following scents and barking loudly.
Keeping an eye out for anything untoward, we entered a small wood where the ground was still white with frost, and there I paused beneath the bare branches of a sycamore and came directly to the point.
“I heard you chanting at the mirror last night, Alice. I went into your room and saw you talking to Grimalkin. What did she say? Is she on her way? I’m surprised you haven’t told me about it already….” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
Alice looked flustered for a moment and bit her lip. “Sorry, Tom,” she said. “Was going to tell you but thought it best to wait awhile. It ain’t good news.”
“What? You mean she isn’t able to join us?”
“She’s coming, all right, but it could be some time before she manages it. Enemy soldiers swept through Pendle and tried to clear out the witch clans. At first it went their way, and they burned some houses and killed a few witches. But once it was dark, the clans conjured up a thick fog and, after scaring the men, drove them into Witch Dell, where many met their deaths. The witches feasted well that night. Though that didn’t satisfy the Malkins, because they sent Grimalkin after the commander, who had taken refuge in Caster Castle.
“Grimalkin scaled the walls at midnight and killed him in his bed. She took his thumb bones and wrote a curse on his bedroom wall in his blood.”
I shivered at that. The witch assassin was ruthless and could be cruel when the situation demanded it. Nobody would want to be on the wrong side of her.
“After that, there was a price on her head, and every enemy soldier north of Priestown is hunting her down,” Alice continued. “She’s hoping to reach Scotland and get a boat from there to bring her to Ireland.”
“I still don’t know why you didn’t tell me this earlier.”
“Sorry, Tom, but I really did think it was best to keep the bad news from you for a while.”
“But it’s not that bad, Alice. Grimalkin escaped and, although delayed, is still on her way.”
Alice lowered her eyes and looked down at her pointy shoes. “There’s more, Tom…. I can’t hide anything from you for long, can I? You see, Grimalkin’s worried about you. She wants to destroy the Fiend, she does, but believes that she can only do it with your help. She believes what your mam said—that you will find a way to finish him. But now she’s been warned by a scryer that you’re in danger, that you risk death at the hands of a dead witch….”
“What—you mean—?”
“Yes—the Celtic witch you mentioned, the one Old Arkwright killed. Grimalkin said she’s back from the dead and she’s hunting you down.”
Images from my nightmare came vividly into my mind. Were they a warning? Perhaps that’s why I kept having the same dream over and over again. But how could that witch be after me? I wondered.
“It’s not possible, Alice. She can’t come back. Bill Arkwright fed her heart to his dogs!”
“Are you sure? Grimalkin seemed certain that she was right,” Alice said.
“I was there when he did it, Alice. I saw him throw it to Claw and her pups.”
If you hanged a witch, she could come back from the dead, but there were two ways to make sure that she couldn’t return. One was to burn her; the other was to cut out her heart and eat it. This was why Bill Arkwright always fed the hearts of water witches to his dogs. He’d done the same with the Celtic witch: It was a tried and tested spook’s method—it always worked. That witch was dead beyond any hope of return.
“Do you remember me telling you about my dream, Alice—the one about the Morrigan?” I asked her.
She nodded.
“Well, I’ve been having that same nightmare every night. A large black crow is flying after me. I’m in a forest, running toward a chapel. It’s my only chance of refuge, and I have to get inside before midnight—otherwise it’ll be the end of me. But then the crow shifts its shape. It’s standing nearby, with the body of a woman but the head of a crow….”
“Ain’t no doubt about it—that’s the Morrigan for sure,” said Alice.
“But then the crow’s head slowly changes into a human one. And I’ve seen that face before. It’s the witch that Bill Arkwright killed. But why should the Morrigan take on the dead witch’s face?”
“Maybe she wants vengeance for what you and Bill Arkwright did,” suggested Alice. “Using her dead servant’s face is a way of warning you what’s going to happen. Don’t like to say this, Tom, but it could be more than just an ordinary nightmare.”
I nodded. Scary as it was, that seemed likely. It could be a direct warning from the Morrigan, one of the most vengeful and bloodthirsty of the Old Gods.
My sense of foreboding was growing. Not only did we face the approaching goat mage rituals, but now the threat from the Morrigan seemed imminent, too. It was a relief to know that Grimalkin would soon be joining us—though that would bring another challenge: the attempt to bind the Fiend. We might soon have three powerful entities from the dark to contend with all at once.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the blood jar, holding it up to the light and examining it carefully. Was the crack a little bigger? It certainly seemed to be. I handed it to Alice.
“Is the damage worse?” I asked her nervously.
Alice studied the jar for a long time, turning it over and over in her hands. Then she handed it back to me. “The crack could be lengthening a bit,” she admitted, “but it’s not leaking any more blood. Don’t worry, Tom. When Grimalkin arrives, we can bind the Fiend, and we won’t need that jar anymore.”
We walked slowly back to the house, the dogs following at our heels. By now clouds had blown in from the west to obscure the sun. It looked like the period of good, settled weather was over. I could smell rain.
CHAPTER V
KILLORGLIN
WHEN we reached Farrell Shey’s house, the Spook was pacing back and forth outside the gate. He had a worried look on his face.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I expected you back an hour ago. Weren’t you warned not to go too far from the house? I thought something had happened to you.”
“But we haven’t been very far away,” I protested. “We’ve just been talking, that’s all. Alice has made contact with Grimalkin. She is on her way here at last. It could take her a while, but she’s coming. So that’s good news, isn’t it?”
Of course I didn’t tell the Spook everything. He’d find it hard enough to work with the witch assassin without knowing the details of what she’d done to the
enemy commander.
“Aye, lad, it certainly is.” He looked a little more cheerful now. “But while you’ve been away, things have been decided. As a matter of fact, they were being decided at the breakfast table, but you seemed to have other matters on your mind. In a couple of years you’ll have finished your training and you’ll be a spook yourself. It’s time to think and behave like a spook. You should have been concentrating, not away with the fairies.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head. I could tell he was disappointed in me. “So what’s happening, then?”
“Up until now the landowners have attacked the mages just before the goat ritual,” my master explained, “usually as they left the fort and traveled to Killorglin. But this time it will be different. Farrell Shey thinks it’ll be about a week before most of the mages travel to the town, but they always send a few men on in advance to secure their accommodation and build the tower for the platform. He’s going to hide some of his men in Killorglin to take the advance party by surprise, and we’re going with them. You see, we need to try and capture one of the goat mages and question him. It might be possible to learn some of the secrets of the ceremony—maybe even how to halt or counter it.
“Of course, the hard part will be reaching Killorglin without the mages’ spies warning them of our presence. So Shey’s summoning scores of armed men. They’ll spend the day scouring the surrounding countryside and clearing it of danger.”
“But with all that activity, won’t the mages guess that something is up?” I asked.
“Aye, lad, they might—but they won’t know exactly what. It’s far better than allowing their spies to report back to the Staigue on our departure from the house and the direction we take.”
The Land Alliance men returned at dusk, declaring the whole area to be safe. So, leaving the dogs and our bags behind, the Spook, Alice, and I set off for Killorglin under cover of darkness, in the company of about a dozen burly men under Shey’s command.
We traveled on foot, through the mountains, following a slow arc as we climbed northeast, a heavy, cold drizzle slowly turning the trail to mud. As dawn approached, we skirted the shore of a large lake before reaching the small town of Killarney. We took refuge in a barn on the outskirts and slept through the daylight hours before setting off again.
By now the rain had stopped and the going was easier. Soon we were following the banks of the mist-shrouded River Laune, and we arrived on the outskirts of Killorglin long before dawn. Making camp in a large muddy field on the edge of the town, we joined scores of others who had arrived in anticipation of the Puck Fair. Warming our hands by the fire, we asked Farrell Shey about the large numbers of people already gathering.
“I’m surprised to see so many here already,” said the Spook. “The fair itself is still several days away.”
In the gray dawn light the field was bustling with activity. Some had set up stalls and were selling food: strings of sausages, onions, and carrots. There were a large number of animals, too—horses were being galloped up and down the field, presenting a great risk to those on foot.
“These people don’t seem to be starving,” I commented.
“There are always some who prosper, however bad things get,” Shey replied. “Believe me, there are a lot of hungry mouths out there. Many folk will be too weak to walk to Killorglin. Despite that, the fair gets bigger every year. Winter or summer makes no difference; even in bad weather, hundreds are drawn here. They come from miles around. Many are traders who bring animals to sell or barter, but there are also tinkers and fortune-tellers, as well as thieves—particularly cutpurses. The town quickly becomes too full to accommodate them all. This field is just one of many that will eventually be filled to bursting.”
“What about the mages?” asked the Spook.
“They will have commandeered most of the accommodations in the town—particularly overlooking the triangular market at its center, where the platform is erected. For the duration of the main festival, Killorglin effectively belongs to them. But this time we’ll give them a surprise!”
We entered the town late in the morning, jostling through the narrow streets toward its center, where a market was being held. The stalls were packed tightly into the cobbled heart of Killorglin. Most small towns had a square or rectangular market area, but this was indeed triangular; it sloped away toward a lane that led down a steep hill to a distant river and bridge.
Shey had donned a rough woolen cloak to hide his fine clothes, and nobody gave us a second glance. We mingled with the throng of people while he hired a room in what seemed to be the smallest and shabbiest of the many inns overlooking the busy market. We quickly appreciated that it was an excellent choice, for unlike the majority of the other inns, it was accessed from a street parallel to the western edge of the cobbled triangle, and we could enter and leave without being noticed by anyone in the marketplace.
“This is the last inn the mages are likely to choose,” Shey said, smoothing back his white hair. “They like their comfort and are also protective of their status—only the very best for them. If it’s been booked at all, this place will only be used by their servants.”
We returned to the field, where Shey’s men were cooking over a fire. However, before the sun went down, word reached us that a small group of mages had traveled through the mountain passes north of the Staigue ring fort and, walking through the night, were heading directly toward Killorglin. They would be here before dawn. We’d arrived just in time.
Taking some provisions for our vigil, we went back to the room overlooking the marketplace, where we could watch for the arrival of our enemies. We drew the curtains across the window, leaving a small gap in the center. The sky was cloudless, and a moon that had waned three days beyond the full cast down a silver light on the empty streets.
About two hours before dawn we heard the clip-clop of hooves. Two riders came into view, followed by four men carrying large bundles over their shoulders.
“The mages are the ones on horseback,” Shey explained. “The others are workmen who’ll construct the platform.”
Both horses were thoroughbreds, black stallions designed for speed, and their riders were armed with large curved swords that broadened as they reached the point—the ones known as scimitars. The mages dismounted and made for the highest point of the cobbled triangle. They were tall, powerfully built men with dark bushy eyebrows and short pointy beards known as goatees, so called because they mimic the tuft of hair on the chin of a goat.
They pointed down at the cobbles, and without further delay, the four carpenters set about erecting the tall wooden structure that would house the platform. Their bundles consisted of tools and what looked like specially crafted pieces of wood. Two of the men soon went off and returned after a few minutes with two large wooden beams. These must have been produced locally, ready to meet their needs. No sooner had they laid them down beside their tools than they set off again, returning with more wood. Soon the sounds of hammering and banging disturbed the peace of the night, and the tower slowly began to take shape.
All through that day the carpenters worked, while the mages squatted on the ground or prowled around the growing tower, issuing instructions.
The people of Killorglin stayed away from the marketplace, and that day no stalls were set up.
“Are they scared of the mages?” I asked. “Is that why there’s no market today?”
“They’re scared, all right,” Shey answered. “During the construction of the platform, they usually give the area a wide berth. But once the goat is in position, they come back, and the market is busier than ever—though mostly with those buying pots of ale and bottles of wine. Most people get drunk, perhaps to escape the horrors the mages bring to their town. For others it’s one of the two highlights of the year, and everything is taken to excess.”
“When do you plan to try and snatch one of the mages?” asked the Spook.
“At dusk,” Shey answered. “We’ll burn the
wooden tower, too. No doubt they’ll rebuild it, but that’ll mean bringing fresh materials from Staigue. It’ll set their preparations back a little, at least.”
“Will they use dark magic to defend themselves?” my master wondered.
“They may try,” said Shey. “But”—he gazed at us steadfastly—“I have faith in our combined strength. I’m confident of success.”
“Well, I have my silver chain,” said the Spook. “The boy, too. That’ll bind him more securely than any rope.”
A silver chain worked against witches and most mages. It seemed straightforward: We outnumbered the two mages and their workmen, and would have the element of surprise. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alice’s expression. She looked worried.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” I asked.
“Ain’t binding the mage that bothers me,” she said. “It’s afterward, when the others find out what’s been done. They’ll come after us—and there are lots of them.”
“That’s all been thought through and carefully planned, girl,” the Spook told her. “The captured horses and any other prisoners will be taken southeast, back the way we came. But the four of us, with our special prisoner, are going in another direction—down the coast. There’s a castle there—Ballycarbery, the home of another of the landowners. It’s a strong fortress, where we can question the captive mage in safety.”
The sun went down and, as the light began to fail, it was time for us to act.
Below us, the structure was almost completed: a tall, square wooden shaft balanced on the cobbles. At more than thirty feet high, it now dominated the market area. It was a remarkable achievement for just one day’s work. The exhausted workmen were packing up their tools while the two mages waited patiently with folded arms, their horses tethered to a post at the far corner. Our men had reported that they had taken rooms in the largest of the inns facing us and would soon retire there for the night.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 159