We lamias are accustomed to shape-shifting, but the changes that time works on us can never be predicted. As the years passed, I grew to accept my lot and to love my husband. I moved gradually closer and closer to the light, and eventually became a healer and a midwife, helping my neighbors whenever I could. Thus it was that a human, John Ward, the man who saved me, moved me down a path I had not foreseen.
I could not see how that provided information that might help Thomas Ward to destroy the Fiend, but combined with the other snippets of writing to be found in the trunk, it might tell us something. It was vital that the Spook’s apprentice should come and make his own thorough search of the trunk. I resolved to contact Alice again when I got the chance and tell her to bring him to visit the tower once more.
“Who wrote this?” I asked Slake.
“It is in my hand,” she replied. “It was originally written by Zenobia in code, the text scattered throughout her notebooks. She appeared in a vision to us and granted me the key to unlock this account.”
“What were the sacred objects of which she spoke?”
“One of them is in the trunk,” she replied. “The other is elsewhere.”
“Where is the other one?”
“I do not know.”
“What is the one in the trunk? Show it to me!” I demanded.
Slake shook her head and regarded me sideways from the corners of her eyes. “I may not show it to you. Zenobia has dictated that only Thomas Ward may see it.”
I nodded. “Then guard it well until he can return to this place. You said he must come here soon. How urgent is it?”
“He must visit well before Halloween. Otherwise it may be too late.”
“Our need to destroy the Fiend is indeed urgent,” I replied. “But why this Halloween? What is its significance?”
“There is a cycle of such feasts. The most propitious occur every seventeen years. In October it will be thirty-four—twice seventeen—years since Z hobbled the Fiend.”
“So we have until then. . . .”
Slake nodded. “That is all the time that remains.”
But for the problem of the kretch and the other enemies who pursued us, I would have gone directly to Chipenden and brought Tom Ward to the tower to begin his search of the chests. But how could I lead them here and place him in danger?
I must destroy my enemies first. And time was short. It was already late in the month of April.
At last it was time to make our escape north, so I climbed up onto the battlements, carrying the leather sack, flanked by Thorne and Slake. I looked down across the clearing toward the dark line of enclosing trees. There was heavy cloud above, and a slight breeze from the west. The poor light would help us to escape unseen. I sniffed quickly three times.
The kretch and the mage were absent, but one witch remained—perhaps as a spy. I would give her something to report back!
I untied the sack, drew forth the severed head of the Fiend, and held it up high, facing toward the spot where I knew the witch to be hiding.
“I smell the blood of a witch!” I cried. “Did you not heed my warning yesterday? The blame for what I am about to do will fall upon you and you alone. Imagine what tortures the Fiend will devise to pay you back for this!”
With these words I drew a dagger and readied it to plunge the blade into the Fiend’s remaining eye. There was a cry of distress from the trees, and then the sound of running feet diminishing into the distance.
I smiled and spat on the Fiend’s forehead again. “You may keep your second eye for a little while longer,” I said before returning him to the sack.
That done, Thorne and I thanked Slake and took our leave, sensing her sadness. She had shared her sister’s life for centuries and was now alone.
We made our escape through the tunnels. There were no enemies lying in wait at the entrance, so we headed north, keeping close to Pendle Hill and passing to the west of Witch Dell. A dead witch only returns to consciousness when the light of the full moon first falls upon her leaf-covered grave. That was still several days away—otherwise, I would have entered the dell and paid my respects to Agnes Sowerbutts.
Just south of the village of Downham we turned west and headed downhill toward Clitheroe. There were no lights showing from the town, but a fire blazed on the battlements of the castle, confirming that it was occupied.
Suddenly I saw flashes, but they were inside my head, flickering a warning in the corners of my eyes. This time it was about five minutes before the other symptoms began.
I lost my balance, stumbled, and fell to my knees. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and I struggled to breathe.
Thorne tried to help me to my feet, but I pushed her away. “No, child, leave me—it will pass in a moment.”
But it was a long hour before the world stopped spinning about me, and an anxious Thorne was able to help me to my feet again. It would have been better to rest further before entering the ruins of the town, but we could not afford the delay. It would not be long before my enemies sniffed the direction I’d taken; soon the kretch would be following our trail once more.
Breathing heavily, I led Thorne down toward the outskirts of the town. The buildings that surrounded the castle were still in darkness, but robbers might be lurking there. I came to a halt and knelt on the grass, signaling that Thorne should crouch down beside me.
“I have heard rumors that Clitheroe is occupied by more than one group,” I told her. “The strongest band of villains will hold the castle itself, the weaker groups taking what shelter they can among the ruins of the town.”
“No doubt they’ll be bickering and fighting among themselves,” Thorne observed.
“Yes—and that is very much to our advantage, as it means that they cannot muster their full force effectively.”
I sniffed the lower reaches of the town for danger and found only sleeping men. We moved cautiously forward, past the outlying buildings and into the narrow rubble-strewn streets. Most of the houses were without roofs, and the place stank of filth and rot. We began to climb the hill on which the castle stood, picking our way through the streets without being challenged, but at last we came to the high outer stone wall of the fortification. There was no moat, and the gate was wide open. Just outside, a man was sitting on a bench beside a brazier of softly glowing coals. He tottered to his feet, looking at me in astonishment. Then a bulky figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.
“Look, lads! Women!” the big man cried. “What a gift from heaven!”
I opened my mouth and smiled broadly, showing him my pointy teeth.
His face fell. “There’s an old saying—never look a gift horse in the mouth. But it’s best to know the truth,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Yes,” I said softly, “we are a gift from hell.”
Thorne moved close to my side and drew two daggers.
“You are mere men! What chance can you possibly have against us?” I jibed, drawing my own blades, hoping to provoke the two bandits into making a reckless attack. I had sensed others hiding nearby also.
The man lifted his heavy spear and pointed it at us, while more men ran to his assistance from the shadows, gathering at his back. They formed a tight bunch behind him and carried an assortment of weapons. Some looked like they had been in the army; they were most likely deserters, because the war was still being fought to the south of the County. One even wore a tattered uniform with a red rose epaulet. There were only nine of them, and the big man with the spear was obviously their leader.
“Stay close to me, child, and guard my back,” I whispered into Thorne’s ear. “I’ll kill the one with the spear first.”
I ran straight at him. He was big and strong but clumsy, and I parried his spear thrust with ease. When my blade found his heart, his eyes opened wide in pained astonishment, and he collapsed at my feet. Thorne dispatched two to my rear while I concentrated on wounding as many of the others as possible. I had killed their leader, and that was
enough. I simply wanted to drive them away from the castle. Moments later they had fled, most of them bleeding.
“Now for the battlements,” I said.
We entered the castle and climbed the narrow spiral steps cautiously, alert for danger. The battlements appeared to be deserted, but the fire was still burning there, and I could sniff someone’s presence—one person. Male; young.
Was he waiting in ambush? As we approached the fire, I realized that he was capable of no such thing. He was lying against the wall, gagged and bound from head to foot—a boy of no more than fifteen. I knelt beside him, and he flinched as I cut through his bonds, regarding me with wide, terrified eyes.
I returned my blade to its sheath, then pulled him up into a sitting position and took the gag out of his mouth. His face was dirty and covered in bruises, his left eye swollen. But despite that evidence of mistreatment, he was good-looking, with blue eyes and fair hair.
“What’s your name, boy?” I asked.
He flinched again when I spoke. He was watching my mouth, probably appalled by the sight of my teeth.
I meant the boy no harm, but it gave me satisfaction to see fear in another’s eyes. It was a confirmation of who I was. I liked to instill terror and respect.
“W-Will,” he answered, a slight stammer in his voice.
“Well, Will, what did you do to deserve being treated like this?”
“My father is a knight. I was snatched by these bandits, and those escorting me were slain. They’re trying to ransom me, but my father can’t afford what they are asking. He owns extensive lands, but they are tenanted by many poor farmers and he has little money. Tomorrow they were planning to cut off one of my fingers and send it to him.”
“Your parents must be very upset. It is a terrible thing to abduct a son in this way.”
“My mother passed away three years ago in a plague that swept through the northern lands. But yes, my father loves me very much.”
“Well, you’re free to go back to him, boy,” I told him. “But leaving this stronghold is not a good idea at the moment. There are men down there who would cut your throat as soon as look at you. Where is your home?”
“It’s to the north, on the County border. No more than five hours on foot.”
“Does your father know where you are being held captive?”
“He may, but they’ve told him they’ll kill me if he or his men attempt a rescue.”
I nodded, then peered down over the battlements toward the open gate. A group of armed men were gathered just beyond it, looking up toward us. It was time to close the gate and deter any who might be foolish enough to venture in.
“Stay here with the boy, Thorne,” I commanded.
I walked down the steps and crossed the yard, stepping over the bodies of the three we had killed. Words would be wasted on such men. Despite the loss of their leader, no doubt they’d fill themselves with drunken courage and attack before dawn. However, I might be able to frighten them off, so without slowing down, I fingered the bones on my necklace and began to chant the words of a spell under my breath.
It was a pity to use up more of my magical store, because I’d need it later, but it was a spell of illusion and not too costly. Besides, I knew it well and routine makes for economy. It was the spell called dread, and I saw the eyes of the bandits widen and their faces twist with terror. By now, to them, my face would appear demonic, my hair transformed into writhing snakes with venomous forked tongues.
They had fled before I reached the gate, so I closed it and shrieked at their fast-disappearing backs. I had no means to lock it, so I gripped it firmly in both hands and uttered another short spell to bind it shut, at least for a while. I knew it would not withstand the force of the kretch or a band of determined witches. But the former was too big to get up the narrow steps to the battlements, while the latter could be killed one by one as they ascended.
That done, I returned to the castle. I expected the kretch to arrive before dawn.
CHAPTER XII
IT WILL COME TRUE FOR ME
All the prey that I hunt I will eventually slay.
If it is clothed in flesh, I will cut it.
If it breathes, I will stop its breath.
WE did not sleep that night and I was ever vigilant, sniffing the darkness for danger. But we did not go hungry. There were fresh animal carcasses on the battlements, and we roasted half a pig on a spit over the fire, then shared it among the three of us. But I was aware that from now on, we would have to ration our food and prepare for a siege. At present it was difficult to estimate how long we might have to stay here.
The boy was taciturn, nervous, and fearful, but that did not lessen his appetite. While remaining silent, he listened to our conversation with rapt attention—though terror still twitched across his face. His eyes were continually drawn toward the leather bag, which seemed to hold a terrible fascination for him. It may well have been because of the strange sounds that occasionally escaped from it. Despite the large green apple and the rose thorns, the Fiend gave an occasional faint groan or a rustling hiss, as if letting out a breath.
“Well, Thorne,” I demanded. “In my absence, did you continue with your training tasks?”
Thorne smiled at me. “Every day without fail I repeat the mantra that you taught me. I am the best, the strongest, and the most deadly,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Eventually I will believe it. It came true for you—one day it will come true for me!”
“Do you still practice with blades every day?” I asked, glancing at Will and delighting in the fear that flickered in his eyes in response to my question.
She nodded, then swallowed a mouthful of pork before continuing. “Recently I have been practicing throwing my blades. I’m still some years off achieving my maximum strength. Until then, I shall continue to kill my enemies from a distance. When I am taller and heavier, I will move in close! You taught me that too.”
“That’s wise. You listen to what I say and act accordingly. I couldn’t have wished for a better pupil!”
“Your own early training was not so happy,” Thorne remarked, pleased to receive my praise—which I gave only very rarely.
“That’s true.”
“Then tell me the tale again. I’m sure Will would like to hear it. Wouldn’t you?”
The boy nodded, desperate to agree with anything she said.
“Well, then, why don’t you tell the story for me?” I suggested. “You’ve nagged me to the telling often enough—you should know it by heart by now!”
Thorne shrugged and smiled. “Why not?” she said, turning to face Will. “To begin with, I’d better explain that the witch assassin of the Malkin clan is usually chosen by single combat. Challengers must face the incumbent in a fight to the death.
“But first there must be a period of intense training for those who hope to win the right to the position. Grimalkin had decided to become the Malkin witch assassin but came late to that year’s preparations. She joined two others who had already been training for six months. What was worse, only half a year remained before the three days assigned for the challenges. So she’d very little time to learn the basics of the assassin’s trade.
“Her first day in the training school was a disaster. The other two trainees were weak—doomed to be killed by Kernolde, who was the Malkins’ assassin at that time. As the day slowly passed by, Grimalkin became more and more annoyed. At last, just before dark, she voiced her thoughts. She was sitting on the floor looking up at Grist Malkin, their inept trainer, who was blathering on about fighting with blades, his words showing just how ineffectual and stupid he was—he hadn’t a clue. Standing behind him were two of the ugliest old hags from our clan, both witches. So ugly were they that they had warts on their warts and more bristles on their chins than on a hedgehog’s arse!”
Thorne laughed deep in her throat as she said that, and in response Will gave a weak smile and blushed to the roots of his pale hair.
&nb
sp; “The hags were there to make sure the trainees didn’t use magic against Grist Malkin,” Thorne continued. “Her patience finally at an end, Grimalkin rose to her feet and shouted at him.”
I smiled as Thorne lurched to her own feet and shouted out the words as if she were actually there in my place and Will was Grist.
“‘You’re a fool, Grist! You’ve already prepared twenty-seven defeated challengers before us. What can you teach us but how to lose and how to die?’”
So vehement was her outburst that Will actually flinched away.
Thorne smiled wickedly. “You should see Grist now. He retired at the end of that year, and he’s grown old and fat. It was this confrontation with Grimalkin that finished him off. For a long time he didn’t speak,” she went on, sitting down again, “but simply locked eyes with Grimalkin and glared, his foolish fat face twitching with fury. He was a bear of a man, at least a head taller than Grimalkin and heavily muscled. But Grimalkin wasn’t the slightest bit afraid, and met his gaze calmly. He looked away first. Deep down he was scared, although he tried not to show it.
“‘On your feet, child!’ Grist commanded. Grimalkin obeyed, but she was smiling and mocking him with her eyes.
“‘Take that grin off your face. Don’t look at me!’ he bellowed. ‘Look straight ahead. Have some respect for the man who teaches you!’ He began to circle Grimalkin slowly. Suddenly he seized her in a bear hug, squeezing so hard that one of her ribs snapped with a loud pop. Then he threw her down hard into the dirt, thinking that this was the end of the matter.
“But what did Grimalkin do? Did she lie there moaning with pain? No! She was on her feet in an instant and broke his nose with her left fist, the punch knocking him to the ground. And after that she fought like an assassin. You should never let anyone bigger than you get close—she kept him at a distance. The struggle was over quickly. Each blow was well timed and precise. In moments Grist Malkin was beaten to a pulp! One of his eyes was swollen and closed, and his forehead was split wide open; blood was running into his other eye. Grimalkin punched him to his knees.
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