The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  “‘I could kill you now!’ she cried. ‘But you’re just a man and hardly worth the trouble.’

  “So Grimalkin was forced to train herself. Of course she was already skilled in forest craft and forging weapons. So she worked hard, ate well, and gradually built up her strength, swimming daily to increase her endurance for fighting—even though it was a long bitter winter, the worst for many a long year. She also forged the best blades she could and carried them in sheaths about her body.

  “Then, in a cold northern forest in the dead of winter, she faced a pack of starving wolves. They circled her, moving in slowly, saliva dripping from their jaws, death glittering in their hungry eyes. Grimalkin readied a throwing knife in each hand. When the first wolf leaped, her blade found its throat. The second died just as easily. Finally she drew her long blade as a third wolf bounded toward her. As easily as knocking off a dandelion’s head with a stick, she struck the animal’s head clean from its body. When the pack finally fled, seven blood-splattered bodies lay dead, staining the white snow red.

  “At last it was time for Grimalkin to face Kernolde, and she returned to Pendle. Kernolde slew the first two challengers easily enough—in less than an hour, without breaking a sweat. Finally it was Grimalkin’s turn—”

  “If you are so strong and brave, why have you taken refuge in this castle?” Will interrupted. “I think my father is braver than either of you!”

  We both stared at the boy in surprise. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the anger that flickered across Thorne’s face. I put my hand on her shoulder to restrain her. Then I answered the boy.

  “Of course your father is brave,” I agreed, smiling without opening my mouth—for what son would not think that of a father who was good to him? “He is a knight and it must be part of his nature. Do minstrels sing his praises?”

  “They do! He has fought and overcome many opponents, but his greatest deed was to slay the great worme that besieged our castle.”

  “Are wormes real?” Thorne asked. “I thought they were just stories told at dusk to scare children.”

  “They are indeed real,” I replied. “Wormes are dangerous creatures covered in tough scales, and they have jaws filled with powerful fangs. Many have long snakelike tails, which they use to wrap around their victims and squeeze the life from them. They usually drain the blood of cattle but like to eat humans whole—blood, flesh, and bones. They are quite rare in the County,” I continued, “and I have seen only one. It was lurking in long grass on the edge of a lake. I was curious and wanted a closer look. As I approached, it slid into the water and quickly swam away. It was no larger than a dog.”

  But some wormes could be bigger, or so I had heard. “You called it the great worme—was it exceptionally large?” I asked the boy.

  “It was the biggest anyone had ever seen—much bigger than a horse. My father had a special suit of armor forged—one covered with sharp metal spikes. When the worme wrapped itself around him, its body was pierced and he cut it to pieces with his sword.”

  I smiled, showing him my teeth. Once more he flinched. “You said that your father is a knight without wealth. How many men does he have at his disposal?”

  “He has few men, but those he commands are well trained, including eight master archers skilled with the longbow.”

  I liked what I was hearing. I realized that this knight, with his spiked armor and expert bowmen, might make the killing of the kretch far easier.

  “Listen, boy,” I told Will. “I too am brave, and so is Thorne. We have taken refuge in this fortification because we are being pursued by many powerful enemies. That alone would not dissuade me from facing them directly in combat, but by dark magic they have created a terrible creature that is part wolf and part man. Until I find a way to destroy it, I need a refuge such as this. But I think your father’s castle would be a better place. Not only that—your brave father and his archers could help me destroy my enemies. If I help you escape this place and deliver you safely to him, would he give us shelter in his castle, do you think? Would he put his fighting prowess next to ours and help us to victory?”

  “I’m sure he would!” Will cried out, his eyes shining. “Get me to safety, and I promise that he will help you!”

  I turned to face Thorne. “We came here out of desperation. We will be hard-pressed to defend this castle. The Fiend’s servants may lay siege for weeks and starve us out. Now we have the chance for a proper refuge. The journey will be risky, but once we reach its end we will be far safer than we are here. What do you say?”

  Thorne assented, so I turned back to face the boy, staring hard into his eyes. “Even if we rescue you, we are still witches, feared and loathed by many people, especially men, and we cannot be sure that your father will honor the promises of his son.”

  “I give you my word,” he replied. “My father is a man of honor; he will be bound by what I have promised.”

  I thought quickly. Could the boy really hold his father to that promise? It was possible. Knights, like all men, varied in their characters: some were good, others bad, while most balanced on a line between the two states. However, many did hold to a code of chivalry. Above all, they believed in honor and kept their word. I looked down at the gate. Soon the kretch would arrive. Despite my magic, it would eventually tear the barrier from its hinges, and then the Fiend’s human servants would attack. We would hold them off at first, but how many more would come, summoned from the far corners of the world to take back the head? In the end we would lose.

  I dozed for a while, leaving Thorne on watch. I awoke to the murmur of voices and slowly opened one eye.

  Thorne and the boy were sitting very close together, almost touching, and talking together softly in an animated way, lost in their own private world. It was the first time I had ever seen Thorne show interest in a boy, but she had reached an age when the right one might hold a fascination for her. They clearly liked each other, and it put me in mind of my first meeting with the Fiend.

  I was young, not much more than sixteen, when I first encountered him. Of course, I did not know he was the Fiend. I was passing a ruined chapel—one abandoned by the Church after the local population had dwindled; the bishop had deconsecrated the ground ten years earlier, and it was now a wilderness of empty graves.

  A young man was standing in the shadows, watching me. I was annoyed to find myself being stared at, and I prepared to cast a small spell—nothing too severe; one that would have loosened his bowels rather suddenly, or brought vomit up into his throat. But then he did something that pushed all such thoughts from my mind.

  He smiled at me.

  Never had I been smiled at in such a way, with such warmth and evident liking. He was handsome too, and tall—I have always liked tall men—and before the night was done, we had kissed and lain snugly in each other’s arms.

  It was Agnes Sowerbutts who put me wise. I had been in the company of the Devil! She told me. At first I found it hard to believe. Surely he could not be the Fiend! How could this beautiful, kind young man be reconciled with the fearsome beast who appeared in the flames of the bone fire at Halloween? And how could I have been such a fool and fallen so easily for his charms? I was both annoyed and disgusted with myself. I had a bitter hatred of the Fiend and didn’t want to believe what Agnes had told me.

  But once I’d finally accepted the truth, I knew what to do: Bear his child, and I could be free of him forever.

  I looked at Thorne, talking happily to her new friend. She did not know I was watching her—otherwise she would not have sat so close to him.

  Foolish child, don’t you know that most men are devils inside?

  But I did not speak the words aloud. We must snatch happiness where we can. I would not begrudge her a few sweet moments.

  The clouds had cleared, and to the east the sky was rapidly growing lighter. The sun would be up soon. Better to leave now, under cover of what little darkness remained.

  “Right, boy. In return for wha
t you have promised, we will take you to your father’s castle!” I announced suddenly.

  Both Thorne and Will flinched at my unexpected interruption of their cozy chat. They were startled, and quickly, almost guiltily, drew away from each other.

  We rose to our feet, and I stared at the boy hard and once more showed him my teeth. “At all times, take up a position between us, and obey everything I say without question. Is that understood?”

  Will nodded, and hefting the leather sack up onto my shoulder, I led the way down the steps, Thorne bringing up the rear. We ran directly across the yard to the gate. I uttered the words to disable the spell and pulled it open. Were we being watched? I sniffed quickly, and my nostrils were assaulted by waves of fear, drunkenness, and growing bravado. The bandits were not yet ready to attack. They were too busy getting drunk to watch the gate.

  I sprinted north down the hill with the others following. Soon we were within the labyrinth of dark narrow streets. Mostly they were deserted, but on one corner a drunkard stepped into our path, his mouth opening in surprise. I pushed him hard, and he fell back into a doorway while we ran on.

  And then I smelled it.

  It was the unmistakable stink of the kretch. It had already entered the town.

  CHAPTER XIII

  IN THE COMPANY OF WITCHES

  He who eats with the Devil needs a long spoon.

  He who walks with a witch

  should also keep his distance.

  I came to a halt and sniffed again. The creature was approaching from the south and was on our trail.

  Thorne sniffed, then smiled. “The bandits are between us and our enemies. That should prove interesting! They’ll be wetting themselves!”

  We ran on, and soon we heard a distant bestial roar, followed by screams and shouts of fear and anger. The drunken men would stand no chance against our enemies, but they might slow up the pursuit a little. I glanced back at the boy; he was breathing heavily with the exertion of the run. Whatever his level of fitness, his confinement would have weakened him.

  I halted again, handed the sack to Thorne, and grabbed the boy. He flinched at my close proximity but did not resist as I hoisted him up onto my shoulder. We continued north at a slightly slower pace. My weakness had not returned, but my stamina was not as good as usual. I tried to put all doubts about my fitness to the back of my mind, but they nagged at me like rotting teeth. I pushed them away and tried to be optimistic. So far my bouts of weakness had not occurred at moments of immediate danger. Despite Agnes’s concerns that my body might be permanently damaged, I still hoped to make a full recovery.

  By late morning we had slowed our pace to a fast walk. We seemed to have left the kretch behind, though without doubt it still followed us. Now a threat lay ahead. We were following a dirt track through a narrow, treeless valley with low hills on either side. Twice I had glimpsed figures on the skyline. We were being watched.

  I halted and eased Will back onto his feet. “How far to the castle now, boy?” I asked.

  “Less than an hour. My father’s men already provide an escort,” he said, gesturing up to the summits of the hills.

  “I’ve seen them,” I told him. “No doubt they will have sent word that you are in the company of witches.”

  Ten minutes later we saw dust on the horizon directly ahead. It was a man on horseback, galloping straight toward us. I sniffed concern but little fear.

  “It’s my father!” Will exclaimed as the rider drew closer.

  The knight wore light chain mail and was mounted on a dappled mare. He had no helmet but carried a sword at his hip and a shield slung across his shoulder. He halted his horse in front of us, barring our path, and drew his sword, pointing it right at us.

  “Stand back and allow my son to step forward!” he commanded.

  The knight was of middle age and, to my judgment, slightly overweight. He was no real threat to either me or Thorne. No doubt he had declined physically since the deeds of his younger days, but he still had courage. Not many men would dare face two witches with a mere sword.

  “He is free to do as he pleases,” I answered. “Lower your sword!”

  “Do not attempt to command me, witch!” he retorted.

  “But they freed me, Father, and helped me to escape from my captors,” Will interceded. “They are pursued, and I have offered them refuge in our home. I said that you would help them to fight the dangerous enemies that are on their tail. I gave my word.”

  Anger flickered across the knight’s face. I sensed that he was a fair man, but he seemed less than pleased by what his son had agreed.

  “I thank you for freeing my son,” he answered, lowering his sword and returning it to its scabbard. “For that I am in your debt. But this presents me with no small difficulty. I am a God-fearing man; within my castle is a chapel where the faithful worship every Sunday. The bishop himself visits twice a year to bless the altar and pray for the sick. My chaplain will be outraged.”

  “My word of honor, Father!” Will cried, his voice becoming shrill. “I gave them my word!”

  The knight nodded. “What’s done is done. I will ride on with my son. My home lies directly ahead. Its gates will open for you. I am Sir Gilbert Martin. How are you named?”

  “I am Grimalkin and this is Thorne,” I told him. I saw fear in his face and was pleased to note that my notoriety had preceded me. I wanted him to be afraid because then he was more likely to be cooperative.

  “Go with your father, boy,” I said, turning to Will. “We will join you soon.”

  With that, the boy ran forward, and his father leaned down, grabbed his arm, and helped him up onto the horse behind him. Then, without further acknowledgment, they galloped away into the distance.

  “Do you think he will let us into his castle?” Thorne asked.

  I shrugged. “I have my doubts. Soon we will know what honor is worth to such a man. But I think that what waits ahead is better than what follows behind.”

  So we continued along the dusty track until the castle came into view; before it ran a narrow, fast-flowing river. The fortification was modest, with just a single inner keep, but it did have a moat and a drawbridge, above which stood a small defensive tower with battlements. Surrounding the castle lay the cultivated fields of tenant farmers, dotted with small cottages, but there was no one working there. I noted that two of the dwellings were burned and blackened. The war had reached even this isolated backwater of the County.

  We crossed the river at a ford, the water reaching up to our knees. As we passed the first cottage, I peered through the window to confirm what I had suspected.

  I was right: A half-eaten meal lay on the table. The occupants had left in a hurry. In times of danger, the tenants, workers, and servants of a knight such as this took refuge within the castle. But what did the knight consider the danger to be? Did he fear two witches, or that which pursued them? Perhaps both? We would find out soon enough.

  As we got nearer, I saw figures watching us from the ramparts. There was a clank and grinding of chains over a capstan, and the drawbridge was slowly lowered, but when we stepped onto it, we saw that the portcullis and the sturdy iron-studded door beyond it were still closed against us.

  Then a voice called down to us from above. It wasn’t the knight, just one of his minions. I sniffed and knew him for a blusterer—but one who could kill in cold blood and made his living by use of violence.

  “Unsheathe your weapons! Place them at your feet!” he cried.

  I shook my head. “My blades stay where I can reach them!”

  I sniffed again and found danger. There were armed men in a state of high alert. But I sensed discipline too. They were obedient and awaiting orders.

  There was no reply, but I heard murmurs from above. My refusal was being debated.

  Seconds later, there was a clank of chains and the portcullis began to rise. Thorne leaned across and whispered in my ear. “It could be a trap,” she said.

  I nodded but di
d not reply. Could we trust this knight? I wondered. I sniffed—this time a long sniff, attempting to read the future, especially the threat of death. I sniffed for Thorne. She would not die here. I felt sure of it.

  The heavy wooden door swung inward, groaning on its hinges. About ten paces beyond the door stood the knight; behind me there was another closed portcullis. He was still dressed in chain mail but no longer carried the sword. He beckoned us forward, and Thorne and I stepped through the doorway, advancing about five paces. As we came to a halt, the portcullis behind us started to descend. I glanced back and saw that the inner door remained open.

  “You are welcome to my home,” Sir Gilbert said, his voice mild and courteous. “I bear no arms within these walls, and I ask that you do likewise. Remove your blades and lay them at your feet.”

  “Your customs are not my customs,” I replied. “My habit is to keep my blades within reach at all times.”

  “I offer you refuge, but it must be on my terms!”

  I drew a throwing blade and pointed it toward him. No sooner had I made that threat than two bowmen moved into position behind him, their arrows pointing through the bars of the portcullis. I glanced to my left and right. There were arrow slits in the stone walls. We were being targeted from three sides. Arrows fired from longbows have great velocity and force. They can even puncture armor. But despite the extreme danger, I remained very calm as I analyzed the situation and considered my options.

  “Before an arrow reaches me,” I threatened, “my blade will be in your throat.”

  That was true. To slay the knight would be as easy as flicking a fly from my brow. He was less than a second from death. We could also slay the bowmen behind him. I could not be sure of killing the men behind the arrow slits, though. And even if I was successful, we would be trapped in this gateway, with a portcullis on either side and no means of escape.

  “Then all three of us would be dead,” said the knight. “It would be a waste, and so unnecessary. You rescued my son, and for that I am grateful and will hold to his word. I offer you refuge within these walls. Food, drink, and clean clothes await you. Just put down your weapons, I beg you, and all will be well.”