Spook's: The Dark Army Read online

  I heard Lenklewth roar with laughter; he began to beat his fists on the table, just like his soldiers had done earlier. Trying to ignore the waves of pain, I staggered to my feet. The assassin came in fast, but I sidestepped. He missed and overbalanced, presenting me with an opportunity. I punched him hard on the left temple.

  It had little effect. He shook his head like a dog after a swim, then straightened up; his cruel eyes watched me, a predator tormenting its prey.

  ‘So far my cuts have been light,’ he said softly, ‘but now they will be more damaging. I will start to slice away your flesh.’

  I backed away, fear rising in my throat. He was an assassin, trained to kill, while I was unarmed and half naked, my flesh vulnerable to his blade. I looked around, wondering if there was a weapon in the room other than the Starblade. There were weapons on the wall but they were behind the mage.

  There was nothing; not even a sliver of hope.

  The room seemed to be growing ever colder. Was Golgoth exerting his power to acknowledge the sacrifice of my life?

  Then, all at once, I heard a strange sound: the clatter of a blade. I glanced back in astonishment.

  The Shaiksa had dropped his dagger onto the flags and was staring at me, an expression of bemusement on his face. A rivulet of red blood was running down the front of his armour, and I saw that a small dagger was buried up to the hilt in his throat. That hilt was a vivid green; it glittered like the dew upon dawn grass. As I stared open-mouthed, the rivulet became a river, splattering down onto the flags, and the assassin collapsed onto his knees and began to choke.

  Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a movement. It was less than a shadow; nothing more than a subtle change in the light. But the next moment someone was standing by the table, obscuring my view of Lenklewth.

  As I gazed at the apparition, it turned swiftly and purposefully.

  I saw that it was a girl. Her hair was gathered up on top of her head, which accentuated her high cheekbones; her dress, which came down almost to her ankles, was the dark green of December holly.

  She was holding the Starblade.

  It was Alice.

  TOM WARD

  ‘ALICE!’ I CALLED out in astonishment.

  She made no reply but threw the Starblade towards me and I caught it by the hilt; the moment I did so, she vanished.

  I didn’t stop to wonder how she’d suddenly appeared from nowhere. All that mattered was that I had the sword in my hand and so Lenklewth’s dark magic could no longer hurt me. I had to concentrate on what needed to be done.

  Wasting no time, I advanced towards the mage. As I did so, the fire flared up in the grate, the flames licking the tentacles of the statue of Golgoth.

  The mage lurched to his feet, overturning his chair, and started to make complex passes in the air above his head while muttering a spell. His eyes showed what could have been desperation, though it was more likely to be anger at his inability to destroy me with his magic.

  I ran at him, aware that I needed to finish this quickly, while I still had the strength to fight.

  The mage darted towards the far wall; this time he seized a huge sword in both hands and stepped forward to meet my attack. He brought it across horizontally, just as he had with the axe when he had dashed the sword from my grasp.

  Now I brought the Starblade up to block that scything stroke and there was the clash of blade against blade. This time my grip was firm, which boosted my confidence.

  Then, as Lenklewth raised his weapon again, I gave two quick lunges in succession: one aimed at the throat, the second high on his left arm.

  Both were blocked by his armour, but the force of the blows sent him staggering backwards. For a moment my weariness had been shed and I went after him, whirling and spinning as Grimalkin had taught me, coming in under his guard.

  Again my sword was deflected by his armour but I pressed him harder. However, now my breath was coming fast, and my limbs seemed to be growing heavier.

  Suddenly I heard a sizzling and saw that, behind the mage, the limbs of the statue were melting and dripping into the fire.

  I realized that I needed to find a gap in Lenklewth’s armour or aim for his head. I had to do it quickly, before I became too weak to fight.

  As I prepared to strike, I heard heavy boots running down the steps towards the cellar. My heart sank – I assumed that Kobalos warriors were coming to help the mage, but then I saw an expression of dismay on his face. These were human warriors wearing the blue tunics of Polyznia under their metal breastplates; half a dozen of them, splattered with blood from their battle.

  I experienced a moment of triumph – and then the mage vanished.

  At first, because these men only spoke Losta, I didn’t know what the situation outside was. For all I knew our enemies could be on their way. So we had to be quick – find Grimalkin then get out of the tower.

  So I simply pointed upwards, calling out, ‘Poska!’ which meant ‘Follow!’ – one of the few Losta words I knew. I ran up the steps, checking each cell in turn, the men following at my heels. I pointed to the first empty one and said, ‘Grimalkin?’ hoping that they would understand.

  The next five were also empty; then, through a grille, I saw a body on the floor, illuminated by a wall candle: it looked like the witch assassin.

  The door was barred and locked. I drew back the bar then gestured impatiently, pointing at the lock. Two of the warriors hurried off immediately, but it was a least ten minutes before a key was found.

  Grimalkin was tightly bound with twine and a gag had been stuffed into her mouth, kept in place by strips of cloth. Her bare arms were badly cut, but she was conscious and her eyes glared angrily.

  In moments we had got her free. Once the gag was removed she coughed for a few moments before climbing to her feet and questioning the warriors in Losta.

  Then she turned to me. ‘Prince Stanislaw is here with our full contingent,’ she told me. ‘He surrounded the kulad before advancing into the trees. The Kobalos warriors fought to the death; no prisoners were taken. But now we have little time before the rest of our enemies arrive in force.’

  ‘Ask them if Jenny is safe!’ I demanded.

  Grimalkin did so and then nodded. ‘The girl is safe. The advance party took no part in the victory here of the larger army.’

  We hurried out of the tower. The cellar steps were slippery with the blood of dead Kobalos. Outside there were more bodies, slain by Prince Stanislaw’s infantry.

  It was a relief to be out in the cool night air. At one time I hadn’t expected to leave the kulad alive.

  ‘I would be dead now but for Alice,’ I told Grimalkin. ‘She saved me.’

  ‘Alice was here?’ she asked, a shocked expression on her face.

  ‘Yes – she appeared out of nowhere, threw the sword to me, then vanished again.’

  ‘You can tell me the full story later. First we need to speak to the prince.’

  After Grimalkin had spoken to Prince Stanislaw we walked through the trees together, out of earshot. I told her exactly what had happened. Soon we reached the cinder path, still steaming with the heat from the geyser deep underground, and crossed over. We entered the trees again and I saw that despite the cold here there was no frost on the grass.

  Finally I told the witch assassin what the Kobalos mage had said: ‘Lenklewth claimed he was able to see far into the future using a Kobalos method that was superior to scrying. He saw our plan; he also glimpsed the machinations of Lukrasta. He set a trap and lured us into it – but I want to know why he didn’t see how badly it would end for him – how he would be defeated, his men slain . . .’

  ‘Even the best of those who peer into the future cannot foretell everything – especially their own deaths,’ answered Grimalkin, her breath steaming in the cold air. ‘It is a blind spot that affects all seers, creating a fog around contingent events. He knew that our army would soon reach the kulad, but no doubt he thought he could defend it until the larger Kobalos
forces arrived.’

  ‘Yes, I think he sensed an imminent attack,’ I added, remembering how the mage had suddenly come to his feet and the room had fallen silent. ‘He sent his warriors out to defend the tower.’

  ‘He was not far out with his timings, either,’ said Grimalkin. ‘Our enemies will be here before noon tomorrow – an army many times larger than our own.’

  ‘Alice must have been using magic to watch us,’ I mused. ‘Otherwise how did she know to intervene at the very moment I faced death?’

  ‘No doubt that is so,’ said Grimalkin. ‘Her control of dark magic grows ever stronger. But I wonder why she felt it necessary to leave so suddenly? I would like to speak to her . . .’ She sighed and then turned to me. ‘Come – let us go and talk to the prince again. We need to prepare for the coming battle, but this time leave the talking to me.’

  ‘What about Jenny?’ I asked. ‘I need to talk to her.’

  ‘First the prince, then Jenny,’ Grimalkin insisted.

  We entered Prince Stanislaw’s tent; it was lit by thick wax candles in tall wooden holders. Wooden plinths bore carved stone heads of humans – probably previous rulers and heroes of Polyznia.

  None of the other princes were present – only Majcher, Stanislaw’s high steward, a big man with a proud bearing who scowled at us. He never looked happy. I wondered if he was grieving for the death of comrades or maybe Prince Kaylar.

  Prince Stanislaw addressed us in our own language. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘My scouts tell me enemy army approaches. It outnumbers us many times. It is shaped like crescent. Right horn lies between us and river. We cannot win, yet it is too late to retreat.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, we have no choice but to fight,’ I said. Then I gestured towards Grimalkin, who also spoke to him in our language.

  ‘We can save most of the cavalry and perhaps three quarters of the infantry,’ she declared. ‘But you must do exactly as I say. The enemy will soon encircle us. We need to break through and escape back across the river.’

  The prince frowned. For a moment I thought he was about to object. Why should he follow her advice after such a disastrous attack upon the kulad; it had cost him many lives, not least that of Prince Kaylar.

  But then his expression softened. The prince already knew the truth about me and he was shrewd. In spite of her recent failure he recognized Grimalkin’s martial abilities.

  ‘If we break out and cross river – what we do then?’ he demanded.

  ‘There are two possibilities,’ she told him. ‘One is that they will follow us across the river and lay siege to your cities. But I think the second is more likely. The failure of Lenklewth’s plan will have given them pause. I believe that the Kobalos will now wish to assemble an overwhelming force before making that crossing. Then they will advance until their conquest is complete.’

  ‘You seem certain,’ the prince said, meeting her eye.

  ‘I am very certain. I am a witch and have scryed it. That is their plan at the moment. It may change. If it does, I will inform you.’

  He nodded. ‘What wish you to be done?’

  ‘The three eighteen-pounders must be brought close together facing south. Then I need a body of cavalry who are prepared to fight a rearguard action so that most of our infantry can escape. Unfortunately it will cost some of them their lives.’

  ‘There will be many volunteers,’ the prince assured her. ‘My men are brave. I will choose the best.’

  This was what Grimalkin had always intended: to break through the enemy forces and escape back across the river.

  But she had failed in her plan to gain knowledge of mage-magic: she would return empty-handed. There had been many deaths; more would follow. And it had all been for nothing.

  The pain of the shaiksa’s blades still hurt but it was not as severe as the anguish in my heart. My glimpse of Alice had brought back all my confused feelings about her: the love and closeness of our friendship tainted by her betrayal of me.

  TOM WARD

  IT WAS LESS than an hour before dawn and the sky to the east was growing lighter. I was restless.

  After Grimalkin had attended to my wounds I’d spoken to Jenny. She was starting to calm down after her ordeal. I intended to talk to her again later but for now I urgently needed time by myself to think things through and try to resolve my confusion about Alice.

  As for myself, I had not come well through my most recent ordeal. I was more afraid of death than ever before. The experience of the pain of death had taken away some of my courage.

  I walked through the trees, circling the kulad, wondering if any of us would survive the coming battle.

  It was then that I heard a faint sound: music drifting on the breeze, reaching my ears from a distance. At first I thought it was a human voice. I came to a halt and listened more carefully. The leaves overhead rustled in the wind and for a moment the sound was gone. Just when I started to think I’d imagined it, the song came back louder than ever. No, it was not singing. It was some sort of instrument.

  It seemed familiar. Who could be playing?

  Then I finally remembered: it was the pipes of Pan, the Old God of nature and life itself.

  Two years earlier, I’d encountered him in Ireland. Once you’d heard that enthralling music, you could never forget it. Why was he here? I wondered.

  I tried to locate its source, and suddenly realized that it was coming from the kulad. I began to walk directly towards it, slowly at first, as if in a dream; then I felt an urge to run. I was being summoned by magic. The Starblade at my side was failing to defend me against that spell of compulsion.

  There could be two reasons for that: either there was no intention to harm me or the spell was too strong even for the sword. Back in Ireland, Alice had been snatched away into the dark but Pan had returned her. He had helped us once. If it was Pan I felt sure that the Old God meant me no harm.

  As I ran, I looked up at the tower looming above me. It was in darkness, but for a light flickering in the topmost window; from Lenklewth’s chamber.

  I crossed the drawbridge, passed under the portcullis and walked towards the tower. There were two guards on the door. I wondered if they were aware of the music . . . Perhaps only I could hear it? I nodded to them and entered the tower. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed that the bodies of the slain had been removed for burial but there were still bloodstains on the walls and floor of each room. The music was growing ever louder and more compelling, drawing me upwards.

  I began to run up the steps until I reached the outer door of the mage’s chamber. The huge bath still steamed and I looked at it warily. The skelts had vanished with the mage, but what if they’d returned and were lurking there?

  I went on through the white mist and crossed the bridge to the inner door, then stepped inside, expecting to find Pan.

  Pan wasn’t there but Alice was.

  The first time I’d met Alice she was wearing a tattered black dress tied at the waist with a piece of string. More recently, when she’d left me and gone off with Lukrasta, she’d worn a dress of dark silk and a fine black coat trimmed with fur. Now she was wearing what I’d glimpsed when she’d saved me – a long green dress. Alice had painted her fingernails green too and wore a short fur-trimmed jacket the colour of bark. There were two small daggers at her belt; each had a green hilt, identical to that of the dagger buried in the throat of the Shaiksa assassin.

  Just one thing hadn’t changed since our first meeting on the path that ran up the hill from Chipenden to the Spook’s house: Alice was still wearing her pointy shoes.

  I remembered the warning issued by my master, John Gregory, at the beginning of my apprenticeship: Watch out for the village girls. Especially any who wear pointy shoes.

  It had been good advice, but I’d ignored it and got involved with Alice. A part of me wished I’d never met her.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Tom,’ she said, a faint smile on her lips.

  I wanted to say something cutting and sa
rcastic, but I bit my tongue and attempted to restrain my anger. However, my feelings were too strong, and rather than thanking Alice for saving my life, I’d spoken the bitter words before I could help it.

  ‘Where’s your friend Lukrasta?’ I demanded.

  The smile left Alice’s face and a look of anger flickered across it. Then it faded to sadness.

  ‘Lukrasta is dead. He was killed by the Kobalos. It’s all gone badly wrong. We tried to penetrate their city and learn the secrets of their magic, but we made the same mistake as Grimalkin. We underestimated them. They were lying in wait. I barely escaped with my own life.’

  For a moment I wondered whether Alice was telling the truth but it was just a momentary doubt that the expression on her face drove away.

  It was a shock to learn that Lukrasta was dead. Thoughts and feelings began to swirl around my head. First I felt a glimmer of hope: if he was dead, then perhaps Alice and I could be together again. But I was immediately overcome by fresh anger as I realized that she was only here because Lukrasta was dead!

  ‘So now you’ve lost him you’ve come back to me . . .’

  Alice shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve come back to help you. I saved your life, didn’t I? I’m here to try and save you all, Tom. Without my help many of you are going to die. It ain’t possible for you all to escape. Grimalkin’s got great self-belief – she can’t imagine failing – but not even she can achieve that.’

  There was silence as I mulled over what she had said, and suddenly I heard the music again. It seemed to be all around me, filling the room.

  ‘That music – is that Pan?’ I asked.

  Alice nodded. ‘Yes, Pan’s close by. He’ll add his strength to mine to make up for the loss of Lukrasta.’

  ‘Do you mean Pan’s on our side?’

  ‘He’s on the side of life, Tom; on the side of everything that’s green; on the side of everything that springs from the Earth. The Old Gods are taking sides. Soon Talkus, the Kobalos god, will control most of ’em. The first that bowed to him was Golgoth, the Lord of Winter. He’s a lot to gain from the expansion of Valkarky and the ice spreading southwards, bringing blizzards and perpetual winter. But Pan will never give in.’