The Last Apprentice: Grimalkin the Witch Assassin Read online

  “And what have you done to make them hunt you down in such a way?”

  I reached down and lifted the sack onto the table. “Within this sack is the head of the Fiend,” I said. “He has been bound temporarily while we search for a way to destroy him. Our enemies wish to reunite the head with the body and set him at liberty.”

  “I find this hard to believe,” said the knight, an expression of incredulity on his face. “You mean the head of the Devil himself is within that sack? Is that what you are telling me?”

  “He was summoned to earth by the Pendle covens. Now he is trapped in the flesh and in great pain. Do you not believe me? Do you require proof?” I demanded.

  A faint groan issued from the sack, and what sounded like a sharp intake of breath. Will and his father both started, but the latter quickly regained his composure.

  “I am a man of peace, and happy attending to my own affairs. I take up arms only when the cause justifies it. I know little of witches and dark magic and believe that much that seems strange can be put down to superstition and ignorance. But I do have an open mind and would very much like to see the contents of this sack.”

  “Then I will grant your wish,” I said, undoing the ties. I lifted the Fiend’s head out by its horns and held it up before the knight and his son.

  Both came to their feet in shock. The boy looked as if he was about to flee from the chamber. The head groaned faintly once more, and the flesh around the ruined eye twitched. There was a thick crusting of blood running from that eye to the wide-open mouth. If anything, the head was even more hideous than before.

  CHAPTER XIV

  ATTACK

  Your magic daunts me not,

  because I have magic of my own.

  And boggarts, ghosts, and ghasts

  are no greater threat to me

  than they are to a spook.

  “IT still lives! How can this be?” asked Sir Gilbert, whose face was suddenly very pale.

  “Flesh is just a covering,” I replied. “For the Fiend, the form he takes is like slipping into a garment. He can assume many such shapes, and his spirit can survive extreme mutilation; it now dwells within the two halves of his body. Thus he must remain trapped. If his servants return his head to his bound body, he will be free, and his vengeance will be terrible, both in this life and beyond.

  “Recently he walked the earth, and things became darker than at any time in living memory. One manifestation of this was the war that has visited the County, bringing with it death, starvation, and cruelty. The fact that he is temporarily bound has already improved matters. Keeping him bound is in your interests too.”

  Sir Gilbert stared at the Fiend’s head. “Return that fearful thing to the sack, I beg you. It’s not a sight that mortal eyes should gaze upon.”

  I did as he requested, and the four of us sat down again.

  “Did you fight in the war?” I asked.

  The knight shook his head. “I am no longer a young man and was not called upon to do so. I stayed behind and tried to protect my people. We were lucky, and being somewhat isolated were visited by only one patrol, and that somewhat late in the campaign. At first my people took refuge in the castle, but when the enemy soldiers started to burn their cottages, I sallied forth at the head of a small but determined force. We lost two of our number but killed every last one of the enemy. Eleven are buried in unmarked graves. Thus none escaped to make report.”

  “Do we have a good stock of provisions?” I asked.

  “Within these walls there are many mouths to feed, but we could endure a siege of several weeks before we began to starve. However, it would not be pleasant and would cause serious difficulties once life returned to normal. Fodder for the cattle is limited, and we would have to start slaughtering them. The aftermath of war would make restocking difficult.”

  “I think we could finish it relatively swiftly,” I told him. The plan had been forming in my head on the journey to the castle, and now I put it into words. “With your help, we could take the battle to our enemies. Some of them are witches, but your son says that your archers are masters of their trade, and dark magic surely won’t be able to deflect all their arrows. As for the kretch, you may just be able to attend to it yourself—in the same way that you slew the great worme.”

  Will smiled, his face glowing with pride. “Look at the tapestries that adorn your room,” he said. “They tell the story of what happened fifteen years ago. It shows my father slaying the great worme that had devastated the surrounding countryside. What he achieved once, he may do again, employing the same means.”

  Thorne turned toward Will and smiled too. When their eyes met, I could see that a bond was forming between them.

  The father nodded, but I suspected he was somewhat less enthusiastic about the idea than his son.

  It was after dark when Thorne and I returned to our room. Candles were flickering in their holders beside our beds. I picked one up and carried it across to the first of the tapestries; there were five in all.

  The worme was depicted laying waste to farmland—carcasses of sheep lay scattered about a field. It held a man in its jaws, only his legs visible. The worme depicted was huge. I had never heard tell of one so big. No doubt the embroiderer had exaggerated its size for effect.

  In the second tapestry, the worme was advancing upon the castle and the knight was riding out to meet it. The river lay between them. In the third, he had dismounted and was walking into the water at the ford in full armor; the worme was surging toward him, jaws wide open.

  The fourth tapestry showed them locked in combat, and the manner of the knight’s eventual victory was now clear. The battling figures filled the whole tapestry, and I could see that Sir Gilbert’s armor was covered in spikes. The worme had wrapped its body and tail tightly around him and was being pierced by the spikes and cut to pieces, bleeding in a dozen different places as the knight sliced into it with his sword, which he wielded two-handed. In the final tapestry, Sir Gilbert was holding the head of the creature aloft in triumph, and pieces of it were being carried downstream by the torrent.

  “Could he really deal with the kretch in the same manner?” asked Thorne.

  “Perhaps, child. It might be worth a try. If we and some of the knight’s men engage the others, his protective armor might just enable him to cut it into pieces. Under pressure from his son, he seems prepared to try, and I am inclined to encourage that endeavor.”

  Our enemies arrived early in the morning of the following day—about twenty of them, accompanied by the kretch and Bowker. They didn’t cross the river but, after starting toward the castle for a while, settled down beside the largest of the outlying farmhouses and lit cooking fires.

  All through the afternoon they kept their distance while we watched from the battlements. But new bands of witches were arriving by the hour. By evening I estimated that our enemy numbered over a hundred. In addition to the external threat, tensions were rising within the castle.

  “It’s the priest. I saw him over there, stirring up trouble,” Thorne said, pointing to where the farmers were camped by their animals. “I was standing by the gate and he kept pointing at me.”

  “He is a priest, child, so it is only to be expected. And those people have been forced to take refuge within these walls because of us. There is bound to be resentment.”

  We dined with the knight and his son again that evening, and Thorne told our host about the priest.

  “You need not concern yourself about him,” Sir Gilbert replied. “Father Hewitt has already been to see me and asked that I banish you from the castle. I refused, and the matter is closed. He is my chaplain and has been with us for many years. Indeed, were I to die before my time, he would become the guardian of my son until he reaches maturity. But he is a priest, and you are witches, so there is a natural enmity between you. There is little he can do but stir up the feelings of his flock. But I am their lord, and they will obey me in all things. You are perfectly safe here.”


  “We are grateful for that,” I told him. “I examined the tapestry in our room with interest. I assume that you still have that armor?”

  “I do indeed. I had it specially made, and it proved most effective against the worme. In truth, the creature was not quite as large as the embroidery suggests,” he said with a smile. “But it was a dangerous beast and killed many humans as well as cattle.”

  “Father is both clever and brave,” Will stated proudly. “Minstrels still sing of what he achieved.”

  “You must be very proud of your father,” I said, smiling at the boy. But then I turned back to Sir Gilbert. “Such armor may not be as effective against the kretch. It has bone armor of its own. If we engage it, we should work as a team, and we should do it soon, before too many more of the Fiend’s servants arrive. Their numbers will grow by the day. But destroy the kretch, and we will leave this place and they will follow. You will be able to return to the routine of your lives.”

  “We will do it tomorrow, then,” said the knight. “We need to find some way to lure them closer to the castle, within range of my archers.”

  I nodded. “I will think of something. And tomorrow we will put an end to them. You will return our blades?”

  “Of course. We will leave the castle together with the weapons necessary for victory.”

  But I was wrong, and events did not turn out as I had expected.

  CHAPTER XV

  A FIGHT TO THE DEATH

  It is better to fight than to be a mere spectator.

  A witch assassin craves combat.

  WE had a predawn breakfast and then, to Thorne’s relief, we put aside the green dresses and attired ourselves as assassins. I was looking forward to the coming battle and felt comfortable to be dressed once more in the garb of my calling.

  I could not risk taking the Fiend’s head with me into battle, so it had to be hidden. I used more of my precious remaining magic to achieve that. Using many cotton threads that I unpicked from the hem of my dress, I hung the leather sack from a ceiling beam in the darkest corner of the room. Once that was done, I cloaked it thoroughly. Only a powerful witch or mage could find it now; even for them it would not be easy.

  Sir Gilbert, dressed in his spiked armor, was waiting for us in the courtyard, surrounded by his men. So were our blades. It was a good feeling to slip each one back into its scabbard.

  It was a gray, misty morning and the air was chilly and damp. I looked at our small war band and gauged our chances of victory. The men looked confident and well disciplined. In addition to the knight in his deadly armor, there were the eight master archers and another fifteen men-at-arms. All were on foot. Sir Gilbert had told me that they would not put their horses at risk. We were heavily outnumbered but had a good chance of achieving a temporary victory.

  I had outlined my plan to the knight, and he had given it his approval. The intention was to destroy the kretch and kill as many witches as possible before retreating back into the castle. Later, under cover of darkness, Thorne and I would make our escape; the surviving witches would follow, leaving the inhabitants of the castle and its surroundings to return to their peaceful lives.

  But then things started to go wrong. A soldier on watch on the battlements called a warning down to us. The enemy was approaching.

  From that high vantage point I estimated their number. There were indeed well over a hundred, led by the kretch and the dark mage. They halted about two hundred yards short of the moat, and the kretch came forward alone. Once directly below us, it rose up on its hind legs, drew a blade, and called out a challenge in its booming voice.

  My heart sank. The challenge was not aimed at me, but at the knight.

  “Sir Gilbert Martin, I hail thee! You are the slayer of the great worme and famed throughout this land for what you have achieved. I wish to pit myself in personal combat against one of such renown. Defeat me, and those with me will disperse and trouble you no more.”

  “If I lose the fight, what then?” the knight called down. “I would know the terms of combat.”

  “Defeat will cost you your life, and the siege will continue. That is all. Do you accept my challenge?”

  “I accept, and will fight you in single combat before these walls. Do you agree? Do I have your word?”

  “You have my word. We will fight at the water’s edge, where you defeated the great worme. Your followers must remain within the castle walls. My people will retreat far beyond the river.”

  “It is agreed!” Sir Gilbert replied.

  With that, the kretch bowed its head slightly, showed its teeth in a wicked grin, and turned to lope back toward the river.

  I almost called down my own challenge to the kretch, but the knight had given his word; I could not intervene. However, I did make an attempt to dissuade him.

  “It’s a trick!” I warned. “Such a creature does not think like you. Neither do its companions. They are the servants of the Fiend—the Father of Lies. They have no idea of honor. Go down there alone and you will die! They want the head of the Fiend and have no intention of dispersing until it is in their possession.”

  “That may be so,” Sir Gilbert said, turning to face me. “But as a knight, I am not at liberty to refuse a challenge to single combat. It is the code by which I live. And even if that creature does intend to deceive me, all is not lost. When I leave, close the main gate, but do not lock it. Leave the drawbridge down too. At the first sign of treachery, come to my aid. There is little difference in this from what we intended.”

  “I cannot agree,” I warned. “We would have left this place as a compact unit and protected your flanks and rear as you attacked the kretch. Now you will fight alone and at some distance from us. If there is treachery, we may not be able to come to your aid in time.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment of what I had said, but he remained resolute, and without another word went down to await the opening of the gate and the lowering of the drawbridge.

  When this was done, Sir Gilbert clasped hands with his son in a brief farewell. Will looked very proud of his father, but his bottom lip was trembling with emotion, and I knew that he feared for him. The knight lowered the visor on his helmet and strode toward the river. The door was closed after him but not locked. The archers and men-at-arms waited behind it, weapons at the ready. But I led Thorne back up onto the battlements, where we would get a better view of the fight.

  Sir Gilbert was approaching the river ford, and I could see the kretch waiting on the far bank. Of the mage and witches there was no sign, but a wall of thick mist had appeared about a hundred yards away, covering both banks of the river. No doubt it had been conjured by magic. They could easily be hiding within it—much closer to the combatants than we were. I sniffed and immediately sensed danger. It was a trap—I was certain of it. But what could I do? I had warned the knight, but he had not heeded my words.

  No sooner had he left the muddy bank and entered the shallow water of the ford than the kretch loped toward him, running on four legs like a giant wolf, sending up a curtain of water. Sir Gilbert had not anticipated its speed, and he drew his sword too late. The huge beast clamped its jaws upon his right, sword arm and bit hard. Even at that distance I heard the knight cry out in pain.

  And what of the kretch? There were spikes on the metal plates that enclosed Sir Gilbert’s arm. Now they must surely be cutting into the creature’s jaws. It had gradually been changing and growing more powerful. Was it now impervious to pain? Or able to overcome it and exert its will despite the agony it must be feeling? That made it very dangerous indeed. Only death would stop it.

  With a great effort, the knight tore his arm free. As he did so, blood dripped from the open jaws of the beast, staining the water. There was blood on the armor too—but was it Sir Gilbert’s blood or the beast’s?

  Even from this distance I could see that the metal covering the knight’s arms was dented, and he struggled to lift the sword as the kretch attacked again. The creature s
eemed even larger, and it reared up to tower over him. It was growing more powerful with each day that passed.

  Although hurt, Sir Gilbert was brave and did not flinch but stood his ground, transferring the sword to his other hand. The weapon was heavy and should really have been wielded with both hands. Nevertheless, with his left hand—no doubt the weaker of the two—he thrust the point into the creature’s belly. This time it did feel pain and let out a shrill scream, immediately followed by a bellow of anger.

  The scream made me feel a lot better. The kretch could be hurt. Yes, I wanted the knight to put an end to it, but really I longed to slay it myself. It was a long time since I’d wanted to hurt and kill something so much. And yet I could not venture forth while the knight was still standing his ground. He was a brave man, and I would not deny him his chance of victory.

  Knight and kretch came together hard; locked in battle, they fell into the shallow water and rolled over and over until they reached the far bank, where they continued to struggle in the mud. This was exactly what Sir Gilbert wanted: Now the beast was being impaled on the spikes, hopefully to suffer the same fate as the worme. But as they thrashed about, it seemed to me that he was losing the struggle.

  The knight was trying to use his sword against the kretch, but he was too close to it, and his blows were ineffectual against the creature’s armored back. Sir Gilbert was no longer a young man. His stamina would be failing. Nor would the spikes on his armor be as effective against this beast as they had been against the worme. And now, to my dismay, I saw the jaws of the kretch close about the knight’s head and bite down hard, and I heard the armor crumple. Its jaws were powerful and able to exert great leverage; now its teeth were penetrating his skull. I heard groans of dismay from the knight’s men and knew that Will would be watching his father’s plight in anguish.

  It was then that what I had both feared and expected happened. The witches, led by Bowker, surged out of the mist and, whooping and shrieking, ran toward the riverbank, where the combatants still struggled. Most carried knives. As before, the three at the front were armed with blades lashed to the end of long poles so that they could stab and cut from a distance. The knight was facing the same fate that had befallen the lamia; the difference here was that a determined and sizable force was able to intervene. All was not lost.