The Last Apprentice: Grimalkin the Witch Assassin Page 7

  “My crime against the Deane clan was terrible. If they caught me, I would die slowly and in agony.

  “The first of my enemies came into sight at dusk, picking her way slowly across the marsh grass. As a witch, I have many skills and talents. One of these proved very useful now. It is a gift that we share, Thorne. As an enemy approaches, we instantly know their worth, their strength and ability in combat. The witch crossing the marsh toward me then was competent, but not of the first order. No doubt her abilities as a tracker, which also enabled her to penetrate my dark magical cloak, had brought this one to me first.

  “I waited until she was close, then showed myself to her. I was standing on that small hill, clearly outlined against the fading red of the western sky. She ran toward me, clasping blades in each hand. She did not weave from side to side; made no attempt to present a difficult target. It was me or her. One of us would die. So I pulled my favorite throwing knife from my belt and hurled it at her. My aim was good. It took her in the throat. She made a small gurgling noise, dropped to her knees, and fell facedown in the marsh grass.

  “Yes, child, she was the first human being I had ever killed, and there was a momentary pang in my chest. But it quickly passed as I concentrated on ensuring my own survival. I hid her body under a shelf of grass tussocks, pushing her down into the mud. I did not take her heart. We had faced each other in combat and she had lost honorably. One night that witch would return from the dead, crawling across the marsh in search of prey. As she posed no further threat to me, I would not deny her that.”

  “If I die before you,” Thorne said, “promise me that you will take my heart. I prefer to go directly into the dark. I don’t want to linger on as a dead witch, shuffling around the dell, waiting for pieces of my body to fall off.”

  I nodded. “If that is your wish, I will not deny you. But if I die first, leave my heart intact. Hunting from the dell is better than suffering eternal torment in the dark at the hands of the Fiend. If we do not destroy him, one day he will be waiting for me—and for you too now, Thorne. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

  Thorne shook her head. “We will find a way to destroy him, and then we can go safely into the dark, where we belong. One day I will be reborn into a new body; I will become a witch assassin once more and try to surpass all that I have achieved in this life!”

  I smiled. Witches returned not only as dead vampiric creatures; they could sometimes also be reincarnated into a brand-new body and live a second or even third life.

  “Now complete your story, please,” urged Thorne. “They sent others after you, didn’t they?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I waited almost three days for the next to find me. There were two, and they arrived together. We fought as the sun went down. I remember how it colored the river red; it looked as if it was filled with blood rather than water. I was young, strong, and fast, but they were veterans of such fights and knew tricks that I had never even imagined, never mind encountered. They hurt me badly, and the scars of those wounds mark my body to this day, but I learned much during that fight. The struggle lasted over an hour, and it was very close, but at last victory was mine, and the bodies of two more Deanes went into the marsh.

  “It was almost three weeks before I was fit to travel, but in that time they sent no more avengers after me. The trail had gone cold, and it was unlikely that anyone would have recognized me that night when I stabbed the Fiend.”

  “Even to this day, the Deanes don’t know that it was you, do they?” Thorne asked.

  “That’s true, child—you are the only one I’ve told this tale to. Let’s hope they never find out, or my days as a witch assassin would be over. I would be hunted down by a whole clan. They would never forget.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  WHAT AILS YOU, AGNES?

  A witch assassin of necessity walks alone.

  The allies she makes are few in number;

  thus they are valued highly,

  their loss keenly felt.

  SOON Thorne fell asleep by the fire. Of the lamia sisters, there was no sign. They had gone into the underground region of the tower—for what purpose I could not guess. So I climbed the steps up onto the battlements. No moon was visible, and the wind was rising; heavy clouds blew across the sky from the west. So I penetrated the darkness, gazing out across the clearing toward the encircling trees of Crow Wood with my witchy eyes.

  I could see the roosting crows and spied a badger rooting around close to his sett, but apart from that nothing moved. I sniffed three times to be sure, but there was no danger.

  That was strange. I would have expected to find at least one enemy spy out there.

  Satisfied, I crossed the battlements again and descended the steps. Suddenly lights began to flicker in the corners of my eyes. I felt dizzy, and the sack containing the Fiend’s head seemed to grow much heavier. The world spun around me. I almost fell headfirst but managed to drop to my knees. Everything grew dark, and my heart thudded ponderously. I took slow, steady, deep breaths until my vision cleared at last.

  As the moment of weakness passed, I came slowly to my feet. Was this the long-term damage that Agnes Sowerbutts had warned might be a result of my poisoning by the kretch? If I suffered such a spasm during a fight with an enemy, I would certainly be killed. It was terrible to be compromised in this way. I had always had a great belief in my skills and my ability to overcome any opponent and dominate each situation. Suddenly my world had changed. I was no longer totally in control.

  Shaken, I sat down at the foot of the steps and rested for a while with my head on my knees. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is sensing the movement of my mirror in its sheath. It was in my hand before I’d opened my eyes.

  Agnes’s face came into focus. For a moment I thought she had scryed what I had experienced and was contacting me to offer advice. But then I saw the expression of fear on her face and knew that something was very wrong. She mouthed words at me so quickly that I had to concentrate hard in order to read her lips.

  A fierce battle has been fought just south of Roughlee, and the supporters of the Fiend have won. They have invited the kretch and its creators to join them in Pendle, and they will soon combine to destroy you. Even Malkin Tower may not be safe. Flee north while you can!

  “But what ails you, Agnes?” I asked softly. “I can see your lips trembling with fear.”

  They are coming for me, Grimalkin. For what purpose I cannot scry. When I try, despite all my skill, the mirror grows dark. It is well known that a witch is unable to foresee her own death. I was consumed with grief when my poor husband died, and I will never be as happy as I was when living with him. But I have grown used to my situation—at least I am warm and comfortable. I hoped to have many more years ahead of me. I am not ready to die yet.

  “Listen, Agnes, leave your cottage immediately and head toward the tower. It doesn’t matter how slow your progress. I will find you and carry you safely within.”

  It’s too late! Too late for me! I hear them banging at my door now. Outside there are many witches. I can hear their yells of anger! I am about to die!

  All at once the mirror went dark. Agnes was in the hands of our enemies, and now there was nothing I could do to help. But I would avenge Agnes and repay my enemies thrice over for everything they did to her.

  At dawn, up on the battlements, I told the others about Agnes and what I had learned. It was starting to rain, and now I could sniff out enemy witches lurking among the trees.

  “Why did they go directly to Agnes’s cottage to seize her?” Thorne asked.

  “Despite the fact that she kept herself to herself, no doubt it was already common knowledge among the Deanes that she was not a supporter of the Fiend. But there were others they could have taken first—some more active in their cause. I suspect that they used a scryer to link her to me. Perhaps they know that we visited her cottage and that she helped me. If this is so, they will know about you too.”

>   Thorne shrugged. “It was only a matter of time before they found out anyway. You could not keep me a secret forever—certainly not from witches. But surely we can do something?” she insisted. “We owe Agnes a lot. Over the last four years she’s been like a grandmother to me—and a true friend. We must help her. I cannot bear the thought of her being alone and afraid, in the cruel hands of merciless enemies! How can we stand by and allow this to happen?”

  I shook my head. “There will be too many of them. And she may already be dead. I am sorry about Agnes—she was indeed a good friend to me too—but to keep the Fiend’s head out of their clutches is our main concern.”

  “But Agnes is our concern too! We owe her much. I can’t believe that you are prepared to allow her to die! You are Grimalkin! Don’t forget that. Or has the kretch’s poison made you less than you were?”

  “Be silent!” I commanded. “Yes, we owe her, but we have another greater priority. Obey me in this, or I will train you no longer!”

  “Soon the time will come when you’ll have nought left to teach me!”

  I smiled mockingly, showing her my teeth. Sometimes Thorne wound herself up so tightly that she exploded with rage. It was in her nature, but she had to learn discipline and be reminded of her place.

  In that moment she attacked.

  She sprang to her feet and directed a kick at my left shoulder. I caught her foot and twisted, and she came down hard. But she was up again and on me in an instant. We rolled together on the wet flags, Thorne fighting like a wildcat, scratching and biting.

  I let the battle continue for a few moments so that she could release her anger and tension, then I put an end to the nonsense. I thrust a finger hard into each of her nostrils and dragged her up onto her feet. Still keeping my grip, I slammed her hard against the outer wall of the tower next to the steps, driving the breath from her body. I twisted her head away from me, opened my mouth wide, and prepared to bite her throat. I would not hurt her badly, but a little pain would teach her a lesson.

  At the last possible moment, she drummed her left foot three times against the wall. It was the sign of submission, so I released her. She stood there swaying, her face pale. Blood mixed with mucus dribbled from her left nostril. But as usual after such a struggle, her eyes were shining. We stared at each other until, after a few seconds, the corners of her mouth twitched up into a smile.

  I nodded to her and went to sit down again. The two lamias were looking at us in astonishment. But it was nothing new. We had fought together many times; it was part of Thorne’s training. From time to time I need to demonstrate to her what her true position was. As well as being reckless, the girl sometimes got above herself.

  “I will go and see what is afoot,” Wynde declared. Then she launched herself from the battlements and swooped toward the trees. She circled the tower three times, then gained height before flying south toward Roughlee.

  We waited in silence, with water dripping from our hair. When Wynde returned ten minutes later, the news was not good. She landed gracefully, then scuttled down the steps out of the rain and perched on the chest, waiting for us to climb down to her.

  “What did you see, sister?” Slake demanded.

  “Many witches heading to Crow Wood, all carrying weapons—but they come to their deaths,” Wynde declared, water running off her wings to form a big puddle on the flags. “I have had some sport already.”

  I glanced down and saw that her hind feet were freshly stained with blood and that there were streaks of it in the water below the chest. She had already killed at least one of our enemies. I felt frustrated that I was unable to kill some of them myself. It was a great advantage to have wings.

  “Do you think they mean to attack? Maybe they’ll come up through the tunnel?” Thorne suggested.

  “They’d have to reach the entrance first,” Wynde said.

  “A few might be able to get inside. The thicket around the sepulchre would offer cover,” I said. “But we could easily defend the tunnel. Just one of us could hold them off. We are in no immediate danger.”

  “Then I will go down there now,” said Slake. “I will stay until dusk, when another should take my place.”

  I nodded in agreement, and the lamia crossed into the storeroom and went down the steps to the lower reaches of the tower.

  “If only Agnes had managed to get here,” said Thorne. “I wonder what’s befallen her. I can’t stop thinking about what they are doing to her.”

  Just before noon we found out. We were watching from the battlements when a score of witches strolled out of the trees and headed directly toward us. Wynde prepared to take to the air and attack, but I bade her wait awhile.

  “Why must I wait?” she demanded, fixing me with her savage eyes.

  “Because they have Agnes with them as a prisoner, and she still lives,” I said, pointing to a figure to the fore of the group approaching the tower. I glanced sideways at Thorne, watching her eyes widen with concern at my words. I knew that whatever happened next would be bad, and we would be forced to bear witness to it.

  Agnes was bound, her hands tied behind her back and a noose around her neck. The rope was in the hands of a black-bearded mage who walked ahead of her. I would have expected to see terror on Agnes’s face, but she seemed calm. Was she aware of the imminence of her own death, and had she therefore become resigned to it? Or did she hope to be rescued—perhaps by the winged lamia?

  My attention was then drawn back to the mage. I sniffed quickly, three times. Instantly I knew a lot about him. He was capable of powerful dark magic and was also the leader of those who had created the kretch. Additionally, he was a skilled warrior, his strength such that in combat I would have to be wary of him. Only a fool would underestimate such a mage.

  “I will kill that one next!” Wynde said.

  “If I had your wings I’d do it now!” hissed Thorne.

  “Hush!” I commanded them both. “Let us listen to what he has to say for himself.”

  They came right up to the edge of the moat and halted. Immediately the mage looked up at us and called out his demands in a loud, imperious voice.

  “I am Bowker,” he shouted, “the appointed leader of the Fiend’s servants. You have until sunset to give us what is ours. If you refuse, the first to die will be your friend and ally, this old witch. She likes peering into mirrors too much! Her death will not be easy.”

  He turned and led the group back toward the trees, tugging roughly on the noose around poor Agnes’s neck—her groan of pain was clearly audible. Wynde fluttered her wings, preparing to take flight and attack.

  “No!” I warned. “If you attack, he will slay Agnes immediately.”

  The lamia shook her head. “He will kill her anyway. Once back among the trees, the advantage will be theirs. I must strike now while they are still in the open!”

  She took off from the battlements, gained height, then swooped down toward the group of witches, attacking them from the rear. There was a scream of pain as Wynde soared aloft again. She was carrying one of the enemy witches, whom she released when she had risen to twice the height of the surrounding trees. Whether or not her victim was already dead was impossible to say, but there was no scream as she fell, and the body thudded heavily onto the ground.

  The lamia’s attack was reckless. By now the mage might already have cut Agnes’s throat. Of course, such feral creatures are a law unto themselves and she certainly did not share my regard for Agnes, who had just recently saved my life.

  The lamia killed twice more before the group reached the cover of the trees. Losing the advantage of flight, Wynde headed back toward us and landed on the battlements.

  “Why didn’t you attack the mage?” I demanded. “With him dead, you might have been able to carry Agnes to safety.”

  The lamia regarded me with her heavy-lidded eyes. There was blood on her lips and cruelty in her gaze. “The mage had a weapon—something I’ve never encountered before. He held a small rodent’s sku
ll in his fist, and when he pointed it at me, my balance went awry and I almost plummeted to earth. I could not get near him without the risk of falling out of the sky.”

  I nodded but said nothing. The damage was done. What it would cost Agnes Sowerbutts was impossible to say. I expected them to kill her anyway.

  At dusk the screams began.

  CHAPTER IX

  IS SHE A COWARD TOO?

  A witch should not fear her own death.

  It is just the setting of a sun

  and a promise of the darkness

  that is our true home.

  THEY were torturing Agnes, and there was nothing I could do to help. Thorne covered her ears and started to moan.

  “Poor Agnes!” she exclaimed. “What has she done to deserve this?”

  “Nothing, child. But you don’t have to listen. Go down to the tunnels and relieve Slake of her guard duty. I will change places with you soon after dawn.”

  I spent the remainder of the night watching from the battlements with the two lamia sisters, Wynde scratching her talons against the flags in frustration. Just after dawn, the screaming stopped. Then they threw a body out from under the trees. It landed on the edge of the clearing. Even from this distance I could see that it was Agnes.

  “I’ll go and collect her,” Wynde said.

  “Take care—it could be a trap!” I warned her, simultaneously wishing that I could do something, anything, rather than remain as a spectator. I itched to fight and avenge Agnes’s death. But it was very likely that our enemies would be waiting just within the trees. If the mage used his skull weapon, causing Wynde to fall, dozens of them could surround her within seconds.

  But with her usual impetuousness, the lamia flew down from the battlements and snatched up the body. She soared back toward us and laid it gently at my feet.

  Agnes was dead, her eyes wide open and staring. Her clothes were in tatters, and the torturers had left their marks on her poor aged body.