The Witch of Glenaster (14 page)

I knew I shouldn’t follow the
swordsmen. I knew their mission, whatever it was, would be dangerous. I knew I
should wait here, and accept that my parents were dead, and that our best
chance for happiness – my brother’s and mine - was to return to what was left
of our own people, or perhaps to Calm, and let others bigger and braver than us
fight the Witch of
Glenaster
. This was what I knew I
should
do. But it was not what I wanted. The Witch had destroyed my family, and
for many years before had driven them and countless others to a life of fear
and ruin. If the emperor and all his bravest warriors could not or would not rid
us of her, then perhaps I might. And if I failed, my failure would not be quite
so
abject or dishonourable as theirs had been.

I knew Thomas and his men were
heading north, for he had let slip that he had business in the Green Cities,
and these were many leagues from
Ampar
, in the far
northern lands. Even my people, far to the south, had heard of the Green
Cities. There, it was said, men lived in great tree-houses, and hunted the
birds of the air with their bare hands; and they worshipped a strange god, and
sang to him by the starlight; and they sent tribute to the emperor, but were
not bound by his rule as others were. And visitors were always treated with
great respect and courtesy - though there were few enough of those, and the
Green folk were left in peace much of the time. Yet their lands were hard by
Glenaster
, and the Ice Bridge that crosses the freezing
waters of the River Soar, and I wondered how they could have fared since the
Witch awoke from her long sleep. Had she destroyed them? They were once
practisers of the High Magic that had been common across the world before the
Emperor Richard had forbidden it, and had used their powers for much good,
according to the Histories. But those days were further away than the furthest
of the stars, and even the ghosts could not now remember them.

Magnus was asleep in an
armchair as I entered the small living room. His legs were tucked up beneath
him, and he looked terribly small and vulnerable. I watched him for a moment,
then padded past, and out through the door that led to the dining room. At
least, I
thought
it led to the dining room, for Stefano’s house was
large and rambling, and even after nearly two weeks there I still got lost.
But, after a couple of wrong turnings, I found, to my relief, that I was headed
in more or less the right direction, and even Colonel Fredericks, whom I passed
on my way, did not say anything, but simply eyed me malevolently from his cage.
I smiled sweetly in return.

There was a large map in the
dining room, framed and hung prominently on one wall, that depicted
Ampar
and its various districts, set out in a bold but
formal style. I was hoping that the Dragon’s Head might somehow be pictured on
it, though I doubted it: I presumed it to be a hostelry of some kind. Still,
Thomas had said it was near the Tower of the Kings, and that was a start: that
would surely be marked. I began to trace the air in front of the map with my
finger, as if I were running it along the surface of the glass, and I squinted
and closed one eye to narrow my vision.

I soon found Mansion Street,
and Retribution Square, with the Compendium on its northern side; and as I
followed the map further northward my finger hovered over the vast houses and
estates of
Ampar’s
aristocracy - here pleasingly
reduced to miniature drawings - and the outer walls of the Imperial Citadel,
with its many buildings and parks, rendered as large gaps of white space where,
one supposed, many families could have lived quite happily and still had room
to spare. Beyond them was the River Fern, sweeping through the city’s northern
suburbs with a grace that looked far more permanent than anything else on the
map, and, bisecting the river, like a long needle that lay at an angle over the
buildings beneath, was the Bridge of
Socus
, linking the
heights of the Citadel with the peaceful and empty hills of Thyme, where the
emperor had his summer retreat. North of the river, the houses started to
shrink back from the clouds, and the city fell away and sank again to the
earth, its northernmost outreaches populated by small cottages and farm
buildings, petering out into the grasslands beyond. But near the north-eastern
corner stood the Tower of the Kings, grim as a sentry at the city’s edge. And,
as I peered at it, shaded in grey like a finger poking the heavens, I saw
nearby, clearly and distinctly picked out in a dark ink, the angry face of a
flame-serpent, and the words
The Dragon’s Head
beside it.

I nearly fell backwards in my
astonishment, and had to look again, to be sure I had it right. But the sign
was there, as if for all the world I was
meant
to find it; and I spent
the next hour memorizing the route.

The day dragged, and I soon
wearied of the cosy fug of the house, though in other circumstances I might be
grateful for it, as the sun went in, and the wind wailed about the windows.

But I had made up my mind to
follow Thomas Taper to the Green Cities, if that was indeed where he was
headed, and to keep as close to him as I dared, until we were near
Glenaster
. I would wait until he and Will had left, and
then grab the key I had seen Stefano use to unlock the front door and let
myself out. Leaving a note for Magnus, I would set off across the city, with
some food from the kitchen, which I hoped to barter in exchange for a cab ride,
as far north as I could get. Then I would make my way to the Dragon’s Head –
and, I realized, I did not yet know exactly what it was: a building? A statue?
–
and
hide in the shadows, searching for signs of
Thomas and his men. They would not, I reasoned, leave immediately, not until
they had had some refreshment, and all their number had arrived. I did not feel
entirely comfortable at the thought of leaving Magnus behind, but I knew he
would be far safer here than with me.

As the day became old, and the
light departed, I settled into a chair by the fireplace, in the quiet living
room, with its long red curtains and glass doors that faced out on to the
courtyard.

I listened to the muttering of
the fire, and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock out in the hall, and
wished for a moment I could remain here, with Magnus and Stefano, and see out
the cold weeks of winter in warmth and comfort. But the feeling passed, and I
fell into a dark and uncomfortable sleep, in which I dreamt that I was walking
in a wide, wooded valley, and someone - or something - was pursuing me through
the trees, moving with an inhuman speed, and always gaining, however fast I
tried to run…

I woke suddenly, anxious and afraid;
and it was at that moment, as I gazed across the room at nothing in particular,
that I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a shadow pass swiftly down the
window outside. I turned my head, but there seemed to be nothing there; I
turned back to face the room. And then there was another shadow, and this time
I did catch it, and it was unmistakable: a bird, perhaps, or some kind of
animal, scrabbling against the glass, and, I thought, peering at me above the
bottom of the window-frame.

I was watching intently now,
focused on the shape outside, just a few feet away, when a similar creature
joined it, moving with a strange speed to the ground, and I jumped, gasping
slightly. There seemed to be two – no, three - pairs of eyes, small grey beady
points, gazing into the room. And, as they did so, more of them half-scuttled,
half-fell from the roof, slowly at first but then in a rush, until there were
many, falling with a plumping sound, and making a nasty crackling, like large
insects, clambering over one another to get a better view.

I do not remember screaming,
but I suppose I must have done, for suddenly there were other people in the
room - Thomas, and Will, and Stefano, and my brother, all from various parts of
the house - and they followed my horrified gaze to the window, and the vile
mass of creatures that thronged outside it.

Thomas and Will drew their
swords, and moved quickly forward, as Stefano wrestled clumsily with a box of
matches, with which he set about lighting an oil lamp, and some candles. My
brother simply stared, mouth agape. But I noticed that the rest of his body was
taut, as if he were already preparing to run, and he was clenching and
unclenching his fists.

“Fire-slaves…” muttered Will,
and then what sounded like an oath, in a tongue I did not recognize: “
Bardák
!
” Thomas nodded at him, his face set.
They took up positions on either side of the glass doors, and I saw that they
were frightened.

“What are they?” I asked, but
my voice sounded desperate and far away. Thomas only turned his head briefly to
look in my direction.

“Creatures of the
drooj
,” he said simply, returning his gaze to the
window. “They will be looking for a way in…”

“All of the windows and doors
are bolted,” said Stefano, and I heard the fear in his voice also. Will whispered
something to Thomas, who shook his head.

“Who are the
drooj
?” asked my brother, trying on this unfamiliar
word, and I saw his face start to break, and knew he was about to cry.

“I will check the rest of the
house,” said Will, and he left the room. Thomas backed a little away from the
doors, but kept his eyes fixed on them. By now the beetles, if that’s what they
were, were making a scraping noise so hideous and shrill it unnerved us all,
and I believe I saw one or two of them flexing small, leathery wings.

“The
drooj
are the old high priests of the Dark Magic,” said Thomas. “Many had thought
them long extinct, but I fear some have survived. These -
things
are
their servants, their familiars. They are extremely dangerous. They must not
get in.” And then, more quietly, he said again: “They must not get in…” Stefano
made the sign to ward off evil, and all of us moved deeper into the room. I
felt the blood flee from my face, and I grasped for my brother, terrified to
turn our backs on what lay beyond the window.

“I want Mum, I want Mum…” said
Magnus, weeping, and I tried to comfort him, as the thought spun endlessly
through my head: I have brought this on these people, I have brought this on
everyone. It is
I
the Witch wants, it is I the Witch has always wanted…

This thought was broken on a
sudden by a loud crash, coming from one of the back rooms, as if something
heavy had fallen to the floor; but when Stefano moved to investigate, Thomas
held him back, and I could see his face was sick with fear. Slowly he advanced
into the corridor that led to the back stairs, his sword held in front of him
like a talisman, and his other hand on the long dagger, the
seax
,
at his belt. We watched him as he disappeared into the darkness, and a terrible
silence fell on us then, that seemed to me to last an age.

“Will…?” asked Thomas, and I
thought his voice seemed to shake. Then he said his friend’s name again, and
this time there was a muffled bang, and a creak on the stairs, the way the
other man had gone.

I could just make out Thomas’s
boot, a dull gleam in the blackness, and I could see he was standing quite
still. With his back to us, he appeared as lifeless as a statue; but then,
quite suddenly, he moved, almost stumbling, back into the room, as if startled
by something.

What happened next is still
etched upon my mind.

Thomas was staring at the door,
and we did the same, trying to see what he could see. And it became awfully
clear then what it was that had frightened him so: for, careering into the room
like a drunkard, came Will Bowyer, and he was screaming - screaming in a manner
no man should, a kind of wail of pain and sorrow that seemed to creep from the
pit of his gut and force its way up through his throat. And as he screamed, he
clutched madly at his face, as if he were trying to tear it off; and when he
stepped fully into the light, we saw why: for two great beetles, like the ones
outside, had somehow attached themselves to it, and another to his leg, and he
was fighting to remove them.

The creatures’ fellows, outside
the window, seemed driven nearly frantic by this, and their clattering and
squealing became almost unbearable, and Stefano quickly drew the curtains
against the sight of them. But I could not take my eyes off Will, the skin all
along one side of his face, where the monsters had found purchase, now taut as
they pulled at it, and, I noticed, sucked at his blood through great
proboscises which rippled as they pumped down the liquid into their stomachs,
and the sight made me want to retch in disgust.

This would have been terrifying
enough, but the beetles attacking him were joined by yet more of their
companions, who scooted into the room from whatever entrance they had found,
and I instinctively fetched up my brother and leapt on to the larger of the two
sofas along the wall. In truth, it did not provide much of a haven, but it felt
safer than the floor, which was now a writhing mass of beetles, entirely
covering the carpet.

For all our panic, though,
Thomas was only momentarily disorientated; he pulled the
seax
from his belt, and threw it to Stefano, who caught it cleanly and swiftly. I
had forgotten about his tattoos, and that he may once have been a fighting man.
He had not forgotten, however - and he and Thomas were quickly about killing
the animals, knifing them with a speed and accuracy that was astonishing. With
each one he killed, Thomas let out a great cry, as men sometimes do in the heat
of battle. He grabbed a fistful of lighted candles from the mantelpiece, and
hurled them at the floor, and my brother gave a scream. Were we all to burn
alive? Was this the only way to defeat these creatures? Their death agonies
were indeed hideous to witness, as they curled and screeched under blade and
flame; but Thomas and Stefano managed to put out any small fires with their
boots before they took hold.

Finally the fire-slaves were
driven back, and Thomas had time to look over at Magnus and myself, and nodded
when he saw we were safe. I had had to kick some of the disgusting things away
when one or two of them had tried to climb up on to the sofa: their wings, such
as they were, were heavy and cumbersome, and could not lift them any great
distance, which was just as well for us. But Will Bowyer was still standing,
just, leaning listlessly against the back wall, the creatures still attached to
him, and his lifeblood flowing away into them. His face was a pale grey, and
his eyes looked forward, but were clouded and unmoving. When Thomas saw him, I
thought he would weep; but instead he said to Magnus and
I
:

“Turn away!”

I must have looked baffled, for
he repeated the words, his voice a harsh command:

“I said,
Turn away!
”

This time we did so, and I
clutched my brother, and covered his eyes as well as I could, and tightly screwed
shut my own: though my ears could not help hearing the swift, wet twisting of
metal on flesh, and the dying gasp of Will Bowyer, as his friend ran him
through; and when I looked again he lay quite still, face down, on the ruined
carpet, surrounded by the carcasses of the animals who had destroyed him.

Thomas looked down at the
floor, and seemed to be praying; and when he looked up I saw that he was
exhausted. He stood for a while, swaying slightly, and the room became very
quiet.

Just then, as I was about to
clamber down off the sofa, hugging Magnus tightly to my chest, and still trying
to shield his eyes from the horrors around us, one of the creatures, whom we
had thought all slain, flew up from the floor, and grabbed hold of Stefano’s
arm, and the old man cried out in pain. Thomas quickly applied the flame of a
candle to the monster’s bleeding carapace, and stamped the last life out of it
with his boot; but Stefano had collapsed into a chair, his face a mask of pain.

“Let me see,” said Thomas, and
he went over to his friend, and took his arm. Then, looking up briefly, he said
to me:

“Take your brother upstairs,
Esther; do not come down until I send for you.” And I clutched the small,
clammy fingers of my brother’s hand, and did as I was told.