Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (12 page)

At last I could stand it no longer. I moved my legs very slightly. Immediately the weight vanished and the boggart disappeared. I came to my feet and took a deep breath. Had it returned to Chipenden? I wondered. Had it abandoned me?

But then I heard a voice, harsh and sibilant, right inside my head.

I thirst!
it hissed insistently.
The rabbits welcomed me, thank you, but were just morsels. Now I need to quench my thirst with human blood. I kept my promise and answered your summons. Now you must provide me with what I need!

My previous communications with the boggart had been very different: I had spoken and it had understood, but it had scratched its replies on wood. Why had things changed now? Was this another gift inherited from Mam?

I reflected that it might well be connected with the fact that it had drunk my blood.

What
are we waiting for?
demanded the voice of the boggart.
No human has ever dared touch me before. You are brave! You are worthy to walk with me. Let us kill together!

It seemed that it was happy with me after all. That was why it had been purring.

“Yes, we'll go together to the tower on the hill, where my enemies are lodged!” I replied. “Help me to defeat them and their blood is yours.” So saying, I picked up my staff and set off. The boggart was still invisible, but I could hear it padding at my side as we climbed the final hill. I halted just short of the narrow stone steps and drove my staff into the ground.

“I'll climb up to the tower and fight those who emerge,” I told it. “Then I will retreat slowly, drawing them forth. While I live, do not pass beyond this staff! If I die or fall, then you may attack at will. But when my retreat brings me back below this staff and as many as possible are in the open, that is when I wish you to attack. At that moment you may kill all those both within and without the tower—with the exception of one person. The girl Alice, who you know, is not to be harmed. Do you understand and accept?”

I knew that the boggart could enter through the arrow slits and slay the witches, but in the confines of the tower they might be able to combine their magic and fight it off. That was why I needed to surprise them out in the open.

Yes!
hissed the boggart.
It is a good plan. They will be easier to hunt and kill out in the open. My thirst will be slaked more rapidly!

I looked up at the dark tower and the narrow steps that led to the door. With my right hand I drew the sword; with my left, the dagger called Bone Cutter.

I began to climb.

CHAPTER XV

T
HE
B
ATTLE ON THE
S
TEPS

T
HE steep stone steps were barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, and that would serve me well. On either side was a sheer drop to the rocks below, so it would be difficult for my enemies to surround me and come at me from behind. Their superiority in numbers would count for little.

I climbed at a steady pace, wondering if I was being watched. Were there eyes hidden behind the arrow slits? I did not expect to be fired upon. Witches did not use bows themselves, though they sometimes employed servants to carry out tasks such as cooking . . . and opening the iron gate that I now approached; direct contact with iron was painful for a witch. They might have people to fight for them, too. I just had to hope that none of these were bowmen.

Halfway up the steps, I started to wonder if Alice was still in the balcony room. At the thought of her alone in there with the mustached stranger, my anger flared. I tried to banish it from my mind. If I were to succeed in what I was about to attempt, I needed a clear head.

I reached the door and paused before it, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

Then I struck it hard, three times, with the hilt of my sword.

The sound of each blow was loud enough to awaken the dead, echoing around from valley to hill again and again. But there was no response. Nothing seemed to be moving within that dark tower.

So I struck the door three more times—harder than before.

All was still and silent. What were the witches doing? Were they gathering behind the door, ready to attack? If so, they could not take me by surprise, for the door was heavy and opened only slowly.

For the third time I beat on the door with my sword. And this time I shouted out a challenge. “Come out and fight, coward! Come out and die! What are you waiting for?”

Perhaps they were watching me through the arrow slits, surely thinking that I was touched with madness. Either that, or I had reached such depths of despair that I desired death. For what could one person do against so many enemies? But they did not know about the boggart.

The boggart had defended the Spook's garden for many years. Early in my apprenticeship, I'd been pursued by the witch Bony Lizzie and the abhuman Tusk—but I'd reached the sanctuary of the Spook's garden just in time, and the boggart had driven them away. Even a powerful witch like Lizzie had run from it in terror. It had also fought off that powerful demon called the Bane and, more recently, Romanian witches. It was a force to be reckoned with.

I hoped it would take these witches completely by surprise. It was unlikely that they could discover the specific danger—though some of them had no doubt long-sniffed the future and sensed the threat of death. If this was the case, they might ignore my challenge and stay inside the tower. Then I would have to command the boggart to go in. It might be able to kill many of them before they could fight back with their magic. But that would not open the door for me. The Fiend's head would still be out of reach.

Suddenly there was a harsh sound—the grating of metal upon stone—and slowly the door began to move, no doubt dragged open by the witches' servants. I waited, my blades at the ready. When it was less than a third open, it stopped, and I stared into a darkness that the moonlight could not penetrate. There were eyes glowing in the gloom, the strange wide eyes of witches staring out at me.

All at once my confidence wavered. Fear seized me, filling me with doubts that I had previously thrust to the back of my mind. What if I couldn't carry out my plan? There might be skilled fighters here, perhaps even a witch assassin—someone with the ability to pierce my guard with ease and slay me on the steps.

While I stood there, the door began to open farther, pulled by unseen hands. It was almost half open when the first witch attacked. Her hair was long and hung down over her face; it parted to reveal one baleful eye, a hooked nose, and the slit of a sneering mouth. She ran straight at me, a long, thin blade in her left hand.

I took two rapid steps: the first backward, moving down; the second to the right.

Her wild swing missed my head by inches. Then I retaliated. I did not use a blade; I simply smashed my left elbow into the side of her head. That and her own momentum carried her over the edge of the steps. She screamed as she fell. Then there was a horrible thud as her body struck the boulders below. I glanced down and saw blood splattered on the rocks, black and wet in the moonlight.

Now my fear was gone. My objective was to retrieve the Fiend's head, and to do so, I first had to clear the steps of witches. Grimalkin had once told me that she fought within the present, living in each moment, without thought of the future. I had to do that now. So I concentrated and stepped into another place where all that mattered was the need to deal with each attack.

Almost immediately, two more witches came for me, shrieking and spitting curses as they emerged through the door. This time I quickly retreated farther down the stone stairs. Although there were two of them, their attack was uncoordinated and they posed little threat. Their blades were easily parried, and I thrust quickly with my own. One fell away to the right; the other collapsed sideways across the steps, forcing the next attacker to step over her body.

I continued my descent, fighting my enemies in ones and twos, driving them back, parrying their blows. But inevitably, they started to advance in larger numbers; perhaps eight or nine emerged at once from behind the iron door. Faced with this, I turned and ran—though halfway down the steps I halted, spun suddenly, and readied my blades. They were many, and I was but one. Yet barely two could attack me together; the others must wait behind while I dispatched their vanguard.

But they were not helpless. While I fought those closest to me, the others gathered their collective strength and began to use their magic. Their faces distorted and became demonic; their hair clustered into coils of writhing snakes; forked tongues spat poison toward me. I knew it was an illusion—part of the common witch spell known as dread.

A seventh son of a seventh son has some immunity against the dark magic of witches; but this is not totally effective. The illusions soon faded, but the force of their magic filled me with a fear that was more difficult to banish. It also repelled me. I was pushed backward as if by a great wind, struggling to stand my ground.

I gritted my teeth and fought on, and as I gathered my own strength and rallied, the ruby eyes in both sword and dagger began to drip blood that was far redder than that which now streaked the blades. I regained control. My retreat was once again slow and steady, as I had planned, even though more and more witches came hurrying out above me.

Soon there were fewer than twenty steps remaining before I reached the ground and passed beyond my staff, at which point the boggart would attack. But then I heard a noise from above—the
click
that I remembered from the previous night. And out onto that high balcony came Alice and the tall mustached stranger who I took to be Lukrasta, the dark mage of the
Doomdryte
.

At that moment, the witch to my left thrust her blade toward my shoulder with such speed that I could not avoid it completely. The distraction from above almost cost me dear, but just in time I twisted away, and the stinging cut I received was shallow. I swung with the sword and toppled the witch from the steps.

After that I dared not glance upward again, but I could feel the eyes of Alice and the mage on me. I continued down, growing more tired with every step. My arms felt heavy, my breathing ragged as I struggled against the press of witches. I was aware of other cuts, two to my forearms and one to my left shoulder. If I stumbled and fell, it would all be over—though at least I'd have the small satisfaction of knowing that the boggart would attack immediately; there were enough witches out in the open now to make that devastating. But nevertheless, I would have failed. My pact with the boggart would end, the Spook's Chipenden house would be once more unprotected . . . and at Halloween, servants of the dark would converge from every direction to join the head of the Fiend to his body and return him to power.

I was struck by a sudden blow and for a second was blinded. I swayed but did not fall. The attack had not been mounted by one of the witches. In a flash of fear, I knew that it came from the balcony above. Some kind of magical force had been deployed against me. It had to be the mage—for surely it couldn't have been Alice . . . she wouldn't try to hurt me, I thought. But perhaps she was not in her right mind. In that case I would be in danger.

Despite the risk, I glanced upward and saw an orb of orange fire hurtling toward me from the balcony. I ducked—just in time! Had I not done so, it would have taken off my head.

Faced with this new threat, I decided to turn and run down the final steps. As I passed beyond my staff, I looked back at the steps. Instantly I heard a low purr and felt the invisible boggart rub itself against my left ankle. Then it spoke to me right inside my head, as before.

You fought well and executed a perfect plan. Most of them are out in the open. I thank you for this feast of blood!

CHAPTER XVI

A T
IDE OF
B
LOOD

T
HE boggart suddenly made itself visible.

It no longer took the shape it sometimes showed to us back in Chipenden, that of a small domestic ginger tomcat; the creature that had just rubbed itself against my ankle. Earlier I had thought it scary when I felt its large body lying across my legs, but now it was fearsome indeed.