Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (23 page)

Mab delighted in being the best scryer in the whole of Pendle, and her pretty face broke into a smile at that tacit acknowledgment of her status by Grimalkin, who had good scrying abilities of her own. One downside of having Mab with us, though, was the stink of her unwashed bare feet, which was even worse than Fancy's foul breath.

“I have.” She beamed. “But things are unclear. I know that there will be many deaths on both sides. It is highly likely that at least one of us will be slain. Would you like to know the names so you can prepare yourselves?”

“Keep your dark thoughts to yourself,” growled the Spook angrily. “Speak not of such things while you're under my roof.”

Mab smiled at him sweetly. “As you wish, John Gregory, but I would add this. The decisions we make around this table will further shape the outcome of the battle. Once those decisions have been made, I will scry again. I will then reveal to all the likely outcome of the battle. If anyone sitting here wishes to know if they will or will not be numbered among the dead, let them come to me privately and I will tell them.”

“So it's agreed,” my master went on. “We assemble in one place, concentrate our forces, and strike at our enemy's flank like a sharp spear driving toward its heart, which is the Fiend.”

For a moment Fancy opened her mouth as if to protest, but Grimalkin gave her such a savage glare that she immediately closed it again. Everyone around the table, including Fancy, then nodded in agreement.

“Where's the best place to assemble?” I asked. It seemed to me that wherever we chose, our enemies would either spy us with ease or use dark magic to find us.

“Just south of Clough Pike?” suggested the Spook.

“It's as good a place as any,” replied Grimalkin. “Wherever we meet, you can be sure that our enemies will discover it and set ambushes for us. So I will take a small party of Malkins with me to clear the way.”

“I'd like to say something about the timing.” James spoke for the first time, his deep voice rumbling across the table. “Before, on Pendle Hill, we failed to stop the summoning of the Fiend into the world because we arrived too late. It had already been done. We
must
get the timing right.”

It was a very good point. With the help of Mam's sisters, the flying lamia witches, we had eventually won the battle and disrupted the gathering of the witch clans on Pendle. But we had certainly arrived too late.

“I'll attempt to scry it,” Mab muttered.

“You sound doubtful,” Grimalkin said, raising her eyebrows.

“If Alice and Lukrasta try to cloak the information, it may prove difficult,” she replied.

“You're the only one who can do it. I believe you will be successful!”

Mab almost glowed at more praise from the witch assassin. I realized that Grimalkin had achieved her purpose—given something for Mab to live up to. The witch would now push herself to the limits to get that vital information.

Soon after that, the witches took their leave. I escorted them to the edge of the garden while Grimalkin headed for her usual place near the boggart stones.

“Take great care in the battle, Tom,” Mab warned. “For you, life and death are in the balance. And if you manage to survive, even greater risks await you soon afterward. There are three times when you are likely to die: during the battle, immediately following it, and finally, facing a powerful adversary.”

“Thanks for those cheery thoughts, Mab,” I told her sarcastically. None of that filled me with confidence, so I quickly banished her words from my mind.

“No offense, Tom. You know I like you. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you, would I? I wouldn't rely too much on that rusty sword that Grimalkin gave you, either.”

I stood watching the two witches as they headed away from Chipenden. I was seething with anger. I knew that Grimalkin wouldn't have told Mab about the sword—she had scryed it for herself. Could nothing be kept from her?

However, she had already admitted that Alice and Lukrasta could deny her. This might pose a problem. We needed to know the time of the ritual.

As for her warnings about my death, I knew that the enemy outnumbered us many times over. There was no guarantee that we would win, so it was no use worrying about it.

What would be would be. . . .

When I got back to the kitchen, my master, James, and Judd were still sitting around the table. I could sense an atmosphere.

“Sit down, lad!” the Spook snapped, an edge of irritation in his voice.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“It goes against the grain to ally myself with witches. Grimalkin I have respect for, despite what she is, but the other two—especially that sly woman with blood under her fingernails and the stink of it on her breath—well, I never thought it would come to this!”

“We have no choice,” I said, trying to calm him. “If we're to have any chance, we need them and those they lead.”

“Yes,
lead
! That's another thing that rankles.” He raised his voice in anger now. “James spoke up, but you were quiet, lad—and
you
didn't utter a single word, Judd. They'll make all the decisions if we let them.”

“I'm sorry, John,” Judd replied. “I'm not good at speaking out in company. I've only just arrived, still learning about the situation. I thought it best to just sit and listen.”

The Spook looked at him and nodded wearily.

“I know you're not going to like this,” I told my master, looking him right in the eye, “but it has to be said. We face a big battle. This is not one or two of us against some single threatening entity from the dark. So we need a leader who is strong in combat skills, someone who can unite us. It can't be James—he's mostly unknown to our allies. It can't be a spook or an apprentice, because witches barely trust us at best. It has to be Grimalkin. They'll all follow her, either through fear or respect. She knows what she's doing in this situation. So we have to accept that and live with it.”

“Live with it or die with it!” snapped the Spook. “If we deal with the Fiend, it'll be worth it, I suppose—at last we'll have paid him back for all the suffering he's inflicted. Well, I'm off to bed now. We'll be traveling tomorrow, and sleeping on hard ground. So take your last bit of comfort while you can.”

I nodded and smiled, but his words struck home. It might be the last time either of us ever slept in a bed again.

CHAPTER XXVII

T
HE
C
LASH OF
W
ITCH
A
SSASSINS

M
AB returned at noon the following day with the results of her latest scrying, beaming at her success. She had learned that the ritual would take place at sunset, rather than just before midnight, which had seemed most likely.

Soon after that, Grimalkin took her leave. “We will meet just south of Clough Pike, as agreed,” she said. “I will go to clear the way. Then it will be time for the battle that will decide everything.”

She was taking a few hand-picked witches with her to search for and kill those who might lie in wait for us.

“Aye.” The Spook nodded. “That time is fast approaching.”

Grimalkin walked away from us without even a trace of a limp. No doubt she still felt pain from the silver pin, but she was disguising it well. Suddenly she turned and looked back.

“Remember to carry both swords with you,” she told me.

Within the hour, we had set off for the appointed place. The Spook, James, Judd, and I traveled together, along with the three dogs, Claw, Blood, and Bone. The bands of witches went separately; they would meet us at midday tomorrow. We spoke little on the journey, even when we made camp far to the west of the Wardstone. We sat around the fire, deep in thought, staring into the embers.

Later, James regaled me with stories about life on the farm during the past year. Little Mary had evidently gotten up to all sorts of mischief. But I had little to say in reply. Most of my news concerned struggles against the dark, which disturbed most people. I didn't mention Alice, either—I couldn't bear to talk about her anymore.

Halloween began with rain. We ate a late breakfast of cold chicken, miserable and uncomfortable in the partial shelter of a wood, with big drops dripping from the branches.

We were the last to arrive at Clough Pike, and my heart sank to my boots as I gazed around. How few we had managed to gather to our cause, in the end: the Spook, my brother James, Judd Brinscall with the three wolfhounds, Grimalkin, and perhaps a hundred and fifty Pendle witches, the majority of them from the Mouldheel clan, led by Mab and her two sisters. There were also about a dozen witches Grimalkin had summoned from the far north; they had crossed the sea to fight alongside us. We were silent, driven to inner reflection by the task that faced us, in the course of which many of us would surely lose our lives.

The wind whistled across the fell tops, and somewhere in the distance I heard the call of a lapwing, but the dogs were as silent as we were. Animals are sensitive—perhaps they had an inkling of what lay ahead.

Then, as we prepared to head toward the Wardstone, there was a surprise addition to our group. The sky had cleared, and now, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, I glimpsed something dark flit across it. Moments later, a winged figure was falling toward us.

Once seen, never forgotten. It was Slake, the vaengir, Mam's lamia sister, whom I'd last seen in Malkin Tower. She'd told me she would stay there until the Fiend was destroyed, and only then be free to fly away.

The witches scattered, some shrieking in fear, as she dropped to where the Spook and I were standing. Some of our present allies would have fought against us on Pendle two years earlier. They had reason to fear the winged lamia who, together with her sister, had played a decisive part in the battle.

Slake landed in front of me and my master. I studied her in awe. Black-feathered wings were folded across her back, covering the more delicate inner ones; her powerful lower body was scaly, and her four limbs ended in razor-sharp talons. It was not comfortable standing so close to her, gazing into her cruel, unblinking eyes.

“Zenobia's plan is not being carried out!” she hissed in accusation. “I scryed your disobedience and came here to see for myself!”

Zenobia was Mam's lamia name. I had been asked to sacrifice Alice, and that was what Slake had expected to happen. She had not come to join our cause; she had arrived to challenge me.

“The victim is no longer willing,” I told her. “She's formed an alliance with the mage Lukrasta. She thinks it better that the Fiend should survive, lest another god take his place—one who'd lead his people in a war to annihilate humanity. Whether I wish it or not, the sacrifice would be useless.”

“The Fiend has already been bound to the Wardstone for the ritual,” said the lamia. “I flew over the stone and saw what was being done. His head and body are joined. Time is short. Have you a better plan? What do you propose to do?”

“We'll do what we can,” said the Spook, answering for me. “We've gathered as many as we can here. We'll disrupt the ritual, then try to separate the head from the body again and carry it away. This time we'll carve him up before we scatter, each with a small piece, and attempt to keep them out of the clutches of his supporters.”

“You are few and they are many, perhaps five of them for each one of you. And they will have Lukrasta and the girl Alice on their side. The outlook is bleak.”

I thought back to the battle on Pendle Hill. With the help of Slake and her sister lamia we had won—though our main objective had not been realized. We had failed to prevent the witches from summoning the Fiend. Slake was right—the outlook was indeed bleak. It seemed likely that we would fail again.

“We can but try,” I said.

“Aye! It's better to die fighting than stand by and do nothing,” agreed the Spook.

“I agree wholeheartedly with that,” said Grimalkin, coming to face the winged lamia. “A great battle awaits us. The odds against us are overwhelming, and the price of defeat is terrible. All my life has led up to this point. What could be better than to die in such a battle? I tell you this—I am Grimalkin, and if I die, then I will take many of our enemies with me. So will you join us, sister?”

By now the other witches had moved closer and were listening with rapt attention to the witch assassin's every word.

Slake stared at her for a long time. Then, slowly, she nodded her fierce head. “Yes, I will join my strength with yours. Remember that each one of us gathered here needs to take the lives of at least five of those who oppose us. Do that, and we might win, despite the great odds.”

Moments later, we were heading for the Wardstone, Grimalkin leading the way. We made slow progress. The ground was soggy underfoot, with pools of deep, stagnant water to trap the unwary. The wind was growing in force, but it was no longer a prevailing westerly, gusting instead in our faces. The sky was still clear, the setting sun illuminating the landscape; as yet, there was no threat of rain.