The Shadowlands (6 page)

As it crawled further into the light, Lief gave a strangled gasp. He heard Filli squealing in terror, and Kree screeching, heard Barda’s muttered curse. Ringing the beast’s body like the swollen beads of a hideous necklace were dozens of heads, each one with glassy, staring eyes and a lipless mouth from which hung a long, thin, dripping tongue.

The companions flattened themselves against the rock. The sounds of howling and pounding feet were growing louder. Their pursuers were closing in. To turn and climb back the way they had come would be to deliver themselves straight into the pack’s hands.

But the beast was moving towards them. It was gliding effortlessly over the rough ground on hundreds of tiny legs that were almost hidden beneath a fringe of skin hanging from its body like a ragged skirt. Its many eyes had swivelled to fix on the intruders. Its tongues were lengthening, curling and quivering ominously.

‘We must split up, and try to get around it,’ muttered Barda to Lief and Jasmine. ‘You two go right. I will go left, with Emlis.’

But the moment they took a step, there was a hiss and tongues shot forward like striking snakes in both directions, missing Barda and Jasmine by a hair. They shrank back against the rock. Clearly, they were not to be allowed to move.

The beast’s body rippled and seemed to swell as it glided closer, its blank eyes gleaming.

S
houlder to shoulder with Barda and Jasmine, Lief faced the beast. It undulated before them, its tongues flickering and curling, its body flattening and spreading, rising slightly on the side that faced the rock.

It is preparing to engulf us, Lief thought.

His legs felt weak. His heart was pounding. His sword hand was slippery with sweat. Sweat was running down into his eyebrows, too, and as he cautiously raised his free hand to wipe it away, his arm brushed the Pirran Pipe hidden beneath his shirt. Into his mind flew the promise he had made to Tirral.

The Pipe will not be lost. It will be returned to the caverns, I swear it!

Lief licked his dry lips. That vow, it seemed, had been worthless. As worthless as
all
his promises—to the Plumes, to the Aurons, to Marilen…

Do not fear, Marilen. You need do nothing but wait.

The wind moaned around the rocks, like the ghostly voice of his own despair.

‘The Pipe, Lief,’ Barda gasped beside him. ‘The Pipe! Use it!’

Lief hesitated. The Pipe might indeed stop the beast. It might give them a chance to escape. But the moment it was played, the Shadow Lord would become aware of it, and of them.

They would lose the advantage of surprise. They would be hunted down mercilessly, without ever finding the prisoners, let alone setting them free.

He forced himself to slide his hand under his shirt and loosen the drawstring at the top of the red cloth bag. The tips of his fingers touched the Pipe, grasped it…

A warm tingling ran through his hand, along his arm, through his body. It was like new blood rushing through his veins, strengthening his trembling legs, stilling his racing heart.

He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, suddenly alive again. Through the eerie wailing of the wind he heard the angry sounds of the pack on the other side of the outcrop.

Suddenly he knew what he must do.

‘We are here!’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘Come and get us!’

‘Lief!’ screamed Jasmine in terror.

Howls and screams of rage filled the air. There was the sound of frenzied climbing, the rattling and scrabbling of claws.

‘Flatten yourself against the rock!’ Lief shouted, pushing Barda and Jasmine back. ‘As hard as you can! Ready—’

Growling shrieks sounded above them, and the next moment savage figures were throwing themselves blindly, heedlessly, over the edge of the outcrop. Screams of triumph became shrieks of terror as the attackers realised their mistake too late. Twisting and howling they thudded down on the billowing body of the beast, puncturing its skin with claws and tusks, rolling to fall sprawling onto the clay.

Dragging Emlis with them, the companions began edging along the outcrop, towards the open plain. They began slowly and carefully, never taking their eyes from the beast. But it was no longer interested in them. Swelling and spinning, clear fluid bubbling from the gashes in its skin, it was striking out at the new intruders, at the attackers who had dared to injure it.

Hissing, a dozen tongues darted out, curling around the writhing figures on the ground. Other tongues flicked upward, reaching for the creatures still teetering on the edge of the outcrop. The tongues snatched the nearest off their feet to drag them, screaming, to their doom.

The companions had nearly reached the end of the outcrop. Now was the moment of decision. Should they run out onto the plain and risk whatever new horror might be lurking there? Or should they make for the second outcrop, which meant crossing the perilous space in which the beast still spun and hissed?

Lief looked back, and his stomach seemed to turn over. The beast’s body—its torn, rippling body—was coming apart! The heads around its sides were tearing themselves away from the billowing mass, dragging great chunks of flesh with them.

Staring wild-eyed, Lief heard Barda give a choking cry, and Jasmine gasp in understanding. Then, suddenly, he, too, saw the truth. The extra heads ringing the monster’s body did not belong to the monster at all. They belonged to its young—smaller versions of itself which the beast carried in pouches around its vast body.

The young were crawling away from their injured parent now, leaving gaping cavities behind them. Each one was as tall as a man, and four times as broad. Each was eager to drag in the prey it had captured with its curling tongue, and to feast.

Their ears ringing with the howls and screams of the captives as the monsters engulfed them, the companions sprinted across the gap. They reached the second outcrop, swung around it, and pelted towards the scattered boulders that marked the edge of the plain.

Panting and trembling, they took refuge behind the largest stone they could see. Emlis was moaning in pain. Barda put him down and together the companions cleaned and dressed his wounds as best they could, using ointment and bandages given to them by the Kerons.

For a long time none of them spoke of what they had just escaped. The memory of it was too raw. But at last, when Emlis lay quiet, Barda found his voice.

‘I am sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘It is no thanks to me that we are safe. I thought we were finished. I could not think—could do nothing but despair. And still I feel numb. I do not know what has happened to me.’

Lief glanced at Jasmine. Her face was pale and shadowed. Filli was hiding beneath her jacket, only his nose visible. Kree, his feathers ruffled, hunched on her shoulder.

‘You feel it too, Jasmine,’ Lief said quietly.

She nodded shortly. ‘I have been trying to fight it, but it is impossible,’ she muttered. ‘It is as if…’ She swallowed painfully. ‘… as if I take in fear with every breath. As if the very air of this place is poisoned.’

With a start, Lief remembered the strange, bitter smell he had noticed on the wind when first they reached the Shadowlands. He had grown accustomed to it, and had not thought about it for a long time. But now he realised that Jasmine had hit upon the truth. The wind was the Shadow Lord’s way of sapping the will of those who entered his realm. The bitter scent it carried was the stink of despair.

‘You are right!’ he exclaimed. ‘But we
can
fight it.’ He pulled out the red cloth bag. Carefully he slid the Pipe from its casing and held it out to Barda and Jasmine. As they clasped it, he could see their faces change. The strange, hopeless expressions disappeared, their eyes brightened, their mouths grew firm.

‘Why—it is miraculous!’ breathed Barda.

‘See if it will help Emlis too!’ Jasmine urged.

They placed the Pipe between Emlis’s pale fingers. And, sure enough, after only a few moments the young Keron’s eyes flickered open. He stared up at the companions in bewilderment, then gave a start and struggled to sit up. The Pipe began to slip to the ground. Lief grabbed it before it fell, and put it back into the red cloth bag.

‘Where are we?’ Emlis was gabbling. ‘What happened? The creatures… they seized me, carried me, and then—’ His eyes widened with horror as full memory flooded into his mind.

‘Stay still, Emlis,’ said Lief quickly, tucking the red bag inside his shirt once more. ‘Gather your strength. We must move on very soon.’

‘Indeed,’ Barda muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the outcrop, which was still too near for comfort. All was silent behind the outcrop now. Lief repressed a shudder. He did not want to think about what was happening there.

Jasmine was also looking back, but for a different reason. ‘Our way to the east is barred now, unless we want to risk crossing the beast’s territory once more,’ she said, frowning. ‘Why were you so intent on moving west, Lief?’

Lief leaned forward, eager to explain. ‘Because I remembered Doom,’ he said. ‘Doom escaped from the Shadow Arena. From there he went straight through the hills into Deltora, and was pursued up Dread Mountain by the Grey Guards. So…’

‘So the Arena must be very near the border—and near the western slopes of Dread Mountain!’ exclaimed Barda. ‘Yes! Why did I not think of it? If we keep moving west, we should find it easily.’

‘And surely the Shadow Arena must be where many of the prisoners are,’ said Lief, turning to Jasmine. ‘If they are to be put to death as the bird told you…’

He paused, and Jasmine nodded uneasily. It had not been a bird, but Faith, who had told her that the prisoners were in danger.

It does not matter, she told herself. The truth is the truth, whoever tells it.

Barda clambered to his feet. ‘West it is, then,’ he said. ‘Not that we have a choice. I, for one, do not wish to cross that beast’s path again.’ He glared at Jasmine, daring her to disagree.

But Jasmine had been thinking rapidly. Lief was right. The Shadow Arena had to be near the border, and near Dread Mountain too. And she had remembered something else. Poison for the Grey Guards’ deadly blister weapons had been carried through a pass that led from Dread Mountain into the Shadowlands.

No-one would move glass jars of lethal poison any further than necessary. So almost certainly the factory where the blisters had been made was close to the pass, on the Shadowlands side.

The Shadow Arena
and
the factory. Both very important sites. Both near Dread Mountain. It made perfect sense for one of the Shadow Lord’s main bases,
at least, to be in the same place. And Faith, perhaps, very near.

She bowed her head so that Barda would not see the flash of hope in her eyes. ‘Very well,’ she murmured. ‘If you think it right, we will continue moving west.’

Barda frowned at her suspiciously. Jasmine was not usually so agreeable. But he did not waste time in questioning her. He was already helping Emlis to his feet, anxious to be gone.

Lief stood beside them and peered out onto the plain. It was flooded with light, but no moon, no stars could be seen through the thick cloud. The mark of the Shadow Lord dominated the sky, burning with cold white fire.

‘We will have to go carefully,’ he murmured, turning to look at the ragged line of rocks that straggled away to the west. ‘There is little cover. If we are seen—’

‘You have been seen already, you fool!’ croaked a harsh voice at his feet. And before he could move or speak, claws had seized his ankles, and were dragging him down.

S
crabbling helplessly at the hard earth, Lief felt the scrape of stone on his legs. With a surge of panic he realised that he was being dragged feet-first into a hole that had opened beneath the rock.

Desperately he flung his arms forward. Gasping with shock, Jasmine, Emlis and Barda seized them, trying in vain to hold him back. He tried to kick, but the scaly talons that gripped his ankles merely tightened their hold and pulled more strongly. He felt as if he was being torn in two. He yelled in pain and terror.

‘Shut your mouth or you will kill us all!’ barked the harsh voice.

There were grunts and curses from below. Then, suddenly, Lief felt another pair of hands seize his legs and heave. His arms slipped from his companions’ grasp, and he slithered under the rock, falling with a thud onto hard ground.

Instantly he was lifted up and slammed against a
wall, a vast hand around his throat. Dazed, halfstrangled, he saw that the rock had not been a loose boulder at all, but part of the roof of a large cave. A torch flickered on rocky walls and floor. Water trickled in the shadows. A small group of strangely ill-assorted beings were peering at him.

There was a bearded scarecrow of a man whose hands were scaly claws, like the talons of a bird of prey. Beside him stood a woman—young and tall but gaunt with sunken eyes, the brand of the Shadow Lord burned cruelly into her brow. And pinning Lief to the wall, scowling, filthy, with an iron band around his neck, was—Glock!

Lief gaped at the brutish face snarling so close to his own. This could not be! He was dreaming! Glock was dead—dead and buried in a hero’s grave on the island of Plume. Had an Ol taken the shape of Glock to deceive them? A Grade 3 Ol, that could mimic even the warm touch of a human being?

But if that was so, surely the Ol would pretend to recognise him, would greet him by name, in Glock’s voice. No flicker of recognition showed in this man’s eyes.

The enormous paw around Lief’s throat tightened as Jasmine thudded through the hole in the cave roof, with Barda and Emlis close behind. His companions’ weapons were in their hands. They sprang forward, then saw Lief pinned against the wall, and froze.

‘Move another step and I will snap his neck like a
twig!’ growled the being who looked like Glock.

‘Put down your weapons,’ snapped the talon-handed man, stepping forward. ‘We are friends!’

‘You may call dragging our companion into this place the act of a friend, but we do not,’ growled Barda, raising his sword a little.