The Spook 9 - Slither's tale (23 page)

GRIMALKIN WAS HOLDING
the necklace of bones that she wore around her neck. Hers must be bones from the hands of her defeated enemies rather than the shrunken skulls worn by Eblis. She was tapping and stroking them in some mysterious ritualistic fashion. As I watched, she released the bones and drew a long dagger from one of her scabbards, then approached me, her horse stepping delicately across the soft mud.

‘Get up off your knees, Slither,’ she commanded. ‘Kill your enemy with this. Kill him before he kills you. Never give in! Never surrender!’

She threw the dagger towards me. It spun over and over
through
the air, but I reached up with a cry of pain and caught it by the hilt.

There was something odd about that weapon. The moment I lifted my tail it told me that the blade was crafted from a silver alloy. My eyes told me something even more astounding.

The hilt was crafted in the shape of a skelt’s head, and its eyes were two rubies. It was the image of our unborn god, Talkus. As I watched, the ruby eyes shed tears of blood that dripped onto the mud close to my feet to mingle with my own. It was without doubt a blade of power. I could feel the magical force emanating from it.

Grimalkin smiled and backed her horse away from me. Filled with new hope and strength, I got to my feet. Eblis had been gazing warily at Grimalkin, but now, as she moved away, his attention came back to me – his target.

He charged straight towards me. I took a deep breath and stood my ground, bringing the whole of my concentration to bear upon the task at hand. As the tip of the lance came within range I stepped to one side to avoid being trampled by the stallion, lifted the blade and parried the tip of the spear.

To my astonishment, the blade did not break. It deflected the lance and scraped along its whole length, sending up a shower of sparks. When it reached the Shaiksa’s gauntlets and found his hands, he cried out in shock. He released the Kangadon, and it spun upwards out of his grasp, turning over and over in the air.

Then, in a moment of
whalakai
– the perception that comes to
a
haizda mage but rarely – I was aware of every nuance of the situation in a flash of insight.

I knew what I must do! I sliced sideways, my arm moving almost too fast to be seen, and struck the spinning lance with my blade.

The Kangadon split into two pieces.

Thus the Lance That Cannot Be Broken was no more.

But it was not for nothing that Eblis had survived and prevailed as an assassin for over two thousand years. The lance was destroyed and he was wounded, but he summoned his strength and attacked once more. This time he wielded two more long blades as he attempted to ride me down.

Once again I struck out with the skelt blade, and then spun away quickly to avoid being trampled. His horse galloped onwards, nostrils snorting steam into the chill air. But Eblis fell, hit the ground hard, and lay there without moving.

I approached and looked down at my enemy – but, to my own surprise, I did not deal the final blow. It was not a conscious decision. Something within me had chosen another way for this to end. I waited in silence, still gripping the blade. After many minutes Eblis rolled onto his stomach and struggled to his feet. His hands were empty of weapons. He had lost them in the fall. Nevertheless I waited patiently while he retrieved them from the mud, which had been churned up by the galloping hooves.

Then we began to fight at close quarters. We were evenly matched and the struggle continued for a long time. Soon the sun went down and the light began to fail. Now we were
fighting
in darkness and I used my shakamure magic to see my enemy. I also drew upon my other magical reserves to bolster my strength. No doubt Eblis employed his own magic, because his blades were guided with great accuracy, and for a while I was hard pressed just to parry them. We fought in silence – all that could be heard was grunts, the clash of blades and our boots churning the mud.

But slowly I began to gain the ascendancy, and at last I brought my enemy to his knees and lifted the dagger for the killing blow.

As I did so, I felt a hand staying my arm.

‘You have won, Slither, but now he is mine,’ whispered the voice of Grimalkin in my ear. ‘Return the blade to my hand.’

What could I do but acquiesce? After all, I had won a great victory and I owed the witch for that. Without her intervention I would have died in the mud. So I returned the blade to her and walked across to the place where Nessa lay.

I knelt down beside her. She was still breathing, just, but her life-signs were slowly fading. I had a little magic remaining to me, so I placed my hand on her forehead and let it seep into her body until she began to revive.

After a while I helped her up into a sitting position and she opened her eyes.

‘You were dying, little Nessa, but I have revived you with my strength. It is no more than what I owe you.’

Just as she had saved me when bitten by the snake, now I had repaid her. She stared at me for a while and seemed about to make some reply, but then I heard a sound from
behind
that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

Shaiksa assassins do not scream. And yet Eblis, the bravest, strongest and most ruthless of them all, cried out. His screams went on for a very long time.

Nessa looked at me, her eyes widening at the sound. I found the sounds pleasing – but obviously she did not. The assassin was being killed slowly, and his dying thoughts were being sent out to the rest of his brotherhood. Even as he died, their knowledge was being advanced. But what were they learning?

In another moment of whalakai, I understood what was happening. They were not only learning – they were being taught. That lesson was being given by Grimalkin: just as she had carved the symbol of her scissors on trees to mark her territory and warn off her enemies, so, now, she was sending the whole Shaiksa Brotherhood a message.

She was telling them who she was; what she was capable of; teaching them all about pain and fear.

And then, in a loud voice, she called out her verbal message to the brotherhood: ‘Keep away from me,’ she warned, ‘or what I did to your brother, so I will do to you! Those who pursue me will die a death such as this! I am Grimalkin.’

So it was that the Lance That Cannot Be Broken was indeed broken, and He Who Cannot Be Defeated was slain and left this world after over two thousand years as an undefeated Shaiksa assassin.

And in that moment I knew that the witch assassin was the most deadly warrior I had ever encountered. So now a great challenge lay ahead. One day I must fight and defeat her. To
accomplish
that would be the summit of my endeavours as a haizda mage.

When later I examined the body of Eblis to see what had been done to him, I could see nothing that could have made him shriek so musically. It is true that she had carved the symbol of her scissors on his forehead, but there was nothing else. I had to admit that there were many things I could learn from the human witch.

NESSA WAS BRUISED
and battered, but because of my help had survived her fall; her greatest hurt was still the loss of her sister, Susan.

Later, after the two girls had cried themselves to sleep, the witch and I talked by the campfire.

‘The magnificent blade that I used to defeat Eblis – where did you obtain it?’ I asked.

‘It does not belong to me,’ she replied. ‘I hold it in trust for another and must return it to him.’

‘May I see it again?’ I asked.

The witch smiled grimly, showing her pointed teeth, and for a moment I thought that she might refuse me. Then she drew it
out
of its scabbard and handed it to me. I held it carefully, turning it over and over in my hands. I sensed its power immediately.

‘This is a very special blade. Who made it?’ I asked.

‘It was crafted by one of our gods, little mage. We have our own god of blacksmiths and he is called Hephaestus.’

‘It is strange that he should choose a skelt’s head for the hilt,’ I observed. ‘Talkus, our God Who Is Yet to Be, will assume this likeness at the moment of his birth.’

‘I remember what you said,’ the witch said with a frown. ‘Your people will begin a holy war and try to drive us into the sea.’

‘Then we will rule the whole world,’ I told her.

‘It will certainly be an interesting time!’ she said. ‘Were you to attempt such a thing, my people would certainly offer fierce resistance. And then we would eventually pull down the walls of Valkarky and rid the world of the Kobalos. So let us hope that it is a long time before Talkus enters this world!’

I handed the blade back to her without comment, but then several thoughts came to me almost simultaneously.

‘The star-stone – is it valuable to humans?’ I asked. ‘Is that why you entered our territory and approached Valkarky? It seems an odd coincidence that you should be nearby when it fell.’

‘It was not a coincidence. I knew when and where it would fall,’ the witch retorted.

‘Did you use magic to learn that?’

‘We witches can sometimes scry the future; we are also able to “long-sniff” approaching danger. But I will admit that it was actually a strange dream that revealed the coming of the stone to me – one that seemed so real I thought I had awakened. There was a blinding light so fierce that I feared my eyes would be burned from my head. Then a voice told me where and when it would fall – and then, once it was in my possession, what I must do with it.’

‘Did the voice that came out of the light also warn you of the danger from my people?’

‘I already knew that the piece of ore would plummet to earth near to your city,’ she replied. ‘It fell exactly as predicted, but then, while I waited for it to cool so that I could carry it away south, I sniffed the approach of your warriors. I fought them, but they were too numerous.’

‘Now that it is once more in your possession, what will you do with it?’

‘This is a blade from the dark and not truly suitable for the one who must wield it!’ she exclaimed, holding the skelt-shaped hilt out towards me. ‘So I will forge a new blade – one even greater and more potent!’

‘Who is the one it is destined for? Is he a king?’

‘At this time he is the apprentice of a spook – one skilled in dealing with the dark and its servants. He is the only one who has the ability to destroy the Fiend for ever. This dark blade is one of three that he must use to achieve that end. But if he survives, he may have other tasks awaiting him.’

‘What other tasks?’

‘I have scryed the future and know that further challenges await him – but all is uncertain. Scrying is an imperfect art. He may even die in his attempt to kill the Fiend. I looked into a mirror, striving to see his future, but it became cloudy with doubt. I will forge the blade for him, anyway.’

‘You hope to forge a better blade than that created by your blacksmith god?’ I said, shaking my head at her presumption. ‘My people call such vaunted ambition hubris. Pride is the greatest sin of all – one that can call down the combined anger of the gods.’

‘Nevertheless I am determined to try,’ she replied. ‘This is what the voice commanded: I must forge a blade of light. It shall be called the Star Blade.’

‘You belong to what you call the “dark”, and yet you would create its antithesis. It is strange indeed that a daughter of darkness should forge a blade of light!’ I commented.

‘We live in strange times,’ the witch replied. ‘It is also strange that I, a witch, should have formed an alliance with the enemies of my clan. But this is what has forced the situation upon us,’ she said, lifting the leather sack that contained the head of their dark god. ‘The Fiend must be destroyed. Nothing else matters but that.’

NESSA