The Spook's Sacrifice (15 page)

'Although ours is larger than normal, an armed
escort always accompanies the delegation to the Ord,
so it's nothing new. To the watchers inside, these
assembled warriors are just flesh and blood waiting to
be devoured. They won't expect the attack we've
planned.'

Mam suddenly hugged me tightly. When she let me
go, there were tears in her eyes. She tried to speak: her
mouth opened but no words came out.

Someone moved out of the shadows behind her. My
master. He laid a hand on my shoulder and drew me to
one side.

'Well, lad, this is it. I don't like your mother's
methods and I don't like the company she keeps, but I
do know that she belongs to the light and she's doing
what she's doing for the good of us all. Whatever you
face in there, remember all I've taught you, be true to
yourself and don't forget that you're the best
apprentice I've ever had.'

I thanked him for his kind words and he shook my
hand.

'Just one other thing,' he said as I turned to go. 'I
don't know why your mother is sending that little
witch in with you.' He gestured towards Alice. 'She
seems to think the girl will protect you. I truly hope so.
But don't for one moment forget who her parents are.
She's the daughter of a witch and the Devil. She's not
one of us and never can be, no matter how hard she
tries. You'll do well to remember that, lad.'

His words struck at my heart. But there was nothing
I could say in reply, so I merely nodded, picked up my
bag and staff, and went over to where Grimalkin was
waiting with Alice and the others. She led us into the
mist, heading towards the Ord.

As we walked forward, Grimalkin was on my
right, Alice on my left. When I glanced back, the
ten selected warriors of Mam's escort, including
Seilenos, were following, dark silhouettes against the
dense fog.

Soon everything became silent but for the squelching
of our boots and shoes across the ground. It was
still raining – not as heavily now, but the ground
was rapidly turning to mud.

And then, too soon, the walls were suddenly right in
front of us, huge wet stones glistening in the rain. It
was solid all right: it was incredible to think that it had
passed through that portal of fire into our world. We
turned left, following the wall for a little way until we
reached the smaller entrance. Grimalkin did not falter as
she led us forward under the gargoyle, and into the Ord.
A tunnel stretched away ahead of us, but she turned into
a doorway on the left and we followed her into a hall of
such vastness that the centre of the high vault above was
lost in darkness. The light here was dim. I could see no
torches, but there was an even diffusion of low light.
Directly before us was a long table covered with a cloth
of red silk; upon it lay dishes made of silver and bronze,
heaped with fruits and meats. There were thirteen ornate
high-backed chairs carved from the whitest ivory and
upholstered in rich black silk; and on the table before
each chair was a golden goblet, exquisitely wrought and
filled to the brim with red wine.

As the light increased, so the colonnades to our right
and left came into view, and I could now see that the
floor between the rows of pillars was a fine mosaic
depicting great serpents entwined about each other. I
was following those meandering forms across the floor
when I stopped in shock.

In the middle of the floor was a dark pit. For some
reason that opening filled me with dread. I began to
shake with fear. What did it contain? I wondered.

We all sat down but, remembering Mam's
instructions, ignored the food and drink on the table.
The chairs had been positioned on one side of the table
so that we all faced the pit.

We heard echoing footsteps, distant at first, then
getting nearer and nearer. Ahead slowly rose into view
out of the pit as if lifted by a giant hand. Someone was
climbing up the steps within it. A dark figure stepped
out onto the mosaic floor; a warrior encased from
head to foot in black armour. In his left hand he
carried a long blade; in his right a large crystal
chalice.

He walked towards us with measured steps and I
had a few seconds to study him. There was no vent in
that black helmet for either mouth or nose, but two
thin horizontal slits were positioned where his eyes
should have been. But I could see no eyes – nothing
but darkness. His armour was black chain-mail and his
boots were both unusual and deadly. Their toes ended
in sharp barbed spikes.

He halted by our table, and when he spoke, fear
gripped my heart. The voice that boomed out was cold
and arrogant, with a harsh metallic quality.

'
Why do you not eat the food provided to sustain you?
Why do you not drink from the wine so freely given?
' he
demanded reproachfully, his words echoing from
ceiling to floor and wall to wall.

His questions brought us all to our feet, but it was
Grimalkin who spoke for the rest of us.

'For your hospitality we thank you,' she replied, her
voice calm and dignified. 'But, as yet, we neither
hunger nor thirst.'

'
That is your decision to make, but despite that, an
exchange is required for what we have freely provided. Fill
the chalice so that my mistress may live!
'

So saying, the dark warrior held the vessel out
towards the witch assassin.

'With what shall we fill it?' Grimalkin asked.

At first the warrior did not reply. His head turned
and he seemed to look along the row, checking each of
us in turn. Then my heart filled with dismay. I was still
unable to see his eyes but I knew beyond all doubt that
his gaze had settled upon me.

'
My mistress needs sustenance. She must drink warm
blood from the body of the youngest here!
' he declared,
pointing his blade directly towards me. '
Surrender his
life. Fill the cup from his heart's blood!
'

I began to tremble again. Despite everything I had
been told, even though I knew that Grimalkin would
fight for my life, I was afraid. All sorts of doubts began
to whirl through my head and a cold fear clutched at
my heart. Was I going to die here? Had the Fiend
spoken the truth after all? Had this been Mam's intent
all along – to make a sacrifice of me? Perhaps her slow
reversion towards the feral state had leached away any
human love she might have had for her son.

Grimalkin shook her head. 'You ask too much!' she
cried in a loud, commanding voice. 'We demand the
right of combat!'

The warrior inclined his head. '
That is your right. But
do not undertake such a challenge lightly. If I win, all your
lives are immediately forfeit. Do you still wish to proceed?
'

Grimalkin bowed her acceptance of the terms. And
suddenly everything grew dark. I heard sighs
and whispers all around, and then, as light filled the
hall once more, I saw that the warrior now stood
armed and ready in the middle of the mosaic floor. He
no longer carried the chalice. In his right hand
he hefted a long blade; in his left, a spiked metal orb on
a long chain.

Grimalkin drew two long blades and, with
consummate grace, leaped across the table, landing
like a cat. She began to pad towards the armoured
figure, a slow deadly stalking of her opponent. And it
seemed to me that a smile played about the lips of the
witch assassin. This was what she lived for. She would
enjoy combat with this knight. She liked to test her
skill against a worthy opponent, and I knew that she
had found one who would push her to the limit.
Grimalkin was not afraid to die. But if she failed and
was killed, then we also would forfeit our lives.

Her adversary stepped forward and began to whirl
the spiked orb around his head. The chain spiralled
higher and higher, the heavy metal sphere at its end
scything through the air with enough force and
velocity to remove Grimalkin's head from her body.

But not for nothing was Grimalkin the assassin of
the Malkin witches. Timing her attack to perfection,
she stepped inside the orbit of the whirling orb and
struck straight at the left eye-slit of the helmet, her
blade rasping against metal to miss by less than the
width of a finger.

The warrior's sword was as swift as Grimalkin's
blades, and they exchanged savage blows, but she was
in too close for him to wield the orb. It hung uselessly
on its chain while she used two blades against his one.
For a while she seemed to have the upper hand and
pressed him hard.

Then it was the warrior's turn to gain the
ascendancy. The witch assassin had no armour, and
now, in retreat, that drawback became apparent. Twice
he directed kicks at her body, the spike threatening to
disembowel her, but she spun like a wheel, with great
economy of movement, staying too close for him to use
the chain and orb. Again and again her blades struck
her opponent's body with metallic clangs, but were
deflected by the armour that encased it. It seemed
impossible that she could survive, let alone win. What
chance had she against such a heavily protected foe?
Her legs and arms were naked; her flesh vulnerable.

It suddenly struck me that she had given up something
that would have been greatly to her advantage.

Had she retained the blade and dark wish, she could
have employed them now. She had made a great
sacrifice indeed.

Now Grimalkin whirled away from her enemy, moving widdershins
in a circling retreat towards our table. I became concerned. The tactic seemed
ill -advised. At this distance the warrior could once more wield his deadly
orb effectively against her. He began to whirl it above his head, faster and
faster, readying himself for the killer blow. Grimalkin stepped towards him,
as if placing herself in the perfect position and waiting for the spiked orb
to crush her. My heart was in my mouth. I thought it was all over.

But when the weapon descended, the witch assassin
was no longer there. The orb struck the table a terrible
blow, sending dishes and goblets crashing to the floor.
And then Grimalkin committed herself, aiming
directly for the slit in the helmet that marked the
position of her enemy's unseen left eye. Her blade
struck home and a great scream of pain filled the hall.

In an instant all became dark, the air freezing cold.
Powerful dark magic was being used. I felt dizzy and
reached out towards the table to steady myself. The
great hall was silent as the echo of that shriek faded.
But then, in the darkness, I saw two glittering eyes
moving towards us from the direction of the pit.

Again the light steadily increased and we were all
seated at the table – although I couldn't remember
having sat down. The goblets and dishes that a
moment ago littered the floor had been returned to
their proper places. Grimalkin was back in her original
position at the table.

The dark warrior was once more standing directly
before us, carrying the crystal chalice and his long
blade. Was it the same man? Had he been returned to
life by dark magic? It was as if the fight with
Grimalkin had never happened.

'
My mistress needs sustenance. She must drink warm
blood from the body of the boy!
' he declared, pointing his
blade directly towards me again. '
Fill the cup!
'

As the fearsome warrior held out the crystal chalice,
my heart fluttered in my chest with fear.

'We've won, child!' Grimalkin whispered into my
ear, her voice filled with triumph. 'He no longer
demands your life – just that we fill the cup. It's exactly
what we want.'

Silently the warrior placed the crystal goblet on the
red silk of the tablecloth. Grimalkin picked it up and
withdrew a short knife from its leather scabbard. She
turned towards me. 'Roll up your sleeve, child. The
right arm . . .'

With shaking fingers I did as she asked. 'Now take the
chalice and hold it under your arm to catch the blood.'

I lifted my bare arm and positioned the exquisitely
wrought vessel beneath it. Grimalkin made a small cut
into my flesh. I hardly felt it, but blood began to drip
downwards; however, it stopped flowing before the
chalice was half full.

'Just one more cut and it's done,' she said.

I felt the blade again and sucked in my breath as the
sharp pain bit. This time my blood cascaded freely, and
to my surprise the vessel suddenly became much
heavier. It filled rapidly, but no sooner had the blood
reached the rim than the flow suddenly ceased. I saw
that it had already congealed into a thin red line
against the pale flesh of my arm.

The witch assassin placed the cup on the table; the
warrior picked it up and carried it towards the pit. We
watched him descending the steps until he was lost to
view, then waited in silence until he was some distance
from the hall. We couldn't risk him hearing a
disturbance and turning back. It was vital that my
blood was given to the Ordeen. The minutes passed
slowly, but at last Grimalkin smiled and pulled a small
mirror from her sleeve, preparing to signal our success.

However, before she could do so, everything went
dark and I felt a sudden chill again. Once more bright,
glittering eyes moved towards us from the direction of
the pit. Had the servants of the Ordeen guessed our
intent?

Suddenly I was aware that, notwithstanding the
intense silence, the hall was now full of people. And
what strange and terrifying people they were!

The men were very tall, with long pointy noses and
chins and elongated faces. They must be daemons, I
thought, with their cavernous eyes, and their dark,
loose clothes that hung from their bodies like gossamer
sails stretched over willowy trees. At their belts were
long curved swords.

The daemons brought to my mind an old County
proverb:

Pointy nose and pointy chin,
Darkness surely dwells within!

By contrast, the women were sleek, with voluptuous
curves, revealing skin that glistened as if freshly
anointed. And they were dancing – whirling
rhythmically to the beat of a distant unseen drum.
These women danced alone while the men brooded on
the edge of the dancing space or lurked in the gloom
of the pillars, watching with hungry eyes.

I looked back along the table and saw that everyone
in our party seemed transfixed by the dancers. Their
strange movements held some sort of enchantment.
Grimalkin still had the mirror in her hand but seemed
powerless to use it. We were helpless. Had we got so
close to success only to be thwarted at the last
moment?