A New Darkness (23 page)

“Read it carefully,” I instructed. “You’ll see that I’ve made a few additions and notes on existing entries. Eventually you might want to do the same. We’ll build up our store of knowledge on these creatures together.”

Within the hour, Grimalkin returned and leaped down from her horse. She strode toward us impatiently.

“A challenge has just been made and accepted,” she declared. “They fight an hour before sunset. If we ride now, we might be in time to see it.”

We mounted our horses and followed a river that meandered through a valley. It was bordered by dark conifers—there were few deciduous trees in this place. From the heights above it, we could see scores of campfires sending brown smoke spiraling up into the sky. As we descended, we had a good view of the gathering below on the southern bank. There were perhaps two thousand people there—at least five separate camps, each cluster of tents marked by a standard. There were also a large number of stalls, along with a neat line of cooking fires and larger tents set up on the periphery of the camp. Traders, artisans, and merchants had moved in to meet the needs of all the people. I could smell roasting pork on the wind and hear horses being shod.

“That’s the Shanna River,” said Grimalkin. “And beyond it, to the northeast, is the Plain of Eresteba, which is Kobalos territory. Until recently, there were Kobalos settlements on this southern bank too. They retreated several months ago, and soon afterward the Shaiksa assassin Kauspetnd arrived to issue his challenge. Why they pulled out, I don’t know. But there is something ritualistic about the challenge. Perhaps it must be done across a river that divides our peoples? There is still much for us to learn.”

As she spoke, I saw the intensity in her eyes—hints of the fanaticism Jenny had spoken of.

Grimalkin led us down the slope toward the river, which ran from east to west. As we rode between the lines of tents, many warriors turned to gaze at us. The expressions on their faces ranged from curious to hostile. She guided us to a quiet spot, far from the other tents, and we set up camp. While I quickly erected our tent with Jenny, Grimalkin lit a fire and then did something surprising. She took three pieces of wood that had been lashed to her saddlebags (I had originally assumed that they formed part of the tent) and fitted them together to make a long pole. Next she fastened to the end a piece of cloth, and as Jenny and I looked on in astonishment, she thrust the other end deep into the ground.

Instantly the cloth atop the pole fluttered out in the wind. It was a flag—the standard of the County: a red rose on a white background.

“Why?” I asked Grimalkin. “Won’t that draw attention to us?”

“We will draw attention whatever we do, because we are strangers to this place; there will be a pecking order here. No doubt someone will soon be along to apprise us of the fact. We will be at the bottom of the pile until we demonstrate otherwise. Leave your staff here, but wear the sword at all times. We may need to defend ourselves.”

My mind was buzzing with questions, but before I could speak, there was a roar of voices from farther along the riverbank.

“Come!” Grimalkin gestured in the direction of the hubbub. “We are only just in time. Look to the needs of the horses and guard the camp, girl!” she ordered Jenny imperiously.

Jenny opened her mouth to protest. I knew that she’d be as curious as I was to see this Shaiksa assassin. But the witch was in charge here, and moments later I was walking along the river at her heels, while Jenny was left behind.

The farther west we went, the more crowded the bank became, and Grimalkin had to push her way through the throng. They were a motley bunch, armed with blades, spears, or bows. Some wore partial metal armor, mostly stained and rusty, or jerkins of toughened leather. But all reacted in the same way to the forceful advance of Grimalkin.

They turned angrily, death in their eyes. But then they met the eyes of the witch assassin.

Her mouth was open, so maybe it was the sight of her pointed teeth, or perhaps some subtle magic. . . . Whatever it was, they instantly lowered their gaze and turned away, all thought of confrontation forgotten.

Eventually the press of bodies became too dense for us to make any further progress. However, by good fortune we found ourselves on a raised bank and could see over the heads of those who stood between us and the fast-flowing water. The river was shallow here; this was the ford, and the water rushed west, bubbling furiously over the stones.

The human champion waited on this side of the river. He was bareheaded but wore a gleaming metal breastplate and a diagonal sash of purple and gold silk. He carried a short sword and a small round shield.

“He is the champion of the Princeling of Shallotte,” Grimalkin hissed into my ear. “A better class of opponent than Kauspetnd usually faces—although I fear it will make precious little difference to the outcome.”

“You seem to know a lot about the situation here,” I observed.

She nodded. “I’ve made it my business to learn as much as I can—not only about the Kobalos, but also about the human kingdoms that oppose them.”

I looked across the river and got my first view of the assassin waiting on the far bank. His face had the same elongated jaw as the haizda mage back in Chipenden; there was something feral and wolflike about it, especially when he opened his mouth to reveal his sharp teeth. His head was bare, and his hair was braided into three long black pigtails. His arms were also bare, and extremely hairy, like the hide of a beast.

He carried two curved blades, the weapons known as sabers—similar to the one the haizda mage had used against me back in the County.

The pair waded into the river, coming together at the halfway point. There the water just covered their ankles. For a moment they halted and stared at each other as if weighing up the opposition.

Then Kauspetnd shouted something in a loud voice. I couldn’t understand a word of it, but the tone seemed to be mocking. He finished with a braying laugh, which displayed his sharp white teeth.

His human opponent called back to him, and once again I didn’t understand what was said, though anger and defiance were evident. I realized that they had both used Losta, the language shared by the Kobalos and these northern lands.

Then the human rushed forward, his boots splashing in the water, and struck out at the Kobalos warrior.

The assassin deflected the blow with his saber and spun away gracefully, raising it to meet the next attack. Again he parried the blow and spun away. For a moment they faced each other once more, and then the champion of Shallotte launched his third attack.

It was to be his last.

This time, instead of waiting in the same defensive position, Kauspetnd leaped forward to meet his human adversary halfway. One saber flashed, and blood spurted upward. Then the human gave a cry, which was echoed by a groan from those watching on the bank. He fell facedown into the water. Downstream, the turbulent water turned red as it washed his blood away.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

26

The Sign

“I
’
VE
seen enough for now,” said Grimalkin. “But I’d like to be a little closer next time.”

As the body of the human champion was dragged away, she led me back to our camp. The sky had been heavy with gray cloud, but now it was breaking up into tattered fragments scattered by the wind and lit to orange flame by the setting sun.

Jenny turned from tending the fire and looked up at me questioningly, but Grimalkin spoke first.

“Go to bed now and get sleep. We need to be up at midnight,” Grimalkin said, looking directly at me. She clearly expected to be obeyed without question.

Anger flickered through me at her presumption. The land and people here were strange to me, and I was forced to defer to her greater knowledge. But she sometimes expected obedience without question, withholding information until she considered the time right to reveal it.

“Aren’t we going to eat first?” asked Jenny.

I sympathized with her. I was hungry too and had been looking forward to supper.

Grimalkin didn’t reply, so I broke the silence.

“Why must we sleep now?” I asked. “What are we going to do at midnight?”

“There’s something you should see. It’s important. After that, we can eat while we talk,” she replied before turning to the girl and smiling. “There will be supper, but it will be a late one.”

Grimalkin always had a good reason for everything she did, so I nodded, swallowed my annoyance, and crawled into the tent first. I was asleep the moment I rolled into my blankets.

When I opened my eyes again and emerged to stare up at the star-filled sky, I estimated that it was close to midnight.

Grimalkin was already waiting outside, Jenny standing beside her.

Without preamble, the witch assassin pointed south, away from the river, and set off at a brisk pace. I looked at the forest of tents on the riverbank and saw lights moving. They were torches; others were walking in the same direction. “Is it safe to leave our possessions unguarded?” I asked.

“I have protected our camp with a spell,” Grimalkin replied, glancing back at me.

Jenny leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Let’s hope the thieves don’t dig under it, then!”

We were crossing flat meadowland, but I could see a hill directly ahead, a dark silhouette against the stars. It wasn’t particularly high, but it stood out from the plain around it. It was almost conical, but flattened at the summit.

As we drew closer, other people pressed in on either side, and we became part of the silent procession. At last we were brought to a complete halt; all we could do was gaze at the hill.

The starlight was bright enough to illuminate the slope facing us. I could see that although the silent gathering had formed a half circle at its base, nobody had set foot on it.

We waited in silence for about five minutes; I knew that it was very close to midnight now. Then three figures began to climb the hill. When they reached the summit, they turned to face us. All three were slim and bearded; they stared out, chins held high, as if their gaze was fixed not upon us but on something higher. They wore gloves and identical robes, their collars trimmed with white animal fur.

The one in the middle cried out in a loud voice. It sounded like a command.

“He told us to kneel and pray,” Grimalkin said.

The people around us began to kneel, and Grimalkin followed suit.

It was astonishing to see her on her knees like that. But if she was prepared to kneel, then so was I; Jenny followed my example. I stared at the hill, where the three figures extended their arms and pointed up to the sky.

“Are they priests?” I whispered into Grimalkin’s ear.

“Not priests of any conventional church. They are holy men called magowie; they are the mages of this land, who claim to see the true reality beyond this world. What we see—the sky, grass, hills, and rocks—is to them just an illusion. They wear gloves because none but a prince or a king may touch their bare hands. Now look at the sky directly above them. What do you see?”

I stared upward. For a moment I could see nothing, but then I made out against the starry background a point of light—very bright . . . and falling toward us.

It grew steadily larger and brighter. At first it looked like a bird, a dove perhaps, something feathered and white. Then a cry of wonder went up from those around us. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Why was everyone so excited?

Most birds, apart from corpse fowls, owls, and a few other species, roosted at night. But who knew what was normal in these northern climes? However, judging by the crowd’s reaction, this was something strange and wonderful, something that was worth dragging yourself from your bed at midnight for.

And then a shiver ran the length of my spine. I saw that it was not a bird after all.

This flying creature had a human shape!

“It looks like an angel!” Jenny exclaimed.

Lower and lower it came, until the figure hovered not more than fifty feet above the heads of the three mystics. Completely covered in white feathers but for the head, it had two wings, each at least the length of its body. The face was that of a girl, and it was beautiful, glowing with a silvery light. The limbs were thin, and the enormous wings were rather out of proportion with the body. I had to agree with Jenny: it
did
look like an angel. It was an astonishing sight—I just didn’t know what to make of it.

Three beams of light were projected from the mysterious flying creature, each of them lighting up one of the three figures below. All three magowie cried out; for what reason I could not tell, but their faces were twisted as if in torment. As one, they fell to their knees, and instantly the creature vanished.

A groan went up from the crowd, which soon became an excited babble. I searched the sky carefully but could detect no sign of movement against the stars. What manner of thing was it that it could vanish like that? Powerful magic was at work here—but who was wielding it?

The central magowie rose unsteadily to his feet, while his companions remained on their knees. He held up his hand until everyone fell silent, then began to speak.