Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin (17 page)

‘It’s the priest. I saw him over there, stirring up trouble,’ Thorne said, pointing to where the farmers were camped by their animals. ‘I was standing by the gate and he kept pointing at me.’

‘He is a priest, child, so it is only to be expected. And those people have been forced to take refuge within these walls because of us. There is bound to be resentment.’

We dined with the knight and his son again that evening, and Thorne told our host about the priest.

‘You need not concern yourself about him,’ Sir Gilbert replied. ‘Father Hewitt has already been to see me and asked that I banish you from the castle. I refused, and the matter is closed. He is my chaplain and has been with us for many years. Indeed, were I to die before my time, he would become the guardian of my son until he reaches maturity. He is a priest and you are witches, so there is a natural enmity between you. There is little he can do but stir up the feelings of his flock. But I am their lord and they will obey me in all things. You are perfectly safe here.’

‘We are grateful for that,’ I told him. ‘I examined the tapestry
in
our room with interest. I assume that you still have that armour?’

‘I do indeed. I had it specially made and it proved most effective against the worme. In truth, the creature was not quite as large as the embroidery suggests,’ he said with a smile. ‘But it was a dangerous beast and killed many humans as well as cattle.’

‘Father is both clever and brave,’ Will stated proudly. ‘Minstrels still sing of what he achieved.’

‘You must be very proud of your father,’ I said, smiling at the boy. But then I turned back to Sir Gilbert. ‘Such armour may not be as effective against the kretch. It has bone-armour of its own. If we engage it, we should work as a team and we should do it soon, before too many more of the Fiend’s servants arrive. Their numbers will grow by the day. But destroy the kretch and we will leave this place and they will follow. You will be able to return to the routine of your lives.’

‘We will do it tomorrow, then,’ said the knight. ‘We need to find some way to lure them closer to the castle, within range of my archers.’

I nodded. ‘I will think of something. And tomorrow we will put an end to them. You will return our blades?’

‘Of course. We will leave the castle together with the weapons necessary for victory.’

But I was wrong, events did not turn out as I had expected.

WE HAD A
pre-dawn breakfast and then, to Thorne’s relief, we put aside the green dresses and once more attired ourselves as assassins. I was looking forward to the coming battle and felt comfortable to be dressed once more in the garb of my calling.

I could not risk taking the Fiend’s head with me into combat so it had to be hidden. I used more of my precious remaining magic to achieve that. Using many cotton threads which I unpicked from the hem of my dress, I hung the leather sack
from
a ceiling beam in the darkest corner of the room. Once that was done, I cloaked it thoroughly. Only a powerful witch or mage could find it now; even for them it would not be easy.

Sir Gilbert, dressed in his spiked armour, was waiting for us in the courtyard, surrounded by his men. So were our blades. It was a good feeling to slip each one back into its scabbard.

It was a grey, misty morning and the air was chilly and damp. I looked at our small war band and gauged our chances of victory. The men looked confident and well-disciplined. In addition to the knight in his deadly armour, there were the eight master archers and another fifteen men-at-arms. All were on foot. Sir Gilbert had told me that they would not put their horses at risk. We were heavily outnumbered but had a good chance of achieving a temporary victory.

I had outlined my plan to the knight and he had given it his approval. The intention was to destroy the kretch and kill as many witches as possible before retreating back into the castle. Later, under cover of darkness, Thorne and I would make our escape; the surviving witches would follow, leaving the inhabitants of the castle and its surroundings to return to their peaceful lives.

But then things started to go wrong. A soldier on watch on the battlements called down a warning to us. The enemy were approaching.

From that high vantage point I estimated their number. There were indeed well over a hundred, led by the kretch and the dark mage. They halted about two hundred yards short of the moat, and the kretch came forward alone. Once directly below
us
, it rose up on its hind legs, drew a blade and called out a challenge in its booming voice.

My heart sank. The challenge was not aimed at me, but at the knight.

‘Sir Gilbert Martin, I hail thee! You are the slayer of the Great Worme and famed throughout this land for what you have achieved. I wish to pit myself in personal combat against one of such renown. Defeat me, and those with me will disperse and trouble you no more.’

‘If I lose the fight, what then?’ the knight called down. ‘I would know the terms of combat.’

‘Defeat will cost you your life and the siege will continue. That is all. Do you accept my challenge?’

‘I accept, and will fight you in single combat before these walls. Do you agree? Do I have your word?’

‘You have my word. We will fight at the water’s edge where you defeated the Great Worme. Your followers must remain within the castle walls. My people will retreat far beyond the river.’

‘It is agreed!’ Sir Gilbert replied.

With that, the kretch bowed its head slightly, showed its teeth in a wicked grin and turned to lope back towards the river.

I almost called down my own challenge to the kretch, but the knight had given his word: I could not intervene. However, I did make an attempt to dissuade him.

‘It’s a trick!’ I warned. ‘Such a creature does not think like you. Neither do its companions. They are servants of the Fiend – the Father of Lies. They have no idea of honour. Go down
there
alone and you will die! They want the head of the Fiend and have no intention of dispersing until it is in their possession.’

‘That may be so,’ Sir Gilbert said, turning to face me. ‘But as a knight I am not at liberty to refuse a challenge to single combat. It is the code by which I live. And even if that creature does intend to deceive me, all is not lost. When I leave, close the main gate but do not lock it. Leave the drawbridge down too. At the first sign of treachery come to my aid. There is little difference in this to what we intended.’

‘I cannot agree,’ I warned. ‘We would have left this place as a compact unit and protected your flanks and rear as you attacked the kretch. Now you will fight alone, and at some distance from us. If there is treachery, we may not be able to come to your aid in time.’

He bowed his head in acknowledgement of what I had said, but he remained resolute, and without another word went down to await the opening of the gate and the lowering of the drawbridge.

When this was done, Sir Gilbert clasped hands with his son in a brief farewell. Will looked very proud of his father, but his bottom lip was trembling with emotion and I knew that he feared for him. The knight lowered the visor on his helmet and strode towards the river. The door was closed after him but not locked. The archers and men-at-arms waited behind it, weapons at the ready. But I led Thorne back up onto the battlements, where we would get a better view of the fight.

Sir Gilbert was approaching the river ford, and I could see the
kretch
waiting on the far bank. Of the mage and witches, there was no sign, but a wall of thick mist had appeared about a hundred yards away covering both banks of the river. No doubt it had been conjured by magic: they could easily be hiding within it – much closer to the combatants than we were. I sniffed, and immediately sensed danger. It was a trap – I was certain of it. But what could I do? I had warned the knight but he had not heeded my words.

No sooner had he left the muddy bank and entered the shallow water of the ford than the kretch loped towards him, running on four legs like a giant wolf, sending up a curtain of water. Sir Gilbert had not anticipated its speed and he drew his sword too late. The huge beast clamped its jaws upon the man’s right, sword arm and bit hard. Even at that distance I heard the knight cry out in pain.

And what of the kretch? There were spikes on the metal plates that enclosed Sir Gilbert’s arm. Now they must surely be cutting into the creature’s jaws. It had gradually been changing and growing more powerful. Was it now impervious to pain? Or able to overcome it and exert its will despite the agony it must be feeling? That made it very dangerous indeed. Only death would stop it.

With a great effort, the knight tore his arm free. As he did so, blood dripped from the open jaws of the beast, staining the water. There was blood on the armour too, but was it Sir Gilbert’s or the beast’s?

Even from this distance I could see that the metal covering the knight’s arms was dented, and he struggled to lift the
sword
as the kretch attacked again. The creature seemed even larger, and it reared up to tower over him. It was growing more powerful with each day that passed.

Although hurt, Sir Gilbert was brave and did not flinch but stood his ground, transferring the sword to his other hand. The weapon was heavy and should really have been wielded with both hands. Nevertheless with his left hand – no doubt the weaker of the two – he thrust the point into the creature’s belly. This time it did feel pain and let out a shrill scream, immediately followed by a bellow of anger.

The scream made me feel a lot better. The kretch could be hurt. Yes, I wanted the knight to put an end to it, but really I longed to slay it myself. It was a long time since I’d wanted to hurt and kill something so much. And yet I could not venture forth while the knight was still standing his ground. He was a brave man and I would not deny him his chance of victory.

Knight and kretch came together hard; locked in battle, they fell into the shallow water and rolled over and over until they reached the far bank where they continued to struggle in the mud. This was exactly what Sir Gilbert wanted: now the beast was being impaled on the spikes, hopefully to suffer the same fate as the worme. But, as they thrashed about, it seemed to me that he was losing the struggle.

The knight was trying to use his sword against the kretch, but he was too close to it and his blows were ineffectual against the creature’s armoured back. Sir Gilbert was no longer a young man. His stamina would be failing. Nor would the spikes on his armour be as effective against this beast as they had been
against
the worme. And now, to my dismay, I saw the jaws of the kretch close about the knight’s head and bite down hard. I heard the armour crumple. Its jaws were powerful and able to exert great leverage; now its teeth were penetrating Sir Gilbert’s skull. I heard groans of dismay from the knight’s men and knew that Will would be watching his father’s plight in anguish.

It was then that what I had both feared and expected happened. The witches, led by Bowker, surged out of the mist and, whooping and shrieking, ran towards the river bank, where the combatants still struggled. Most carried knives. As before, the three at the front were armed with blades lashed to the end of long poles so that they could stab and cut from a distance. The knight was facing the same fate that had befallen the lamia; the difference here was that a determined and sizeable force was able to intervene. All was not lost.

A guard called down a warning to those below, and I heard the rumble of the gate as it was opened.

‘Stay close to me and don’t attempt anything reckless!’ I warned Thorne.

By the time we reached the gate it was open and the knight’s men were already charging towards the river. Will was standing by the gate with two other men, gazing forlornly out towards the battle. As the only heir to the castle and lands, he would have been forbidden to join the fight.

We closed with them quickly, but I gestured to Thorne that we should hang back. Once the two groups came together we would be able to judge how and where to fight most effectively.

I looked ahead and saw that more witches had run from the mist on our side of the river and were racing to intercept us, brandishing their weapons. Those on the far bank had engulfed the knight and the kretch – doubtless they were attempting to put an end to him as the beast held his head in its jaws, replicating what had been done to Wynde. Twice I had been powerless to prevent a death, but there might still be time to help Sir Gilbert. They would have to remove his armour to kill him. That would take time, allowing us to rescue him.

The knight’s men came to a sudden halt. For a moment I thought they were about to turn and flee: the approaching hordes were a fearsome sight and outnumbered us many times over. But ours was truly a well-disciplined force and I heard a voice call out an order:

‘Fire!’

The eight archers bent their bows and released their arrows, which sped unerringly towards their targets. Each arrow struck a witch. I saw at least three fall and another two stagger and spin. And already the archers had nocked fresh arrows from the quivers on their shoulders and were bending their bows again.