The Spook 9 - Slither's tale (8 page)

She was testing my patience. ‘Then you’ll die here, little Nessa. You’ll change your mind when you feel the blades cut your flesh. They’ll kill you very slowly . . .’

‘I saved your life,’ Nessa said, her voice almost a whisper. Then she reached forward and wrapped her fingers in my hair, pulling me down towards her until our foreheads were actually touching. ‘You owe me a life. I saved you so you could save my sisters.’

I felt very strange. Her words shouldn’t have been
disturbing
, but they were. They spoke a truth that I couldn’t deny, but they shouldn’t have had even the slightest power over me. It was odd too to have her so close, to feel her fingers twisting in my hair.

In a strange way I liked it. I also liked the way her forehead was touching mine. No human had ever come so close to me before. No human had ever dared. Most would have put as much distance as possible between them and me. Yet here was this girl holding my head against hers and staring deep into my eyes.

With a sudden jerk, Nessa released me and stepped back, burying her face in her hands.

For a moment I could not think clearly. Then I heard myself speaking, and my voice seemed to come from a great distance; it was as though it belonged to another.

‘Go and get our horses from the stables. Saddle them but leave the cart – the snow will be too deep by now. If your sister lives, I’ll bring her to the outer gate. If I don’t appear by the time you’ve finished readying the horses, ride off without me and head south. The weather will change within two days or less and I will catch you up.’

Then I led the sisters to the door that gave access to the large inner courtyard. When I opened it, snow was still whirling downwards. In the distance I saw the stables, the yellow lantern-light from within reflecting on the wet flags. I turned and thrust the short blade into Nessa’s hand.

‘If any purrai try to stop you, threaten them with this. They fear the blade more than anything – they grow up familiar
with
its bite. It is the chief means by which they are trained.’

Nessa nodded, determined, and went out into the snow with her sister following. She looked back once and I saw her eyes glitter in the darkness like two distant stars. Once again, I was astonished by what I was doing, astonished by my response to this purra.

From my previous visit here I knew the layout of the tower. The large cellar was used for feasts, and I went down the steps until I came to the stout oaken door. It was not locked. Those within did not fear intruders. I only needed to turn the huge iron ring at its centre and push it open.

I gripped the sabre firmly in my right hand and thrust my tail high up my back, searching beyond the door. First, I found the child. To my surprise, she still lived, but in moments that would change. They were preparing to cut her throat.

I began to assess the level of opposition. Some of those within were cooks; others were armourers or general labourers. Yet that still left thirty-nine hardy, well-trained warriors. I would be facing powerful odds.

Although I never doubted for a moment that I would be victorious, my chances of getting the child out in one piece were not good: in the heat of battle, all things are uncertain.

With my left hand, I slowly turned the ring to the right. Then, equally slowly, I gave the door a little push so that it opened gradually, creaking on its ancient hinges as it did so.

A large open fireplace was the focal point of the huge room; it was set within the far wall so that almost all the occupants –
Kobalos
warriors and servants – were facing towards it with their backs to me. The room hummed with animated conversation. Several long tables stood between door and fireplace; they were heaped with dishes and tankards, but although there was some food on the plates, the main activity so far had clearly involved drinking a good deal of strong ale. Alcohol dulls the senses – a haizda mage would never defile his body in such a way. Their foolishness pleased me, lowering the odds against me.

The main course was yet to be served. Indeed, it had yet to be cooked. The spit did not currently hold meat, but it would not have long to wait, for Bryony had been forced to her knees close to the fire; a wooden bucket had been placed directly under her head to catch the blood. They had blindfolded the sobbing purra so she couldn’t see what was about to happen to her – more out of expediency than mercy: even as I watched, a blade was being sharpened, ready to slit her throat. And then I saw her executioner and noted the three long, black, braided pigtails that marked him as a particularly dangerous adversary. Those three distinctive plaits showed that he was one of the
Shaiksa
, a brotherhood of elite assassins that answered only to the Triumvirate of High Mages who ruled Valkarky.

This made saving the child a much more difficult task.

The creak of the door was lost amidst the hubbub of many voices, but I quickly amplified it so that it filled the room with thunder, and all without exception turned to gaze at the source of that strange noise.

I stepped boldly forward into the room and called out in a loud challenging voice so that none could fail to hear my words or understand what it was that I said.

‘Give the child to me!’ I demanded. ‘She is my lawful property and has been taken from me against my wishes and against all customs of hospitality and rights of ownership.’

NESSA

I LED MY
sister, shivering with cold and fear, towards the stables. The wind was driving snowflakes into our faces but the flags were wet and steaming.

‘How could you touch him, Nessa?’ Susan asked. ‘How could you bear to be so close to him?’

‘I did what was necessary to save Bryony,’ I replied.

In truth, I couldn’t believe what I had just done – gripping him by the hair like that and dragging him close so that our foreheads were touching . . . He might have slain me on the spot. I had done it on the spur of the moment, driven to such recklessness by my fear for my little sister.
Somehow
it had worked and I had survived the encounter.

Since Mother had died giving birth to her, Bryony had been like my own child. I
had
to save her.

There were two doors giving access to the stables, and as we reached the nearer one, Susan started to whimper with fear. I turned angrily and shushed her. I immediately felt guilty at doing so. I had behaved exactly as the beast would have done. But if any of the Kobalos heard us, we would die here. I thought of poor Bryony and hoped against hope that Slither would be in time to save her. Cautiously I moved into the area of yellow light cast by the lanterns and peered into the stables. The air was much warmer here, and smelled of hay and horse dung.

There were thirty or more stalls, all of them occupied. I began to walk slowly forward, peering into each one, looking for our own animals. I wasn’t sure if I’d entered by the door we’d used before. Perhaps they were at the other end of the block? I strode purposefully forward.

Then two things happened that brought me to a halt. I heard harsh, guttural voices from the far end of the stables. There was nobody in sight, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they sounded like Kobalos. Next I became aware of something else: the first five or six horses were already saddled, each draped with two small bags of what looked like provisions. Why not take these and avoid the delay and risk of finding and saddling our own horses? I said to myself.

Quickly I pulled back the door of the stall and, seizing the bridle, led the first of the horses out. ‘Take this one!’ I said, passing it over to Susan.

‘What about the cart and our trunks?’ she complained. ‘All my best clothes are inside.’

‘We haven’t time to get them, Susan. Our lives are at risk,’ I snapped, turning my back on her.

It was the work of just a few moments to lead out two more horses – piebald like the first – from their stalls. I was just about to get a fourth mount when I heard someone crossing the wet flags and approaching the stable door behind us.

My heart began to pound in my chest. I was terrified. What if it was another of the fierce Kobalos like the beast who had attacked Susan? What chance would I have against something like that? For a moment I panicked completely and was ready to run and save myself. Then, with a sense of shame, I thought of Susan and Bryony. How could I leave them?

So I took a deep breath to steady myself, turned, and gripped the knife in my belt more tightly.

To my surprise, coming towards me was one of the fierce women who had taken me up to the bath house where I’d found Slither. She was carrying a club and I saw anger and purpose in her eyes. With a trembling hand I tugged the knife from my belt and pointed it towards her. The sight of it brought her to a stop about five paces short of me.

I feared the club she wielded, but I could see that my blade scared her more. I took a step towards her as if I meant to attack; she took a step as well – backwards, away from me.

‘Susan, take the horses outside!’ I shouted, keeping myself between the slave woman and my sister.

Twice Susan fumbled with the reins but managed to lead
the
three piebald mares out into the yard. I followed, backing slowly and warily, never taking my eyes off the woman who held the cudgel. Now she was matching me step for step and I thought I saw a new determination in her eyes.

Her face was criss-crossed with scars, as were her arms. A slave’s rearing and training were effected with the bite of a blade – so Slither had told me. No doubt I would face the same when I became a slave myself.

I tried a new tactic. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’ I suggested, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘You don’t have to stay here and be mistreated. Escape with us!’

She did not reply, answering my words with a scowl. Suddenly I understood. If she allowed me to escape with the horses, she would be punished – perhaps even killed. She feared her masters more than she did me. But now I was out in the yard, and I had to protect my family.

‘The gate! Lead them to the gate!’ I shouted at Susan, pointing towards it.

The slave was still matching me step for step but had not yet attacked. Then I heard more female voices. Other slaves were running towards us – including their leader, the woman with the torch.

‘I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die here!’ Susan screamed. ‘What did we do to deserve this? I wish I were back at the farm!’

I knew that it was all over now: Susan was correct – we would probably die here. But I had no intention of betraying my own terror and despair. Why give them the satisfaction?

I raised the blade to show that I would not go down without a fight.

The woman with the club held it aloft and ran straight towards me. I was scared but desperate, and as she brought down the club, intending to brain me, I slashed at her arm with the dagger.

The blade cut into her forearm. She screamed and the club dropped from her hand. Now she was looking at me with pain-filled eyes, while blood dripped from her arm onto the flags. For a moment it halted the others in their tracks. But then they began to move forward again.