The Winter Knights (29 page)

He knew, too, that sometimes the tree goblins used giant fromps in battle, where they proved themselves to be wily and fearless fighters. And as he watched, Fenviel wished with all his heart that these fromps would also fight - that they would rise up against their tormentors and tear them limb from limb … But it would never happen, Fenviel realized. The poor, miserable creatures before him were too cowed, their spirit crushed by the continual beatings.

‘Yow-wah-aiii-aiii-aiii …
’

All at once, a cry went up. One of the prowlgrins -tired and hungry and disorientated after so many hours of turning the wheel – had stumbled as it stepped off the treadmill, and collapsed. A gatekeeper stood over the fallen creature, cursing loudly and lashing out with his whip, causing it to yelp with pain.

All round it, the other prowlgrins skittered about nervously, their eyes rolling in their great heads as they reared up and pawed at the air. The stable-hands gripped their reins and tried their best to calm them down and lead them away.

‘I'll show you, you lazy, stinking, good-for-nothing beast!’ shouted the gatekeeper, raising his whip high above his head.

Fenviel strode up to the treadmill, his riding crop clutched in a white-knuckled fist. How dare these vicious, violent oafs treat
any
living creature in such a way. But especially his beloved prowlgrins! It was barbaric. Inexcusable. Intolerable …

‘Stand back,’ he barked.

The gatekeeper spun round to confront the insolent stable-hand who had had the nerve to challenge him. Fenviel Vendix slowly removed his goggles and fixed the red-faced gatekeeper with an unblinking stare.

‘Stand back,’ he repeated.

The gatekeeper lowered his whip and, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned away. ‘Stupid prowlgrins is one thing,’ he muttered as he joined his comrades, ‘but crazy academics is another!’

Fenviel bent down and tenderly stroked the prowl-grin's head. But it was too late. The prowlgrin's breath was coming in short, shuddering gasps and, as the former hall master continued to stroke it, the eyes glazed over and it quietly died.

Fenviel closed his eyes and lowered his head. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and, looking up, saw Tuggel, the gnokgoblin groom from the Hall of Grey Cloud, looking down at him, his face full of concern.

‘You should be careful, Hall Master,’ Tuggel whispered urgently. ‘If the gatekeepers report back to Hax Vostillix that you've been interfering …’

Fenviel rose to his feet and snapped his riding crop in two, as he barked a single word. ‘Hax!’

iv
The Hall Master of High Cloud

The only remaining hall master of the Lower Halls stared at the bowl of tilder stew in front him. The spoon in his bony fingers shook so badly that its contents dripped down onto his robes.

‘Sky blast it!’ he grunted, dropping the spoon back into the bowl, seizing his napkin and dabbing at the brown stain.

A moment later, he frowned. His hand froze. He continued to stare down at his front.

‘Marsh-gems,’ he murmured. ‘These purple robes were once decorated with marsh-gems …’

It seemed, for a moment, like the final straw. Someone – a hall servant or squire, probably – had painstakingly picked the precious marsh-gems from his robe; every last one of them! Did they really hate him so much? Hax Vostillix, Hall Master of High Cloud and sole head of the Knights Academy, thought gloomily.

He reached for his spoon again, but stayed his hand. He wasn't hungry. Abandoning all thought of eating the stew, he returned the full bowl to the silver tray and pushed the whole lot away. Like the day before, and the day before that, he simply had no appetite.

How could he eat at a time like this, anyway? he asked himself, when the sky yielded only snow and ice, and the sacred floating rock grew more buoyant with every blizzard.

He turned towards the window, his dark-ringed eyes searching the sky for a sign, however small, that the weather was changing. But, he noted with a sinking heart, the blizzard was still raging outside – and there wasn't even the faintest whiff of sourmist in the air. If there had been, he would have ordered a voyage at once – for all the good it would do. Yet he had no other choice.

He shook his head bleakly.

‘Why is this happening to me, a faithful sky-scholar?’ he groaned. ‘Haven't I done enough? I've banished earth-scholarship. I've purified the Knights Academy.’ He picked idly at the threads on his robes. ‘I've taken the purge into the schools and academies of Sanctaphrax, rooting out earth-scholarship wherever it occurs … Yet still the sky shows its displeasure …’

Seeds of doubt, already sown, had begun to swell and grow. Could he have been wrong with the predictions about the imminent arrival of a Great Storm after all?

He clenched a fist and slammed it down on the table top, making the dishes jump and upsetting a goblet of sapwine.

No! he thought. I cannot think like that, not after sending all those brave knights academic off into the storm-racked skies. I must not! I am Hax Vostillix, the greatest sky-scholar there has ever been!

But he'd seen the way the two Most High Academes looked at him.
And
the others; the professors, the squires, the academics-at-arms … They'd all lost confidence in him.

He shook his head again as memories came flooding back.

It had all been so different that afternoon in the great Lecture Dome. They'd listened to him then as, with Daxiel Xaxis and the gatekeepers by his side, he'd purged the Lower Halls of those scoundrels and infidels posing as loyal sky-scholars. Why, even Screedius Tollinix had come round to his way of thinking in the end, and set off to serve Sanctaphrax …

What
had
happened to the brave young knight? he wondered.

No, things had certainly changed. Back then, they'd looked up to him. Now they despised him. Hated him. He looked down at his purple robes, picked clean of their marsh-gems. Yes, they hated him all right, he thought bitterly. If it wasn't for Daxiel Xaxis and his army of gatekeepers, the academics would surely have risen up and thrown him out of Sanctaphrax long before now. Yet he had to be careful, Hax told himself; make sure Daxiel Xaxis himself didn't get too big for his boots.

‘After all, we don't want the servant becoming the master, do we?’ he murmured.

He looked back down at his desk. It was strewn with sky charts, weather predictions, mist readings and …

He frowned. ‘What's that?’ he wondered.

There on his silver tray, nestling next to the jug of sap-wine, was a small gold bowl with sugared delberry bonbons in it.

Someone had taken the time to coat the little del-berries in a fine dusting of exquisite icing and present them in a small gold bowl for his pleasure. Clearly, not everyone hated him, Hax thought, with a little smile.

He picked one up with a thumb and forefinger and turned it in the light. The sugar glittered. Hax licked his lips. A hall master eating bonbons! He really shouldn't – but one couldn't possibly hurt.

He popped it in his mouth and closed his eyes. The bonbon slowly melted on his tongue. It tasted so sweet …

•CHAPTER EIGHTEEN•
THE BARKSCROLLS

D
ear Maris
,

I'm pleased you enjoyed my last letter. I'm afraid this one will be much shorter. I'm giving it to Vilnix Pompolnius to deliver to you because, despite my initial impressions, he has turned out to be a trustworthy comrade and a loyal companion. You know, I really misjudged him, and am only sorry to have passed on my silly misgivings to you.

Which brings me to my big news! Both Vilnix and I are to be elevated to the Upper Halls! I shall be a knight's squire and Vilnix will be an apprentice high professor (which is no less than he deserves, considering all his hard work). Our Elevation Ceremony is in three days’ time, and I need to collect my sword miniature, buy some new robes, get my sword polished and sharpened - a hundred and one things.

Unfortunately, they all cost money, and I have already run through my father's allowance. What's more, my mentor, the Professor of Light, is turning out to be as mean
as everybody here says he is. Vilnix is so lucky to have the Professor of Darkness as his mentor!

I don't suppose you could lend me a small sum – say fifty gold pieces? After all, your father must have left you plenty. You could put the money in the copperwood urn I've concealed this barkscroll in, and give it to Vilnix in the market-place tomorrow.

I know you won't let me down,

Your friend,

Quintinius Verginix

Upper Hall Squire

Dear Quint,

Since when do you sign yourself ‘Quintinius Verginix’ when you write to me? It sounds so formal and odd! I do hope your elevation to the Upper Halls isn't going to make you too high and mighty!

I'm only teasing …

I do understand about the money, and how expensive it must be getting all the things you need for your Elevation Ceremony, but you're quite wrong about my having plenty. Heft is such a terrible old miser, and Dacia is just as bad. You should see the clothes they wear. All full of patches and holes, and the very latest in fashion – about fifty years ago!

Heft has taken everything Father left me and locked it away with all his other gold. It is so unfair, but whenever I protest, he just waves the will that Father wrote making him my guardian, and says it's his to look after until I'm ‘grown
up and sensible’. I can't wait to be grown up, but I hope I'm never ‘sensible’ if sensible means acting like Heft and Dacia and their boring friends.

Oh, which reminds me! Something is definitely going on, because the other evening, that Daxiel Xaxis person showed up in his white cape with the horrible badge on it, and had a long meeting with Heft. I couldn't hear much from my room (my door was locked again, just like most other evenings!) – just some shouting. But Delby – she's the tearful mobgnome chambermaid I told you about – had to bring a log for the fire, so she filled me in later on the details of their big argument.

She said that Daxiel wanted Heft to find even more Undertowners to join those horrid gatekeepers of his, because soon he'd need every one of them he could get! Heft just kept whining (he's very good at whining, by the way – when he's not bullying) and saying that he'd already spent too much of his hard-earned gold finding recruits for Daxiel, and that now he wanted ‘a return on his investment’. I suppose he means that stupid job controlling the log burners on the East and West Landings that he's always going on about.

Then, apparently, Daxiel said something really interesting. He said that Heft should be patient, find him some more recruits and wait for the moment when ‘under shall rule above’. But Heft kept on pestering him, and they ended up shouting at each other. Daxiel warned Heft not to come to the Knights Academy until he was sent for, and then he stormed off.

Don't you think that's strange?

I think you should tell the twin Most High Academes about this, as I'm pretty sure that Hax Vostillix is behind the whole thing. Is he as mad as they all say he is? I heard that they're planning to send another knight academic stormchasing again, even though hardly anyone believes that these blizzards we keep having are Great Storms, or anything close.

Oh, do be careful up there, Quint, won't you? Although it's not much, I have been saving the allowance Dacia gives me once a week – it's five gold pieces all together, and it took me ages to save it! Heft keeps all his gold in a great big lufwood chest at the foot of his bed – or so Delby says. And he opens it up and counts it every night before he goes to bed. He is such a miser!

Sorry I can't send more. You know I would if I could. I'll give it to Vilnix with this letter like you said – and good luck with the Elevation Ceremony.

Your friend,