Starborn Page 18

  “This one isn’t.”

  “It’s empty,” said Sam. “They’ll have run off. Too dangerous to stay here with the kravvins ready to attack at any time.”

  “It could be empty,” said Flaxfold.

  “It’s odd,” said Flaxfield. “The only house not burned out.”

  “A trap?” she asked.

  Sam followed them up the small path to the house. It was slippery with rain. He held back a little, taking stock. Sniffing, there was no trace of charred wood or thatch. Hard to see in the gloom, but the structure looked secure. The roof seemed unharmed. The door was closed, as though someone might be there.

  Flaxfold and Flaxfield split up and walked around the house in different directions, checking. Sam sighed, walked up to the front door, rapped hard on it with the end of his staff, kicked it and walked in.

  “Anyone here?” he called. “See? Empty. Let’s settle in.”

  A woman’s voice said, “Welcome.” And a grey figure emerged from the gloom.

  Sam backed away. The door slammed, keeping him inside. He swung his staff, banging it against the wall. The whole house lit up, light glowing from the floors, the ceiling, the walls. For a second it was too bright. He had overworked the spell and blinded himself.

  The door swung open again. The two old wizards ran in, cloaks flowing out, hair streaming. They shielded their eyes against the light. Flaxfield shouted out a spell and it dimmed, died, leaving the house darker than ever.

  “Are you all right?” asked Flaxfold.

  “Stand still,” Flaxfield commanded, facing the grey figure.

  Sam covered his face with his cloak. His eyes were still hurting from the spell. Blue and red lights fought in his eyes. He rubbed the soft, wet fabric over his face, dabbing his eyelids, murmuring cool words of soothing.

  “Flaxfield,” the woman said. “What’s all this fuss? I welcomed you. Now Sam’s lit up the night like a lightning storm. Someone will have seen. Someone will come.”

  “Dorwin?”

  “Of course. Who did you think?”

  Sam felt a hand on his head. He allowed it to loosen his grip on his cloak, let it fall, uncovering his face. He opened his eyes. The flashes of colour were growing less. He recognized the smith’s daughter, tall, slim and wrapped in a grey cloak.

  “He thought you were Ash,” said Flaxfield.

  “Ash?”

  “Don’t laugh. So did I, at first.”

  “I wasn’t laughing. I was surprised. But of course. It’s an easy mistake to make, I suppose. In the dark.”

  Flaxfold stood at the open front door, looking out.

  “Anything?” asked Flaxfield.

  “Not yet.”

  “Perhaps no one saw,” he said.

  Dorwin stood next to her. “Smith said this was an old place. He said that long ago it had been somewhere that people came for help and for safety. He said perhaps it wouldn’t have been attacked.”

  “It was a healer’s house,” said Flaxfield. “I remember. We may be lucky.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Sam. His eyes were recovering. Only a small blue light darted from side to side.

  “He was Finished,” said Flaxfold. “Long ago.”

  “But the house still has something of his skill,” said Flaxfield. “I think perhaps it’s invisible to Ash and her armies. Why are you here, Dorwin?”

  “Smith sent me.”

  “Why?”

  “To wait, of course.”

  Sam knew the answer before he even thought of the question, but he asked it anyway. “Who for?”

  “You,” she said.

  Sam blinked away the last of the coloured lights. “Obviously,” he said.

  Flaxfield clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad,” he said. “And where is Smith?”

  Dorwin told them.

  “Why? No one has ever left the Finished Mine.”

  “He needed the first iron,” she said. “To make something.”

  There was silence, until Flaxfield said, “And we know what magic came from his work before.”

  “And what mischief,” said Flaxfold.

  “What is he making?” asked Sam.

  The Castle of Boolat was even more dreadful

  than Tadpole had dreamed it could be.

  They arrived at night. Tamrin had urged them on, sleeping little, travelling fast, avoiding easy roads, obvious paths, keeping hidden.

  “It’s nothing like the guide says,” said Tadpole.

  “It’s a false guide,” said Tamrin. “They always are. All of them.”

  Tadpole had grown used to her sharp words and didn’t argue now. Or not much.

  “It was true when he wrote it,” he said. “Not false then.”

  “What good is that to us?”

  They sat on the fringe of a wood, on a slope overlooking the castle.

  “I thought castles were built on hills,” he said, “For protection. And to look out for enemies.”

  “It wasn’t a castle when it was built. It was a palace. And there was peace. There were no enemies to speak of.”

  “I wish there was peace now.”

  “Well, there isn’t.”

  Tadpole looked up at the night sky, still refusing him stars, still cloaked in cloud.

  “What are we going to do now we’re here? Are we going to attack it?”

  Tamrin turned her face to give him a scornful look. Tadpole was already looking at her, with a challenging stare.

  “All right,” she agreed. “We can’t do that. Not just the two of us.”

  “So why are we here? And what are we going to do?”

  Tamrin waited and watched before she answered. There was a light in the high window of the castle. The rest was in darkness behind grey walls. After a while, when their eyes had adapted to the gloom, Tamrin raised a finger and pointed. “See that?”

  “What?”

  “Look at the base of the walls. Just in one place.”

  Tadpole half-closed his eyes, as though that would help. “Is something moving?” He had surprised himself with the speed he had grown used to night. “Something is moving,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Move your eyes along the wall to the corner. Look there.”

  Tadpole let his gaze scan the base of the wall to its ending. Creatures appeared now, half-hidden by the darkness, breaking free of the wall and scurrying round to the other side. Smaller than kravvins, about the same height as a roffle, but terrible to look at. Almost a spider, almost a beetle. Horrid with spikes and carried on thin, long legs.

  “Takkabakks,” said Tamrin. “Don’t go near them.”

  Tadpole ignored this unnecessary advice and pointed at the great gate of the castle. “Is that it?”

  “What?”

  “That gate. Is that where she was sealed in?”

  As he mentioned the seal Tamrin gave a startled, muffled cry and put her hand to her throat. The seal glowed and burned. She held it away from her neck and made a swift spell to hide it and make it cool.

  The damage was already done. As a single, many-membered thing the takkabakks hurled themselves towards them. They swarmed up the hill, guided by the seal.

  “Run,” said Tamrin. “Get away from me.”

  She pushed Tadpole on the back and sent him spinning away. She turned, ran diagonally down the slope, drawing the takkabakks away from him. Tadpole plunged into the undergrowth. Briars scratched his arms, his face. Tangled roots tripped him. He stumbled on, ever deeper into the wood, losing his sense of direction, flailing at branches. He pushed through a clump of hawthorn and found he had circled round and broken free of the trees. The ground sloped down to the castle. To his left, far away, Tamrin was running ahead of the takkabakks. To his right, very close, a small group of the creatures who had split off from the main body stood ready to pounce on him.

  “Waiting for me,” he breathed.

  The only way to escape was back into the forest, but they were close now and could catch up with h
im, or down the slope, hoping to outrun them.

  He twitched his shoulders to secure his pack and ran as fast as he could, down, towards the castle.

  The takkabakks, with a sickening, rattling glee, darted after him. They were lethally fast. He would never outrun them. As he approached the castle the great gates opened, to receive him. The takkabakks weren’t chasing him to kill him. They were driving him, herding him.

  Tadpole swerved to his left, away from the gate. He ran alongside the wall. The takkabakks were gaining on him. He stumbled, put out his hand against the stone wall to steady himself, and pushed open a roffle door.

  Without thinking, he put his shoulder to it and slipped through. He ran a little way, stopped and waited.

  The takkabakks rattled and hissed. They scratched at the walls. He tensed himself, ready to run again. The scratching died away. They couldn’t find the door. He was, for the moment, safe.

  Slipping his pack from his shoulders he sat on it, breathing deeply, trying to recover himself.

  “I’ll look out later,” he said. “When they’ve gone. And escape.”

  Something like a damp piece of lace brushed against his cheek, and whispered, “There’s no escape from Boolat.”

  The takkabakks were gaining on Tamrin

  and would soon catch her up. They clicked and hissed. Their swift legs were sharp on the grass. Longer than Tamrin’s, faster. They scuttled ever closer.

  Tamrin stumbled and lost ground. She looked over her shoulder. Too late. In a last moment of desperation she flung her arms wide and called out a fire spell, to make a circle of flames around her.

  The sky cracked open, lightning slashed across the cloud. Instead of fire, the ground beneath her feet shifted, split and fell.

  “Boolat,” she whispered.

  The wild magic had turned her own into a trap. She was in a wide, round pit, twice her own height. Takkabakks crowded the edge, gazing down, clacking and hissing. She braced herself against the moment when they would swarm over, dropping on to her and stabbing.

  She gripped her staff, pointing it upwards to impale the first monster that jumped.

  Another crack of thunder. Another bright flash of light. The takkabakks screamed and hissed. One fell over the edge and Tamrin readied her staff to spear it. It turned in the air, landing on its back, legs twitching. Tamrin flicked it aside, ignoring the rancid slime that spurted out. She looked up, ready to spike the next.

  There wasn’t a next. No sign of them. Only the sound of clacks and screams. Only the boom of thunder. She waited. She couldn’t wait. She clambered up the ragged sides of the pit and peered over the edge, ready to drop back down.

  Close by, the bodies of dead takkabakks. Further off, the rest of the cohort, scampering off. Overhead, swooping and killing, Starback.

  Tamrin scrambled out and stood to watch the dragon destroy the takkabakks. He swooped and rose again, only to swoop once more. Over and over, frying them in his breath, scattering them with his wings, tearing them with his talons. Until every last one was dead.

  “Oh, Starback,” she breathed. “Where are you?”

  The dragon circled higher and higher.

  “They’re all dead,” she said. “No more. It’s all right.”

  Starback straightened, dipped, circled and descended. Tamrin felt the night air beat against her face. The wings holding Starback just above her.

  “Come down,” she said. “You’re buffeting me.”

  He swerved and settled, folded his great wings and looked into her face.

  “So angry,” she said. “You look so angry. Different.”

  She put out her hand to touch him. He flinched.

  Tamrin stepped back.

  They stared at each other.

  “I was you,” she said. “Once. Remember?”

  Starback made no sign of understanding.

  All around them, the bodies of the takkabakks. Far off, just in sight, the vast, vicious bulk of Boolat, hunched in the darkness.

  “What happened?” she asked. “How did I lose you?”

  She reached out her hand again. Starback permitted her to touch his neck. She stroked her fingers against his scales, remembering.

  Lights appeared in the gateway of Boolat. The thud of wood on iron. The ignorant army of kravvins poured out.

  Tamrin turned to run. Starback nudged his head against her back. She stopped, turned. He dipped his head and waited.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  The kravvins clashed nearer.

  Starback waited.

  Tamrin climbed on to his neck, put her arms around him and held as tight as she could.

  She recalled the suddenness of the leap into the air, the swiftness of the rise, the gasping fear when the ground swirled round and down. They were high in the sky before the kravvins were twenty paces from the gate, still a quarter of a mile from where Tamrin had fallen into the pit. The blank faces never even saw them rise.

  Tamrin pushed her face against the scales and closed her eyes. The night air rushed past them, catching her breath, but it wasn’t that which made the tears flow. She rubbed her face against Starback’s neck. The night air dried it, leaving it sore and red.

  Once, she had flown here in her own strength. Once, she had breathed fire, swallowed smoke. Once, she had rejoiced in the currents and clouds. Now she was a passenger.

  She loosened her grip on Starback. They were far from Boolat now and she risked a spell. She sat up, clutched her staff and tapped the dragon’s head, making a charm to keep her from falling, however he swooped and dived.

  Starback turned and looked over his shoulder. The mouth was still fierce, but the eyes shone with pleasure.

  “Still friends, anyway,” said Tam. The rushing air grabbed her words and turned them to tiny comets, falling to earth.

  Over scarred landscape of ruined fields, damaged houses and barns. Across rivers, dull against the cloudy sky. Starback began to descend. He spread his wings wide, circled round and round, ever lower, towards the broken tooth of a crumbling stone barn.

  Tamrin snatched a deep breath and waited for the landing. Soft, easy, the dragon’s feet finding the wet earth, taking the jolt. Tamrin sat, silent, slow to leave the dragon. He wriggled and she sniffed.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m going.”

  She slid off, her cloak billowing up, her staff steadying her. She stood a while, getting her land legs back.

  “Where have you brought me?”

  “To us,” said a voice. “And about time, too.”

  They walked towards her, out of the barn,

  Jackbones and December, Cabbage following on.

  “We thought we’d lost you,” said December.

  “No. I’m all right. What happened to you?”

  “Where’s Tadpole?” asked Jackbones.

  Cabbage stood next to Starback. Tamrin studied them. They looked at ease together, the dragon and the old wizard. Part of a different time.

  “Come on,” said December. “There’s clean straw in the barn. A warm bed for the night.”

  “What happened to him?” Jackbones asked again.

  “I’ll tell you from the beginning,” said Tamrin. “When we’re inside.”

  The barn had no roof. Some of the old timbers remained, and by dragging straw to the walls they had made sheltered beds. Cabbage set about getting more for Tamrin while she told her story.

  “Takkabakks?” said December.

  “Swarms. And so fast,” she said.

  “And you’re sure Tadpole escaped?” asked Jackbones.

  Cabbage stood still, arms full of straw, waiting for her answer.

  “I didn’t see. But he was running into the woods. There are roffle holes all over there. Easy for him to dive into one. Get safe.”

  “If he thought about it in time,” said Jackbones.

  “And if he was willing to abandon you,” said Cabbage. “Roffles are very loyal, you know.”

  “I didn’t just leave
him,” said Tam. “I saved him. Remember?”

  “You did,” said Jackbones.

  “So stop looking at me as though I was a murderer, or as though I just left him to look after himself. I didn’t.”

  December squeezed Tam’s hand. “You didn’t. Of course not. He’s probably home and happy now. Glad to have escaped.”

  Cabbage plumped up the straw for Tamrin’s bed. “He won’t be,” he said. “He’ll be around, somewhere.”

  “Then perhaps he’ll pop out of a roffle hole here, soon,” said Jackbones. “Whatever. We can’t go looking for him now. And we need some sleep.”

  He folded himself into his cloak and lay on the straw bed.

  The others followed. Tamrin was the last to fall asleep. Lying on her back, looking up into the skies. Dim moonlight struggled to break through. No stars. She listened out for kravvins at first, until the broad shadow of a dragon drifted overhead and she understood that there was no need for a lookout. Her eyes closed. The straw was not as soft or as comfortable as she had hoped. Better than nothing. And she slept.

  Last asleep and last awake. The sun was just breaking the horizon. Early start. Cabbage had a fire going. December had caught a rabbit. Jackbones found a stream and ferried water up to them in a bucket he’d rescued from the barn.

  “There were plenty of rats to choose from,” said December, “but I thought a rabbit would be better.”

  Tamrin stomped away, pretending to ease the stiffness in her legs but fooling nobody.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  Jackbones slopped water from the side of the bucket and laughed, a crackly laugh. “Always plans, these days,” he said. “You used to just daydream around the college, eh?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Jackbones knows everything,” said Cabbage. “Don’t ask.”

  The plan revealed itself when they had eaten and drunk, and washed themselves in the stream. They set off, back towards the mines, in the direction of Boolat. Starback swooped dangerously ahead of them, making them jump back.

  “Hey, careful,” called Jackbones.

  Another start. Another swoop. Starback rose and hovered and turned and flew a little way. He paused, circled and flew again in the same direction.