Starborn Page 23

  Tadpole liked bats. He knew they did no harm, yet he waved his arms to keep them away. He staggered back and banged into the wall, the impact making his pack boom like a drum.

  “Here’s magic,” said Smedge.

  He clapped his hands again, and the bats were tiny crows, with savage beaks and ripping claws. They circled Tadpole, dipping and cawing. This was different. They would have his eyes out if they could. He covered his face with his cloak.

  “That’s right,” said Smedge, raising his voice above the calling crows. “Hide away, while I deal with this one.”

  Tadpole heard another kick land on Khazib. He peered over the hem of his cloak. Smedge was preparing for another kick.

  “Stop,” said Tadpole. “All right. Stop. And get rid of these.”

  “Are you sure?” Smedge’s foot was still raised, ready for the kick.

  “Yes. Stop now.”

  Smedge clapped his hands. The crows flew up and melted back into the stone vault of the roof.

  “Don’t,” said Khazib. “Don’t show him the door. I’d rather die.”

  Tadpole hopped from one foot to another. “I have to. I can’t let him hurt you.”

  “If you show him, they’ll hurt many more.”

  Tadpole leaned against the wall and groaned.

  “Now,” said Smedge. “Come with me, before you change your mind.” He held out his hand.

  Tadpole moved away from the wall towards Smedge when a dark shape appeared in the doorway. A kravvin. It looked straight at Tadpole.

  “Kill.”

  “No,” said Smedge. “Leave them.”

  “Eat.”

  “What do you want?” asked Smedge.

  The kravvin paused. Its mouth struggled with an unfamiliar word.

  “Durgon.”

  “What?”

  “Dargon.”

  “Dragon?”

  “Dragon. Come. Ash. Dragon.”

  Smedge gave Tadpole a reluctant look. “I’ll deal with you later,” he said.

  He pushed his open palm towards Tadpole. The roffle staggered back, slipped and fell against the wall. Chains cut into his wrists and ankles.

  “Ow.”

  “Too tight?” asked Smedge.

  “Yes. They hurt.”

  “Good.”

  He pushed the kravvin aside and ran off. The kravvin hesitated in the doorway, looking at Tadpole.

  “Eat.”

  Tadpole huddled against the wall.

  The kravvin turned and left.

  The memmont first,

  then Sam and Tamrin. The others had caught up with Jackbones by the time he broke clear of the woods. They ran into the open field sloping down to the castle and looked up.

  Starback was circling ahead. Over the ramparts. High, and huge. Blue and green wings knifing the sunlight.

  Kravvins and takkabakks surged through the great gates. Sam tensed himself for fight. Jackbones hissed and started to run towards them. Flaxfold grabbed his arm and drew him back.

  “Wait,” she said.

  The red-black beetles formed a circle round the castle.

  “Do they know we’re here?” asked Tamrin.

  Flaxfold lifted a hand and pointed to the jagged walls. Ash looked back at them.

  “They know,” she said.

  “Why aren’t they coming to us?” asked Sam.

  Starback circled the skies.

  “Smedge is with her,” said Tamrin. “Look.”

  Smedge, black-suited, smiling, walked along the ramparts and came to stand next to Ash.

  “They’re alike,” said Tamrin. “I never saw that before.”

  “He’s a shape-shifter,” said December.

  “Yes, but under the shape, right in the centre of him, he’s like Ash.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Sam. “Why aren’t they doing anything? Why aren’t they attacking?”

  Starback continued to fly overhead. Sam reached out to him. He tried to flip his awareness to be Starback, to fly above Boolat. To look down on Ash and Smedge. To feel the sky beneath and around him.

  Nothing.

  His feet were firm on the earth.

  “She’s afraid,” said Flaxfield.

  “What?” Sam looked up at his old master.

  Flaxfield smiled down at him. Sam drew closer, letting his shoulder brush against Flaxfield’s cloak. He drew his breath in and enjoyed the scent of herbs and magic that Flaxfield always trailed after him — clouds of comfort.

  “That feeling you’ve got now, Sam,” said the old wizard. “The tumbling in your insides. The soft edges round your vision. The sense of the ground moving slightly beneath you, confusing your balance.”

  “How do you know?” asked Sam.

  “Is it true?”

  Sam nodded.

  “That’s how she feels,” said Flaxfield. “She’s waited for this moment. Worked for it. Planned and plotted it. Prepared for it and wanted it. And now that it’s here, she’s afraid.”

  They all looked at Ash and knew that Flaxfield was right.

  “Her beetles are gathered around her for strength and protection,” he said. “Now that the moment’s here, she’s afraid of it. That works to our advantage.”

  Flaxfold stood the other side of Sam and Tamrin. “It would,” she said. “If magic were normal. But it isn’t, don’t forget. Not at Boolat.”

  The memmont broke free from the group and ran down the hill. Tamrin called it back.

  “Leave it,” said Cabbage. “It knows what it’s doing.”

  “We’re more than Ash,” said Sam. “More magic. More strength. More power.”

  “We’ll see,” said Flaxfold.

  “Flaxfield,” said Sam. “Do you feel that way? The way you just said?”

  Flaxfield smiled down at him and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t. Not today. Not now.”

  “So we’ll beat her?” Sam’s face relaxed into a smile.

  “I don’t know,” said Flaxfield. “I really don’t know.”

  “You’ll soon find out,” said Dorwin. “Here they come.”

  The kravvins and the takkabakks turned their backs to the castle and, as a single army, intermingled, scurried up the hill towards them. Ash raised her arms and laughed.

  “Spread out,” said Flaxfold. “Stand your ground.”

  Starback, swift as a hawk, ceased his circling and dived at the beetles. When he roared fire over them they popped and sizzled. He swooped so low that he gouged a path through them, skimming the ground, crushing and slicing them in his path. Rising up, he banked, swooped and dived again. More fire. More ripping them apart.

  They didn’t falter for an instant. His attacks were deadly and damaging, but they were too little to overwhelm the red-black army of Ash’s troops. There were too many of them. For every one he killed ten more poured out of the gates to join the others.

  “They’re getting closer,” shouted Flaxfield. “No one do anything until I say.”

  Starback attacked the vanguard, scything down the leaders, slowing their advance. Still they came on. Still they gained ground. When they were twenty feet away Flaxfield flung his staff high in the air. “Now,” he called.

  The staff lit up.

  Sam turned his face away, blinded for a moment by the glare. The staff became light itself, the essence of light. Blinding. Burning. It showered down on the kravvins and the takkabakks. For a second, they halted.

  Sam’s eyes recovered. He saw the army stall and stagger. He waited for them to pop and scorch. He relaxed his grip on his staff and began to enjoy the protection of Flaxfield’s power.

  The takkabakks twitched and recovered. They ran on. The kravvins clattered and cried out.

  “Kill.”

  “Eat.”

  “Kill.”

  The staff died, paused, and fell useless to the ground.

  The memmont had reached the castle walls and was hunting alongside the stones.

  Sam felt a sea of
pain wash over him. He dropped to his knees, gasping. He looked up for help. The other wizards had also fallen. To their knees. On their sides. They writhed in pain. Flaxfield alone still stood, old, frail, staring at Ash.

  “Boolat magic,” he said.

  Flaxfold struggled to her feet and stood next to him. “It reflects on the user,” she said. “Things fall apart.”

  Sam reached out a hand found Tamrin’s. He squeezed it.

  The kravvins and the takkabakks were almost upon them.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  They held tight, waiting for the end.

  Tadpole’s wrists hurt under the iron grip of the manacles. He watched Khazib. And he watched the door. And he gripped his roffle pack. And he wrapped himself in his cloak. And he tucked the hawthorn staff at the back of his bent knees.

  Khazib’s eyes never moved. He stared ahead, ignoring Tadpole.

  “What’s happening?” the roffle asked, at last.

  “Don’t ask. Don’t wonder. Just take it when it arrives.”

  “Take it?”

  “Take it. Fight it,” said Khazib. “You will know when it happens.”

  Tadpole fell back into silence.

  Nothing moved.

  No sound.

  No sign.

  “What are you doing back here?” asked Khazib.

  “Eh?” said Tadpole. The damaged wizard had started to fall apart at last. He had forgotten.

  “Not you,” said Khazib, still not looking around.

  Tadpole turned his head to the left.

  Mattie was half-out of the entrance to the hidden passage. He grinned at Tadpole, stepped right out and waved the shield at him. Tadpole was so pleased to see him that he forgot his chains and tried to stand up. He called out in pain and fell back.

  As though summoned by the shout, a kravvin appeared in the open doorway.

  Tadpole edged back, pressing against the wall.

  Another kravvin.

  They stared at him with smooth, blank faces.

  “Kill.”

  “Eat.”

  “Stab.”

  “Leave us alone,” Tadpole shouted. “Smedge said to leave us alone.”

  The first kravvin took a step inside.

  “Kill.”

  The kravvins halted.

  Sam stared up into the smooth, blank faces. “Something’s holding them back,” he said, squeezing Tamrin’s hand.

  She stared up at the kravvins.

  The army had surrounded the wizards. Sam and Tamrin had their circle of attackers; the others, singly and in pairs, had theirs. Like the rings that raindrops make on still water, the army formed itself into a pattern of circles, with wizards at the centre of each.

  “Kill.”

  “Stab.”

  “Kill.”

  “Eat.”

  The kravvins, held back as they were, still barked out their longing for death.

  Jackbones was trying his hardest to make them kill him. He flung himself against the wall of red-black carapaces that held him close. The kravvins trembled with a passion for attack. Sam thought to make a calming spell, to subdue Jackbones, to stop him from hurting himself. He covered his face with his hands and conjured a cloud of patience for the old wizard.

  At least, that’s what he tried. Nothing happened. Not even a trickle of magic.

  “Tam?”

  “What?”

  “Make a spell for me.”

  “What?”

  “Anything. A spring of water. A cloud overhead. Anything you like.”

  He waited.

  Tamrin said nothing.

  “Well?” said Sam.

  She made no reply. Which was a reply. Sam uncovered his face and looked up.

  Smedge had left the ramparts and was strolling through the host of beetles. Takkabakks clattered as he brushed past them. The kravvins tossed sharp shouts of killing and death. Smedge inspected the groups, one by one, arriving at last at Sam and Tamrin.

  He looked down at them.

  “You came here at last,” he said. “You have no idea how pleased I am to see you.”

  He poked the toe of his boot against Sam. “You and I have some matters to settle,” he said.

  Sam started to answer, but Smedge sealed his voice with a sudden spell, and cast a net of magic over him. He turned his attention to Tamrin.

  “But you,” he said. “You’ve been such a trouble to me.” He kicked her. “Such a nuisance.” He kicked her again. “With your hiding and your secrets.” Kick. “And your looking down on me.” Kick. “Your nose in the air.” Kick. “Your clever magic. Your cheek. Your laughing behind my back.” He kicked and kicked, lost to himself in his revenge. Tamrin made no move. She didn’t cry out. She didn’t resist. Sam felt that she had found a way to ignore the kicks, to be somewhere else.

  When he saw that Tamrin wasn’t showing any pain, Smedge recovered himself. He stopped, panting from the effort. Tamrin turned her head and looked up at him. She smiled. It filled Smedge with a new fury. He raised his foot. Sam, still silent and netted, struggled to move to attack him.

  The foot never kicked. Smedge hesitated. Listened. He lost the edges of his shape for a second. With a sly, startled look he stepped back.

  “We’re wanted in the castle,” he said. “Where there will be so much time to deal with you.”

  He walked away.

  Sam looked up at the castle walls. Ash, her face carved with rage, summoned them.

  The kravvins moved their captives down the hill, towards the great gate of Boolat, as dogs herd sheep.

  “She wants the seal,” said Sam.

  “We have to stay out of there,” agreed Tamrin.

  The leather thong with the heavy seal hopped from neck to neck. First Tamrin, then Sam. Then back again, and back, and again.

  “If she gets the seal, then it’s all over,” said Sam.

  “For ever,” said Tamrin.

  The kravvins bumped against them and sent them staggering down the slope, ever closer to Boolat.

  And to Ash.

  The kravvins halted in the doorway.

  Tadpole hid as much of himself in the cloak as he could, only his eyes peeping out.

  Mattie crouched next to him and rested his hand on Tadpole’s shoulder. He kept to the roffle’s left, ready at any moment to slip out through the hidden door.

  “What are we going to do?” he whispered.

  The kravvins struggled to come closer.

  “I don’t think they can get us,” said Tadpole. “I think Smedge put a spell on the door to stop them.”

  “It looks like—” said Mattie. He stopped, as the walls boomed and shook.

  “What?” asked Tadpole.

  Another boom, like a great bell, muffled, shook the room. The walls shook. Mortar dribbled from the joints.

  The kravvins became excited.

  “Kill.”

  “Stab.”

  “Kill.”

  Boom.

  Tadpole hugged the cloak right over the top of his head. The noise was even louder in this personal darkness. He looked out again.

  Boom.

  The wall split open and a black, shiny face peered through the fissure.

  “They’re coming through the walls,” he shouted. “Khazib. Help. They’re not using the door. They’re coming through the walls to eat us.”

  With a mightier crash than ever the wall fell apart and the gap filled with faces.

  Sam stared up

  into the pale blue of the sky.

  Starback, his attack defeated, flew off. A tiny figure, blue and green, disappearing from sight. Sam stumbled and fell. He grazed his knees on sharp stones. The blood comforted him. He wiped his cloak over his eyes and carried on, towards the great gates, stretched open ahead.

  “Sam,” said Tamrin.

  He leaned to hear her.

  “The memmont. It’s going inside.”

  Sam turned his head to follow her gaze. There was no memmont.

 
; “You missed it,” she said. “It just dodged in. Maybe a roffle door?”

  “Stab.”

  “Eat.”

  The kravvins hurried them on.

  Jackbones was still hurling himself against the kravvins, shouting at them, taunting them. December and Cabbage were together. As were Flaxfield and Flaxfold. Dorwin was ahead of them all. Refusing to be driven by the kravvins, she strode on, making them scurry to keep up with her. Upright and unafraid, she seemed in control, rather than a prisoner under escort.

  She was the first to pass through the gate. Jackbones was second. The kravvins had hurried him on. Sam and Tamrin were third.

  As they crossed the threshold, the seal settled itself around Tamrin’s neck. It glowed bright.

  “Look,” she said. She stopped. The kravvins bumped into their backs.

  She looked down at the ground just on the margin of the castle.

  An exact copy of the carving on the seal glowed back at her in response.

  “That’s it,” said Ash.

  And there she was.

  Right in front of them.

  She waved her hand for the kravvins to stand aside.

  The three of them looked down at the glowing imprint of the seal.

  Tamrin and Sam were one side of the barrier. Ash the other.

  They looked up, into each other’s eyes.

  “Welcome to Boolat,” she said, stepping aside. “You’ll never leave.”

  The kravvins pushed them forward, through the gate.

  And they were inside Boolat at last.

  The others followed.

  “Flaxfield,” said Ash. “My old friend. How much I’ve looked forward to seeing you again.”

  The kravvins melted away to the sides of the courtyard. The takkabakks stayed outside the gates, running up and down the hill, swarming.

  Smedge stood in the gateway, his arms folded, waiting for Ash’s orders.

  Sam made sure that he looked at everything as fast as he could. Walls, turrets, doors, windows. He needed to know where everything was. If there was to be a fight, then Ash had the advantage of knowing the ground. He needed to learn as much as he could.

  As he was looking, a door opened and a thin, shabby figure stepped out. His lined face and hooked nose were unmistakable. As was the sly way he walked towards them, smiling foolishly, hands in his pockets, jingling loose change.

  Frastfil. The principal of Canterstock College.