The lamia’s attack was reckless. By now the mage might already have cut Agnes’s throat. Of course, such feral creatures are a law unto themselves and she certainly did not share my regard for Agnes, who had just recently saved my life.
The lamia killed twice more before the group reached the cover of the trees. Losing the advantage of flight, Wynde headed back towards us and landed on the battlements.
‘Why didn’t you attack the mage?’ I demanded. ‘With him dead you might have been able to carry Agnes to safety.’
The lamia regarded me with her heavy-lidded eyes. There was blood on her lips and cruelty in her gaze. ‘The mage had a weapon – something I’ve never encountered before. He held a small rodent’s skull in his fist, and when he pointed it at me, my balance went awry and I almost plummeted to earth. I could not get near him without the risk of falling out of the sky.’
I nodded but said nothing. The damage was done. What it would cost Agnes Sowerbutts was impossible to say. I expected them to kill her anyway.
At dusk the screams began.
A witch should not fear her own death. It is just the setting of a sun and a promise of the darkness which is our true home.
THEY WERE TORTURING Agnes and there was nothing I could do to help. Thorne covered her ears and started to moan.
‘Poor Agnes!’ she exclaimed. ‘What has she done to deserve this?’
‘Nothing, child. But you don’t have to listen. Go down to the tunnels and relieve Slake of her guard duty. I will change places with you soon after dawn.’
I spent the remainder of the night watching from the battlements with the two lamia sisters, Wynde scratching her talons against the flags in frustration. Just after dawn the screaming stopped. Then they threw a body out from under the trees. It landed on the edge of the clearing. Even from this distance I could see that it was Agnes.
‘I’ll go and collect her,’ Wynde said.
‘Take care – it could be a trap!’ I warned her, simultaneously wishing that I could do something – anything rather than remain as a spectator. I itched to fight and avenge Agnes’s death. But it was very likely that our enemies would be waiting just within the trees. If the mage used his skull weapon, causing Wynde to fall, dozens of them could surround her within seconds.
But with her usual impetuousness, the lamia flew down from the battlements and snatched up the body. She soared back towards us and laid it gently at my feet.
Agnes was dead, her eyes wide-open and staring. Her clothes were in tatters and the torturers had left their marks on her poor aged body.
‘They haven’t taken her heart,’ Wynde said. ‘I could carry her to the dell. Is that what she would want?’
I didn’t know what Agnes wanted because we had never spoken of it. Hunting from Witch Dell as a dead witch was attractive to some. Others, such as Thorne, found it abhorrent and preferred to go directly to the dark. I wasn’t sure, but a decision had to be made so I opted for the dell. I hoped I’d done the right thing.
‘Yes, please carry her body there and bury it close to the centre. Make a shallow grave and cover it with leaves.’
With strong flaps of her wings, Wynde climbed above the tower in a slow spiral, then flew north towards Witch Dell, a dark speck against the grey sky, slowly diminishing into the distance. Within the hour she returned and told me that she had buried Agnes beside a large oak tree right at the heart of the dell.
I thanked her, then went down to the tunnels to take over from Thorne.
‘They killed Agnes,’ I told her gently. ‘At least she is now beyond anything that our enemies can do to her.’
Thorne did not speak. She simply nodded, but when she passed me to return to the tower, I saw that her eyes were full of tears.
Afterwards I spent a long day down there on watch. Time passed very slowly. At one point I ventured out as far as the small lake that had once been guarded by the wight. But of enemy incursions there was no sign. Perhaps they realized how easy it would be for us to defend the tower. We could kill a lot of them in a confined space such as this. And the kretch would be too big to fit into the tunnel.
However, we could not remain here under siege indefinitely. At some point soon we would have to break out of our confinement and carry the fight to our enemies.
Once again, on returning to the dungeons, I stood beneath the lamias’ gibbet and wondered about its purpose, resolving to ask one of them when a suitable moment presented itself.
Soon Slake came down to take my place and I climbed into the tower again. I had no appetite but ate a few slices of cold meat to help keep up my strength before going out onto the battlements once more.
A gibbous moon filled the clearing with silver light. Everything seemed quiet, but I sniffed a score more witches lurking in the trees, and the kretch was with them. Bowker, the mage, was there too, and soon he walked out into the clearing and looked up towards us. I noticed that he halted only six paces beyond the edge of the trees. He could easily regain their protection before Wynde reached him.
‘They said you were brave, Grimalkin! They said you were the greatest witch assassin who has ever lived!’ he called, his taunting voice echoing across the clearing. ‘But how can that be when you cower within those walls? You are a coward and dare not come forth to face one who is stronger than you. Behold! Here is your death!’
The kretch loped into the clearing like a giant wolf, jaws wide, its fur a dark shadow against the moonlit grass. It looked even bigger and more powerful than the last time I had faced it. It halted close to the moat and reared up so that it was balanced on its powerful hind legs. Then its left hand reached into a pouch on its shoulder and drew forth a long thin blade. It no longer had the appearance of a wolf: standing upright, with teeth gleaming and a blade in its hand, it looked daemonic, a creature from a nightmare. And then, to my astonishment, it spoke. I had not guessed that its malevolent creators had given it the power of speech.
‘Come and spar with me on the grass if you dare, Grimalkin!’ the beast shouted, its voice a deep rumbling growl. ‘Let us dance together blade against blade. Join me in the dance of death!’
‘One day I will kill you,’ I called down. ‘But this is not the time. I have other more important things to consider.’ I lifted up the leather sack. ‘Behold the head of your master! Each night we talk. Each night I teach him about pain. And because of your insolence his torment will increase threefold this night!’