And then I smelled it.
It was the unmistakable stink of the kretch. It had already entered the town.
He who eats with the Devil needs a long spoon. He who walks with a witch should also keep his distance.
I CAME TO a halt and sniffed again. The creature was approaching from the south and was on our trail.
Thorne sniffed, then smiled. ‘The bandits are between us and our enemies. That should prove interesting! They’ll be wetting themselves!’
We ran on, and soon we heard a distant bestial roar, followed by screams and shouts of fear and anger. The drunken men would stand no chance against our enemies, but they might slow up the pursuit a little.
I glanced back at the boy; he was breathing heavily with the exertion of the run. Whatever his level of fitness, his confinement would have weakened him.
I halted again, handed the sack to Thorne and grabbed the boy. He flinched at my close proximity but did not resist as I hoisted him up onto my shoulder. We continued north at a slightly slower pace. My weakness had not returned, but my stamina was not as good as usual. I tried to put all doubts about my fitness to the back of my mind, but they nagged at me like rotting teeth. I pushed them away and tried to be optimistic. So far my bouts of weakness had not occurred at moments of immediate danger. Despite Agnes’s concerns that my body might be permanently damaged, I still hoped to make a full recovery.
By late morning we had slowed our pace to a fast walk. We seemed to have left the kretch behind, though without doubt it still followed us. Now a threat lay ahead. We were following a dirt track through a narrow treeless valley with low hills on either side. Twice I had glimpsed figures on the skyline. We were being watched.
I halted and eased Will back onto his feet. ‘How far to the castle now, boy?’ I asked.
‘Less than an hour. My father’s men already provide an escort,’ he said, gesturing up to the summits of the hills.
‘I’ve seen them already,’ I told him. ‘No doubt they will already have sent word that you are in the company of witches.’
Ten minutes later we saw dust on the horizon directly ahead. It was a man on horseback, galloping straight towards us. I sniffed concern but little fear.
‘It’s my father!’ Will exclaimed as the rider drew closer.
The knight wore light chain mail and was mounted on a dappled mare. He had no helmet but carried a sword at his hip and a shield slung across his shoulder. He halted his horse in front of us, barring our path, and drew his sword, pointing it right at us.
‘Stand back and allow my son to step forward!’ he commanded.
The knight was of middle age and, to my judgement, slightly overweight. He was no real threat to either me or Thorne. No doubt he had declined physically since the deeds of his younger days, but he still had courage. Not many men would dare face two witches with a mere sword.
‘He is free to do as he pleases,’ I answered. ‘Lower your sword!’
‘Do not attempt to command me, witch!’ he retorted.
‘But they freed me, Father, and helped me to escape from my captors,’ Will interceded. ‘They are pursued and I have offered them refuge in our home. I said that you would help them to fight the dangerous enemies that are on their tail. I gave my word.’
Anger flickered across the knight’s face. I sensed that he was a fair man, but he seemed less than pleased by what his son had agreed.
‘I thank you for freeing my son,’ he answered, lowering his sword and returning it to its scabbard. ‘For that I am in your debt. But this presents me with no small difficulty. I am a God-fearing man; within my castle is a chapel where the faithful worship every Sunday. The bishop himself visits twice a year to bless the altar and pray for the sick. My chaplain will be outraged.’
‘My word of honour, Father!’ Will cried, his voice becoming shrill. ‘I gave them my word!’
The knight nodded. ‘What’s done is done. I will ride on with my son. My home lies directly ahead. Its gates will open for you. I am Sir Gilbert Martin. How are you named?’
‘I am Grimalkin and this is Thorne,’ I told him. I saw fear in his face and was pleased to note that my notoriety had preceded me. I wanted him to be afraid because then he was more likely to be cooperative.
‘Go with your father, boy,’ I said, turning to Will. ‘We will join you soon.’
With that, the boy ran forward, and his father leaned down, grabbed his arm and helped him up onto the horse behind him. Then, without further acknowledgement, they galloped away into the distance.
‘Do you think he will let us into his castle?’ Thorne asked.
I shrugged. ‘I have my doubts. Soon we will know what honour is worth to such a man. But I think that what waits ahead is better than what follows behind.’
So we continued along the dusty track until the castle came into view; before it ran a narrow fast-flowing river. The fortification was modest, with just a single inner keep, but it did have a moat and a drawbridge, above which stood a small defensive tower with battlements. Surrounding the castle lay the cultivated fields of tenant farmers, dotted with small cottages, but there was no one working there. I noted that two of the dwellings were burned and blackened. The war had reached even this isolated backwater of the County.
We crossed the river at a ford, the water reaching up to our knees. Most witches find it impossible to cross running water. A witch assassin trains herself to do so using a combination of magic and physical endurance developed over years of training. So it can be done despite the extreme pain it causes. As we passed the first cottage, I peered through the window to confirm what I had suspected.
I was right: a half-eaten meal lay on the table. The occupants had left in a hurry. In times of danger the tenants, workers and servants of a knight such as this took refuge within the castle. But what did the knight consider the danger to be? Did he fear two witches or that which pursued them? Perhaps both? We would find out soon enough.
As we got nearer, I saw figures watching us from the ramparts. There was a clank and grinding of chains over a capstan and the drawbridge was slowly lowered, but when we stepped onto it, we saw that the portcullis and the sturdy iron-studded door beyond it were still closed against us.
Then a voice called down to us from above. It wasn’t the knight – just one of his minions. I sniffed and knew him for a blusterer – but one who could kill in cold blood and made his living by use of violence.