He lost the battle, and let out a loud explosive sound. The sentry shouted something and, drawing his sword, began to run towards us. There were other shouts, and more enemy soldiers joined him. We got to our feet and began to sprint away. Our only hope was to lose our pursuers in the darkness.
Our escort had fled for their lives, so we ran too. For a few moments Alice was running just ahead of me, but then I passed the Spook, who was struggling with Cormac, the captive mage. I grabbed the man’s other shoulder, and together my master and I dragged him forward. But it was hopeless. When I glanced back, I could see flickering torches and hear the pounding of feet. They were catching us fast. The going underfoot was getting worse. The ground was uneven and I kept splashing through water. We were entering the bog.
No doubt there were safe paths through it, but we were scattered now, our guides somewhere ahead, and I feared we could blunder into dangerous ground that might suck us in. The greatest threat was now close on our heels and, acting simultaneously and instinctively, the Spook and I released the prisoner, pushing him to his knees, and spun, staffs at the ready, to face our attackers.
I remember wondering where Alice was: she was unarmed and couldn’t stand and fight, but neither could she afford to wander too far from the protection of the blood jar. Then I had to focus on the immediate threat. A bearded mage brandishing a sword in his right hand and a torch in his left ran straight at me, aiming a blow at my head, his mouth stretched wide to show his teeth; he looked like a wild animal.
Ignoring the sword, I jabbed the base of my staff towards his forehead. The blow struck home, its force aided by his forward momentum. He went down, the sword spinning out of his hand. But there were more armed men, and then they were all around us. For a few moments I stood back to back with my master. Again almost simultaneously we pressed the buttons on our staffs and used our retractable blades. Now it was kill or be killed. We fought desperately, whirling and jabbing, but then, under pressure from the attack, we became separated.
Threatened from every side and with nobody to guard my back, I was already starting to tire; the attack was relentless. I thought it was all over for me, but then I saw my chance. Three soldiers were pressing me hard, but only one carried a torch. I knocked it out of his hand and it fell, extinguishing itself on impact with the waterlogged ground, plunging us into darkness.
In the confusion, I made for what I thought was southeast towards the river Inny. The Spook had told us to meet up there if things went wrong. Well, they’d gone wrong all right, and I was increasingly worried about Alice. If she was too far from the blood jar, the Fiend would come for her.
Our attempt to escape with our hostage had been a disaster. We were scattered and on the run, and the mages had surely rescued him. Now they would go ahead with the ceremony. Dark times lay ahead for the Alliance.
At one point I paused and glanced back, listening intently. There were no signs of pursuit, but my eyes had adjusted to the dark now and I could see the distant campfires, no more than tiny pinpoints of light in the darkness. So I continued more cautiously, using my staff to test the depth of the water ahead. On more than one occasion it saved me from drowning or being sucked down into the bog. Even so, I was constantly tripping over big tussocks of marsh grass or plunging up to my knees in ice-cold stinking water.
My memory of Shey’s map gave me few clues as to how long the journey should take, and the going was difficult. I remembered that I needed to keep well north of the mountains in order to reach the river. Apart from that my knowledge of the terrain was vague, but I knew that somewhere on the southern edge of the hills was the Staigue ring fort. Some of the mages and their servants would still be there – it was a place to be avoided at all costs.
It was hard to judge the passage of time, but eventually the sky ahead started to grow lighter and I knew it wouldn’t be long before dawn. I’d hoped that would enable me to take my bearings from the mountains and find the river, but it wasn’t to be. Soon tendrils of mist were snaking towards me, and I quickly became enveloped in a dense fog. The air was still, and apart from the sound of my own breathing and my boots squelching through the bog, all was silent.
Later, in the early dawn light, I saw a cottage looming up before me through the mist. A tall thin man carrying a spade over his shoulder came out of the door. He was wearing a jacket with a hood, not unlike my own, but no hair was visible on his forehead. From a distance, he looked like a turf-cutter setting off for a hard day’s work, eager to make the best of the winter’s short daylight hours. He came across to intercept me and gave me a broad smile. It was then that I noticed how pale his narrow face was. It was not the face of someone who worked outdoors.
‘You look lost, boy. Where are you heading?’ he demanded, his voice as harsh as the croak of an old bullfrog. The skin was stretched tight across his cheekbones; from close up, it looked a little yellow, as though he’d recently been ill. His eyes were deep-set, as if they were sinking into his skull, droopy eyelids and folds of skin closing over them.
‘I’m making for the river,’ I told him. ‘I’m supposed to meet some friends there.’
‘You’re slightly off track – you should be heading that way,’ he said, pointing in what seemed to be a more easterly direction. ‘Have you been walking all night?’
I nodded.
‘Well, in that case you’ll be cold and hungry. Mistress Scarabek will make you something to eat and let you warm yourself by the fire for a while,’ he said, indicating the front door of the cottage. ‘Knock quietly so as not to wake the young ’un, and ask her for some breakfast. Tell her that Thin Shaun sent you.’
The man’s appearance was odd, but I was in urgent need of food and shelter. I nodded my thanks, approached the cottage and rapped lightly on the door, trying to make as little noise as possible.
I heard the slip-slap of bare feet and the door opened a crack. It was dark inside, but I thought I could make out a single unblinking eye.
‘Thin Shaun sent me,’ I said, keeping my voice low so as not to wake the child. ‘He said you’d give me a little breakfast, please. If that’s not too much trouble …’
For what seemed like an age there was no response, but then the door opened silently and I saw a woman wearing a green woollen shawl. This must be Mistress Scarabek, I thought. She looked sad and, like Shaun, had very pale skin, with red-rimmed eyes that suggested she’d either been crying recently or had been up all night. The baby had probably kept her awake.