I swung my sword at her hastily, losing my balance and slipping forward onto my knees on the damp grass. For a second I thought my time had come, but now it was the daemon’s turn to fall: a blade was deeply embedded in her left eye and blood ran down her cheek. After her first throw, Grimalkin already had another blade at the ready. She turned again, gripping the Spook’s legs, and set off down the hill. I quickly got to my feet and followed in her wake.
When I had fled with Judd, nothing had stood in our way; on this occasion daemons were waiting for us in the thick fog. We broke through the first line, Grimalkin cutting down a shadowy figure as we did so. I glimpsed something huge to my right, and slashed at it, feeling a momentary shock as my blade made contact. The creature fell back, giving a cry of pain – another bear possessed by a moroi.
Then we were in serious trouble. Our enemies were all around, and claws and teeth lunged for us out of the mist. There were both strigoii and strigoica; the heavy fog conjured by dark magic was allowing the former to attack even during daylight hours.
‘My back!’ Grimalkin shouted. ‘Remember what I said. Guard my back and I’ll do the rest!’
She began to fight in earnest, all fluidity and grace, each blow spilling the blood of our enemies. But guarding her back proved difficult because she never remained facing in one direction for long. At first I slashed wildly with my sword, struggling to keep my footing on the slippery hillside while keeping our attackers at bay. Just in time, I drew the dagger and was able to stab a fanged strigoi who had ducked beneath the Destiny Blade. The creature put up its right hand to shield its face. That cost it three of its fingers. Not for nothing was the dagger named Bone Cutter.
Even though she was carrying the Spook across her shoulders, which meant that she could fight with only one blade at a time, Grimalkin was constantly whirling and spinning round, each blow bringing forth a cry of pain. I continued to try and shield her back, using both blades. At one point I attempted to slow time, but so fast and furious was the fight that I was unable to summon the necessary concentration.
Finally I was no longer able to keep up with Grimalkin: I was hard pressed on all sides, struggling to keep my enemies at bay. My arms grew heavy; I was exhausted. But then Grimalkin was at my side again. ‘That way!’ she ordered. ‘Follow me!’
The witch assassin had cut an escape route through those who stood in our way, and soon we were running down the hill, our enemies left somewhere behind us in the mist.
We encountered no more dark entities, and somehow we managed to cross the ford. But I knew that we were no longer safe on this side of the river. The pact was over.
The streets were empty and utterly silent as we climbed the slope of the western moors. Had the inhabitants locked and barred their doors even though it was still daylight? Or had they fled westwards?
‘Put me down,’ the Spook cried feebly. ‘I don’t want to be a burden. Let me walk.’
Grimalkin didn’t bother to reply; simply increased her pace. As we left the houses behind and followed the track up onto the moor, the fog began to thin and soon we emerged into bright sunshine. I glanced back, but the town and the river were still shrouded from our view. There was no sign of Alice and Judd. I was just starting to worry when they appeared in the far distance, walking alongside a cart.
When they drew closer, I saw Benson’s eyes widen with fear at the sight of Grimalkin. However, he had been paid well, and once the Spook had been carefully lifted up onto the cart, he urged his horses off at full tilt. Quickly Alice handed the leather sack to Grimalkin who hoisted it onto her shoulder. Then we ran after the cart.
We were retreating now, but it was only temporary. It was our duty to return to Todmorden to deal with the threat.
For the first half-hour Grimalkin, Alice, Judd and I sprinted beside the cart, alert for danger, but then Benson turned towards us.
‘It’ll kill the horses to keep up this pace!’ he shouted, shaking his head.
The beasts were sweating, and at a nod from Grimalkin he flicked the reins and slowed them to a trot. After dark we rested for a few hours, taking it in turn to keep watch. Soon we were moving again. The anticipated attack never came, and as the hours passed, Chipenden drew steadily closer.
Normally this would have quelled my anxiety, but the combined power of the Romanian entities could reach us even there. Nowhere was safe.
THE FIRST NIGHT back in Chipenden passed without incident, but we felt certain that our enemies would attack soon, so we remained vigilant. My master was having a difficult time of it – about an hour before dawn I heard him cry out in anguish.
As yet there were no beds, so we’d made the Spook as comfort able as possible on the kitchen floor. He was wrapped in blankets, lying on a pallet of straw to insulate him from the chill of the flags. I rushed over to find him groaning in his sleep. No doubt he was having a nightmare, reliving the horrors of his incarceration and the draining of his blood. I considered waking him, but after a few moments he quietened down and his breathing became steadier.
I found it difficult to get back to sleep. Soon after first light I went outside to stretch my legs and inspect the work on the house. The new roof was now up and the doors and windows had been replaced so at least we were sheltered from the elements.
Inside, much remained to be done. Upstairs, the bedrooms could not be used because the floorboards had either been burned away entirely or were clearly unsafe. This was the carpenter’s next job. However, he had already reconstructed the library floor, as that was high on my master’s list of priorities.
Later, when I went to check on the Spook again before breakfast, he was sitting with his back against the wall, facing towards the fireplace. On one side of him was half a bowl of chicken soup. On the other, close at hand, was his Bestiary.
Logs were burning in the grate and, although sparsely furnished, the kitchen was cheerful and warm; but my master’s face looked sad and anxious, and despite the fire, he was shivering.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ I asked.
‘Better than I was, lad,’ he told me, his voice weak and tremulous. ‘But I’ve not much appetite and I hardly managed a wink of shut-eye last night . . . When I did doze off, it was straight into the same terrible nightmare. I wonder if I’ll ever get a good night’s sleep again.’
‘At least you’re safe now,’ I told him. ‘I really thought you were dead.’