Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (9 page)

I thought about Lukrasta again. He had abducted Alice—Grimalkin had been unable to do anything to stop him. What had happened when he attempted the ritual with the
Doomdryte
? And more importantly, what might Alice be suffering now? I felt helpless. He could be anywhere, and even if I could find him, what could I hope to do against such a mage?

By late morning I was getting worried. I hadn't found the witches' tracks again; I was now crossing meadows and rough pasture rather than following lanes and tracks. This meant they could already have turned and headed for the coast. I estimated that I was presently about four miles from the sea, heading south, somewhere between Formby and Liverpool.

I came to a halt, filled with uncertainty. Then, very suddenly, there was a flash of light behind my eyes and a pressure on my forehead—and I knew precisely where they had gone. It was something very similar to the feeling I'd had back in my bedroom in Chipenden, the conviction that something was terribly wrong. Now I felt that certainty again. I knew where the witches were, the direction they had taken with the Fiend's head. This was surely the gift that Mam was talking about in the dream—the gift that a hunter needs: the ability to track a prey without signs, to pinpoint its location.

They hadn't gone west to the sea. They were continuing south and were passing east of Liverpool. Where could they be bound? In my mind's eye I tried to conjure up the maps I'd studied in the Spook's library, all of which had perished in the fire. Beyond Liverpool lay the County border, and beyond that, county after county—more than two hundred miles to the south coast.

That made no sense at all. They needed a port on the west coast to take a boat over the Irish Sea.

I began to run again. Wherever they were heading, I would eventually find out, because I could sense their location in my head. For a while they seemed to have changed direction and were heading east, but after a few hours they veered back toward the coast and continued south again.

I came to a wide river, which I guessed was the Mersey. As I forded it, I wondered how the witches had managed to cross over. One possibility was that they had witch dams in place; in Pendle, these were used to temporarily hold back running water. They would have had to make a detour east, to where the river was narrower. That explained their earlier change of direction. The delay meant that I was closing in on them once more.

After a while, in the far distance, I saw a walled city with a castle and the tower of a cathedral. We were beyond the County border now, and again drawing on my memories of the Spook's maps, I guessed that the city was Chester— though I'd never traveled this far south over land. If that were the case, it also had a river called the Dee.

Sure enough, I sensed my enemies heading east again, no doubt to use another witch dam. I simply forded the river, which meant that I was drawing near to my prey. Beyond the city, the witches turned directly west.

Soon I saw mountains ahead and glimpsed the sea in the distance to the north. We seemed to be following a coastal plain, a wide strip of flat land between the mountains and the water. And now I was on a track that eventually gave way to a wide road. It was muddy, so I slowed down and walked on the grass verge. The occasional cart trundled past, its wheels adding to the deep ruts, but nobody gave me a second glance.

Eventually I came to a large sign that had been nailed to two posts, proclaiming

CYMRU

I remembered that word from my master's maps. It was in another language, the name for the country that we called Wales. I was entering a foreign land, with its own customs, language and—no doubt—dangers.

I sensed that the witches were no longer moving; they had made camp for the night. I had two choices. Catch up with them now and attack under cover of darkness, or wait one more night and rest to gather my own strength.

I decided on a compromise.

I would rest for a while and then press on. I moved some distance from the road and settled down as best I could. I didn't have time to set traps for rabbits, so I finished off the rest of my cheese and drank some cold water from a stream. I intended to sleep for about three hours before setting off west again.

I awoke suddenly after just one hour, immediately fully alert. Although my physical senses told me nothing, I had a sudden flash of light inside my head and a pain above my nose.

Something was amiss. I sat up quickly and stared into the darkness. The moon was covered by clouds; I could see nothing and hear nothing. But danger was out there, and it was creeping toward me.

I came up onto my knees and reached for the sword that I had placed on the grass beside me before lying down to sleep. My gift was telling me
precisely
where my enemy was.

A witch was crawling stealthily toward me; she was now less than ten feet away.

No, not the Destiny Blade, I decided; a spook's primary weapon was more suited to dealing with this threat. So, leaving the hero sword where it was, I seized my staff, released the blade at its tip, ran straight toward the witch, and stabbed downward, piercing her back directly over her heart and pinning her to the ground. She had no time to scream, but I felt her body twitch beneath my staff, and she gave a little gasp.

I knew instantly that she was dead. The inner certainty I had about where she was simply ceased. It went out like a light. I wondered if it was the soul or life force I could detect? Whatever it was, I knew that I'd put an end to her.

I fumbled for my tinderbox and lit the candle stub I always carry. I looked at the dead witch, holding the light close to her face. I was almost certain that she was one of those who had fled after the attack the previous day. That made me wary. Perhaps the other one had come back too?

I listened but could hear only the sighing of the wind. My new ability to sense things at a distance no longer alerted me to any immediate danger. Those I pursued were some way ahead; I knew that they still had not broken camp. Nevertheless, I didn't want to take any chances, so I extinguished the candle, gathered my things together, and continued steadily west.

Just before dawn I sensed that the witches were moving again, but by now I knew that I was within a few miles of them. They were still out of sight, but my objective was to get close without being detected and then, once night fell, move in quickly. My new ability seemed to be refining itself and getting stronger as I used it. I felt certain that even in the dark I would be able to go straight to the leather sack containing the Fiend's head, retrieve it quickly—fighting only if necessary—and then make my escape.

My only fear was the sea to the north, which was quite close now. At times I spotted big ships, their sails billowing in the wind. The danger was that the witches would rendezvous with one of the ships before I could intervene.

But the witches turned south, not north, heading inland toward the hills and taking me completely by surprise.

Less than an hour later, at the point where they had left the road, I found their tracks. Puzzled, I followed them; I was no longer running, for I was exhausted.

How could they possibly manage to reach Ireland by heading away from the sea?
I asked myself. It didn't make any sense.

I was following a narrow road, just as badly rutted as the main one that had led westward. Once again, I walked on the grass to the side. The land was beginning to rise; I could see wooded hills ahead and high mountains behind, with snow atop the highest, even though it was still autumn.

After a while I found myself in a dense wood where most of the trees had already shed their leaves. I was wary of another ambush and moved some distance away from the road. It was just a precaution—I was confident that my new ability would provide me with an early warning of any threat. It was as if, like a witch, I could long-sniff future danger.

Then the trees gradually changed, until I was tramping through a forest of tall conifers. I reached the summit of a hill and saw that the land fell away before rising again.

It was then that I glimpsed something in the distance. It stood on the summit of the next hill, rising high above the trees at the end of the muddy road.

It was a dark tower, and the sight of it filled me with unease.

CHAPTER XI

T
HE
D
ARK
T
OWER

M
Y enemies had already disappeared inside, and now the Fiend's head was in there too.

I studied the tower. Built from big blocks of gray stone, it was an impressive structure, perhaps twice the height and at least three times the girth of Malkin Tower, square, with a flat top but no battlements. Strangely, high up on the side of the tower there was a wide balcony and a tall, pointed door.

The tower had no moat, but any attacking force had only one point of access: a narrow flight of stone steps, two hundred of them or more, that led up a steep incline to a heavy metal door. There were arrow slits as well as windows in the high walls, and climbing those steps would be suicidal.

Hidden by the trees, I made a slow circuit of the building, keeping my distance, and was able to confirm that there was only that one door. Then, after setting some traps for rabbits, I made myself as comfortable as possible on the hilltop facing the steps, and watched and waited.

Late in the afternoon the big door opened with a grinding sound that echoed across the hills, and a party of eight witches emerged and descended the steps. Something about their manner and clothes suggested that they weren't from Pendle. Their skirts were short, hardly covering their knees, and their hair was pulled back from the forehead and braided into a single ponytail behind. They were probably from some unknown clan beyond the County.

Behind them, the door closed, and I heard heavy bolts being slid back into place.

For a while I was apprehensive. Had they somehow detected my presence? Were they coming for me?

One thing I was immediately sure of—they were not in possession of the head. They passed within half a mile of where I was hiding and continued north. How many did that leave in the tower? I had a sense of a largish group, but exactly how many I couldn't tell.

I had set four traps, but to my disappointment, only one held a rabbit—and a small one at that. I was hungry, but it would have to do. After dark, I descended the northern slope of the hill so that I was out of sight of the tower. Here I lit a small fire and cooked the rabbit, listening to the dripping juice sizzling on the embers.

It was delicious, and feeling better for having eaten, I climbed back up to my original position and kept watch. I intended to do so for just a couple of hours and then snatch some sleep.

As I stared at the tower, I considered what to do after that. My priority was to stop the Fiend's head from being reunited with his body. Now that it was in the tower and not on a ship, there was no immediate threat of that happening. But I needed to reclaim it and take it back to the relative safety of Chipenden—which was easier said than done.

First, I was alone. And even if I could somehow climb the steps undetected and reach the metal door, it was locked and bolted. But this must be just a temporary refuge, I thought—maybe while they waited for a passage to Ireland to be organized? Surely they would soon transport the head toward the sea?

I was just about to lie down and try to get some sleep when the moon came out from behind a cloud and bathed the tower in its silver light. Almost simultaneously I heard the sound of a door opening. It wasn't the harsh, grating sound of the main door; more of a
click
. . . from the door that led onto the wide balcony. Someone emerged and approached the balustrade, resting their hands upon it and staring out over the forest.

For a moment I was too astonished to take in what I was seeing. But there was no doubt.

It was Alice.

I stared at her in amazement. Despite the lack of evidence in the tracks, I'd expected her to be held prisoner in the tower—brought here either by the witches, or by Lukrasta (using a different route). But her appearance was a surprise to me.

In the moonlight, she looked radiant, transfigured— almost happy. Her face and slim body had always been beautiful; I remembered the first time I'd seen her at the edge of a wood close to the village. She'd been wearing a tattered black dress tied at the waist with a piece of string.

Now she wore a long dress that seemed to flow down her body like water. It was hard to determine the color in the pale glow of the moon, but I thought it was black or dark-purple silk. Her hair was different too; while before it had hung down past her shoulders, now it was lifted away from her forehead and ears and fastened into a bun with a jeweled clasp that glittered in the soft light. And around her neck was a necklace with a locket that hung down over her heart.

She seemed to be looking toward me. I was tempted to wave, but a sense of unease held me back. She was a prisoner and couldn't escape from that high balcony. Maybe there were others behind her—guards who were permitting her to take a little air.