Chapter Eight: Dagger of Death

Blister decided on the wine cellar as the best place to leave the children. This was a small, windowless room, pitch dark. There was no furniture, only high racks of wine bottles lining all four walls. The one door was narrow, and stoutly made with a strong lock, no doubt to keep the servants from stealing wine.

"Don't go wandering away, now!" Blister sneered as she locked the children in this cell. "Mistress Swenhild will be wanting you presently."

As an extra precaution she left one of Robon's companions, Soren, to stand guard in the passageway outside.

By the time Blister reached the kitchen Swenhild had found a plate of oat-cakes and a pot of honey, and was busily devouring them. Blister was about to sit down with her when the witch said, "Blister, we shall want some help tonight. Don't you think it would be good if we had our own band of ruffians? It would help set the mood. Do you think it could be arranged in time?"

Blister looked longingly for a moment at the rapidly disappearing oat-cakes. Then she deliberately took her eyes and her mind away from the food. She had been promised much - gold, property, power second only to Swenhild's own - but of course she would have to earn these rewards through her own efforts.

"I know places in Thelos where the kind of people you want may be found," she said. "In an hour I can find fifty and bring them here - cutpurses, brigands, what have you. Will that do?"

Swenhild beamed. Even for Blister it was a rather frightening sight.

"That would be plenty," the witch said. "How will you get them to come?"

"I'll promise them gold."

"And will we really have to pay?"

"Of course not," answered Blister. "Not if you really intend on leaving here tomorrow."

"Splendid, splendid!" exclaimed the witch. "I wish I had met you years ago, Blister, really I do! You are a woman after my own heart!"

Blister smiled her thin, wide smile. It felt good to be praised by someone she admired. It made her want to do a good job.

"Thank you," she said, and noiselessly departed.

In the blackness of the wine cellar, meanwhile, Wist and Heron had been having a discussion of their own.

"They must have been able to see we were in trouble!" she raged to Heron. "But they wouldn't even lift a finger to help us! I used to think Voltan was a pretty good man, but he's not! He's a petty little traitor! And a coward!"

"Don't judge them too quickly, Wist," Heron advised her.

"What do you mean, too quickly?" cried Wist. "You saw the way they acted! Swenhild scared them off. Or maybe they never cared about us in the first place."

"Did you notice when Yinna spoke, she was scratching her cheek?" Heron asked.

"Why would I remember a thing like that?"

"So you also didn't notice what she was doing with her other hand at the same time."

"Good guess," said Wist sarcastically. "Should I have?"

Heron grinned.

"No. But if you were a thief you would have. Thieves pass signals with their hands. Haven't you heard of that?"

"No." Suddenly Wist's voice sounded hopeful. "It makes sense, of course, that you'd need something like that. But what did she say?"

"Not much," sighed Heron. "'Don't give up.' That's all. There wasn't time to say more. I don't know if she had a plan or not. But all that stuff they were saying to Swenhild - don't worry about it. It was an act."

"Well, I guess I should have known," admitted Wist. "All the same, we can't just sit around and wait to be rescued. Who knows what Swenhild is up to? Can you pick the lock on that door?"

"In the dark? Where is the door?"

"Right here. Just a second."

Hastily Wist muttered her Fairy Light spell. The glowing blue ball appeared at once. Its light was just enough to make out the brass handle and keyhole on the door; the blue rays didn't seem to penetrate further into the room.

Heron eyed the lock professionally, and pursed his lips. From the hem of his tunic he drew out the piece of wire, straight at one end and hooked at the other. Kneeling by the door he put the hooked end into the keyhole and began carefully probing the mechanism.

Wist looked on anxiously, her impatience mounting as the minutes went by and nothing appeared to be happening.

"Well?" she demanded finally.

"It's a good lock," Heron told her, and returned to his work.

Ten minutes later he looked up and grinned. "I can do it," he said. "What's your plan when the door's open? You can bet there's a guard."

"Leave it to me," Wist told him. "Just stand away from the door when he comes in."

"Whatever you say."

Heron gave the wire a twist, then pulled on it hard. As the lock clicked Wist gestured, and the Fairy Light went out. Heron grasped the handle, turned, and the door came open.

A bright shaft of white light from the guard's lantern dazzled him for a moment. By the time Soren himself appeared in the doorway, Heron's eyes had recovered, but his mouth was agape with astonishment. Wist was nowhere to be seen.

Soren took a step forward into the room, struggling to understand with his bewitched mind what had happened to the girl prisoner. Blister had given him no orders for this situation. He took another step forward.

Then Wist appeared, seemingly from nowhere, a pace behind him. She held a wine bottle by two hands around the neck. Before Soren was even aware of her presence, the bottle came down hard on the back of his skull. There was a loud crack, and he crumpled to the floor.

"Quickly!" Wist urged Heron, who was still half-paralysed with wonder at her unexpected vanishing and reappearance.

Soren groaned. He was coming around. Wist grabbed the lantern with one hand and Heron's arm with the other. Without ado she dragged her friend through the door and shut it behind them.

The narrow hallway had stone walls. There was a door at each end.

"Which way?" Wist wanted to know.

But Heron wasn't ready to go anywhere.

"How did you do that?" he demanded. "You're just an apprentice! I didn't know you could turn invisible!"

"I wasn't invisible really," she told him. "I used a Spell of Concealment - it's one of the Six Simple Spells. It just lets you blend in with whatever's around you so that you're hard to see. You can't use it to hide from someone who's watching you when you cast the spell, and there's no way it would fool someone like Voltan or Evermorn even for a second."

"Or Swenhild."

"Or her either. No. C'mon - which way should we go?"

Heron thought for a minute. "That's the way they brought us down here," he said finally, pointing. "So let's go the other way."

"Okay. You lead."

The door Heron had chosen was unlocked. It let them onto a narrow stairway with bare stone steps and no handrail. There was a landing half way up where the stairway doubled back, but no doorway to the outside. The door at the top of the stairs was closed. Heron approached it stealthily, then put his ear hard against it to listen. Hearing nothing he gave the handle a twist, and opened the door just enough to peer through the crack. A moment later, he beckoned Wist to follow, and went through.

They found themselves in some kind of sleeping quarters, a cramped room with a single small cot, a little bureau, and no other furniture. No doubt it was a servant's room, but it did not appear to be in use: the bed and bureau were bare. The only window was too small and too high up to be used for escape.

The door to this room was already slightly ajar. Beyond was a shadowy hall with doors to either side. At the far end was yet another door, this one with light spilling out through the crack between it and the floor. Heron put his finger to his lips to remind Wist to be as quiet as possible, then started forward again. They could hear people moving around in other parts of the house, but not nearby.

The first door was a closet, the second a bathroom with no window. A third door was locked. Heron decided against trying to pick the lock for fear that someone would come along, or that the room was occupied. That left only one room to try apart from one at the end where the light was coming from. It had big double doors with heavy brass knobs.

Luck appeared to be with them. One of the knobs was locked, but the other turned silently, and the door swung inward without squeaking. Heron looked inside. Then he turned to Wist and nodded. This was what they had been looking for! They went in.

It was a library, a big ornate room with shelves full of scrolls, and even some of the more expensive bound books that rich people sometimes used. But more importantly for the children there was also a pair of tall windows. These overlooked a lane running beside the house.

"It's an easy jump," whispered Heron, peering out into the night. "I'll go first, you follow right behind me. Okay?"

Wist nodded. While Heron fiddled with the window-latch she looked nervously into the shadows behind her, but there was no one else in the room.

"Ready!" Heron announced. He swung the window open and stepped up onto the low sill. Then he jumped down into the alley.

At the same time Wist was horrified to hear a loud chittering sound behind her. Instead of jumping at once through the open window she turned around to see the monkey-creature from Aligoth leaping down at her from the chandelier where it must have been sleeping. It landed with its feet on her shoulders and wrapped itself around her face, clutching tightly to the back of her head.

Wist tried to scream, and couldn't, for her mouth and nose were pressed too tightly against the creature's fur for her to draw breath. Its smell was revolting, and made her want to faint, but it was a dry, dead smell, not the stink of an unwashed animal.

Blindly, for the beast covered her eyes also, Wist struggled with frantic efforts to free herself, but the grip that held her was too strong to break. She beat at the creature's back with her fists. It chittered more loudly, but did not let her go.

Then her hand struck a wooden edge - the windowsill! She groped for the narrow ledge with one foot, found it, and pulled herself up. She teetered for a moment on the brink, hesitant to jump when she could not see. But there was no choice - the monkey creature was suffocating her.

Heron's voice came.

"Jump, Wist, quickly!"

Then another voice.

"Rude of you to leave without saying goodbye, dearie!" cackled Swenhild, and pulled Wist back into the room. "Never mind, though. I forgive you."

The monkey creature jumped to Swenhild's shoulder. Wist could breathe again, but she was still trapped. She tried to wriggle free of the witch's grip, but failed. Swenhild giggled, and twisted Wist's arm up behind her back, making her cry out with pain. The witch twisted harder.

Robon entered the room with two of his companions.

"Soren is missing," he told the witch in his flat voice.

"Try the wine cellar, one of you," said Swenhild drily. "I fancy you'll find him there. Alive, I hope - leave him there if he's not. The other two take this child across the hall. It's time for her big moment."

With those words she flung Wist to the floor at Robon's feet. The fisherman bent down and lifted Wist firmly by one arm; his companion Skean took the other. The fourth man, Kell, went in search of Soren.

The men were strong, but slow-moving and clumsy in their spellbound daze. Wist wondered if perhaps Swenhild was finding it difficult to keep up her control over all four of them at once. The sorcerous power needed for the task was impressive - yet Swenhild had said she had not recovered all her strength!

As though she were a flour sack the two men dragged her out into the hall. She caught one glimpse of Swenhild as she passed through the doorway and gasped. The white stain on the witch's forehead had spread to cover her whole face and neck, giving her the appearance of a marble statue that somehow lived and breathed. Her hair was as white as her skin, her eyebrows also. Even her lips, even the inside of her mouth were as white as clean snow. Only her coal-red eyes and her yellow teeth kept their old colours.

The men took Wist a short distance down the hall, to the door that had earlier been locked. It was not locked now, and Robon reached for the handle to open it. As he did so, Wist drew back her foot and kicked the fisherman as hard as she could in the shin, hoping that in the sudden shock of pain he would lose his hold on her arm. At the same time she twisted her body hard against Skean's grip.

Both attempts failed. Robon didn't even blink when Wist's foot struck him; Skean's grip did not waver. The door swung open and the two men led her through.

She found herself in a large sitting-room that had been hastily made over by Swenhild for some strange purpose of her own in the short time since she had arrived in the house.

A marble-topped table had been brought in from somewhere and placed in the middle of the room. There were no chairs around it. Black cloth had been pinned into place to cover the windows. The candles in the chandelier burned with a purple flame; from time to time they hissed and crackled, shooting off showers of purple sparks.

A smaller table had been set up in one corner. It too was draped in black cloth. On it was a tall, unlit candle, a plain little box with a strange symbol on the lid, and an empty silver goblet. Robon's dagger was there too, the one he had pulled from Swenhild's back. The jewelled hilt had been polished till both stones and metal shone; the naked blade gleamed with wicked purpose in the purple light.

Wist could not guess what evil thing Swenhild might be intending with these preparations, but the knife on the table terrified her. Every sorcerer had heard whispers of certain spells that would not operate without the taking of a human life - often, a child's life. These spells were called Blood Rites by the Black Garland sorcerers who practised them; by others they were called The Abominations.

What was it Swenhild had said? "It's time for her big moment." Suddenly Wist was convinced that she knew what the witch was referring to: an Abomination, with Wist herself for the sacrifice!

As Robon and Skean dragged her towards the table Wist realized all at once that there was no time left to make plans, no way to fight back, nothing she could do to save herself from Swenhild's witchery. The only hope she had was a slim one - that Heron had managed to contact Yinna and Voltan, or perhaps Evermorn, and that somehow they could arrange a rescue. As for herself, there was only one thing remaining that she could do.

She screamed. She wished she could use the Thunder Voice, but with her arms pinned she couldn't make the proper gestures. Even so, she screamed louder and longer than she would have thought possible. She screamed the single word, "Help!" once, twice, three times, knowing that there was almost no chance that anyone but her enemies would hear.

"Shut her up, you dolts!" shouted Swenhild from somewhere beyond the door.

Moving as stiffly as a wooden puppet Skean raised one hand and slapped Wist hard across the face. She screamed again; again he slapped her. He would have struck her a third time, but Robon reached out and caught his hand before he could deliver the blow.

"You shouldn't hurt her," the fisherman said awkwardly, as though speaking needed all his concentration. "Hold her for me."

While Skean held Wist's arms Robon removed the belt from her tunic. He jammed it between her jaws and tied it tightly behind her head. Wist tried to keep screaming through the gag, but hardly any sound came.

So that was that. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down onto her cheeks as she thought of Heron and Voltan, for now she knew that she would never see them again. She pictured them standing outside the house, trying to pierce whatever magical defences Swenhild had put in, hearing screams and being able to do nothing. She hoped they would think of her sometimes after she was dead.

When Robon saw the tears on Wist's face his mouth twisted strangely. He tried clumsily to wipe her cheeks with the rough sleeve of his fisherman's jacket, but she turned her head away. Robon's face hardened again. He nodded to Skean. Between them they lifted Wist onto the table, and held her there, flat on her back.

There were footsteps outside. Swenhild came in, with Soren and Kell behind her. The witch laughed an odd, greedy sort of laugh when she saw Wist stretched out on the table shivering with terror. At the witch's signal Soren and Kell grasped Wist's ankles, leaving the other two men to hold down her arms.

Swenhild leaned over Wist and stared into her face. Wist clamped her eyes shut to keep out the witch's unnatural, hot-coal stare, but Swenhild put her thumbs on Wist's eyelids and forced them open.

"That fool of a lily-white sorcerer healed my wound," she hissed, "but he didn't mend my power, not all of it. I need my power, dearie! I can't wait for it to come back on its own. Who can even say that it would? And I want it now, tonight!"

She paused. Wist could only shiver and wait, and hope against hope for the rescue that wouldn't come. Swenhild was panting with a strange, feverish excitement. The purple light played tricks with her sharp, eager face, making it seem wrinkled, dry, immensely old and tired. But her voice was as full as ever of sting and spite.

"Lucky me, I know a way, a secret way to bring my power back. A spell, a potion, a forbidden word or two will do it. And one more thing." She paused again to watch the colour drain from Wist's face before she said, "The heart's blood of a girl-child, dearie. That's what you'll give me tonight!"

For another long moment Swenhild held Wist in her hot gaze. Then she straightened with a dry chuckle and said to the four men, "All right, you morons. See that you stand still and don't say anything until I'm finished. Do you understand? One mistake and we'll have to start all over, and I haven't got time for that. Now let's get going."

She lit a taper of straw from one of the candles in the chandelier, and used it to light the candle on the small table. It was an ordinary candle, and burned yellow-white. From the small box she took a pinch of fine powder, and sprinkled it on the wick. The flame at once turned sickly green, faint at first but growing quickly brighter until - in only a few seconds - it was painful to look at. As the green light grew brighter, the purple flames on the chandelier went out one by one, until none were left burning.

For a long minute there was no movement in the room, and no sound except for ragged breathing, and for Wist the noise of her own galloping heart. Then there began a low, weird crooning, that sounded as though it were approaching from very far away. It was a human voice, uttering words not meant for human tongues. Swenhild had begun to sing.

Wist dared a look at the witch. She was a woman transformed. Her red eyes were closed, her head was thrown back, her face, creased with concentration, seemed almost to show pain.

The high whining melody grew louder as it went on. It was as ugly as disease, but it was also hypnotic. At times it seemed to be coming not from Swenhild's throat but from everywhere, from the air itself. At other times it seemed to Wist that it was not the witch who was singing, but herself. She began to feel strangely calm, as though she were on the edge of falling asleep in a warm bed somewhere. She felt drowsy, almost contented.

With half-closed eyes she watched unconcernedly as Swenhild slid, still singing, to the small table, and took up the gleaming knife. She saw the witch push the sleeve of her cloak up past her elbow; noticed as if in a dream that the skin of her hand and arm was bone-white even in the candle's green glare. She watched as Swenhild slowly approached her, singing all the while. She looked up without fear as the witch stood by her with the long dagger in her skinny right hand, poised high above Wist's chest.

The singing stopped.

There was an instant that lasted for ever. Wist came alert, saw the dagger point, saw the terrible purpose in Swenhild's eyes. She struggled uselessly, tried vainly again to scream. The witch's white tongue flickered across her white lips. Her mouth was bent in an expression of terrible hate. The monkey creature was somewhere nearby - it chittered once and was silent.

Swenhild uttered a word, and brought the dagger swiftly down.

Suddenly a strong brown hand seized the witch's forearm and wrenched her away from the table.

"Lady, this is not right," came the slow voice of Robon the fisherman. "Lady, drop the knife."

Swenhild did. The dagger clattered to the floor.

Robon let go of her, and stepped back. Wist started in horror to see that where the palm of his hand had touched Swenhild the flesh was charred and blackened, with smoke rising from it. The witch's white skin showed no sign of his grip. Robon apparently felt no pain, though, for he stood now as stolidly and unmovingly as before, no shade of expression altering his blunt face.

But Swenhild was furious.

"You ape!" she shouted at Robon. "You nincompoop! You rebellious clod! Do you know what you've done? We shall have to begin again, thanks to you! But first - look into my eyes!"

Robon did, and as the witch stared at him the last shreds of his will seemed to vanish, until his face was even duller, flatter, emptier than before.

"Now light me a taper," Swenhild commanded him wearily. "We're starting again."

But before Robon could obey there came a sound of running footsteps in the hall, and a moment later Blister burst into the room. She took in the weird scene with one glance, but if it surprised her she didn't let it show on her face.

"You'd better come, mistress," she said to Swenhild. "Things are happening outside."

"I made a barrier," Swenhild replied. "You and I are the only ones who should be able to cross it. We'll be all right."

"The barrier is holding," Blister told her. "For now. But there could be trouble all the same. Somehow word has got out about what we're doing."

"The boy escaped," Swenhild said. "He must have gone blabbing to someone. It doesn't matter. Did you find people to help us?"

Blister grinned.

"Lots. You'd be surprised how many people can be roused out for a game like this! But that's another reason we've got to get to work - I don't know how long they'll stick around. There are others out there. Guards, sorcerers, what have you. My former master is there."

Swenhild made an exasperated face, but in Wist's heart hope was surging once again. Voltan was outside! Surely he would find a way to save her.

"All right, then," growled the witch. She turned to the men, who were still holding Wist down on the table. "Let the girl up. Blister, you tie her hands - I don't want her getting away. I think we can still find use tonight for little Wist. We'll kill her tomorrow instead."

Blister snickered, and went for rope.

A few minutes later, with Wist bound and in Robon's arms, with the other three men and with Blister, Swenhild opened the door of the house and stepped out onto the street to begin the destruction of Thelos.