Freeglader by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Page B

way. They're young, but fully-grown, sleek of feather and sharp of beak and claw – and with a frenzy of blood-vengeance in their hearts.’ He shook his head. ‘I've never seen anything like it.’
    ‘And how far off are they?’ asked Cowlquape.

    The Professor of Light shrugged. ‘Half a day on prowlgrin-back,’ he said. ‘Maybe more, maybe less…’
    Cowlquape took a deep intake of breath. He turned to Fenbrus. ‘We can't risk breaking camp,’ he said. ‘The Undertowners must remain up in the trees.’
    Fenbrus frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘If they're heading for the Ironwood Stands, shouldn't we get as far away from here as we can?’
    ‘On foot, we wouldn't stand a chance,’ said Cowlquape. ‘There are too many old'uns and young'uns among us. Why, we'd be picked off like the ripe fruits of a woodsap tree. No, our only hope is to wait for the Freeglade Lancers.’
    ‘But what if the shrykes get here first?’ asked Fenbrus.
    ‘Then we must defend ourselves,’ said Varis. ‘There are the librarian knights, the ghosts, the sky pirates…’
    Deadbolt nodded in agreement. ‘We're well used tocombat with the scraggy bird-creatures,’ he chuckled, and gripped the handle of the great curving sword at his side. ‘It'll be a pleasure to dispatch a few more.’
    ‘All right,’ said Fenbrus Lodd, at last. ‘But no fighter must carry a barkscroll. They must hand them over to a librarian or an Undertowner up in the trees for safekeeping – until after the battle. Not a single item from the sacred Great Library must be risked in combat.’
    ‘You and your barkscrolls!’ snorted Felix, turning away. ‘If we lose this battle, father, there will be no barkscrolls, no Great Library! And the shrykes will make slaves of all those they don't slaughter!’
    As news of the battle-flock spread through the Ironwood stands, a numb panic gripped the Under-towners, one and all, as their thoughts turned to the awful possibility of their having to come face to face with the cold, bloodthirsty bird-creatures.
    Xanth, still anxiously searching the skies, left the forest floor and climbed up into the trees once more. High into the upper branches he went and, as the pilots of the Eastern Roost flight landed, one after the other, he rushed after them, grabbed them by the arms and asked them all the same question.
    ‘Have you seen Magda Burlix? Have you seen Magda Burlix?’
    Most of the librarians merely shook their heads. Either they hadn't seen her or, more often, they had no idea who she was. Xanth was becoming increasingly desperate.
    Then, seeing a rather rotund individual landing hisskycraft on a branch of the next tree along to his right, he leaped across the yawning gap – with no thought of the danger. The librarian looked at him curiously.
    ‘Magda?’ said Xanth breathlessly as he climbed to his feet.
    The librarian finished tethering his skycraft. ‘'Fraid not,’ he said. ‘The name's Portix.’
    Xanth frowned impatiently. ‘Have you seen her?’ he said. ‘Magda. Magda Burlix.’
    The librarian shook his head and turned away. Xanth was about to leave when a gaunt individual appeared from the shadows, the tethers of his own moth-shaped skycraft wrapped round his hand.
    ‘Magda Burlix, you say,’ he said. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’
    Xanth nodded keenly. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘We were in Undertown together.’
    The gaunt librarian stepped forwards and clapped his free hand on Xanth's shoulder. ‘Bad news, I'm afraid, young fellow,’ he said. ‘She was shot down over the Eastern Roost. I'm sorry to have to tell you, she hasn't made it.’

• CHAPTER EIGHT •
BLOOD FRENZY
    I n the forest clearing, a grazing tilder doe looked up, startled, ears twitching. Her fleshy pink nostrils sniffed nervously at the air. She could sense something approaching – something dangerous.
    All around her, other Deepwoods creatures were similarly uneasy. Up in the branches, fromps coughed their warning