striking quickly, then flying away to safety, she collided with the kretch with great force, then slashed and tore at it with her talons, fighting at close quarters. She was grasping the creature’s shoulder with her right hand, holding it close while she struck at it again and again with the other. But it was striking back, and I could see its blades gleaming in the moonlight, both red with blood as it thrust them into her body. Blood-spattered feathers fell around them and I groaned inside, aware that the lamia was getting the worst of it.
Why didn’t she release her hold on her enemy and escape while she still had the strength? Better to retreat and survive to fight another day. Some defeats are temporary. The final victory is all that counts.
And then the bearded mage, Bowker, was running out of the trees towards the combatants, and from a distance of about six paces he pointed his rodent-skull weapon at the lamia: I saw the air shimmer, Wynde shuddered.
Now it was too late for her to fly to safety. The kretch dragged her down onto the grass beside it; one of her wings was bent at an unnatural angle and I knew that, even had she wished to take off, flight was now beyond her. She fought on for a while and it seemed that the kretch was temporarily baffled and feared the teeth and claws of the lamia.
But then a horde of witches ran out of the forest towards the battle, shrieking with delight, knives at the ready. Three carried long poles to which knives were lashed with rope, and they used these first, stabbing again and again into the vulnerable parts of the lamia while she struggled in the grip of the kretch.
These were witches from the Deane clan. I quickly sniffed out their names: Lisa Dugdale, Jenny Croston and Maggie Lunt. I would not forget this. Soon I would make them pay with their lives.
Wynde shuddered again and again, but she was brave and made no sound despite the agony she was suffering. Thorne and I watched silently from the battlements. I thought of her sister , Slake, guarding the tunnels, unaware of what had befallen Wynde. It was a mercy that she had not witnessed this – she would surely have gone to her sister’s aid and died as well.
The witches were in close now, the long-bladed poles not necessary because the lamia was immobile – probably already dead. But they took no chances and continued to slice into her body. Moments later we knew why.
The kretch stood up on its hind legs. Its hands no longer wielded blades but they were red with blood. In its left it held the still-beating heart of Wynde. As I watched, it tore it in two and began to eat it, blood staining its teeth and running from its open jaws.
Some worship dark gods; others serve the light, but I walk alone. I am Grimalkin .
I WATCHED IN silence, powerless, the anger beginning to build within me. The kretch had made certain that the lamia could not return. For Wynde there would be no after-life as a dead witch. She had been sent straight back to the dark.
When it had finished devouring the lamia’s heart, the kretch shouted up at us, ‘Soon this is what I will do to you! Your days are numbered. Your heart will be mine, Grimalkin. This is the fate that awaits the enemies of my master!’
‘For what you have done I will kill you all!’ I cried. ‘Each and every one of you will die at my hands. Scatter and flee – but I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. I swear it!’
The kretch and the mage simply laughed at my words, and immediately the witches joined in, the cacophony of cackling laughter and wild whoops of amusement echoing across the clearing.
It was time to give them a reply that they would understand, so I bent down, untied the leather sack and drew forth the head of the Fiend. I held it up by the horns so that it was facing out over the battlements.
‘Now I will hurt the one whom you most love; the one whom you all serve! This is what your actions have cost your master! He will hold you to account!’
I
Why didn’t she release her hold on her enemy and escape while she still had the strength? Better to retreat and survive to fight another day. Some defeats are temporary. The final victory is all that counts.
And then the bearded mage, Bowker, was running out of the trees towards the combatants, and from a distance of about six paces he pointed his rodent-skull weapon at the lamia: I saw the air shimmer, Wynde shuddered.
Now it was too late for her to fly to safety. The kretch dragged her down onto the grass beside it; one of her wings was bent at an unnatural angle and I knew that, even had she wished to take off, flight was now beyond her. She fought on for a while and it seemed that the kretch was temporarily baffled and feared the teeth and claws of the lamia.
But then a horde of witches ran out of the forest towards the battle, shrieking with delight, knives at the ready. Three carried long poles to which knives were lashed with rope, and they used these first, stabbing again and again into the vulnerable parts of the lamia while she struggled in the grip of the kretch.
These were witches from the Deane clan. I quickly sniffed out their names: Lisa Dugdale, Jenny Croston and Maggie Lunt. I would not forget this. Soon I would make them pay with their lives.
Wynde shuddered again and again, but she was brave and made no sound despite the agony she was suffering. Thorne and I watched silently from the battlements. I thought of her sister , Slake, guarding the tunnels, unaware of what had befallen Wynde. It was a mercy that she had not witnessed this – she would surely have gone to her sister’s aid and died as well.
The witches were in close now, the long-bladed poles not necessary because the lamia was immobile – probably already dead. But they took no chances and continued to slice into her body. Moments later we knew why.
The kretch stood up on its hind legs. Its hands no longer wielded blades but they were red with blood. In its left it held the still-beating heart of Wynde. As I watched, it tore it in two and began to eat it, blood staining its teeth and running from its open jaws.
Some worship dark gods; others serve the light, but I walk alone. I am Grimalkin .
I WATCHED IN silence, powerless, the anger beginning to build within me. The kretch had made certain that the lamia could not return. For Wynde there would be no after-life as a dead witch. She had been sent straight back to the dark.
When it had finished devouring the lamia’s heart, the kretch shouted up at us, ‘Soon this is what I will do to you! Your days are numbered. Your heart will be mine, Grimalkin. This is the fate that awaits the enemies of my master!’
‘For what you have done I will kill you all!’ I cried. ‘Each and every one of you will die at my hands. Scatter and flee – but I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. I swear it!’
The kretch and the mage simply laughed at my words, and immediately the witches joined in, the cacophony of cackling laughter and wild whoops of amusement echoing across the clearing.
It was time to give them a reply that they would understand, so I bent down, untied the leather sack and drew forth the head of the Fiend. I held it up by the horns so that it was facing out over the battlements.
‘Now I will hurt the one whom you most love; the one whom you all serve! This is what your actions have cost your master! He will hold you to account!’
I
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