Icy fingers ran through her hair and caressed her neck, making her cry out in terror. The air around her seemed to move, there was a flash of white – and a gigantic, grinning maw of fangs appeared.
‘What you be doin’ down here, little tasty?’
Lalenda backed away, quaking. She’d never seen the Golgoleth Ghost before, but knew this must be him.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the front door?’ she managed to stammer.
The grin widened and claws as long as swords flashed about her. ‘Supposed to be, yes,’ came the dry, hollow voice. ‘But Grimra can go further from his amulet than most people be thinking. Why you be going into the caves, little flutterbug?’
Lalenda found herself backed against the wall. She tried to inch her way back up the tunnel. ‘Er …I’m just lost,’ she said. ‘But thank you for setting me right.’
‘Lost?’ The grin reappeared right in front of her, halting her progress entirely, turning her knees to water. ‘Then no one is knowin’ you be here?’
Lalenda plucked at the first thing she thought of. ‘I’m on an extremely important errand for Lord Battu,’ she tried. ‘I’m his prophet, so if you eat me, he won’t be very happy!’
A bark of laughter blew across her face. ‘What change be that? Battu never be happy.’ The mouth drifted away as if floating on a breeze. ‘But wait,’ said the ghost. ‘You be the prophet?’
‘That’s right,’ rallied Lalenda, sticking out her chin. ‘Battu’s best!’
‘Lalenda,’ said the ghost thoughtfully.
Lalenda was surprised. ‘That’s right. How did you know that?’
The Golgoleth snarled, a frightening sound. ‘Losara tell me,’ he said. ‘Claw and tooth! Now Grimra not be able to eat you, little flutterbug!’
He moaned and circled the tunnel, sending up blasts of air as he went, slashing at nothing with claws that appeared as quickly as they disappeared. Still afraid, but growing bolder, Lalenda stepped away from the wall.
‘Excuse me,’ she said as bravely as she could, ‘but did you say you won’t eat me?’
‘No,’ said Grimra, settling down. ‘Grimra not eat Lalenda.’
‘Why?’
‘Lalenda be Losara’s friend. Eating her not be making Losara happy.’
‘Losara has …talked about me? To you?’
‘Stupid flutterbug!’ hissed the ghost. ‘Be you not listening? Losara speaks well of Lalenda, so Grimra cannot crunch her bones. No, no. Not suck her head dry neither, nor mince her bowels in his claws. Poor, poor Grimra!’
Lalenda didn’t know what to make of this. She glanced down into the darkness.
‘You be goin’ to the caves?’ asked Grimra.
‘Er …yes.’
‘Lalenda be careful. Not all ways be safe down here. Why should Grimra let Lalenda go into the darkness? Losara be angry if Lalenda is hurt.’
‘I need a place to fly,’ said Lalenda before thinking about it.
‘Ah,’ said Grimra, sounding surprisingly as if he understood. ‘Yes. So you do be having hope.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Losara say you be in Skygrip for many years. Wish to flutter free, but trapped, like Grimra. Easy to lose hope. But not Lalenda, she still wants to fly. She still has hope. Well, you be letting Grimra show you the way. He knows just the place – wide and safe.’
Lalenda found herself nodding to her strange guide. He floated off ahead, only visible as a single beckoning claw, pale and luminescent. She followed as he led her deeper. More than once the tunnel divided, and always Grimra chose the way, telling her to remember their route.
‘Grimra not always able to come with you, flutterbug,’ said the ghost. ‘You bring an ice lantern next time.’
‘I will,’ promised Lalenda, growing less afraid.
Eventually the walls fell away around them and Lalenda knew they had stepped into a huge cavern.
‘Here we be,’ said Grimra. ‘Here Grimra waits for you.’
‘Thank you, Grimra,’ said Lalenda, spreading her wings. It felt good. ‘You’ve been kind.’
‘Not kind!’ hissed Grimra. ‘Not tear your shoulders off as courtesy to Losara, that all! Don’t you be telling no one Grimra is kind. ’
Lalenda laughed and took off, flapping her dilapidated wings as hard as she could. They ached, but she didn’t care. If she used them, eventually she would regain her strength. Hope? she wondered. Maybe the ghost was right.
She closed her eyes as she rose, reaching out hands to embrace the air. She couldn’t see in the pitch black, but avoided the walls by listening for the echoed reverberations of her wings. In the vast cave it was simple enough. She rolled happily, exhilarated, not having flown in such a long time …and, strangely, found herself thinking of Losara. Of his calm face, his soft, dark eyes. He’d told the ghost that they were friends. Were they? Did she find the notion frightening or intriguing? Suddenly she felt sad that he was so far away.
‘Maybe,’ she whispered to herself, and laughed as she dived.
Twenty-four
Mission’s End
As Naphur and Fahren bickered, Corlas stood at the window watching the slow fall of evening. They waited in a hall in the barracks for the return of Bel and M’Meska. Yesterday a sundart had brought news from Dreclass="underline" the huggers had been exterminated, but the only survivors were his son and the Saurian. Proud as he was, Corlas was anxious to hear the full report.
‘Maybe we should send a welcoming troop to the east gate?’ the Throne was saying.
‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, lord,’ said Fahren, and Corlas silently concurred. ‘These are lucky soldiers returning from a botched mission. There’s no cause for celebration.’
Naphur frowned, scratching a hairy arm. Before he could argue further, a soldier entered and saluted. ‘My Throne, the Drel survivors have arrived.’
‘Not Drel survivors,’ spat Naphur. ‘Drel victors. Now send them in.’
Not long after, Bel and M’Meska entered. Corlas gave his son a smile and a nod, noticing dark circles beneath his eyes. Bel returned them both, looking relieved to see his father.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Naphur. ‘Well done, lad! And, er …’ He peered uncertainly at M’Meska.
‘Lady,’ whispered Fahren.
‘Never can tell,’ whispered back Naphur. ‘All right. Report!’
In the absence of the troop leader, Bel did most of the talking. Corlas noted that when M’Meska did speak, it was to praise Bel. It was obvious that he had impressed her greatly. Saurians weren’t inclined to praise, but what she said of Bel made him sound like a special kind of warrior.
With the official report over, M’Meska was dismissed and Bel sat down. ‘There’s something else I haven’t told you,’ he said reluctantly.
‘What’s that?’ asked Fahren.
‘At Treewith,’ Bel said, ‘at the inn – there was a creature there. For some time I didn’t know what it was, but …it was a weaver.’
Of the three older men, Corlas turned the palest.
‘A weaver?’ said Fahren. ‘Did you make a deal with it?’
‘No.’
‘Thank Arkus,’ breathed the mage.
‘It could not be seen, filthsome trickster,’ said Bel. ‘Neither M’Meska nor the others ever knew it was there. It got trapped in my mind somehow. I don’t pretend to understand. It tricked me, saying it was a spirit sent by Arkus.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘High Mage, I did not remember my lessons well enough.’
‘Stupidity is not a prerequisite to getting tricked by a weaver,’ said Fahren. ‘But you must tell us what happened, Bel, and leave nothing out.’
Bel nodded and began a new version of his journey, this time including the weaver. Corlas listened intently. He’d wondered for many years if Iassia still watched the wards, and now he had his answer.