10. The Weird of Sammael Deep

And now we must leave Drimwort and the others for a while and travel more than fifty leagues to the southwest, to Witton Barracks on the borders of Shalanor and Galdania. Why? Because that is where Roken the raven went after hearing all that he wanted to hear at Trumblegast’s cave.
‘Take me to General Morlok right away,’ he snapped to the weasel on guard duty.
‘The General? Take you to the General?’ sneered the weasel. ‘Chance’d be a fine thing! What would the General want with the likes of you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ croaked Roken quietly. ‘He just might want to know where the Son of Tellus and the Daughter of Earth are. And he might want to know which po-faced weasel is stopping news of an enemy attack reaching him. Now stop messing about and take me to Morlok!’
‘Yes, yes. Sorry! Right away,’ stammered the weasel. ‘Just wait here a moment.’ He scurried into the Barracks and returned a minute or two later. ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ he said. ‘Come this way.’ He escorted Roken to an office on the top floor. Its door was flanked by two sentries. The weasel saluted them, then knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Go straight in,’ he said.
The wolf was sitting at a large desk, but he had his back to the door and was facing the window, looking out over Shalanor. As Roken entered, he swivelled round in his chair and got to his feet. ‘So,’ he snarled. ‘They say you have news for me?’
‘News, General?’ said Roken. ‘I’ll say I have news!’ And then he told Morlok the whole story. How he had observed the children and Aquila visiting Minerva. How he had eavesdropped on their conversation. How they had met up with Xanthus and how he had insinuated himself into the company and tried to delay their quest by leading them to Dunelm.
To all this, Morlok listened in silence. But when Roken told of the storm and how Elyon had appeared at Dunelm’s front gate, the wolf grabbed the raven by the neck. ‘You’re lying, you overweight crow’ he barked. ‘It can’t be true! Admit it — you’re lying!’
‘No,’ croaked Roken. ‘Ouch — that hurts! Let go of me! Please! I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth. One moment the faun wasn’t there and the next moment he was. He just stood at the gate and looked at the house. Then, when the Daughter of Earth and the others saw him and came rushing down the path, he just vanished. He walked a few paces to the west and then he began to disappear. It was as if he were going through a door that wasn’t there. First his body went and then his tail. That’s what happened. Honestly!’
Morlok dropped the raven to the floor. ‘All right. Get on with it,’ he snarled. ‘What next?’
So Roken described the journey to the Northern Peak and how all except him had been captured by the dwarfs. How he had gone to sleep on a ledge above the dwarfs’ hide-out, but had been woken by a lot of noise, and seen the travellers escaping. How he had shadowed them and spied on their meeting with the firkins and how he had followed them to Trumblegast. Then, he repeated what he had overheard of their plan to find the lost army in Mount Pendallyn and to get Elyon to bring it back to life.
‘ Wha— a— a— t?’ roared Morlok. ‘They plan to raise some long-forgotten army?’
‘Yes,’ sniggered Roken. ‘I know it’s ridiculous but I thought —’
Morlok had him by the throat again. ‘Ridiculous, is it?’ he said. ‘What’s ridiculous about it? If Elyon’s on the loose in Shalanor there’s no telling what might happen. Even the raising of the lost army!’ He flung the raven against the wall. ‘Get out of here. If they succeed, I’m going to have to fight fire with fire. And I need to think.’
Roken got to his feet and straightened his feathers. ‘If I might make a suggestion —’ he said.
‘Well?’ said the wolf.
‘Well, there is someone in Shalanor who can match Elyon any day,’ said the raven. ‘She could help.’
‘Who?’ snarled Morlok.
‘The Weird,’ said Roken. ‘The Weird of Sammael Deep.’
Morlok sucked in his breath through his yellow fangs. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘With her help, we could prepare a real welcome for Elyon and his friends. Can you guide me to her?’
‘But, of course,’ said Roken. ‘It will be my pleasure.’
‘Meet me tonight, then,’ said Morlok. ‘At ten o’clock sharp — on Talindale Bridge. And not a word of this to anyone, mind. If I hear that you’ve been blabbing, I’ll have your tongue out. Secrecy is essential. There are those in the ranks who might become — how shall I put it? — less than reliable if they knew the kind of help we were going to bring them!’
When Roken had gone, Morlok spread out on his desk a map marked The People’s Republic of Shalanor and Adjoining Territories. He drew a circle around Mount Pendallyn in the Northern Peak and another around Baligsmere. Then he traced the road as it wound its way down Shalanor towards Arwendal Keep. ‘Somewhere along there,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Somewhere along there. You may choose the time, Elyon, but I shall choose the place. And then we shall see who’s Lord of Shalanor!’
For a long time he sat gazing at the map. Then he went to the wall, moved aside a picture of himself in full dress uniform, and opened the safe which lay behind it. He took from it a large purse of coins and slipped them into his jacket pocket. ‘Two hundred Shalanorn guineas,’ he said. ‘That should be enough to satisfy the old crone.’ Then he went over to the window and looked out across the hills. ‘Now all we need is darkness.’
When ten o’clock came, Roken had, for some time, been perched in a sycamore tree at one end of Talindale Bridge. Although he had been keeping a sharp lookout for Morlok, he caught no sight of him until the wolf suddenly detached himself from the shadows below him and stood in a patch of moonlight, silently waiting. Immediately, Roken flew down and alighted on the parapet next to him.
‘Roken here, General,’ he croaked. ‘Reporting for duty, as arranged.’
‘Well, don’t go telling all of Shalanor,’ growled Morlok. ‘Keep your voice down, will you? Now — Sammael Deep. It’s to the east, isn’t it?’
‘East to the River Fleet,’ said Roken. ‘We follow the course of the Talin. Then south for a few leagues towards the sea. Sammael Deep is just there, a little way into the forest.’
‘Then let’s be on our way.’
Morlok leaped into the darkness and Roken flapped through the night sky above him. After about two hours, the raven could see the River Fleet below him, the waning moon glinting on its waters. He cawed, and the wolf heard him and swung to the right. Then, when another hour or so had passed, Roken cawed again and landed ahead of Morlok.
‘Not far now,’ he said. ‘Let me lead the way.’
The forest was thick with undergrowth and the raven flew from bush to bush with the wolf following on behind. Soon they could both see the flickering of firelight some way ahead and hear the sound of sticks crackling in the heat. Silently, they moved closer, using all the cover they could find until they could peer into the clearing without being seen.
There was the fire and, to one side of it, Sammael Deep itself — a small, round pool, dark and still, mirroring the flames in its oily surface. And, on the other side of the fire, sitting on a tree-stump, was the Weird.
Even Morlok shuddered as he gazed at the hideous creature. Her head, perched on a long, scrawny neck, was that of a vulture — leathery and bald, with a huge, vicious, hooked beak — while her body, clothed in layer upon layer of black rags, was that of an old woman. By her side was a wicker basket and, from it, she was taking linnets and, with a long, sharp thorn, putting out their eyes. As each one was blinded, she would release it and then cackle delightedly as it joined the others, fluttering round her feet and giving piteous little cries of pain.
Finally, it seemed, the basket was empty. She threw down the thorn, lifted her head, and turned her bloodshot eyes in their direction.
‘And what do you want with me, Morlok?’ she said in a voice which made the wolf’s hair stand on end and sent his upper lip curling back over his fangs. ‘You too, Roken? Come. Stop skulking in the bushes. I’ve been watching you journey here for the last two hours. It’s all there, in my mirror.’ She pointed a long, bony finger at the pool. ‘I ask you again. What do you want with me?’
Morlok stepped forward and approached her. Roken followed, but kept well back.
‘I want an army,’ said the wolf, pulling himself together.
‘An army?’ said the Weird. ‘I thought you already had an army?’
‘So I do,’ said Morlok. ‘But what I want from you is a rather special army. One only you can provide.’ He picked up one of the linnets, listened to its cries for a moment, then snapped its neck. ‘I need a special army to fight a rather special enemy.’
‘A special enemy?’ said the Weird. ‘And who might that be, I wonder?’
‘The enemy, of course,’ said Morlok. ‘When it comes right down to it, there is only one — you know that as well as I do. I’m talking about Elyon.’
The Weird leaped to her feet, threw back her head, and gave a great cry. ‘Elyon is in Shalanor?’ she screeched.
‘He is not only here,’ said Morlok. ‘He is, so it seems, preparing for battle. Now, to business. I need your help — and I’m prepared to pay well for it.’ He reached in his pocket and brought out the purse of gold. ‘Two-hundred Shalanorn guineas.’
‘Fool!’ cried the Weird, dashing the purse from his hand. ‘Money cannot buy what I can summon. Did you really think it could?’ She turned from the wolf and looked at the pool. ‘But summon it for you I will — if Elyon walks in Shalanor!’
Still with her back to Morlok, she delved into her rags and brought out a small, green, glass bottle. Then she swung round and, with a cackle of laughter, waved it in his face. ‘Empty!’ she said. ‘But we’ll soon change that!’
She removed the cork and placed the bottle on a flat stone some way from the pool. Then, from elsewhere in her clothes, she took out a large phial full of a silvery powder. Starting from the stone, she sprinkled the powder in a straight line down past the right-hand side of the pool. Then she turned and came back up the other side of the pool, making another straight line. When she reached a point below the stone, she turned again and made a third line — across the top of the pool this time. And so she went on, backwards and forwards, up and down, until finally she arrived back at the stone. ‘There!’ she said, looking at her handiwork. ‘Time to begin.’
The pool now lay at the centre of a silver pentacle and the stone and the bottle were in the first point of the five-pointed star.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘You, wolf, must join me in the summoning shape. But you, raven, had better keep your distance — unless you fancy being eaten alive, that is!’ Again, she cackled with laughter.
She led Morlok into the third point of the star and positioned herself in the fourth. Then she stretched her arms out over the pool and began an incantation in a strange, harsh tongue.
For a while, the surface of the pool remained smooth and motionless. But, as Morlok continued to watch, it fell away, slowly and silently, until he was left gazing down into a pit of absolute darkness. And from its depths came noises. First, they were nothing but faint, far-off whisperings. But then they became patterings and croaks and squeals and gibberings, then tramplings and howls and shrieks and cries. And, finally, the noises took shape and hurtled out from the depths — wraiths, grikes, goblins, spectres, vampires, shades, demons, hags and horrors without name. On and on they came — tens, then hundreds, then thousands of them. And as they came, they fell silent and gathered into one, great, shifting cloud of pale, unblinking eyes and chilling darkness which floated above the pit and looked upon the wolf. All over the land, youngsters cried out in their sleep, hens stopped laying, milk curdled in its churns, and dogs raised their hackles and growled into the night. Then the Weird spoke.
‘You have marked your new master,’ she said. ‘Now wait on his command.’
Then she pointed to the rock. The cloud of evil heaved and twisted and rose high in the air, blotting out the trees, the moon and the stars. Its base narrowed. Then it stretched itself out towards the rock and, like smoke returning to a flame, poured itself into the bottle which the Weird had prepared for it. Quickly, the Weird left the pentacle, took the bottle, placed the cork in its neck, and handed it to Morlok.
‘May they make the hearts of all who serve Elyon fail within them,’ she said. ‘These little darlings are very hungry. You will feed them well, won’t you?’
Warily, Morlok took the bottle and placed it carefully in his pocket. He was surprised to find that it weighed almost nothing at all. ‘They will feed very well,’ he said. ‘And they will drink well, too — on the blood of the Children of Tellus.’ He turned to Roken who had spent the greater part of the last half-hour with his head under his wing and was, even now, looking rather more pale than a raven ought to look. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We must be on the road to Baligsmere by daybreak.’
‘Why Baligsmere?’ asked Roken.
‘The enemy will be coming out of the north and heading for Arwendal Keep,’ said Morlok. ‘Once they get past Baligsmere, there is only one route they can take. If we are positioned along that route, our confrontation with their forces will be assured — and it will be where we want it to be. I want to reconnoitre the ground in the morning, and choose the place.’
They sped through the remains of the night. When dawn broke, they had crossed the River Fleet and were many leagues north of Sammael Deep and almost at the end of Guiting Forest. Thus far, they had held a norther- easterly course through the trees; and now their course and that of the road had converged. For a while, Roken circled overhead and scanned the surrounding countryside for signs of movement. When he was able to assure Morlok that they were safe from prying eyes, the wolf broke cover and loped along the road itself. But, as time went on and the leagues passed, he became more and more angered by the unsuitability of the surrounding terrain.
‘Far too flat. Far too open,’ he snarled at Roken.
‘Well, don’t blame me. I didn’t make the road,’ protested the raven. ‘Anyway — what was wrong with back there, among the trees?’
‘Too enclosed,’ snapped Morlok. ‘You need space to fight. What I’m after is somewhere that’s exposed but with cover close by.’
They pressed on and, eventually, Morlok found what he was looking for — but not until they had almost reached Baligsmere itself. On either side of them, the ground rose gently and formed two small hills. Each was crowned with woodland.
‘Perfect,’ growled Morlok, stopping and looking around him. ‘Just perfect. They’ll be caught like rats in a trap.’
‘If they come,’ said Roken.
‘Oh, they’ll come all right,’ said the wolf. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’
‘But when?’ said Roken. ‘I mean, it could be days — or weeks. How will you know that they’re even on their way?’
‘You will tell me,’ said the wolf. ‘That’s your next task. For the time being, we shall part company. I shall now return to Witton Barracks and mobilise the army. In three days’ time, I’ll have my troops in position here. Meanwhile, you’ll be at Baligsmere, watching for Elyon’s forces. At first sight of them, you will report to me here. Then we can be ready for them.’ He began to turn away from the raven, but then he paused. ‘And don’t let me down,’ he said, ‘or I might mistake you for a linnet.’ He made a snapping motion with his paws.
‘Don’t worry. You can rely on me,’ said Roken nervously. ‘I’ll fly there now.’ He took to the air and got himself well out of Morlok’s reach. ‘You will keep the cork tight in that bottle, won’t you?’ he called. ‘See you soon.’ And he flapped off up the road to the north.
The wolf spent a little while longer exploring the two hills, then he too went towards Baligsmere before turning and approaching the hills as Elyon’s forces would approach them. Finally he grunted with satisfaction, turned west and began his long journey back to Witton Barracks.
The next day, Morlok called his commanders to him. He made no mention of the bottle, hidden in his pocket, but he told them of his plans.
‘If Elyon’s followers succeed,’ he said, turning to the map which was now pinned to the wall, ‘they will come from somewhere up there.’ He pointed to the top of the map. ‘They will be heading for Arwendal Keep and will cross the river here, at Baligsm ere. Half a league beyond, the road passes between two hills, and that is where we shall join battle with them. The hills are wooded and I want one battalion hidden in each and another in the open, ahead of them, to lure them on. When they attack, we shall box them in from the sides and to their rear. I want you all in position by dawn, the day after tomorrow, and in a state of readiness.’ He turned from the map and smiled. ‘You will, I’m sure, be glad to know that we shall not be facing them alone. We shall have help. But from a secret source and one which I cannot yet disclose.’