Novelette: The Swallowfalls Spinecaster (2015)
This story was originally published in 2015 but can now be found in Curse of the Kingslayer as part of the collection.
The horrific series of events that took place in the region of Fogrise in southern Illmoor during the year 342 has now come to be attributed largely to the actions of a handful of accidental interlopers. Information on the Shallowfalls Spinecaster itself has since been voted out of public record and classified as Highly Sensitive Material by all but one of the reigning lords on the Great Table of the Continent. Duke Modeset abstained from the vote, claiming that the entire business was nothing more than a figment of the twisted imagination of his manservant. He did, however, refuse to sign any sworn statement to that effect.
*
It was high summer, a season inexplicably translated by the environmental lunacy of Fogrise into thick, meandering mists, a fine coat of rain dust and the sort of chill you only get when a small handful of snow is suddenly deposited in your underpants. Everyone was miserable, but arguably no one more so than visiting Princess Envy of Rappohallodran.
'This place makes me weep,' she said, staring despondently from the windows of Fogrise Keep at a village square that, judging by the clutter of ugly architecture, it seemed several different builders were to blame for. Even the ornamental well looked ready to collapse, but this hadn't stopped the local children from playing a variety of difficult and dangerous games around it. The one going on now involved two of the bigger, more rotund teenagers trying to dangle a skinny ginger one over the side without dropping him. A short scream signalled that they had failed.
Princess Envy heaved another abysmal sigh and turned in her chair to regard Pegrand Marshall, Duke Modeset's yawning manservant. 'What time did you say his lordship was due to return?'
'Midnight, Milady.'
'Seriously?'
'I don't know what mood he'll be in, Milady....'
The two occupants of the room stared at each other for a few seconds in mutual disapproval.
Pegrand Marshall had been struggling with the princess for the best part of three hours and was almost at breaking point. Admittedly, she was more attractive than most of the noble daughters that had been deposited on Modeset's doorstep: small and delicate with porcelain features and large, sorcerous eyes. Pegrand reflected that these physical qualities would have been fine if she'd turned out to have a small and delicate personality to go with them, but in that respect, she was like an iron cage full of concrete: every exchange with the girl felt like fighting three different opponents all armed with razor blades.
'You don't like me very much, do you, Pegrand?' she asked.
The question came out of nowhere, and he wasn't prepared for it. He caught a glimpse of his own saggy reflection in the throne room mirror: a gaunt face, with ever-increasing folds of flesh around the eyes and less hair than teeth, stared back at him. He thought for a moment before plumping for honesty. 'No, Milady: I'm afraid I do not. I think you're the latest in a long line of gold-digging aristocrats with a lot of ambition and no money.'
'I own a castle in Gloam, Pegrand.'
'Yes, I heard: it fell over. A castle isn't really a castle if it's just you standing there, holding up a drawbridge with your bare hands.'
'So you think I'm just after the duke's money? Is that why you've been trying to kill me?'
'Trying to kill you, Milady?'
'The poison in my coffee?'
'We need to replace the kitchen staff.'
'The grease on the stairs?'
'I had a word with the cleaner about that...'
'What about the letter you wrote begging my father not to send me here?' She took a generous sip from a cup of tea she had prepared herself. 'You spineless little maggot! I've a good mind to ask Duke Modeset-'
'Forget it. I've saved the duke's life on several occasions. I am employed without boundaries until the termination of either his lordship's life or my own.'
'I see. And if we were to marry?'
'You and me, Milady? I don't think the duke would approve.'
Princess Envy muttered something under her breath, forced herself out of her chair (which required a considerable struggle with the insufferable dress Modeset had bought for her) and prowled the boundaries of the room. 'Well, Pegrand...let's both put our cards on the table, shall we? I can't stand you either, but we can't just spend the days desperately wishing each other would go away. To that end, I'd like you to provide me with some sort of amusing distraction: what about that dark magic competition over in Crust? Isn't that happening today?'
'The duke forbade it, Milady. Twelve people were killed last year during that ceremony.'
'Then you will head down to the village and fetch someone with the talent to entertain me.' She strode up to the duke's manservant and whispered into his droopy, hirsute ear: 'NOW....if it's not too much trouble.'
*
The meteor entered the atmosphere wreathed in black flame, soaring through the skies over craggy mountaintops, crowded forests and hidden valleys until....
*
Pegrand Marshall mooched into the throne room of Fogrise Keep and bowed low before managing to come out of the manoeuvre bearing a contemptible sneer.
'May I present Mirth Menkin, Your Highness.'
There was a momentary pause before a small, rat-faced man entered the chamber. He was skinny and lank-haired with watery eyes, and looked to be somewhere in his early twenties, though it was very hard to tell.
'Welcome to Fogrise Keep, Mr Menkin. I am Princess Genevieve Envy of Rappohallodran, a guest and possible future wife of Duke Modeset. You may call me 'Your Highness'. You have been asked here to entertain me. Do you dance?'
'I do not, Your Highness.'
'Can you sing?'
'No, Your Highness.'
'Juggle?'
'Unfortunately, I-'
'Perform magic tricks?'
'If only such an option were available to-'
'Can you whistle?'
'Sadly, I have to admit-'
'Oh, come ON! Everyone can whistle!'
'Not me, Your Royal Highness. A small cleft in the tongue has made whistling merely a daydream for me.'
'Then tell me a joke. Your name is Mirth, for crying out loud. Surely that's evidence of a sense of humour, if nothing else?'
'I was named after my father, who was named after his father in the tradition of my grand and great-grandfathers. I'm sure there was a Mirth somewhere along the line who inspired hilarity, but if there was, I'm afraid that the stories have never been handed down....'
The Princess looked from Mirth to Pegrand (who was desperately trying to hide a wry smile) and back again.
'Very well. What is your function here in the town?'
'My function, Your Royal Highness?'
'Yes. What is it that you do? What job do you perform?'
'I am, as it were, regularly between jobs. I used to be a steeplejack, but business was slow as there were no churches in town, so I switched to dragon hunting, but - alas - once I had purchased all the necessary equipment, I realised that dragons hadn't been seen in these parts for an age. I should have listened to my mother before heading out on that particular venture. She said to me, 'Mirth'-'
'-You're a worthless bloody loser?'
'It's like you were there, Your Highness.'
'So what you're saying is-'
The princess never got to finish her sentence, as the world chose that moment to explode with a monstrous, thudding boom that shattered windows, caused jagged cracks to appear in ancient brick walls and sent a series of terrifying tremors through the town.
There was a long and heavy silence before the screams began.
In the castle throne room, Pegrand Marshall forced himself up onto his elbows, spat some blood from between his cracked lips and tried to pick a few small shards of glass from his cheeks. Princess Envy shook so violently that she appeared to remain perfectly still, gripping the clawed arms of the throne tightly enough to flush her knuckles white.
Mirth Menkin, on the other hand, was still standing in the middle of the throne room with a questioning expression on his face. Suddenly realising that something verbal might be expected from him, he said: 'Gosh, that was all rather unpleasant, wasn't it?'
Pegrand sprinted over to the devastated remains of the window, followed shortly by the princess, who had finally found both her feet and her voice. Together, they stared out across the rolling hills of Fogrise at a thick column of smoke curling skyward in the middle distance. Something had hit the ground, hard: possibly exploding on impact.
In the streets below, wounded screams and worried calls for help were giving way to barking dogs, crashing carts and angry shouting.
The princess looked on the unfolding scenes with a certain amount of apprehensive horror. 'Do you think we should help?'
'The people, Milady?' Pegrand hazarded. 'No, they'd only resent it. Besides, we regularly get attacked when we try to interfere with town business.'
'But people could be hurt! We should at least find out what THAT is.'
Pegrand followed her pointed indication and immediately shook his head.
'Not a chance, Milady. Anything that throws up a smoke cloud that big is either a result of sorcery, technomancy, ritual sacrifice to some sort of mutant god or another form of dark magic dabbling. We'd best wait until the duke returns, and then maybe he'll decide to head into the hills with a full complement of guards.'
'Shall we go, Your Highness?'
Pegrand and the princess turned to regard their guest at the same time, both wearing different expressions.
'Did you not hear his lordship's manservant, Mr Menkin? He said-'
'I got the impression you were a bit bored, Your Highness? You know, sending for a wretch like me to entertain you and all?' Mirth Menkin was smiling humourlessly. 'That is to say, I don't mind checking out the horrible danger in the distance if you'd like to accompany me for a bit of an....er....adventure?' Mirth sniffed a little, thrust both hands into the pockets of his trews and shrugged.
Pegrand didn't look at all surprised, but the Princess boggled at him.
'You're offering to check out the column of swirling and potentially chaotic magic over those hills?' she hazarded, putting her head on one side to regard the man quizzically. 'And you expect me to come with you?'
Mirth whistled between his teeth. 'Not in those clothes, Your Royal Highness. I should think some hiking gear would be more appropriate for the steeper hills and some of the lower woodlands.'
The princess tried to disguise the sudden sense of ridiculous excitement that had taken hold of her: to venture into the wilds of Fogrise after more than a week cooped up in the choking court of the duke and his odious servant filled her with such joy that she could barely stop herself from breaking into a run as she made her way to her bedchamber. However, the situation did seem a little too good to be true.
She paused at the doorway and found her eyes narrowing as she peered at the two men. 'This isn't some sort of practical joke, is it?'
'An enormous explosion in the distance, Milady? I'm afraid my basic salary doesn't quite stretch to that.'
'And you, Mr Menkin? Aren't you afraid?'
Mirth had sauntered over to the window and was staring out at the distant horizon. 'I suppose that if you're right about every man having an attribute that he's proud of, Your Royal Highness, then mine would be that I'm frightened of nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.' He turned and fixed the Princess with a stare that made her stomach bunch up and her legs turn to jelly. He wasn't a particularly attractive man, but she was certain that he was telling the truth. She resisted the urge to clap her hands together and hurried out of the throne room.
Menkin waited until she was out of earshot before dropping his jaw and gasping at the duke's manservant with a mixture of horror and complete admiration.
'How the hell did you arrange that explosion?' he spat.
'I didn't,' Pegrand protested. 'It's just a happy coincidence. If nothing else, it removed the need to talk her into following you on a hunt or something. I don't suppose I need to tell you not to go anywhere near whatever landed in the hills: knowing our luck, it's probably a bloody dragon.'
Menkin nodded. 'But the deal stays the same, right?'
'Of course. You get two hundred now, and another three hundred when the job's done. Oh, and I don't want another mess like that disaster with Lady Budwin. Just make sure it looks like an accident. The duke's really keen on this one.'
*
In a rich and complicated history that dated back to the beginning of the Dual Age, Fogrise had never been conquered by enemy invaders...even when said invaders had taken the rest of the continent. There were many reasons for this, most of them having to do with the fact that the little kingdom was almost impossible to get to and even harder to leave. There were so many deep valleys, thick forests, rocky hills and half-hidden waterfalls that it was entirely possible to walk off the main road and never be seen again. In fact, one elderly man who'd been heard calling for help in a monotonous echo that bounced around the hills one wet and dreary afternoon was eventually discovered by a scout party some thirty years later.
The weather was atrocious, too. Fogrise seemed permanently locked in a sort of chilly drizzle that seeped through the mists and soaked you to the bone.
Princess Envy had done nothing but moan for the best part of an hour.
'Are you sure we're not moving away from our destination?' she said. 'Only, I swear it was nearer a few minutes ago than it is now. I'm sure I'm right. We need to head along the ridge that goes beyond the trees to the west. Do you hear me? I want to go that way.'
Mirth muttered under his breath and checked, for the third time in as many minutes, that his stiletto blade was still tucked firmly inside his coat. 'I'm sorry, Your Highness. I assumed you'd wish to see the wonderful beauty of Fogrise in its natural state before we plunged into sudden and unpredictable danger?'
'Well, I don't,' the Princess confirmed. 'I want to find out what landed beyond the hills. So do stop faffing about and lead on.'
Mirth smiled. 'It's your adventure, Princess...but I warn you: we're headed to Shallowfalls, and that's some seriously dangerous terrain.'
'I like waterfalls.'
'Then you'll love the Shallowfalls cascade, Your Highness.' Especially since it's the last one you're ever going to see, said a tiny, cruel voice in his head. 'That's it,' he continued aloud. 'Just step in front of me, here, and I'll help you across the big gap when we get to the end.'
*
Pegrand Marshall was staring at Duke Modeset's small and irritatingly cute dog as it moped around the throne room. The animal, part terrier and part irritant, was affectionately known in the keep as 'Vicious'. It stopped beside the dais several times and pined at a purple scarf the princess had left draped over the arm of the throne.
'It's her own fault,' Pegrand growled. 'She's thoroughly spoilt and thinks she's better than everybody else....just like the last one.'
The dog turned to regard him, wagging its tail.
'You do realise that dreadful Budwin woman actually whipped one of the market boys for getting her name wrong. Poor little mite was black and blue by the time she'd finished.' His lips curled at the edges. 'She got what was coming to her.'
The dog lowered itself onto its belly and whimpered.
'I know this one's a lot younger, but she's definitely from the same stock. I told her father not to send her: I told him....but they're all so keen on the money. It's all they can see. None of them looks out for the duke, not as I do. He's a decent man, deep down: he doesn't deserve to get taken advantage of.'
The dog's whimper mutated into a slight growl.
'It's no good defending her! She becomes the Lady of this keep, and you'll be next. You think she'll put up with a scraggy mutt like you when she's pushed old Modeset off a cliff or something? Ha! You'd be in front of that fire, mate: stretched out like a tiger.'
WOOF.
It was a bark: a single, solitary yap that was quickly swallowed by the terrible acoustics of the throne room.
'Don't even think about it,' Pegrand warned, thrusting an accusatory finger at the dog. 'He's a professional doing a job: there's nothing personal about it. Besides, if he's willing to knock off a noble for five hundred, he'd probably stitch you up just for stepping out in front of him.'
The following seconds were heavily pregnant with anticipation.
Then Pegrand leapt forward and made a frantic grab for the dog....
...but he was about half a second too late.
Vicious was out of the throne room window and scarpering along the gable roof that ran all the way down to the outer courtyard.
'Damn that dog to hell!' Pegrand screamed, sprinting across the throne room and yanking the butler's pull rope five or six times. A heavy footfall on the stairs in the passage eventually signalled the arrival of Hopkirk, Fogrise Keep's ageing retainer.
'Can I help you, Mr Marshall?'
'Be a good chap and fetch my falcon glove,' Pegrand spat. 'Oh, and my belt of tricks: the dangerous one.'
*
Princess Envy dangled precariously over the yawning chasm, trying and failing not to look down as her feet found purchase on the broken rocks. 'Are you sure this is safe?' she hazarded, peering back at Mirth as he lowered the length of vine they'd employed to form a suspension rope across the gap.
'Oh, perfectly....perfectly.'
If the man intended his smile to be reassuring, he failed miserably in the effort.
'Just hold on tightly and lower yourself onto that ledge: you're doing really well....for a princess. Er...Your Highness.'
'But we're so high up! Are you sure you've got a good hold on that rope?'
'Positive, Your Highness.'
Another smile, but this time there was a definite edge to it. The princess experienced a tiny, almost imperceptible moment of doubt...but she'd always been a girl who trusted her instincts.
'You're okay,' she said, suddenly twisting sideways
and scrambling onto a rocky ledge midway across the gap. 'I'll just wait here for a bit.'
'But you're only halfway across!'
'You go first: you're the more experienced climber. Besides, you know the landscape.'
Mirth's expression hardened, but he quickly forced a smile through his teeth. 'Don't be silly: just take hold of the rope again, and -'
'NO.'
The princess leaned forward and, gripping the rocks behind her, threw back the vine.
Mirth caught it in his hands with a speed that was awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.
'Don't be stupid, Your Highness.'
Princess Envy blinked a few times, but didn't break eye contact. Speaking very quietly, she said: 'Pegrand hired you to kill me, didn't he?'
'No, Your Highness.....I'm not going to kill you. You're going to fall.'
Grinning sardonically, Menkin leapt across the chasm like some sort of demented monkey and landed on the ledge just above the one she was clinging to. Moving with astounding deliberation and confidence, he whipped the knife from his coat and held it out in front of him.
'One chance to jump, Your Highness......one chance.....because the next time you blink those big eyes, I'm going to be right next to you. Hahaaha!'
The princess looked down, and a bolt of pure fear and adrenaline rippled through her body. She tried to jump, but her legs wouldn't move. She tried to scream, but her throat closed up. All she could do was stare up at her killer as he crouched down and sprang through the air at her. She knew he was going to make the jump with ease. She couldn't even raise her arms to defend herself: the terror of that demonic smile had completely paralysed her.
Mirth Menkin landed on the rocks, took hold of her throat and whispered: 'Enjoy the view.'
There was a sudden flashing blur in the air.
Mirth yelped and, his eyes bulging from his skull, snatched at his back as if trying to remove a burning knapsack.
Envy looked on in fascinated horror as the assassin spun around.
It was then that she saw the mutated, spider-legged and snake-like spinal column that had dropped on the man and was attaching itself to his back.
*
Pegrand had gathered two of the laziest guards he could find. He knew they were the laziest guards he could find because the others had hidden themselves so well that he'd given up looking for them.
He gave them each a small dog whistle and a length of rope and told them to follow close behind him until they were clear of the town.
The group were halfway up the winding mountain road that led out of Fogrise when the first scream pierced the chilly morning air.
Pegrand started and was just peering into the wavering mists when he noticed that both guards had sidestepped away from him.
'If you two move one more INCH in the wrong direction, tomorrow you'll be guarding your own houses instead of the castle. I do hope we're on the same page here, gentlemen?'
A couple of awkward nods signalled that the guards were still intending to do their job, at least until further danger presented itself.
Pegrand nodded and returned his attention to the mountainside. 'All you need to concern yourselves with is finding the duke's dog. Any other events that might currently be taking place in the mountains are not our business. Now, I want to know your names and any special skills you have?'
'Decker, Mr Marshall! Guard Sentry Decker! Brilliant cook, Sir! Proud to say that I grew up with the man standing next to me, Sir!'
'Trent, Mr Marshall! Guard Sentry Trent! I don't like to brag, Sir, but I've got a beautiful singing voice! My mother said I could go all the way with the right training, Sir!'
Pegrand stared at them both until all the expletives jostling for position on his lips had faded away.
'Very well, gentlemen....but neither of those highly developed talents will have much bearing on what we're doing here. Now, listen up: this path diverts in three different directions, and - by an amazing stroke of luck - there are three of us. So let's take a fork each and meet back here with the dog as quickly as possible. Go! Go! GO!'
The three men divided and ran along their respective routes. Trent headed north into the Fogrise Hills, Decker took the straight road to Wickerwood, and Pegrand Marshall selected the low road that snaked down towards the base of Shallowfalls.
The hunt was on.
*
Princess Envy was plastered to the rock like a starfish, scarcely daring to move or breathe as thin sprays of blood covered her face and neck.
Mirth Menkin was being held suspended in mid-air by the creeping spine-creature, which had fastened onto his back and seemingly integrated itself with his own spine. It was certainly controlling his mouth, manipulating his sickly gaping jaws while blood seeped from between his lips. The man's gaping eyes offered more than enough proof that he was gone from the world, all sentience removed from the twisted shell that remained.
Envy swallowed, trying to take in air through her nose. At first, she thought the terrible thing must be able to fly or be equipped with some sort of wing system, but she quickly realised that the spinal tail was resting on the rocky ledge and was merely holding Menkin aloft in a fashion that made the man look like he was flying.
There was a sickening, squelching, biting noise as some part of the creature burrowed its way further into the back of Menkin's skull. Then the eyes finally rolled to milky white balls in the former assassin's head.
Envy looked down at the falls far below, closed her eyes and jumped.
The creature made no effort to follow, continuing to munch on the cerebral cortex of its latest victim while the rushing water offered up a plethora of background noise to drown out the noises of sheer slavering delight it was making as the meal intensified.
When Menkin's head had been reduced to nothing more than a fancy eggshell, the creature employed his body to make a fast spider climb up the cliff-face towards the outcrop of woodland on the crest of the falls.
*
'Vicious! Vicious? VICIOUS!'
Decker was out of breath: it didn't help that he was a couple of hundred pounds overweight and suffering from a rather persistent head cold. He just wanted to go home. As he staggered through the thin, twisted trees of Wickerwood, he reflected that some outdoors training wouldn't have gone amiss. The duke demanded very little from his guards, to the extent that a position was often offered to anyone who looked like they weren't too busy but obviously needed the money. Since he'd joined the keep's soldiery a little over two months previously, his days had consisted largely of playing cards and cleaning the communal latrine. It wasn't the greatest preparation for a hunt.
'Vicious!' he yelled, bent double with the effort of exhalation. 'VICIOUS!'
WOOF.
Decker's head snapped up as if he'd just caught something vital in a mousetrap.
'Vicious?'
WOOF. YAP. WOOF.
Something moved between the trees on the edge of a clearing on the waterfall side of the wood.
'Good boy, Vicious! Stay right there!'
Decker readied the rope in his hand, blew a few experimental bursts on the dog whistle and ran in the direction of the noise.
Trees flashed past in a blur as he put on an extra burst of speed to reach the clearing, his breath now coming in fits and bursts. At length, he arrived beside a thick, strangled oak that stood alone amid the spindlier trees on the edge of the falls.
Decker leaned on the thick bole of the tree and stared around him.
'Vicious? Here, boy!'
After a few seconds spent scanning every possible hiding place in the clearing, he instinctively looked up...
...and wished he hadn't.
The remains of Mirth Menkin dropped out of the tree and began to feast on his flesh.
*
Princess Envy plunged into the rushing water like a dart, the air exploding out of her in a stream of bubbles, and she kicked out against the strength of the dive and fought to reach the surface.
Her mind swam with a million terrible images given life by the horrific scenes she'd witnessed on the ledge. What was that thing? Where had it come from? Why was it here? Would it follow her down? Hunt her through the woods? Kill her?
She broke the surface of the water and started to swim frantically towards the rocks on the water's edge. When she reached the first one, she scrambled across it and rolled onto her back, staring up at the falls while coughing up rogue spurts of water.
There was no sign of the beast.
Envy twisted herself around on the rock, stopping short of actually sitting up for fear that the dreadful clinging thing might be waiting behind her.
It wasn't.
She stared through the hurling spray of water at the base of the falls, at the trees on the edge of the rocks, at the lower foothills and beyond, but all seemed surprisingly still.
For a second, she fancied that she heard the merest hint of a scream from far above, but it could have been nothing more than her imagination working hard to keep her moving: either way, the sound was quickly swallowed up by the rushing power of the water.
Envy pulled herself together and, snatching up a small and sharp-looking flint for protection, splashed across a series of squat stepping stones and headed for the comparative safety of the trees.
*
Trent reflected that he should never have taken the high road. A few hills wouldn't really have been that much of a problem, as he was decently fit and didn't mind the odd bit of climbing. What he did mind was having to negotiate a rickety and half-sodden rope bridge high over a yawning precipice that contained nothing but jagged rocks at the bottom.
Trent suffered from a terrible clumsiness and a lack of coordination that often struck people who didn't know him as deliberate. Now, trying to cross this pathetic excuse for a bridge while at the same time blowing a dog whistle and keeping hold of a length of rope, he found himself in no small amount of trouble.
The whistle pitched out a shrill cry before slipping from his lips and plunging through the slats at his feet. He made a sudden grab for it but found only thin air, throwing himself off balance as he tried and failed to keep hold of both sides of the bridge.
'Aghhh!'
Trent twisted his ankle as he fought to right himself, crashed bodily through the half-broken teeth of the bridge and frantically scratched, scraped and snatched at every fraying rope he could see as the entire structure unwound and went plunging downwards, into oblivion.
'Arhghghghghgghghgh!'
As his life flashed before his eyes, Trent managed to fight through the fear and strengthen his grip on a single length of rope as he soared inexorably downwards.
Then the rope snagged on a jutting outcrop of rock, and he found himself swinging just a few feet above the rocky teeth at the base of the precipice. Using his own momentum to arc across the gap, Trent did an awkward double somersault and crashed onto a muddy bank that forged a causeway between the rocks and the wood.
Breathing a hefty sigh of relief, he scrambled up the bank and crawled onto a muddy path that promised to lead into the dark heart of the wood. The path ran straight for a time but then moved into a sharp decline where it became almost vertical in places. Still shaken from his ordeal on the bridge, Trent missed his footing halfway along and rolled down the hill like a boulder, turning head over heels in a series of wild loops until he thumped, crashed and crumpled into a clearing beside the edge of the falls. He cursed, cried, spat, coughed and yelped in pain as he struggled to his feet....
...and came face to face with the rotting corpse of his best friend.
Unfortunately for Trent, Decker was still being enthusiastically eaten.
*
Pegrand Marshall was whacking his way through the bushes with a stout wooden branch when he spotted the distant shape of Vicious and realised that the little dog was actually rushing towards him as if he were covered in marrowbone jelly.
Stopping for a moment and leaning on the branch, he watched as the duke's best friend came zigzagging down the path in a series of jumps and dashes. It was only when Vicious trotted up to him that Pegrand noticed the dog was covered in some sort of yellowing mucus and was holding a rough scrap of parchment in his mouth.
Pegrand leaned down and snaked his rope around the dog's neck, gently persuading him to release the parchment by half tickling and half pinching him behind the ear.
He squinted at the blurred but immaculate writing on the parchment, which announced:
Dear Sir/Madamn,
Please find enclosed ONE copy of our recent creation, 'The Spinecaster ', for your consideration in this year's Dark Magician of the Year Award. It is made from the spinal column of a long-dead mountain ogre and has been conjured forth and given sentience via the use of the 'Soul Siphon' spell by myself and two other Year 6 pupils at Mondeth's Academy of Utter Bile on Pitchfork Lane in Legrash. Please also find enclosed one reusable Meteorite of Returning, which has been pre-enchanted with the academy's address, should it prove unsuitable for a prize.
Yours Sincerely
Neville McCracken
Pegrand finished reading the letter and began to slowly crumple the parchment between his fingers. He looked down at Vicious, up at the darkening skies and out into the growing shadows of the wood.
'We might be in a bit of trouble here,' he muttered.
*
Princess Envy was moving along the banks of the fast-flowing river, eagerly watching every movement in the trees for signs of the horribly reanimated Mirth Menkin. Finding the main forest path almost by accident when she tripped on a weather-beaten tree stump, she proceeded practically on tiptoe, holding her flint out in front of her as if it were an enchanted, legendary sword she'd pulled from a rock.
WOOF.
The bark had come from somewhere in the forest below the winding path she was negotiating.
WOOF.
More urgent, this time: not the friendly yapping that crackled from the duke's pet pooch (the only dog she'd encountered in Fogrise) but a definite blast of desperation in canine form.
WOOF.
She squinted to see through the trees on the lower foothills.
WOOF.
WOOF.
WOOF.
There, in a clearing by the edge of the falls, some sort of battle was taking place. She could make out several figures, some of them apparently climbing trees. A sickly bunching churn in her stomach told her that her eyes might be slightly distorting the view so as not to upset her.
Fighting an urge to run in the opposite direction, she slowly dropped off the path and began to creep towards the clearing.
Envy had never been a shy, retiring girl. Even as a young child, she had always faced danger with that recklessness born of naivety and that false, inflated sense of one's own strength during one's formative years. As a teenager, she had overturned a rebellion in her father's kingdom, single-handedly lifted an apple cart off an elderly market trader in deep distress and had even, on her nineteenth birthday, brought down an assassin with nothing more than a bow notched up with a single arrow. She was no slouch.
However, nothing in the world could have prepared her for the vista she encountered in the little clearing.
Two guards, both wearing the plate armour of the Fogrise Keep Sentries, were suspended high in opposite trees with a network of veins, flesh and various tendril-like bodily extensions entangled in the branches like a pair of vomit-inducing spiderwebs.
Mirth Menkin, now mutilated beyond all recognition, hovered like a giant moth in the middle of the clearing. The spinal column that supported his ragged frame, fully fifteen feet in the air, thrashed and twisted beneath him. When the princess stepped into its field of view, the column thrust Menkin's body forward like a striking cobra. The upper torso reached out with zombie arms to grab at the princess, who dived to the ground and rolled aside, springing up with the flint held out in a shaking fist.
She circled the creature to look for an opening in its defences, but the proud new owner of Mirth Menkin's animated corpse was as agile as it was horrifying, and met every attempted thrust with a snatching, hissing parry.
On her third attempt to land a serviceable blow, Envy struck out with all her might, lunging pointlessly at the body as it made another spirited grab for her. This time, her flint lodged in the neck of the corpse and caused her to stumble forward. As if in reaction to the strike, the zombie arms snapped shut on her shoulders, gripping her with such alien strength that she could do nothing except bear witness to her own destruction as she was hoisted high into the air.
When she had drawn level with the mashed face of Mirth Menkin, Envy involuntarily mouthed a silent scream as the despicable brain-chord forced its way through the corpse and opened like a flower before her.
The disgusting mass of twisted stems reared back and...
WOOF.
There was an enormous, undulating shudder, and the princess was released. She plunged downwards and practically hit the ground running before her ankle went, and a sharp spear of pain in her leg forced a tired scream from her lungs: she folded up sideways.
The beast twisted around in an effort to shake off Vicious, who had fixed onto the spinal column and was ravaging it with the focused, jaw-clamping determination innate in its breed. As the snaking tail reacted to the attack, Vicious was flung around the clearing like an artificial rabbit on a greyhound track. The scene would have been mildly amusing if viewed from a safe distance of, say, just over a mile away, preferably through a telescopic eye attached to a decent crossbow. The whirlwind of growling, hissing doom was cut short when the spinal column suddenly pulled tight, releasing the little dog who shot through the trees like a rogue bullet, yapping and yammering all the way. It looked like a flying wig.
Envy tried to stand, but her injured foot wouldn't support her. Instead, she rolled aside as the freakish snake demon came in for a second try at her skull.
A heavy-gloved fist swiped it away.
Pegrand Marshall stepped in front of the prone princess and stared up at the monstrosity that swished and swayed above him.
'Kids today,' he growled, turning briefly to regard Envy. 'You know, in my day they wouldn't have had access to this sort of dark magic until they were at least, oh – I don't know – nineteen? I tell you, this country's going to hell in a handcart. If I had arhghghghghghh-'
The duke's manservant shot into the air, dragged skyward by the snaking length of the enormous spinal column. Upside down and flushed with a sudden rush of blood to the head, Pegrand spat a wad of phlegm at the creature's writhing brain-chord and reached into his belt with both hands.
'You're nothing but the result of a very diseased imagination,' he shouted, 'and one that's never had a girlfriend, if I'm any judge.'
The creature started to spill some sort of terrible bile from the havoc-ridden head tissue that had once constituted the face of Mirth Menkin, but Pegrand had snatched a glass sphere from his belt and was reaching back to lob it at the central core of the brain-chord.
Sensing that the duke's manservant would need some sort of distraction to have any effect on the creature, Envy grabbed a broken branch before crawling on her hands and knees to arrive beside the curled lower coil of the beast. Then, forcing herself up onto her knees, she raised the branch high in the air and brought it down, plunging the end into a hollow gap in the tailpiece.
The creature thrashed around as she leaned all her weight onto the branch, twisting and turning it to apply more and more pressure on the column.
Releasing an enraged hiss, the arms of Mirth Menkin snapped back, and the snaking coil released its hold on Pegrand Marshall. The duke's manservant crashed to the ground, rolled onto his stomach and quickly dragged himself to his feet.
To Envy's astonishment, he grabbed her hand and lifted her off the ground before snatching her into his arms, hobbling away like a newly married man waiting to hurl his bride over the threshold.
'What are you doing?' she shouted as the old man clambered over bushes and mounds of forest debris as he negotiated his way up the rocky path. 'You can't outrun the bloody thing! It's a SNAKE DEMON: it moves like lightning, just-'
'It's not a snake demon,' Pegrand said, depositing the princess beside a tree and producing an ancient flintlock pistol from his belt. 'It's a spinecaster.'
'A what?'
Pegrand pointed the pistol toward the clearing in preparation for the serpentine mass of the spinecaster to slither its way up the path towards them...
...but the creature was gone.
'W-w-where is it?' said Envy, suddenly feeling the bitter cold of Fogrise like she had never felt it before. Pegrand peered around him and then whispered, 'In the trees.'
He took a few careful steps back, holding the pistol at arm's length, and beckoned the princess to follow him. Despite her intense dislike of the manservant and her growing unease about his abilities, she acquiesced. 'Stay very quiet,' he mouthed. 'It won't be long now.'
The pair remained rooted to the spot as shadows lengthened all around them.
Envy rolled her eyes. 'You can't kill this thing with a pistol!'
'Shhh!'
'I know you tried to have that awful man kill me.'
'And then I saved your life.'
'It was the dog that saved my life.'
'Are you actually incapable of being quiet? I mean, we're in mortal-'
'Argh! There it is!'
Pegrand threw the princess aside as the spinecaster flooded down on them from the lower branches of a nearby tree. It had now completely shed the body of Mirth Menkin and was naked and unabashed. The giant brain-chord rattled before them: even though it had no eyes, Pegrand could swear it was watching them.
'Come and get it, you filthy...competition entry!'
The beast darted forward.
He aimed the pistol and fired.
The sphere lodged in the midsection of the spinecaster exploded, showering the entire frame in a wash of the duke's best Dissolution Acid.
The beast flapped and twisted about as parts of it began to dissolve, accompanied by a thick swirling billow of steam.
The brain-chord exploded and fell to the floor...
...and Pegrand breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and promptly collapsed against a tree stump.
The princess looked on, open-mouthed, as the spinecaster continued to disintegrate.
'I'm sorry I tried to have you killed, Your Highness,' Pegrand managed, holding his chest. 'It won't happen again, I promise you.'
Envy opened and shut her mouth a few times, apparently at a loss for words. The ensuing silence was a welcome one, but it didn't last for long.
'W-where did it come from?' she said.
Pegrand rummaged around in his coat and proffered the scrap of parchment. 'Read that,' he said, thrusting it into her hands. 'And don't worry: we're going to send it right back.'
WOOF.
Pegrand smiled at the small and distant shape of Vicious: the little dog had scrambled over the edge of the rocks and was shaking the water out of its coat. The duke's manservant wondered, and not for the first time, if the little dog was actually some sort of god in disguise.
*
'How much further is it?' Envy demanded, almost letting go of the thick coat they'd been dragging. 'My ankle's okay, but this isn't exactly light lifting.'
Pegrand paused, let go of his side of the sleeve and put both hands on his knees. 'It's just over there on top of that hill,' he said, staring in disgust at the giant coiled spine they were hastily transporting. 'I wouldn't usually insist on such a mission, but I really, really want to get this monstrosity back to the evil little thugs who made it.'
Envy smiled through gritted teeth.
'For once, we're in total agreement.'
They put on an extra burst of effort, assisted (or rather slightly hampered) by Vicious, who was dragging at the impromptu tarpaulin with his teeth.
At length, they crested the ridge and came to a puffing, panting halt beside something that, to all intents and purposes, looked like a giant dragon egg that had neatly cracked in half. It lay in two perfectly symmetrical pieces.
'Is it...alive?' Envy hazarded, peering into the artificial meteor. Vicious began to growl, a low guttural sound that seemed far too sonorous for his tiny frame.
'It's enchanted.' Pegrand gathered up a large section of the burnt-out carcass and dropped it into the pod. 'But I think it's enchanted in the same way that a magic door is: we just have to close it up, get it to the old wizard in the village and make sure it magically finds its way home.' He turned and looked back at the main Fogrise Road. 'I think I can hear the duke's carriage, Your Highness: I'd appreciate it if you left out the parts of the day where I tried to...er...get rid of-'
'Yes. I bet you would.'
Vicious was now down on his stomach, his growl intensifying.
'Why do you think it crashed here?' she continued. 'Do you think it's already been to the ceremony?' She picked something small and flowery from the inside of the pod. 'Oh! Look! A rosette!'
Pegrand paused and took the award from the princess's unresisting fingers.
He squinted at it. 'Third place. I guess there's some serious competition in this year's Evil League.'
Vicious had stopped growling and was now padding slowly down the side of the hill, evidently stalking the grass.
'I wouldn't like to imagine the terrible little slices of chaotic darkness that took the top two slots on the podium...'
Pegrand suddenly looked up, his eyes following the dog's progress down the far side of the hill.
'You won't have to,' he muttered, pointing at two half-open meteors in the sloping field beyond.
Envy stared in horrified disbelief at the two indescribable mutants that were working their way towards the castle's great midden.
When she looked back, the duke's manservant was already accelerating fast in the direction of the main road.
'Pegrand! Where are you going?'
He didn't even glance behind him.
'Duke Modeset's back, Your Highness! It's his problem now!'
