Back To The Divide (30 page)

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"How do you know it was him?"

"Look," said Thornbeak, pointing to hoofprints outside her nest. "Those weren't made by any creature from this world. They have to be those mule-things Ironclaw told me about. And where
is
he when I need him?" She glanced toward the forest, which was very dense just there. "That's where they've gone. I can't look for her, I'm too big."

"We
can," said Grimspite. "Snakeweed will be making for the brittlehorn valley, so that he can grab the fire-breather and take the gold back to Andria. You go there and wait for us."

"I feel so helpless," said Thornbeak. "My poor little baby. She'll be so frightened."

Ironclaw landed next to his dirt-board with the potion Milklegs had mixed for Granitelegs suspended from his beak. He placed it on the ground and said, "Come on then, you old fraud. Sit up and take your medicine like a cock." There was no reply.

Ironclaw flapped his wings to blow away the leafy quilt he'd used to cover Granitelegs and nudged his friend with his foot. He suddenly realized that Granitelegs was very cold -- far too cold. He looked more closely at him.

The brazzles eyes were closed, and there was no movement -- he wasn't breathing.

Ironclaw felt a lump rise in his throat. He was too late. Granitelegs was dead. He poked him with his talon, in the

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vain hope that he'd been mistaken, but there was no response. The body was stiff as well as cold.

Ironclaw just stood there, feeling gutted. His rivalry with Granitelegs had lasted nearly two centuries, and he knew he was going to miss him dreadfully. They'd had their arguments, lots and lots of them, and Granitelegs had never really gotten along with Thornbeak. Well, Ironclaw hadn't, either, a lot of the time, if he was honest about it. He remembered the first time he'd brought Thornbeak back to Tromm Fell, and Granitelegs having a bit too much fermented fertle-juice and saying, "Did you hear the one about the brazzles who couldn't agree on a name for their chick? When the brittlehorn asked them why they couldn't discuss it, the hen said the cock hadn't spoken to her for two years. 'Why not?' asks the brittlehorn. 'Well,' says the cock, 'I didn't like to interrupt her.'" Granitelegs had had hysterics, and Thornbeak had pecked him.

Ironclaw swallowed, but the lump wouldn't go away. Granitelegs had been tactless and clumsy and irritating, but he'd been Ironclaw's best friend. Life would never be the same again.

Suddenly, Ironclaw remembered that this was all Snakeweed's doing. The anger rose within him like no anger he had ever felt before. He took off and climbed steeply, using his magnifying vision to look for his quarry. Then he thought that he'd better let Thornbeak know what he was up to, so he swooped down to the nest.

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He could hardly believe his eyes -- the nest was completely empty. Both Thornbeak and the egg were gone. I'll kill him, thought Ironclaw, as he spotted the mules' hoof-prints outside. This time, I'll definitely kill him.

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***

16

***

Harshak ducked into the undergrowth as the carpet whizzed past him, zigzagging along the forest track like a demented bird of prey. It looked as though something was giving it a test flight. As he watched it disappear, it left an undulating trail of scent behind it. A faint hint of charring tickled his nose, as though the rug had once been burned; soap, as though it had recently been washed -- and delicious, scrumptious, yummy one-eye. A one-eye test-piloting a magic carpet? How odd. Harshak licked his lips and followed the smell.

Before long he came to the brittlehorn valley. He skulked at the forest edge for a while, just watching. A fire-breather was asleep on the riverbank. It was totally different from the beast he'd had to guard up on Tromm Fell -- young, muscular, smoldering with vitality. At the other end of the valley a group of mares was clearing up after what looked like a party. There were fragments of oatcakes all over the grass, as

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well as wisps of hay and puddles of fermented fertle-juice. A trough had been knocked over, and the prediction pool had dead leaves floating on it. Someone had decorated the mud wallow with branches of fire-tree that were now the worse for wear, drooping into the mire and shedding their brightly colored cones everywhere.

A group of colts was lying down, fast asleep and snoring. The mares were talking quietly to one another as they worked, and Harshak could see that the carpet had landed close to a cave entrance. The one-eye was no longer on board -- she must have gone into the cave.

Hmm,
thought Harshak, I'm not sure I want to risk barging in there. Brittlehorns can freeze sinistroms in their tracks. Maybe I'll just wait for a while.

He curled himself up under a tree and dozed off. Even the most menacing of the menacing needed their ugliness sleep.

The most extraordinary braying noise woke him up. He sat bolt upright and listened. Voices. He sniffed. Japegrins -- and something that smelled a bit like brittlehorn but not quite. He wriggled underneath a fallen log and waited. Two mythical no-horns came walking down the path, loaded up like cuddyaks. They were accompanied by three japegrins. Harshak identified Snakeweed immediately, and his lips drew back in a soundless snarl. Snakeweed had treated him with the utmost contempt -- he, Harshak, the most brutal of the brutal. Ripping his throat out would be a pleasure -- except for the fact that Snakeweed was his master.

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Or was he? Harshak still felt remarkably free to maim, torture, and terrorize whatever crossed his path without precise instructions from anyone. Perhaps his pebble had gotten left behind in the other world. Go for it, he thought, and stepped out on to the path in front of the no-horns.

They didn't react the way cuddyaks would have. Cuddyaks would have stood shoulder to shoulder and lowered their heads so that their bony brows were the first point of contact. These creatures panicked immediately and galloped off in opposite directions, making that disagreeable heehawing noise. One of them seemed to be squawking as well, which seemed unlikely -- but then, these were otherworld creatures, so anything might be possible.

Snakeweed wrenched Pepperwort's wand from his belt and held it out in front of him. Harshak had encountered Snakeweed's sorcery before, and he was well aware that he knew some shadow-spells. However, they weren't going to work if he didn't have Harshak's pebble. Pepperwort and Stonecrop took one look at Harshak, turned, and ran.

"Lost something, Snakeweed?" said Harshak. "A pebble, maybe?"

"My hostage, stink-fur," said Snakeweed insolently. Then, suddenly, he looked past Harshak, out into the brittlehorn valley.

Not falling for that one, thought Harshak -- then he heard the sound of beating wings, and he couldn't help looking out there himself. The female brazzle who'd attacked

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him up on the peak was landing in the middle of the grass, and the one-eye had come out of the cave. The one-eye was adorably plump and juicy, and Harshak licked his lips. Then a second brazzle appeared. Ironclaw. Harshak watched him land and heard the excited exchange of squawks, although he was just too far away to make out exactly what was being said. After that, an elderly brittlehorn followed the one-eye out of the cave, then another. Popular place, this valley, thought Harshak, and he turned back to Snakeweed. The japegrin had vanished.

Harshak felt really annoyed with himself. He'd been looking forward to killing Snakeweed. The one-eye was now surrounded by brazzles and brittlehorns, so she wasn't a very sensible target, but Harshak's hearing was very acute, and he could hear footsteps approaching. He decided to wait and see who it was.

Felix saw Harshak first, and he stopped dead. Betony went very pale and grabbed him by the arm.

Oh, well, thought Harshak. They're little more than a morsel, but I suppose they'll do. Mind you, I am meant to be maiming, torturing, and terrorizing, so it wouldn't do to kill them right away. And then another sinistrom appeared.

Harshak just stared for a moment -- this was the last thing he'd expected. "Grimspite?" he said finally. "It
is
Grimspite, isn't it?"

"Yes," mumbled Grimspite. He didn't like the way Harshak was looking at him -- with undisguised contempt.

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Harshak was a very senior sinistrom, and he was perfectly within his rights to punish Grimspite for un-shadow-beast actions. Being friends with a tangle-child and a mythical beast was about as un-shadow as you could get.

"I remember you," said Harshak. "You always were a bit of a runt, a mite soft-hearted, and far too fond of your food. It's ironic that you survived and Architrex didn't."

Felix frowned. "What do you mean, Architrex didn't?"

"Architrex is dead."

"How do you know?"

"His energy's missing. Pity, he was an excellent sinistrom. Spiteful, vindictive. One of the best."

"What happened to him?" asked Betony.

"Who cares?" said Harshak. "He's history."

"I care," said Betony. "He killed two brittlehorns, friends of mine."

"That was clever of him," said Harshak admiringly. "Tricky targets, brittlehorns."

"Well?" persisted Betony.

"All I know is that it was something sudden," said Harshak. "Like being struck by lightning."

I know what happened, thought Felix suddenly. I know what happened to Architrex. When he and Snakeweed crossed over to my world last summer, they got separated. Architrex killed some livestock and ended up getting shot -- I remember the hunting party. When Snakeweed

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met up with Grimspite, who'd gotten into my world by accident, he just assumed he was Architrex.

All of a sudden Harshak noticed something out of the corner of his eye, and he spun around to see better. The rest of the party followed suit. The scene before them was so extraordinary that they all just stood and watched it for a moment.

Snakeweed had caught one of the mules, mounted it, and was galloping flat out for the fire-breather. At the far end of the valley Thornbeak and Ironclaw gaped with astonishment; then they lifted into the air together and collided. They landed on their backs on the grass, winded.

"Oh, no you don't, that japegrin's
mine,"
growled Harshak, and he shot off after Snakeweed.

The moment the sinistrom was out in the open, the old brittlehorn spotted him, lowered his head, and broke into a gallop. The colts woke up, whinnied to one another, and set off in pursuit, their mothers neighing at them to come back
immediately.

Grimspite took off after Harshak, and Felix and Betony followed, rather more slowly. "I wish I had some binoculars," panted Felix, knowing that neither he nor Betony were fast enough runners to get close to the action.

Betony put her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. As Nimby rose into the air Turpsik flung herself aboard, obviously not wanting to miss any material she

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could turn into an epic poem. Nimby tilted alarmingly; then he steadied and flew toward them at top speed.

Snakeweed reached the fire-breather before anyone caught up with him. It had scrambled to its feet and was puffing out jets of smoke; two sinistroms heading toward it were enough to make any being with wings want to take off. Snakeweed didn't waste time unbuckling the panniers carrying the gold -- he simply cut them with two strokes of his wand. Harshak and Grimspite were belting toward him, but Felix could see that Pewtermane was going to intercept them before they made contact. Then Nimby arrived. Felix and Betony scrambled on to the carpet beside Turpsik, and Nimby took off again and headed across the valley. Ironclaw and Thornbeak had now recovered themselves and were back in the air.

Harshak didn't see Pewtermane come at him from the side. The brittlehorn caught him a glancing blow mid-stride, and Harshak rolled over and over and eventually came to a stop. Pewtermane slid to a halt and stood over him, his flanks heaving, the tip of his horn red with blood. Grimspite couldn't stop in time, and he cannoned into him. Pewtermane staggered backward and struggled for a moment to regain his footing.

"Why,
brittlehorn?" hissed Harshak. "You are peaceful beings; you freeze enemies, you don't gore them. I am Harshak, the deadliest of the deadly, but I have no quarrel with you."

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"Oh, bother," said Pewtermane. "You're not Architrex, then? My eyes aren't what they used to be."

Snakeweed had loaded the panniers onto the fire-breather and was now standing with his back to it, his wand at the ready. Then the brazzles landed, making a takeoff for the fire-breather impossible.

"Architrex!" yelled Snakeweed to Grimspite. "Clear a runway!"

"So
you're
Architrex!" neighed Pewtermane. He whirled around like lightning, lowered his horn, and lunged. Grimspite dodged sideways, but the horn passed so close to him that it shaved a few hairs off his flank. Barely pausing to draw breath, Pewtermane pirouetted and stabbed again.

"I'm
not
Architrex!" yelped Grimspite, taking evasive action once more.

Pewtermane took no notice. He was going at it hell-for-leather now, jabbing with his horn, then spinning around and kicking with all his might.

"Architrex is dead," said Harshak.

Pewtermane skidded to a stop. "What?"

"That's Grimspite," said Harshak. "A very junior sinistrom indeed."

"It was
Snakeweed
who ordered Architrex to kill Snowdrift," shouted Felix as Nimby came level and hovered above the melee.

The fire-breather had the river behind it, which cut off