Freeglader (14 page)

‘Nothing,’ came the reply as the Professor of Darkness touched down. He dismounted. ‘Whatever the shrykes are doing, they're not in the Twilight Woods.’

Fenbrus frowned. ‘Curious,’ he said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. ‘Being immune to its effects, I was quite convinced that they would launch an attack from there …’

‘Maybe they sensed that a Great Storm was on its way,’ said the professor. ‘You know how sensitive the bird-creatures are to the weather. And I'll tell you this, Fenbrus, nothing – not even the shryke-sisters – could have survived the
after-shocks of that terrible explosion of lightning as it struck.’

‘You saw it happen?’ said Cowlquape.

The Professor of Darkness nodded. ‘Everything,’ he said. ‘From the advancing swirl of cloud, to the release of the bolt of stormphrax lightning. Quite awesome,’ he said, ‘though nothing compared with what came afterwards. A gigantic, glittering sepia storm that pulsed outwards in all directions, through the Twilight Woods…’

Cowlquape shook his head sagely. ‘And poor Rook, unsheltered on the rocky pavement of the Edgelands, must have taken its full force,’ he said softly. ‘It's a miracle he survived.’

Xanth, who was standing on a ledge to the right, busying himself with the rolling up of his hammock and packing of his bags, listened carefully. If it was as bad as they were suggesting, then maybe Rook would
never
fully recover.

‘A truly remarkable experience,’ the professor went on. ‘It was only a shame that Ulbus wasn't there to witness it for himself. As Professor of Light, he would have found it uniquely interesting…’

‘Skycraft approaching from the south!’ two look-outs bellowed in unison, and all around them, Undertowners and librarians began to wave and cheer.

‘Perhaps that's him now,’ said Fenbrus, raising his telescope and focusing in on the second squadron of sky-craft approaching the Ironwood Stands. He frowned a moment later. ‘No it isn't,’ he said. ‘It's my daughter.’

Three hundred more skycraft swooped down into the
branches to be greeted with a rising swell of cheers and cries and whoops of delight. As Varis came closer, heading straight for the tallest tree in the Ironwood Stands, where Cowlquape, Fenbrus and Tallus Penitax were all assembled, Xanth swung his belongings onto his back and started down to the forest floor. Perhaps Rook had woken up feeling better this new day…

‘Good news,’ Varis Lodd announced excitedly, as she jumped down from the
Windhawk
. ‘Greetings, Most High Academe.’ She bowed her head. ‘Greetings, High Librarian.’

‘Yes, yes, daughter,’ Fenbrus frowned. ‘Forget the formalities. What
is
the news?’

‘Help is at hand,’ she said. ‘Even as we speak, the Freeglade Lancers are on their way!’

‘But this is tremendous news,’ said Cowlquape, excitedly.

‘Excellent, Varis,’ added Fenbrus. ‘You have done well. Very well, indeed. The Freeglade Lancers – finest fighters in the Deepwoods!’

‘Finest, until now, father,’ came a voice, and Fenbrus and the others turned to see the muglumpskin-clad figure of Felix on a branch of the next tree. He was standing with his hands on his hips, surrounded by the Ghosts of Screetown.

‘Oh, Felix,’ said Varis. ‘This isn't a competition.’

Felix glanced at his sister, and then at his father. Fenbrus coughed awkwardly and looked away. Felix smiled ruefully. ‘Isn't it?’ he said. He turned to his companions. ‘Ghosts!’ he called out. ‘Help the
Undertowners down from the trees and spread the good news.’ He glanced back at his father. ‘The Freeglade Lancers are coming! We're saved!’ he added sarcastically, and then was gone.

Down on the forest floor, Xanth was searching for the banderbear nest. It was so cleverly camouflaged that, even now in the daylight, he was having trouble spotting it. Suddenly, from behind him, a few strides away, there came a yodel and Xanth spun round to see Wumeru emerging from a thicket with Rook in her arms. Barely able to contain himself, Xanth rushed up to them.

‘Rook! Rook!’ he began.

Rook opened his eyes and stared at Xanth. The startling blue intensity of his gaze chilled Xanth to the bone.

‘Xanth Filatine,’ Rook mumbled. ‘I remember now. You betrayed librarian knights on their way to the Free Glades, then ran away to the Tower of Night before you were unmasked…’

Xanth hung his head, tears stinging his eyes.

‘Oh, Xanth, you were my friend. How could you have done it? How
could
you…’

Rook's eyes closed again. Xanth stretched out a hand, but Wumeru shook her great head, and he stepped back to let her pass. What now? Xanth thought.

Just then, high above, fresh cheers broke out. Xanth's heart gave a leap. The third squadron of librarian knights – those who had set off under the leadership of the Professor of Light, Ulbus Vespius – must be returning from their foray to the Eastern Roost. Xanth craned his neck back and searched the skies.

Of course, Magda should be amongst them. Magda would speak up for him, even if Rook couldn't!

Soon, the air around the crowded Ironwood Stands was buzzing as the last three hundred skycraft hovered round, searching for landing spaces. High up near the top of the trees, the Professor of Light dismounted and strode towards the waiting welcoming-committee, all eager for his news. Bowing in turn to Fenbrus, Tallus and Varis Lodd – and Deadbolt Vulpoon and Felix Lodd, who had joined them – he addressed himself directly to Cowlquape.

‘I bring bad news,’ he said grimly.

‘From the Eastern Roost?’ said Cowlquape.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the professor. ‘There has been a great Hatching – the biggest battle-flock I've ever seen!
Thousands of them, flooding out of the hatching-huts, and heading this way. They're young, but fully-grown, sleek of feather and sharp of beak and claw – and with a frenzy of blood-vengeance in their hearts.’ He shook his head. ‘I've never seen anything like it.’

‘And how far off are they?’ asked Cowlquape.

The Professor of Light shrugged. ‘Half a day on prowlgrin-back,’ he said. ‘Maybe more, maybe less…’

Cowlquape took a deep intake of breath. He turned to Fenbrus. ‘We can't risk breaking camp,’ he said. ‘The Undertowners must remain up in the trees.’

Fenbrus frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘If they're heading for the Ironwood Stands, shouldn't we get as far away from here as we can?’

‘On foot, we wouldn't stand a chance,’ said Cowlquape. ‘There are too many old'uns and young'uns among us. Why, we'd be picked off like the ripe fruits of a woodsap tree. No, our only hope is to wait for the Freeglade Lancers.’

‘But what if the shrykes get here first?’ asked Fenbrus.

‘Then we must defend ourselves,’ said Varis. ‘There are the librarian knights, the ghosts, the sky pirates…’

Deadbolt nodded in agreement. ‘We're well used to
combat with the scraggy bird-creatures,’ he chuckled, and gripped the handle of the great curving sword at his side. ‘It'll be a pleasure to dispatch a few more.’

‘All right,’ said Fenbrus Lodd, at last. ‘But no fighter must carry a barkscroll. They must hand them over to a librarian or an Undertowner up in the trees for safekeeping – until after the battle. Not a single item from the sacred Great Library must be risked in combat.’

‘You and your barkscrolls!’ snorted Felix, turning away. ‘If we lose this battle, father, there will be no barkscrolls, no Great Library! And the shrykes will make slaves of all those they don't slaughter!’

As news of the battle-flock spread through the Ironwood stands, a numb panic gripped the Under-towners, one and all, as their thoughts turned to the awful possibility of their having to come face to face with the cold, bloodthirsty bird-creatures.

Xanth, still anxiously searching the skies, left the forest floor and climbed up into the trees once more. High into the upper branches he went and, as the pilots of the Eastern Roost flight landed, one after the other, he rushed after them, grabbed them by the arms and asked them all the same question.

‘Have you seen Magda Burlix? Have you seen Magda Burlix?’

Most of the librarians merely shook their heads. Either they hadn't seen her or, more often, they had no idea who she was. Xanth was becoming increasingly desperate.

Then, seeing a rather rotund individual landing his
skycraft on a branch of the next tree along to his right, he leaped across the yawning gap – with no thought of the danger. The librarian looked at him curiously.

‘Magda?’ said Xanth breathlessly as he climbed to his feet.

The librarian finished tethering his skycraft. ‘'Fraid not,’ he said. ‘The name's Portix.’

Xanth frowned impatiently. ‘Have you
seen
her?’ he said. ‘Magda. Magda Burlix.’

The librarian shook his head and turned away. Xanth was about to leave when a gaunt individual appeared from the shadows, the tethers of his own moth-shaped skycraft wrapped round his hand.

‘Magda Burlix, you say,’ he said. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’

Xanth nodded keenly. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘We were in Undertown together.’

The gaunt librarian stepped forwards and clapped his free hand on Xanth's shoulder. ‘Bad news, I'm afraid, young fellow,’ he said. ‘She was shot down over the Eastern Roost. I'm sorry to have to tell you, she hasn't made it.’

• CHAPTER EIGHT •
BLOOD FRENZY

I
n the forest clearing, a grazing tilder doe looked up, startled, ears twitching. Her fleshy pink nostrils sniffed nervously at the air. She could sense something approaching – something dangerous.

All around her, other Deepwoods creatures were similarly uneasy. Up in the branches, fromps coughed their warning alarm while roosting hackerbats and snowbirds chattered and chirruped. A panic-filled family of lemkins, trembling in the long grass, tried hard to remain still and not give themselves away. But it was no use. Abruptly, terror got the better of one of the nervy youngsters.

‘
Waa-iiii – kha-kha-kha-khakha
…’ it shrieked, breaking cover and bolting across the forest floor in a streak of blue, followed quickly by all the rest.

The fromps followed suit, leaping away from tree to tree. The hackerbats and snowbirds took to the sky. Halitoads and razorflits, woodboar and weezits, and all the other creatures that had been poised, ready to run, scurry, slither or flap off at the first sign of danger – they each erupted from their hiding-places and fled.

For a moment, the forest clearing was a frantic, screeching, snorting, dust-filled place; a noisy blur of panic. Out of it sprang the tilder doe, her legs like coiled springs as she bounded through the air and skidded off into the surrounding forest. The next moment, the clearing fell still.