Freeglader (29 page)

L
ate the following morning, Rook set off. He had swapped his librarian robes for the green leather flight-suit of a librarian knight, a kit-bag strapped to his shoulders and his sword at his side. All round him, as the sun rose higher in the sky, it was business as usual on the banks of the Great Lake. Cloddertrogs and mobgnomes, flat-heads and slaughterers; they were all hard at work, endeavouring to put the finishing touches to the magnificent new library before the current spell of good weather broke.

Rook, however, was leaving it all behind. He'd spoken to Felix the night before, and Fenbrus Lodd earlier that morning. Felix had been his usual self, full of enthusiasm and encouragement.

‘Freeglade Lancers, eh, Rook?’ he'd laughed. ‘Not bad for a bunch of tree hoppers, and they
did
get us out of a tight spot at Lufwood Mount. Good luck to you!’ He'd raised his tankard to the rest of the regulars in the New Bloodoak. ‘To Rook's new career!’

Fenbrus Lodd's response, of course, had been quite different. The High Librarian had tried to persuade him to stay – though there was nothing he could say to change Rook's mind. There was a jaunty spring now in the young librarian knight's step, a joyful whistled tune on his lips and, as he strode off along the lakeside, his spirits soared.

He passed the lines of woodtrolls on hammelhorn carts, still arriving from the east with their cargoes of felled trees, and departing the same way with rubble and rocks and off-cuts of timber. Gradually, the sounds of hammering and drilling, carving and sawing, the shouts and the cries, all faded away. Water splashed softly against the muddy banks where reed-ducks and rockswans nested, and sleek young fromp-pups playfully scampered and tumbled.

Reaching a narrow track, Rook left the water's edge and headed up through windgorse and woodfurze towards the Ironwood Glade. Far ahead, he could see its dark, imposing trees swaying gently in the breeze and heard the distant sound of their needle-like leaves hissing like running water.

Soon after, the undulating land went down into a deep dip and, with the thorny shrubs rising up all round him,
the glade disappeared from view, the hissing stopped and another sound filled the air – the sound of happily singing voices. Rook continued and, as he rounded a corner in the twisting track, he saw a large band of gyle goblins before him, heavy pails of pink honey swinging from their clenched fists, coming from the opposite direction.

‘Morning, Freeglader,’ the gyle goblins greeted him warmly as they drew nearer.

‘Good morning, Freegladers,’ said Rook, returning their greeting with a smile.

The gyle goblins clustered round him and a couple of them politely offered him some of their raw honey to drink.

‘We prefer it boiled up in our mother's cooking-pots,’ said one. ‘Nice 'n' warm.’

‘But you might like it as it is,’ said another, offering him a beakerful. ‘Sweet and refreshing.’

Rook took the beaker and sipped at the pink liquid. It was indeed delicious – and far more refreshing than he would have thought possible. 'Thank you, thank you,’ he said, grinning at the gyle goblins each in turn. ‘It's marvellous.’

‘You're most welcome, friend,’ came the reply.

The gyle goblins continued on their way and Rook waved after them. Alone once more, he turned and resumed his journey with renewed energy and, as he climbed the slope on the far side of the dip, his thoughts returned to Fenbrus Lodd and the meeting they'd had early that morning.

‘You're absolutely sure this is what you want to do,’ the High Librarian had pressed him. The pair of them had been standing in Fenbrus Lodd's study inside the library, the hushed purr of academic activity softly echoing all about them. ‘The Freeglade Lancers do an excellent job patrolling our borders, but they're a rough and ready lot, you know.’

Rook had laughed. ‘Unlike the librarian knights, you mean?’ he said.

‘Yes, well, we've got some pretty interesting characters in our ranks as well, I grant you,’ Fenbrus had said. ‘But that aside, Rook, there's a great future waiting for you here in the Great Library if you would only accept it. You've got the skills to make a superb librarian; the perseverance, the agility and accuracy – why only yesterday, my assistant Garulus Lexis was saying what a terrific start you've already made as a scroll-seeker.’ His brow had furrowed as he surveyed the youth warmly. ‘The Great Library
needs
bright young academics like you, Rook.’

‘I … I'm very flattered, sir,’ Rook had said, his cheeks reddening, ‘really I am. And I love the library, of course,’ he'd added, looking out through the study door at the magnificent roof timbers, bedecked with hanging barkscrolls. ‘And yet, I … I need something else … I'm a librarian knight who has lost his skycraft. Perhaps by joining the lancers I can serve not only the librarians but all Freegladers.’

‘By Earth and Sky, you sound just like Felix,’ Fenbrus had said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Can't seem to get him to
leave the ghosts and join us in the Great Library. But I had such high hopes of
you
, my lad. Still,’ he'd said, shaking his head resignedly, ‘I can see I'm not going to change your mind.’ And he'd reached out, seized Rook by the hand and pumped it heartily up and down. ‘I shall miss you, lad, but I wish you all the very best. The library's loss is the Freeglade Lancers' gain. And remember, there'll always be a welcome for you back here at the library, any time you choose to return. Any time at all!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Rook had said and was about to leave, when Fenbrus had told him to wait just a moment longer.

He'd hurried over to his desk, pulled a drawer open and rummaged about noisily inside it, returning a moment later with a roll of parchment, which he'd handed over. Rook had looked at it, curious.

‘Open it up, lad,’ Fenbrus had said, his eyes gleaming excitedly. ‘Given your chosen career, I think you might find it quite helpful.’

‘
On the Husbandry of Prowlgrins
,’ Rook had read out loud.‘
A treatise by
…’ He'd stopped, then smiled. ‘
Fenbrus Lodd
… So this is…’

‘My very first treatise, that's right, Rook,’ Fenbrus had said. ‘Keep it safe and return it to me one day – possibly with additions of your own. After all, you did say you enjoyed treatise work. And if you're not going to be a scroll-seeker, then we'll get you working as a scroll-
writer
, eh?
Go on, then. Get out, before I change my mind and have you assigned to quill-sharpening duty.’

The High Librarian had sounded gruff, but Rook had noticed the moistness in his eyes. Despite his bluster and stern manner, Fenbrus Lodd has a kind heart, Rook thought, as he struggled up the overgrown slope – I wonder why he never lets his own son see it?

Reaching the top of a ridge at last – red-faced and out of breath – he looked up and saw the towering trees of the Ironwood Glade just before him. He stepped forwards and entered the huge stand of trees. It was like entering a gigantic, windowless hall. The temperature dropped and the sounds of the Free Glades outside became muffled.

Stepping gingerly over the glade floor, his feet sinking into the thick mattress of pine needles, Rook looked down. Somewhere far below him lay the Gardens of Light, where Xanth Filatine was being held.

Poor Xanth, he thought. Nobody seemed to have a good word to say about him, and yet … No, it was no good. Try as he might, Rook couldn't remember anything about his friend's betrayal so long ago.

From high above his head, as he plunged deeper into the shadow-filled coolness of the glade, he heard sounds – the soft whinnying of countless prowlgrins; the low buzz of voices. And looking up into the tall trees, their huge branches criss-crossing, not unlike the roofbeams of the library, he saw that he was below the Prowlgrin Roosts. Hundreds of the creatures perched overhead – snuffling, nuzzling, resting and preening; some gnawing
on bones, some wandering from branch to branch. And amongst them in the half-light, Rook could just make out individuals, with chequered green and white at their necks and red figures emblazoned on their chests.

‘The Freeglade Lancers,’ Rook murmured.

He started up the nearest ironwood pine, finding handholds and footholds in the rough bark and climbing at an angle, crossing from branch to branch, as he made his way up the close-growing trees. It was just like climbing the roof timbers at the new Great Library, only on an altogether bigger scale. Soon, he was far above the ground and all around him, in place of barkscrolls, were prowlgrins of all ages and sizes.

They ambled this way and that freely, purring contentedly as they grazed on the tilder-carcasses which hung from heavy hooks, and sometimes snorting loudly as, in a sudden display of activity, they launched off from one branch with their powerful back legs and grasped hold of the next with the long claws of their stubby forelegs. Clearly used to the lancers in their midst, none of them paid Rook any attention.

Nor, at first, did the lancers themselves. Those who were not asleep in hammocks, slung from the overhead branches, were busy with their duties. Some sat cross-legged, sharpening their ironwood lances with notched jag-knives. Some polished their breast-plates and limb-guards with tilder grease. Others – in twos and threes – were grooming their prowlgrins, brushing their fur and oiling their great paws.

Most of them, Rook noticed, were gnokgoblins, small

wiry creatures whose close relationship with the great roosting beasts was similar to that of the gyle goblins and spindlebugs in the Gardens of Light below. But there were a smattering of others – mobgnomes, lop-eared goblins, slaughterers … It was, in fact, a slaughterer who first noticed Rook. Looking up from the broken harness he was busy repairing, he caught sight of the young librarian.

‘Well, well, if it isn't a librarian knight,’ he said. ‘And what can we humble lancers do for you?’

Others looked round to see who their comrade was talking to.

‘Greetings, Freeglader,’ Rook said. ‘If you could take me to see your captain…’

‘Captain, eh?’ said one of the gnokgoblins. ‘And what would you be wanting with him?’

‘Certainly don't get many librarian knights around here,’ said his companion. ‘I thought you lot preferred being up in the sky.’

‘'S safer up there, innit?’ said the first gnokgoblin, raising his eyebrows and provoking laughter from the others.

Rook's face reddened. ‘I … I want … I wanted…’ he stammered.

‘Spit it out, lad,’ said the slaughterer. ‘Stone me, I thought you librarian knights were meant to be good with words – what with all them barkscrolls and that…’

‘Come on, now, you lot, cut it out,’ came a gruff voice.

‘Captain Welt,’ said two of the gnokgoblins as one.

Rook looked round to see a short yet heavily-built
gnokgoblin swinging down on a rope from a higher branch and landing squarely beside him. He had dark eyes, a low brow and a deep scar that crossed his cheek, clearly made by the knife that had left one of his ears half the size of the other.