Freeglader (36 page)

The goblin spat on the floor and leered up at him. ‘Run now, fight soon,’ he said in a low, guttural voice.

‘When?’ said Felix, dropping to his knees and staring into the goblin's face. ‘
When
will the hammerheads fight?’

‘Soon,’ said the hammerhead, his smile revealing his jagged white teeth once more. ‘Hammerheads fight
soon
.’

‘That's as much as we could get out of him,’ said Deadbolt with a wave of his arm. ‘He must have been at the woodgrog, because when his mates fled, they left him curled up under a sapwood tree, snoring his head off. Speaking of which, where's Mother Bluegizzard? I'm parched!’

‘Woodgrog!’ said the hammerhead, licking his lips. ‘Teg-Teg want woodgrog!’

‘I think he's had enough!’ said Mother Bluegizzard, flapping over with a heavily-laden tray, her mate, Bikkle, hiding behind her skirts. ‘Now, if you wouldn't mind, please remove your visitor, Captain Vulpoon. He's upsetting my regulars!’

‘Take Teg-Teg here to the Hive Huts,’ said Deadbolt. ‘And see about getting him a bath,’ he added. ‘He smells worse than a halitoad!’

As the sky pirates bundled the great hammerhead out of the tavern and the door slammed shut behind them, everyone in the Bloodoak let out a sigh of relief. Meggutt, Beggutt and Deg resumed their drinking, thirsty after all the excitement. Zett and Grome exchanged glances, while in the corner the lone sky pirate looked back down at the table before him.

‘Earth and Sky, wouldn't fancy meeting someone like him on a dark night,’ said Skillett, draining his tankard and catching Mother Bluegizzard's eye for a top-up.

‘Me neither,’ added Blad.

‘Maybe not,’ said Deadbolt Vulpoon, as he and the remaining sky pirates joined the ghosts at the table, ‘but I have the horrible feeling we're going to. You heard him. “Fight soon”, he said, and I for one believe him.’

Felix's eyebrows drew together darkly. ‘You reckon the hammerheads you disturbed were snooping then?’ he said.

‘No doubt about it,’ said Deadbolt darkly. ‘And they didn't want to be seen either. Scouting out our defences, if you ask me.’

Felix frowned. ‘How many did you say there were?

’ ‘At least two hundred,’ said Deadbolt grimly. ‘And we found evidence of many more. Camp fires, clearings and old hive-huts, freshly used' – he wrinkled his nose – ‘by the smell of them. I reckon we've got half the Goblin Nations out there, just waiting for the chance to attack.’

Felix leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing. ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ he said, the excitement plain in his voice. ‘We must warn the Freeglade Council at once and prepare for war!’

‘Good luck with that!’ said Deadbolt with a snort. ‘You know what these Freegladers are like. So long as there's crops in the fields and timber in the yards, they're happy. Even the librarians are more concerned with that library of theirs than anything else.’

‘Then it's up to us!’ said Felix with a triumphant smile.

He looked round the table, his gaze fixing momentarily on each of his ghosts. ‘You're going to have to put those plans of yours on hold, lads,’ he said. ‘Blad, the Silver Pastures will have to wait. Skut and Skillet, it's goblin fighting not fromp trapping for you. And Brove, forget the gardening and hang onto your bone-armour. You're going to need it!’

‘Aye, Felix,’ he said.

‘And as for me,’ he said, his eyes blazing brightly. ‘It looks as if the librarians will just have to get along without me for the time being.’ He raised the tankard which Mother Bluegizzard had just refilled. ‘Forget the Ghosts of Screetown,’ he said. ‘Here's to the Ghosts of New Undertown!’

All clear to the west
, the young skycraft pilot signalled, before swooping down low and fast, skimming over the long, pale green grass of the Silver Pastures and soaring back, high into the air.

Steady, Xanth!
his companion signalled back, adjusting her sail with a deft flick of her tolley-rope and rising up beside him. ‘Still trying to impress the tilderherders, I see!’ Magda shouted across to Xanth with a smile.

‘Just enjoying the
Ratbird
again!’ Xanth shouted back, patting the carved prow of his skycraft. ‘It handles even better than I remember,’ he added, laughing out loud as, with a skilful twitch of the loft and nether-sail ropes, the spidersilk sails billowed and the little craft soared up high above his flight partner.

‘We're not here to enjoy ourselves! We're on patrol!’ Magda called after him, stroking the carved prow of the
Woodmoth
. It was true, it was exhilarating to be back in the air. After the shryke fireball had torn through her spidersilk sail and sent her spiralling out of control to
slam into the forest floor, she had feared
Woodmoth
would never fly again. But she'd picked herself up and, pulling the stricken skycraft behind her, had trudged for days through the Deepwoods. It had taken weeks to recover from that terrible journey, not to mention to repair the
Woodmoth
. And now, here they were once more, soaring through the clear Free Glades air.

High above, Xanth tugged on the hanging-weights and swooped back down through the sky, panicking a herd of tilder grazing below him, and sending them galloping off across the grasslands. In the distance, several slaughterers on skycraft waved in salute and gave their characteristic whooping calls. There was nothing a seasoned tilderherder appreciated more than skilful flying. Xanth waved back and swooped round in a slow arc to rejoin his companion.

Come on
, Magda signalled, trying not to smile.
Let's head back. We need to make our report.

Xanth nodded and followed her as she set a full sail. Below them, the vast grasslands of the Silver Pastures shimmered in the morning light and great herds of bellowing hammelhorns grazed beside skittish runs of leaping tilder.

Beyond the Silver Pastures, the rolling green canopy of the Deepwoods stretched out seemingly for ever. Far, far away were the tiny specks that marked the beginning of the Goblin Nations, and on the distant horizon the inky smudge of the Foundry Glades glowered like a bad dream. Here in the bright sunshine, all was peace and
tranquillity. Xanth caught Magda up and signalled across to her.

Race you back to Lake Landing!

Magda made no reply, but from the way the
Woodmoth
abruptly darted off through the air in the direction of the Free Glades, it was clear that she had not only seen his challenge but had also taken him up on it. Like two snowbirds in a windstorm, the skycraft streaked across the sky.

Past the look-out tower they went, leaving the Silver Pastures behind them; over the spiky treetops of the forest ridges and down towards the Free Glades. Far below them, the great northern cliffs dotted with cloddertrog caves came into view. A moment later, New Undertown appeared, with the three lakes spread out before them, their still, deep waters reflecting the midday sky like burnished mirrors. And as they flew on, they were joined by other librarian skycraft as patrols flew in from every direction towards Lake Landing.

The Great Lake came closer and Magda eased off, letting the loft-sail go slack.
It's OK!
she signalled.
You win! If Varis sees us racing, we'll be for it!

Xanth brought the
Ratbird
round and gently steered it
in. The pair of them landed amongst many others on the thronging platforms of Lake Landing.

‘Timid lemkin,’ whispered Xanth in Magda's ear as they secured their skycraft.

‘Show off!’ she responded and stuck out her tongue.

The dozens of skycraft, tethered to jutting mooring-bars, bobbed around in the warm breeze that was getting up, while the gantries and flying-walkways were filled both with those librarian knights who had just landed and those who were about to take off. Magda and Xanth headed off along the jetty to where a cluster of young librarian knights had assembled and were deep in loud, animated conversation with each other. As they joined them, so too did Varis Lodd, striding up from the direction of the refectory tower, her green flight-suit gleaming in the bright sunlight.

‘Librarian knights!’ she said, her voice sharp-edged and commanding. ‘Stop gabbling like a bunch of woodgeese and make your reports!’

The librarian knights snapped to attention, eyes facing forwards and divided into twos. All raised their hands and signalled their reports with crisp precision.

Movements to the south. Suspected flat-head party.

Varis nodded, her eyes narrowing.

Forest fires near the Foundry Glades. Spreading this way.

Varis nodded again, her face stony and expressionless.

Fired upon over the southern fringes. Grey goblins' barbed arrowheads. No casualties.

Varis moved along the line, nodding curtly as each librarian pair reported in turn. There had been goblin
sightings, recently deserted clearings and glowing campfires all round the borders of the Free Glades.

‘And you two?’ Varis's voice, stern and strident, cut through the silence.

Magda and Xanth, who'd been nudging each other and trying to make one another giggle, looked up guiltily. Magda raised her left hand and signalled the wide arc of the Silver Pastures, while Xanth circled his thumb and forefinger and bowed his head.

‘All quiet in the Silver Pastures, eh?’ Varis gave a thin smile. ‘At last, some good news. Though with all that fancy flying and racing, I'm not surprised you two didn't notice anything. Thank goodness for the slaughterer herders. At least
their
reports are reliable!’

Magda and Xanth both reddened as all eyes turned to them.

‘Librarian knights, dismissed!’ Varis barked, and the ranks broke up and headed for the refectory tower.

‘Xanth!’ Varis's hand was on the librarian knight's shoulder. As she drew him to one side her voice became low and confidential. ‘Talking of herders' reports,’ she said, ‘a certain slaughterer tells me that your flying this morning was the finest he'd ever seen.’

Xanth's face reddened once again, but this time he was smiling.

‘If things are as bad as I suspect, your flying skills will soon come in useful.’

‘They will?’ said Xanth.

‘Yes,’ said Varis, smiling in turn. ‘As my flight marshal.’

‘Steady, boy,’ Rook whispered as he felt Chinquix quiver beneath him.

The branch the prowlgrin was perched on seemed impossibly slender, but Rook had learned to trust his mount's judgement completely. In all their exhilarating treetop gallops through the Deepwoods, the powerful skewbald prowlgrin had never put a foot wrong. And in contrast to its bigger brown and orange cousins, Chinquix was fast and quick-witted. Rook had only to touch the reins or squeeze his legs with the slightest pressure for the prowlgrin to respond instantly.

But there was more to their bond than simply
mount
and
rider
. Whenever Rook appeared in the roost, Chinquix's blue eyes would light up and his thin, whiplash tail would thrash the air excitedly. Then Rook would tickle Chinquix just above his nostrils and the prowlgrin would close his eyes and let out a low rumbling growl of contentment.

‘What is it, boy?’ whispered Rook, leaning forward in the saddle. Chinquix's nostrils were quivering as he sniffed the air. ‘What can you smell?’

Rook scanned the horizon. To his right, the undulating ocean of leaves continued into the distance; before him, a similar view was interrupted in several places by ironwood stands, the stately pines reaching up high above the rest – while to his left…

He gasped. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, unable to believe what they could see.

‘What in Sky's name?’ Rook murmured.

For two long days, the troop of Freeglade Lancers had