Freeglader (5 page)

‘Rook?’ Magda's sleepy voice called out. ‘Is it over? Has the storm passed?’

‘Come and see for yourself,’ Rook called over his shoulder. ‘It's incredible.’

Magda's head appeared next to his own, followed by Xanth's. They peered out across the bleached plains, shocked and bewildered.

‘Look!’ Rook exclaimed, pointing at the flat, muddy horizon.

‘What?’ said Magda, who was already scooping handfuls of mud aside and squeezing out of the hole on all fours. ‘I can't see anything.’

‘Exactly!’ said Rook, following her. ‘The Great Mire Road! It's gone!’

Xanth scrambled after them. All around, other mud-dunes were coming to life as the Undertowners emerged from their shelters into the blinding light of the white mud and early morning sky.

‘You're right,’ gasped Xanth, following Rook's gaze.

Where the Mire Road had towered over them the night before, now there was only a low ridge of mud, punctured here and there by splintered beams and pylons, like the ribs of a giant oozefish. Wreaths of acrid smoke began to coil up into the sky as braziers and cooking-fires were lit, and the air filled with the sounds of scraping and scratching as everyone struggled to rid themselves and their belongings of the clinging mud.

Xanth and Magda seized a couple of pieces of broken wood and began shovelling at the drifted mud-dune surrounding the hammelhorn cart. But it was hard going, with the wet mud constantly sliding back into the areas they had cleared.

‘Come on, Rook,’ Xanth panted. ‘We could do with a hand here.’

But Rook did not hear him. He was staring at the remains of the once impressive feat of engineering, lost in his thoughts. So, this was the end of the Great Mire Road; a road he, Rook, had travelled as an apprentice librarian…

The image of Vox Verlix's fat face hovered before him – Vox Verlix, the greatest architect and builder the Edge had ever seen. The Great Mire Road had been his masterpiece, the greatest of all his mighty projects. But, like the Tower of Night and the Sanctaphrax Forest, it too
had been wrested from him by others, leaving the former Most High Academe angry and bitter. And so, like a petulant child breaking its toys, he had brought down the power of the dark maelstrom on Undertown and destroyed his precious creations – and destroyed himself in the process.

Rook shook his head and turned away. Vox Verlix, Undertown, the Great Mire Road – they were all in the past. There was no turning back. Now, the homeless Undertowners and librarians had to look to the future, Rook realized, a future that lay far away across this desolate wasteland…

‘Head in the clouds as usual!’

The sound of the voice snapped Rook out of his reverie. In front of him stood Varis Lodd, Captain of the Librarian Knights, resplendent in her green flight-suit. Rook bowed his head in salute.

‘Captain,’ he greeted her.

Varis laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I wish you could come with us, Rook,’ she said kindly. ‘But our loss is the library's gain. Keep the barkscrolls safe until our return, Rook, and you'll have completed a task every bit as important as ours.’

Rook nodded and tried to return her smile.

‘Now, where's that friend of yours?’ Varis looked past Rook and, as her gaze fell on Xanth, Rook noticed her jaw tighten and her eyes glaze over.

Xanth looked up and must have seen her expression too, for he stopped shovelling mud and stared down dejectedly at his boots.

‘Xanth!’ Magda laughed, still shovelling furiously. ‘Don't give up! You're as bad as Rook …’ She stopped when she saw Varis and straightened, bowing her head. ‘Captain,’ she said.

‘The flight awaits, Magda,’ said Varis, pointedly ignoring Xanth. ‘Say goodbye to … your friends, and report for duty.’

Magda nodded solemnly. She turned and hugged Rook, then Xanth. ‘Take care of each other,’ she said urgently. ‘Promise me.’

They promised. Xanth's face was ashen white; his voice, barely more than a whisper.

‘It'll be all right, Xanth,’ said Magda. ‘Rook and I will speak up for you in the Free Glades, won't we, Rook?’

Rook nodded earnestly.

‘Now, come and see me off,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘I'll stay here,’ said Xanth. ‘You go, Rook. I'll finish digging the cart out.’

Magda gave him another hug, then turned to Rook. ‘Here goes,’ she said, and strode off after the Captain of the Librarian Knights.

Rook followed them through the gathering crowds, the buzzing hum of excitement in the air growing louder as they neared the tethering-posts. Heavy stakes had been driven down into the mud and the skycraft lashed securely to them. Now they were being untied, and the great flocks of skycraft were bobbing about in the early-morning air. Two squadrons were already prepared, with scores of young librarian knights seated astride their skycraft and waiting for the signal to depart.

Rook watched Magda climb onto her
Woodmoth
, unfurl the loft and nether-sails, realign the balance-weights and unhitch the flight-ropes. At the sight of her, he felt a heavy weight pressing down on his chest, turning to a dull ache. He swallowed hard, but the pain remained. Beyond the excited crowd he spotted Varis Lodd and the Professors of Light and Darkness, the three of them already hovering in the air, one at the head of each squadron.

As the last librarian knight climbed aboard his skycraft, Varis Lodd flew up higher, bringing the
Windhawk
round. She raised an arm and gave a signal.

Free Glades Flight, depart
, she motioned in the signalled language of the librarian knights.

At her command, and as silently as snowbirds, some three hundred or so skycraft soared up into the sky as one. They hovered expertly overhead, securing and setting their sails, and adjusting the flight-weights that
hung beneath each craft like jewelled tails.

Twilight Woods Flight, depart.
The Professor of Darkness silently gave the command, and the three hundred hovering craft were joined by three hundred more.

Eastern Roost Flight, depart.
It was the Professor of Light's turn to give the signal; a right arm crossed to the left shoulder, three fingers outstretched. The air seemed to tremble as the squadron of librarian knights under his command – including Magda herself – rose up from the ground.

Like a vast and silent array of exquisite insects, nine hundred skycraft filled the sky above Rook's head.

‘Oh,
Stormhornet
,’ he murmured, his heart breaking. ‘How I miss you.’

A sudden gust of wind seemed to galvanize the sky-craft as, one by one, their sails filled like blossoming flowers and they moved off.

Rook followed their path, his mouth dry, his chest aching, as the skycraft caught the stronger currents high in the sky and began to gather speed. All around him cheers went up as the Undertowners and librarians saluted the librarian knights.

But as the skycraft grew ever more distant, the cheers fell away and the mood of the crowd changed. They were on their own now, out here in the vast muddy wilderness. Rook sighed. He felt the same.

Of course, he knew that the skycraft would be no use in the swirling, howling winds of the Edgelands that awaited them. He knew it made sense for the librarian knights to go on ahead to scout for danger and bring help from the Free Glades. He knew they all planned to meet up again at the Ironwood Stands. He knew all of this – but still, he couldn't shake off the feeling of having been abandoned.

In the distance, high above the Twilight Woods, the vast flock split up into three; one section swooping off to the north, one to the south, and the third continuing due west in the direction of the Deepwoods. Soon they were lost from view and, with a low murmur, the crowd began to disperse.

Rook turned and made his way back to Xanth as, all through the encampment, the Undertowners began to prepare for the long march ahead. From his left he heard commands being issued and he spotted Deadbolt Vulpoon striding through the encampment, barking into a raised megaphone.

‘Mud-shoes and mire-poles for everyone!’ he instructed. ‘And eye-shields. Those without should improvise. There's plenty of timber to be had from the old Mire Road.’

There was a feverish scramble for scraps of wood and, all over the encampment, trogs and trolls, goblins, ghosts and librarians – all aided by the sky pirates – began lashing lengths of wood to the soles of their boots, cutting down sticks to the right length and fashioning eye-shields that would, they hoped, protect them from the dreaded mire-blindness.

‘Batten down all crates and boxes!’ Deadbolt's amplified voice continued. ‘Charge your brazier-cages with lufwood, and fix runners to the bottoms of every cart and carriage!’

Again, there was a scramble for wood, and the air was soon echoing with the sounds of chopping and sawing and hammering as every vehicle had its wheels removed and stowed, to be replaced with long, curved runners which, Earth and Sky willing, would glide effortlessly over the treacherous mud.

‘Those with prowlgrins, put them in harness!’ Deadbolt's voiced boomed as he continued marching through the bustling encampment. ‘Those without will
have to strap themselves in. Always pull! Never push!’ He caught sight of a herd of hammelhorns standing forlornly in a shallow pool. ‘And hammelhorns may
not
, I repeat,
not
be used for pulling the sledges. They'll only sink. They must be tethered together and led.’ He paused and stood looking round, his hands on his hips. ‘
And get a move on!
' he roared. ‘
We depart at midday!
’

Rook found Xanth sitting on the remains of the hammelhorn cart, which had been completely stripped of wood for mud-shoes. He was surrounded by four huge mountains of shaggy, mud-caked fur, and smiling broadly.