The Last of the Sky Pirates (30 page)

Soon the only remaining individual to be seen was a lone guard, asleep at his post at the top of a look-out
turret. An eerie silence descended over the Foundry Glade. Varis turned to Knuckle and Rook, her face suddenly serious.

Remember
, she signalled.
We fly in, we fly out. No sound
.

Rook and Knuckle nodded.

Come
, Varis motioned, raising her sails and flying up from the branch.
We’re going in!

As the
Stormhornet
rose up from the ironwood bough, the fluttering in Rook’s stomach disappeared. Keeping close to Varis and Knuckle, he steered the skycraft through the last fringes of foliage, and into the desolation beyond. A calm, icy fury wrapped itself around him as he flew silently into the evil glade.

Varis and Rook swooped down over rows of long-huts and covered wagons, and hovered beside the bander-bear slave-hut. At the same time Knuckle darted up towards the top of the look-out turret where the goblin guard was snoring noisily, winding the end of his lasso round his hand as he went. Rook watched as the slaughterer swooped in close and tossed the lasso. The spinning loop disappeared from view behind the parapet. Rook held his breath.

The next instant the lasso reappeared, a large bunch of keys held in its tightened knot. The sleeping guard had not stirred.

Well done
, Rook signalled, awestruck by the slaughterer’s skill.

Rook
, Varis motioned urgently.
Here
. She threw one end of her tether-rope to him.

Rook caught it and secured it round the neck of the stormhornet figurehead, binding the two skycraft together.

Varis swung her feet round and dropped down from the skycraft to the ground.

The
Windhawk
bucked and lurched, tugging on its tether-rope. The
Stormhornet
reared up in protest. Rook shifted in the stirrups and gripped the straining pinner-rope grimly as he struggled to keep both skycraft balanced and ready for their getaway.

‘Steady,’ he whispered softly. ‘Easy does it.’

Knuckle swooped down close to the ground, tossing the bunch of keys to Varis as he flew past, before soaring back into the sky to keep a look-out for goblin guards. Inside the slave-hut, Varis set to work.

There was a
click
, followed by the clatter of falling chains. Then a second
click …

Above Rook’s head, Knuckle was slowly circling, keeping his eyes peeled.

With a final click and clatter, the last shackle tumbled to the ground.

‘Go,’ Rook heard Varis urge the banderbears. ‘You’re free!’

The poor creatures seemed dazed at first, but slowly – agonizingly slowly it seemed to Rook, who was battling to keep Varis’s skycraft steady – first one, then another banderbear, climbed gingerly to its feet. Slowly, cautiously, they emerged into the glade, followed by Varis.

‘Make for the tree-line,’ Varis urged the shuffling giants desperately.

At the same moment a muffled sound came from the line of covered wagons. Rook spun round, his heart racing. Something was wrong.

All at once, the tilderskin tarpaulins flew back to reveal row after row of armed goblin guards.

‘It’s a trap!’ Knuckle bellowed down. ‘Get out of there!’

As one, the long-haired goblins drew their jagged-tooth rapiers and, with a bloodcurdling battle-cry, sprang forward.

The banderbears threw back their heads, bared their fangs and howled. Rearing up on their huge hindquarters they lunged forwards, blind with rage, their great, sabre-like claws slashing through the air, desperate to get to the safety and freedom of the forest.

‘Leave the banderbears!’ shouted a voice. ‘It’s Lodd that we’re after!’

Rook turned back to see a thin, wizened individual with long, coiling side-whiskers, a pinched face and darting eyes standing alone on one of the wagons. It was Hemuel Spume himself! He banged his heavy staff noisily on the boards.
‘Get me Varis Lodd!’
he screeched.

Varis let fly a bolt from her crossbow. It thudded into the side of the wagon, inches from Spume’s head. The Foundry Master squealed and leaped for cover. Varis raced over to where Rook held her skycraft ready. The goblins advanced, brandishing swords and a heavily weighted net. The tether-rope leaped from Rook’s hand just as Varis clasped the
Windhawk’s
prow, and the sky-craft lurched to the side, throwing her to the ground.

Rook groaned. From behind him there came a loud howl of derision from the gleeful goblins.

‘We’ve got her now!’ one of them shouted.

‘The great Varis Lodd!’ taunted another.

‘That’ll teach her to—
Unnkh!’

Rook looked round quickly. One of the goblin guards was lying on the ground, a bolt sticking out of his chest. Two more were crouched down beside him. Above them, crossbow raised, was Knuckle, coming in for another attack.

‘Unnkh!’
A second goblin crashed to the ground, blood pouring from the bolt in his back.

‘Rook,’ came Varis’s voice, as she struggled awkwardly to her feet. ‘Rook, help me.’

Rook reached forwards and grabbed the
Windhawk’s
tether-rope, wrapping it back round his hand. The weight of the second skycraft almost pulled his arm out of its socket. Wincing with pain, he held on grimly. ‘Get on board!’ he shouted at Varis. ‘Quick!’

The guards screeched with rage and surged forwards.

‘Imbeciles!’
Hemuel Spume’s furious voice echoed.

Knuckle swooped down a third time. The crossbow bolt hissed.

Rook let go of the tether-rope as Varis grabbed hold of the
Windhawk
. It juddered and listed dangerously to one side as she pulled herself up and swung her leg over the seat. The next moment she realigned the sails and the skycraft soared up into the air. Rook’s heart sang as he flew up beside her, scattering goblins on every side. ‘We made it!’ he cried out.

‘Thanks to you, Rook,’ Varis called back. ‘You saved my life.’

Knuckle swooped in towards them. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ he shouted.

‘But what about the banderbears?’ Rook shouted back. ‘Did they escape?’

‘See for yourself!’ Knuckle pointed down to his left.

There, at the edge of the clearing, the banderbears were disappearing into the forest. The goblin guards hung nervously back from the huge beasts, while Spume shouted curses and waved his stick furiously at the skycraft.

‘Shoot them down!’ he screamed.

‘Scatter!’ barked Varis, as a flurry of crossbow bolts hurtled past them.

Rook broke away. He curved down low over the huts and away from the goblins, following the retreating banderbears towards the cover of the tree-line.

The last banderbear turned. It was the one Rook had seen emerging first from the foundries – a massive female, with odd black markings circling one eye and crossing her snout.

Their eyes met.

‘Watch out!’ shouted Varis, somewhere above him.

Rook glanced back to see a goblin crouched down on one knee beside one of the empty wagons. He had a long-bow in his hands, trained on the motionless banderbear’s heart.

With a twang and a hiss the arrow shot through the air. Rook swerved in front of the banderbear.

There was a soft thud as the arrow embedded itself in Rook’s shoulder. The pain shot down his arm. He cried out.

‘Hold on!’ screamed Varis, swooping down towards him.

The goblin was reaching into his quiver for a second arrow when the bolt from Knuckle’s crossbow struck him between the eyes. He slumped to the ground. Varis reached over and made a grab for Rook’s dangling tether-rope. Shoulders braced, she dragged the wounded young apprentice towards the safety of the tree-line.

‘Wuh-wuh!’ the banderbear cried after them, and lumbered into the forest.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ Varis called breathlessly
across to Rook. Grunting with effort, she fastened the end of the tether-rope to the
Windhawk
figurehead, then realigned the sails. As they dodged in and out of the tall trees, several crossbow bolts fell short behind them. ‘Hold on, Rook!’ she cried. ‘Hold on!’

‘Hold on,’ Rook murmured. ‘Hold on …’ He leaned forwards and wrapped his arms around the
Stormhornet’s
elegant neck. All round him, the sea of silver-green treetops flashed past in a blur. His eyes closed.

Knuckle flew in close beside them. ‘He looks in a bad way,’ he shouted into the wind.

‘The arrow,’ Varis shouted back. ‘It will have been poisoned, if I know long-haired goblins. We’ve got to get him to Lake Landing as quickly as possible. If we don’t, he’ll die.’

faint, milky light poured through the grille of the sleeping-cabin door, dimly illuminating the small room and falling across the carved, golden wood of the bed-shelf, where a bony figure with a bandaged shoulder lay sleeping fitfully. Tossing and turning beneath the tilderwool blanket, the hollow-cheeked young librarian knight was drenched in sweat. His legs kicked the blanket back. His eyelids flickered.

Wolves. There were woodwolves all round him, their yellow eyes flashing like bright coals. Howling. Growling. And voices – angry voices, frightened voices – shouting, raging …

‘No, no,’ he whimpered, his arms flailing wildly.

Now he was on his own in the silence of the vast, shadowy forest, overwhelmed with grief. A four-year-old once again, he began sobbing – loudly, uncontrollably, tears welling up in his eyes … He was lost and alone – and so, so terribly cold.

It was the old nightmare.

Suddenly, something loomed towards him out of the shadows. Something huge. Something menacing, with glinting teeth and blazing eyes … ‘There, there,’ came a voice.

Rook’s eyes fluttered and opened. His shoulder throbbed.