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Authors: Joseph Delaney
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only be used by their servants.’
We returned to the field, where Shey’s men were cooking over a fire. However, before the sun went down, word reached us that a small group of mages had travelled through the mountain passes north of the Staigue ring fort and, walking through the night, were heading directly towards Killorglin. They would be here before dawn. We’d arrived just in time.
Taking some provisions for our vigil, we went back to the room overlooking the marketplace, from where we could watch for the arrival of our enemies. We drew the curtains across the window, leaving a small gap in the centre. The sky was cloudless, and a moon that had waned three days beyond the full cast down a silver light onto the empty streets.
About two hours before dawn we heard the clip-clop of hooves. Two riders came into view, followed by four men carrying large bundles over their shoulders.
‘The mages are the ones on horseback,’ Shey explained. ‘The others are workmen who’ll construct the platform.’
Both horses were thoroughbreds, black stallions designed for speed, and their riders were armed with large curved swords that broadened as they reached the point – the ones known as scimitars. The mages dismounted and made for the highest point of the cobbled triangle. They were tall, powerfully built men with dark bushy eyebrows and short pointy beards known as goatees; so called because they mimic the tuft of hair on the chin of a goat.
They pointed down at the cobbles and, without further delay, the four carpenters set about erecting the tall wooden structure that would house the platform. Their bundles consisted of tools and what looked like specially crafted pieces of wood. A pair of the men soon went off and returned after a few minutes with two large wooden beams. These must have been produced locally, ready to meet their needs. No sooner had they laid them down beside their tools than they set off again, returning with more wood. Soon the sounds of hammering and banging disturbed the peace of the night, and the tower slowly began to take shape.
All through that day the carpenters worked, while the mages squatted on the ground or prowled around the growing tower, issuing instructions.
The people of Killorglin stayed away from the marketplace, and that day no stalls were set up.
‘Are they scared of the mages?’ I asked. ‘Is that why there’s no market today?’
‘They’re scared, all right,’ Shey answered. ‘During the construction of the platform, they usually give the area a wide berth. But once the goat is in position, they come back, and the market is busier than ever – though mostly with those buying pots of ale and bottles of wine. Many people get drunk – perhaps to escape the horrors the mages bring to their town. For others it’s one of the two highlights of the year, and everything is taken to excess.’
‘When do you plan to try and snatch one of the mages?’ asked the Spook.
‘At dusk,’ Shey answered. ‘We’ll burn the wooden tower too. No doubt they’ll rebuild it, but that’ll mean bringing fresh materials from Staigue. It’ll set their preparations back a little at least.’
‘Will they use dark magic to defend themselves?’ my master wondered.
‘They may try,’ said Shey, ‘but’ – he gazed at us steadfastly – ‘I have faith in our combined strength. I’m confident of success.’
‘Well, I have my silver chain,’ said the Spook. ‘The boy too. That’ll bind him more securely than any rope.’
A silver chain worked against witches and most mages. It seemed straightforward: we outnumbered the two mages and their workmen, and would have the element of surprise. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alice’s expression. She looked worried.
‘What’s wrong, Alice?’ I asked.
‘Ain’t binding the mage that bothers me,’ she said. ‘It’s afterwards, when the others find out what’s been done. They’ll come after us – and
We returned to the field, where Shey’s men were cooking over a fire. However, before the sun went down, word reached us that a small group of mages had travelled through the mountain passes north of the Staigue ring fort and, walking through the night, were heading directly towards Killorglin. They would be here before dawn. We’d arrived just in time.
Taking some provisions for our vigil, we went back to the room overlooking the marketplace, from where we could watch for the arrival of our enemies. We drew the curtains across the window, leaving a small gap in the centre. The sky was cloudless, and a moon that had waned three days beyond the full cast down a silver light onto the empty streets.
About two hours before dawn we heard the clip-clop of hooves. Two riders came into view, followed by four men carrying large bundles over their shoulders.
‘The mages are the ones on horseback,’ Shey explained. ‘The others are workmen who’ll construct the platform.’
Both horses were thoroughbreds, black stallions designed for speed, and their riders were armed with large curved swords that broadened as they reached the point – the ones known as scimitars. The mages dismounted and made for the highest point of the cobbled triangle. They were tall, powerfully built men with dark bushy eyebrows and short pointy beards known as goatees; so called because they mimic the tuft of hair on the chin of a goat.
They pointed down at the cobbles and, without further delay, the four carpenters set about erecting the tall wooden structure that would house the platform. Their bundles consisted of tools and what looked like specially crafted pieces of wood. A pair of the men soon went off and returned after a few minutes with two large wooden beams. These must have been produced locally, ready to meet their needs. No sooner had they laid them down beside their tools than they set off again, returning with more wood. Soon the sounds of hammering and banging disturbed the peace of the night, and the tower slowly began to take shape.
All through that day the carpenters worked, while the mages squatted on the ground or prowled around the growing tower, issuing instructions.
The people of Killorglin stayed away from the marketplace, and that day no stalls were set up.
‘Are they scared of the mages?’ I asked. ‘Is that why there’s no market today?’
‘They’re scared, all right,’ Shey answered. ‘During the construction of the platform, they usually give the area a wide berth. But once the goat is in position, they come back, and the market is busier than ever – though mostly with those buying pots of ale and bottles of wine. Many people get drunk – perhaps to escape the horrors the mages bring to their town. For others it’s one of the two highlights of the year, and everything is taken to excess.’
‘When do you plan to try and snatch one of the mages?’ asked the Spook.
‘At dusk,’ Shey answered. ‘We’ll burn the wooden tower too. No doubt they’ll rebuild it, but that’ll mean bringing fresh materials from Staigue. It’ll set their preparations back a little at least.’
‘Will they use dark magic to defend themselves?’ my master wondered.
‘They may try,’ said Shey, ‘but’ – he gazed at us steadfastly – ‘I have faith in our combined strength. I’m confident of success.’
‘Well, I have my silver chain,’ said the Spook. ‘The boy too. That’ll bind him more securely than any rope.’
A silver chain worked against witches and most mages. It seemed straightforward: we outnumbered the two mages and their workmen, and would have the element of surprise. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alice’s expression. She looked worried.
‘What’s wrong, Alice?’ I asked.
‘Ain’t binding the mage that bothers me,’ she said. ‘It’s afterwards, when the others find out what’s been done. They’ll come after us – and
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