Thorn Ogres of Hagwood Page 10

  Watching them from the hedge, Gamaliel and Tollychook almost cheered.

  “Wait till we tell Master Gibble what Finnen did this night!” Gamaliel said proudly.

  “Won’t Mufus and Bufus be amazed when they learn where we been?” Tollychook declared, patently thinking that the danger was over and they were safe.

  But the real peril was just beginning.

  The fox cub could not walk; it had spent too long tied and bound. All the strength had left its legs and it could not even stand. Every time the poor creature attempted to raise itself from the floor, it staggered and collapsed. Liffidia tried to help, but it was no use.

  “Do you think we could carry it?” she asked when Finnen returned to his normal shape.

  The boy was not listening. He was even more uneasy and afraid than before.

  Staring at the bloodstained ground, he noticed that it had not completely seeped into the dry soil.

  In a small, scared voice he murmured, “We interrupted her...Frighty Aggie was feeding when we got here. She must have heard us and slunk away.”

  “Where to?” Liffidia breathed.

  Only then did Finnen see a trail of dark red splashes leading from the mire beneath the fox’s dead sibling. Crimson droplets sprinkled the stones, heading toward the tree, until suddenly the dribbles ceased and at last he knew. The gory marks had spilled from Aggie’s jaws, and the trail plainly showed that she never returned to her lair—she had climbed into the branches above.

  “Run!” he yelled sharply. “Leave the fox and run—as fast as you can—back to the hedge!”

  Liffidia did not understand what had happened. Finnen looked terrified.

  Gamaliel and Tollychook did not know what had come over him, either. Frantically they stared at the blighted tree, but all the entrances were still dark and empty. They did not know that directly behind them a single, glistening thread was steadily descending.

  “Do as I tell you!” Finnen was shouting at Liffidia. “Leave it. We don’t have much time!”

  The girl shoved him away from her. “I won’t!” she retorted. “I’ll get the others to help me if you’re too selfish.” Spinning around to face the holly fence, she prepared to call out to Gamaliel and Tollychook, but the plea instantly became a horrified scream.

  At once Gamaliel and Tollychook whirled about and at last they saw it: the nightmare that haunted the dark dreams of werling infants, the cradle horror who plagued their nights and dwelt in deep, fear-drowned corners—Frighty Aggie.

  Down the silvery rope she had stealthily been creeping, but now those noisy morsels were aware of her and squealing shrilly, as did every wriggling meal. Not waiting to scale the remaining distance, Frighty Aggie pounced.

  She was the most abhorrent vision that any of the werlings had ever conceived. The ancient monster of their kind was harrowing beyond measure and, in the ages since she had been driven over the Hagburn, had grown immense in size.

  A frightful fusion of wasp and spider, her bloated body was a livid, poisonous yellow, striped by ugly black bands. Eight enormous jointed legs arched high over her large swiveling head, where baneful, clustering eyes bulged with greed.

  Onto the ground she leaped, and her jaws clicked feverishly together as she bore down upon Gamaliel and Tollychook.

  In one hideous moment it was over.

  Shrieking, Kernella’s brother was flung to the floor and Tollychook slammed against the stones beside him.

  Over their bodies the apparition crawled, the ragged feathers of her antennae sweeping across their cringing faces as she trussed them in her clinging cords.

  The werlings were held fast, and when they struggled, the webs constricted and bound them even tighter. Tollychook bawled despairingly, but there was no escape.

  As soon as they were securely imprisoned, Frighty Aggie turned her malignant attention on those others who had dared to raid her sweet pantry.

  At the far side of the infernal clearing, transfixed by the spectacle of that abominable scourge, Finnen and Liffidia could only stand and gape as it wheeled about upon those monstrous legs and came galloping toward them.

  Over the iron-hard ground the fiend came ravening, her talons clattering on the stones as she lunged for the stricken werlings.

  Pale and aghast, they beheld her awful speed and saw the many eyes glittering foully.

  The fox cub howled. Then, at the last moment, as the shadow of Frighty Aggie fell upon them, Finnen shook himself.

  Snatching up a large stone, he hurled it at the lunging head and an outraged screech issued from the virulent jaws. The countless eyes turned on him, but Finnen darted from her and a second stone bounced off her horny hide.

  Aggie pursued him. She would feast upon that dainty first of all, and savor each drop of its impertinent blood.

  Luring the frightful adversary away from Liffidia and the fox cub, Finnen sped to the center of the clearing, but Aggie’s eight legs carried her swiftly, and he realized it was impossible to outrun her. He had to keep her occupied so that the others could escape, and so, when the chill shadow engulfed him, he knew there was only one thing he could do.

  At once he wergled into a shrew.

  The terrible jaws came snapping down, but instead of fleeing from her, the shrew raced between her talons and scuttled beneath that venom-gorged belly.

  Aggie reared in fury and spun around in a rage, but the shrew hid from her evil glance and nipped in and out of her legs, constantly avoiding those glittering eyes. The monster was compelled to clatter in a revolving circle, seeking the shrew that evaded her.

  A bubbling hiss spewed from her jaws as she vainly tried to seize him. But Finnen was too nimble, and though the stench of her foul flesh screamed in his nostrils, he endured it stoically.

  Liffidia could not bear to watch. Never had a werling done a braver or more valiant deed. But Finnen would not be able to dodge the nightmare forever. Springing across to where Tollychook and Gamaliel were still squirming in their cocoons, Liffidia tore a large holly leaf from the hedge.

  Not daring to touch the sticky webs with her hands, she used the holly’s sharp spikes to rip through the clinging bonds.

  When their arms and legs were freed, Gamaliel and Tollychook staggered to their feet. They stared at Frighty Aggie, still reeling in the drunken dance that Finnen’s shrew obliged her to perform.

  But now the monster was jabbing the ground furiously with her sting, and to the werlings’ dismay, they realized that Finnen was tiring.

  Scudding through the gigantic, trampling legs, the shrew was not as quick as before. While they watched, Finnen was nearly caught by the dreadful point of the lethal sting, but he swerved awkwardly aside and the dry earth was speared with her pounding malice.

  “He’s not going to last much longer!” Liffidia cried.

  “What shall us do?” Tollychook blubbered. “What shall us do?”

  Retrieving his stick from the ground where it had fallen, Gamaliel brandished it fiercely.

  “We’ve got to help him,” he shouted, and waving the pathetic weapon over his head, he rushed to attack Frighty Aggie—yelling at the top of his voice.

  Beneath the yellow and black bands of the nightmare’s cankerous belly, the shrew ducked and dodged. Finnen’s limbs ached and he knew the end would be soon. Downward pumped the sting, and black poison squirted over the surrounding stones. Finnen leaped forward but he was too slow; a great talon came sweeping from nowhere and he was knocked sideways.

  Thrown across the ground, the shrew saw a glimpse of the noxious creature bearing down upon him, and then it was finished. As he sprawled on the parched soil, one of the savage, hooked claws came knifing from above, and the cruel tip drove deep into his flesh, pinning him to the ground.

  Finnen shrieked in pain. So great was his agony that the shrew shape vanished and there he lay, the fiend’s claw skewering his right arm.

  Slavering putrid fluids, Aggie lowered her jaws and they clacked together eagerly. Staring u
p at the calamitous horror, Finnen closed his eyes.

  “Get off him!” Gamaliel screeched suddenly. “Let him be!”

  With all his might he brought the stick cracking down against the enemy’s black-and-yellow body.

  Keeping her victim pinned to the ground, the repugnant creature lifted her malignant head and turned.

  Liffidia and Tollychook had already joined Gamaliel, and they, too, were assailing her ulcerous bulk.

  Against that tough hide, their blows were futile; nevertheless, they were an irritating distraction that had to be dealt with.

  Spinning about, she confronted them, and Tollychook immediately dropped his weapon at the sight of that awful countenance.

  A gurgling snarl echoed in her dark throat and she lashed out viciously.

  Another of her great claws punched Tollychook in the stomach, and he screamed when it flicked him into the air. Catapulted off his feet, his plump figure was sent flying. He hurtled up into the branches, where he was instantly entangled in the thick webs and could not get down.

  The others could do nothing to save him.

  In desperation Gamaliel clouted one of the gargantuan legs, but the stick splintered upon that adamantine shell and flew apart in his hands.

  Only Liffidia’s frantic efforts inflicted any injury to that rancorous foe. When the dark head came swinging around, she brought her stick crashing into a cluster of eyes, and a bitter screech blasted from the fetid jaws.

  It was the first true pain that Frighty Aggie had suffered in an age and more. Incensed and boiling with murderous wrath, she rounded upon the werling girl and dashed the weapon from her hands before throwing her off balance.

  Liffidia fell back, and the apparition towered over her, ranging itself around so that its stinking body lifted above her head and the evil sting pulsed in readiness to strike.

  Down it lunged and Liffidia threw up her hands.

  Seeing her plight, Gamaliel gave a shout and leaped forward—straight into the hideous sting’s path.

  The lethal spike descended, crushing him to his knees. He squealed in agony when the atrocity stabbed into his shoulder.

  Deeply bit the unholy sting, and when Aggie heaved herself up once more, it tore from her body.

  Into Gamaliel’s veins her pollution pumped, and a cold blackness exploded within him. The color drained from his face and he collapsed—senseless and deathly still.

  “Gamaliel!” Liffidia cried, but she could not reach him, for already another sting was pushing from the nightmare’s body. Frighty Aggie prepared to strike her.

  Speared beneath the claw, Finnen heard the shrieks of his friends and roused himself for one final effort.

  Using all his fading strength, he strained hard and changed his shape into that of a rat with long, razor-sharp teeth.

  Twisting round, he lifted his head and clamped his incisors about the apparition’s claw.

  The horny shell was hard as flint but it was not impregnable. A revolting “CRACK!” rang out in the clearing, and the rat’s teeth crunched clean through the talon, shearing it off completely.

  Profane screams galed from Aggie’s throat. Dark green blood came frothing from the truncated limb and gushed, steaming, upon the ground.

  Gagging on the odious taste, the rat slumped onto the stones. His last spark of energy quenched, Finnen wergled back into his usual shape. There was no hope left.

  Frighty Aggie’s curdling screech became a vengeful babbling, and she stood over Finnen’s prostrate form, her eyes blazing with hatred.

  The loathly head bent down, and Finnen felt her hot, reeking breath beat on him. Turning his face in disgust, he waited for the death blow, but it never came.

  Over his wincing features, the ragged antennae raked, and a purling gargle sounded behind the clicking jaws. The werling’s flesh rebelled at her defiling touch, and a wild, impossible thought ignited in his mind—the monster was smelling him.

  “Kill me and have done!” he yelled.

  A pale, luminous light flickered in Frighty Aggie’s searching eyes when the probing antennae groped at and caressed a small leather bag attached to the werling’s belt. Then, to Finnen’s consternation and revulsion, a thin, mocking laugh floated down to him.

  It was a scathing, awful sound that rent the shadows and set the cobwebbed bundles of her rotting larder jiggling on their strings.

  With that, to Finnen’s bewilderment, she left him.

  Back over the stony ground the horrendous creature crept, her baleful eyes trained intently upon him. In slow, measured steps she withdrew, and her cold, creaking laughter echoed across that drear, death-plagued place. Up the mound the giant spider legs crawled, leaving a trail of sizzling ooze in her wake.

  Finnen gritted his teeth and tugged the severed claw from his arm. Clutching at the wound, he raised his head, just in time to see Frighty Aggie haul her vile bulk into one of the diseased tree’s many dark holes. With a final, rattling laugh, the horror vanished.

  There was no time to ponder on what had happened and why she had departed at the very moment of her victory. Confused and weary, Finnen stumbled to his feet and staggered across to where Liffidia was kneeling beside Gamaliel.

  The girl lifted her head at the sound of his approach, and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

  “I...I think he’s dead.” She wept.

  The fox cub began to howl again.

  CHAPTER 9

  Stewing Roots

  GAMALIEL TUMPIN WAS GRAY and cold. The brutal sting was still embedded in his shoulder, its poison sac pumping hideously.

  Finnen crouched beside him and gazed on the youngster’s ashen face. Even as he looked, the grayness of Gamaliel’s flesh became tinged with a foul green pallor that intensified with every spasm of the pulsing venom.

  Angrily Finnen reached out to draw the vile sting from his dead friend’s body.

  Suddenly a stern, unfamiliar voice shouted.

  “Don’t be a fool, boy!”

  The werlings spun around to see a tall, shadowy figure come crashing into the clearing.

  “Are you so ignorant of the werhag’s ways?” it demanded.

  “Who are you?” Finnen yelled. “Keep away!”

  The stranger stepped closer. He was four times the height of the werlings, but Finnen rose to confront him.

  “You’ll not be much use in a fight with that poor arm of yours now,” the newcomer said gruffly.

  Finnen glared at him. “I said stay back!” he cried.

  The stranger pulled a small knife from his belt and sprang forward. Pushing both werlings out of the way, he raised the blade above Gamaliel’s body and plunged it into his flesh.

  Liffidia shrieked and flew at him, but it was Finnen who pulled her off.

  “Wait,” he told her. “Look what he’s doing.”

  Startled, the girl watched as the knife sliced a red circle in Gamaliel’s shoulder, deftly carving out a chunk of flesh in which the sting was impaled.

  A leathery hand was then clamped over the hollow wound and Frighty Aggie’s ghastly weapon was flung away in disgust.

  The newcomer returned his attention to the werlings, and a solemn smile appeared in his grizzled beard.

  “You’ll forgive Smith’s ill manners,” he excused himself. “But there weren’t no time for soft speech. If you’d pulled that accursed tickler from your little friend, he’d be well dead by now.”

  Liffidia and Finnen gazed at the Wandering Smith in astonishment. The Pucca’s brilliant green eyes gleamed out beneath his thick, woolly brows, and for a brief moment their fears and the memory of terror faded.

  “What do you mean?” Finnen asked when the sensation passed. “Are you saying Gamaliel’s still alive?”

  The Smith touched Gamaliel’s forehead. “Barely,” he answered. “But this is not the place to administer healing. No more can the Smith do in this benighted stink hole. The tiny fellow is not free of the danger yet, for death has entered in and maybe it will not leave him
.”

  Carefully picking Gamaliel from the ground, the Smith strode back across the clearing to the great hole he had made in the holly fence.

  “Smith has pitched his camp a way yonder,” he told them, sweeping the fox cub up in his other arm. “He can do more for your companion there.”

  Finnen and Liffidia glanced at each other. They did not know who or what this person was, yet they were only too glad to leave this abominable domain behind them. Nursing his own wound, Finnen began to hurry after the Pucca, but Liffidia hesitated.

  “What is it?” Finnen called.

  “Aren’t we forgetting something?” she asked pointedly.

  Finnen frowned, then gasped when he realized.

  High above them a forlorn voice wailed.

  “Heeeeeelp! Get me down!”

  “Tollychook!” Finnen cried.

  Still snared in the dirty, festooning webs, poor Tollychook sniveled miserably.

  Hearing the plaintive call, the Smith turned and chuckled at Tollychook’s predicament.

  “Thimbleglaive,” he commanded. “Fly up and be the sword. Cut away both web and cord!”

  From its sheath the little knife came shooting. Up into the branches it spun, cleaving a glittering arc in the dismal air.

  Seeing the magical blade come rushing toward him, Tollychook scrunched up his face and braced himself.

  Into Frighty Aggie’s clinging nets the knife went, slashing and hacking at incredible speed, cutting them from the astonished and frightened werling.

  Suddenly Tollychook lurched downward as the last remaining threads were severed. He tumbled from the branches like a falling apple.

  He landed on the hard ground with a terrific bump, but he was too relieved to be out of the filthy cobwebs to yelp.

  “Thimbleglaive!” the Smith called. “Home!”

  The knife rocketed from above and slid back into its sheath.

  “If that’s the last of your party,” the Pucca said, nodding at Tollychook, “we’d best get gone.” And he strode into the hedge, leaving the others to hasten after.

  Finnen was the last to follow, but before he entered the high tunnel, he looked one last time upon the lair of Frighty Aggie.