Xanth shrugged miserably.
‘I've got my hanging-stove going,’ Cowlquape continued. ‘We could share a spot of supper together. What do you say?’
Xanth glanced round at the banderbear nest, then back at Cowlquape. He smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I'd like that very much.’
The Ironwood Stands – where the vast multitude of fleeing Undertowners had set up camp – stood out from the surrounding trees, their angular tops plunging through the rest of the forest canopy like arrowheads.
Once, the stands had been a familiar landmark both to league ship masters and sky pirate captains. These days, following the arrival of stone-sickness and the subsequent scuppering of all those old vessels, it had become just as familiar a sight to the brave young librarian knights who had mastered flight in their small, wooden skycraft – which was why it was the obvious place for the Undertowners to wait for the return of the librarian knight squadrons.
The ragtag army of Undertowners, librarians, sky pirates and ghosts could then proceed to the Free Glades, with the librarian knights flying protectively overhead.
‘Keep up,’ Cowlquape said urgently as he and Xanth made their way across the bouncy forest floor to the base of a huge ironwood tree. ‘Night is falling, and it's not safe for us down here on the ground.’
They passed a herd of hammelhorn, clustered in a large circle – tails touching, horns facing outwards – to form an impregnable wall. They were sound asleep. Cowlquape reached for a dangling rope-ladder that was secured to a huge branch above and began to climb. Xanth quickly followed him.
Covered lamps and hanging-lanterns were attached to the trees all around them, illuminating the broad, sweeping branches. The air was filled with shouts and whistles. Ropes and pulleys were being used to hoist the boxes, bags and chests up from the ground. Hammocks and cooking-braziers swung from overhead hooks; and the huge branches bristled with sleeping bodies, four, five, sometimes six abreast.
As he continued up the tree after Cowlquape, Xanth was a little dismayed to find that he was surrounded by librarians. Earth and Sky forgive him, but he would have preferred to be in one of the neighbouring trees where others were setting up camp. Families of amiable mobgnomes, gnokgoblins and woodtrolls; gangs of rowdy cloddertrogs, parties of good-natured slaughterers – all of them taking help and instruction from the gruff sky pirates and the energetic ghosts, who were leaping between them from branch to branch, tree to tree, their rope lassoes and grappling-hooks never still.
Xanth could feel accusing glares boring into his back, and hear hateful whispers. And when they arrived at the Most High Academe's hanging-stove, Xanth's heart sank.
‘How's it coming along, Garulus?’ said Cowlquape.
The under-librarian looked up. ‘Almost done, sir,’ he said. He stirred the stew, raised the wooden spoon to his lips and sipped. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured thoughtfully, ‘tad more salt, perhaps.’ He held the spoon out to Cowlquape. ‘What do you think, sir?’
‘I'm sure it's marvellous,’ said Cowlquape. He ushered Xanth forward. ‘Let the lad try a bit.’
Garulus's eyes narrowed. He dipped the spoon into the bubbling stew, filled it and held it out. Then, just as Xanth was about to take a sip, Garulus tipped the spoon forward, spilling the stew all down Xanth's tunic.
‘Oh, dear. How clumsy of me,’ Garulus muttered.
‘Why, you …’ Xanth stormed, his eyes blazing, his fists clenched. This was the final insult.
Garulus trembled and leaped behind Cowlquape. ‘High Academe! You saw, it was an accident!’ he appealed from behind Cowlquape's back.
Xanth glared back at Garulus, his teeth bared, his dark eyes black.
‘Look at him, High Academe. He's an animal – a wild animal!’ Garulus's voice was high-pitched and quavery.
‘Now, now,’ said Cowlquape calmly, laying a restraining hand on Xanth's shoulder and dabbing at his tunic with a handkerchief. ‘You've had a hard day, Xanth. You're tired. And look, no harm done.’
‘Once a Guardian of Night, always a Guardian,’ hissed Garulus, growing bolder. ‘It'll all come out at the Reckoning, you wait and see.’
‘That'll be all, thank you, Garulus,’ said Cowlquape, fixing the under-librarian with a cold stare.
Garulus tutted and shrugged his shoulders. ‘As you wish, High Academe, but I'd be careful if I was you…’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Cowlquape, waving him away to a rope ladder. ‘Don't you worry, Garulus. Xanth and I are old friends, aren't we, Xanth?’
Glancing over his shoulder, the under-librarian left them, and Cowlquape crossed to the hanging-stove and dished up two bowls of steaming stew.
‘Old friends?’ said Xanth, when they were seated cross-legged on blankets beside the warm hanging-stove, eating. ‘You mean I was your jailer in the Tower of Night.’
Cowlquape smiled. ‘You might have been a Guardian, Xanth, but even back then in that terrible prison, I could tell you had a good heart. You visited me, took the trouble to talk to me, to learn all you could of the Deepwoods and the knowledge they contain…’
‘But I was still your jailer,’ said Xanth bitterly, putting down the bowl, his stew untouched. ‘And I spied for the High Guardian of Night. The librarians know that, and will never accept me.’
‘You must wait for the Reckoning,’ said Cowlquape, ‘in the Free Glades.’
‘The Reckoning?’ said Xanth, his dark eyes troubled.
‘At the Reckoning, someone must speak up for you,’
said Cowlquape, finishing his stew and placing the bowl aside. ‘I only wish that “someone” could be me,’ he added, ‘but even though I know you have a good heart, I only knew you as a Guardian, so my testimony would do you more harm than good, I'm afraid. No, you need someone who has witnessed you doing good…’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Now, finish your stew. Look, you've hardly touched it.’
‘I'm not hungry,’ said Xanth. It was true. At the mention of the Reckoning awaiting him at the Free Glades, his appetite had left him.
‘Then get to your hammock, lad,’ Cowlquape told him. ‘You look exhausted.’
‘I am,’ said Xanth, turning to go.
‘And don't worry,’ Cowlquape called after him. ‘Everything will look brighter after a night's sleep.’
Xanth nodded, but made no reply. That was easy for the Most High Academe to say. And as he lay in his hammock, staring up through the branches above his head at the marker-beacons blazing at the tops of the trees, he couldn't help worrying. What if Rook never regained his memory? And where was Magda? He turned over and pulled the blankets round him. Perhaps the Most High Academe was right, he thought as he drifted off to sleep; things would look better in the morning.
Xanth slept lightly through the night, his dreams punctuated by the night-noises of the Deepwoods. The shriek of razorflits, the squeal of quarms, the distant yodelling of banderbears communicating with those nesting below him on the forest floor. At sun-up, he was roused by the raucous chattering of a flock of bloodsucking hacker-bats, vicious creatures with large, violet eyes and tube-like proboscises, roosting upside down in a nearby tree – along with the cries of the cloddertrogs and flat-heads who were beating sticks and shouting in an attempt to scare them off …
Xanth rolled over in his hammock, and looked round at the curious tree-encampment, strung out in the high branches of the ironwood pines. The sun, dappled against the rough bark and pine-needles, was bright and warm after the previous day's overcast gloom. Xanth smiled. Tomorrow had indeed turned out to be a brighter day, just as Cowlquape had said it would. Perhaps it would also be a better day…
‘Skycraft approaching from the east!’ bellowed a voice high above him, as one of the look-outs spotted an incoming squadron.
All about him, as Xanth climbed from the hammock, the Ironwood Stands abruptly exploded into activity, with all eyes turning to inspect the sky.
‘They're coming from the Twilight Woods,’ someone shouted.
‘It mu
st be the Professor of Darkness,’ bellowed someone else.
On a branch some way above Xanth, Fenbrus Lodd passed Cowlquape his telescope. ‘They're right,’ Xanth overheard him saying. ‘It's Tallus all right. Let's hope he brings good news.’
Shielding his eyes against the sun, Xanth watched the distant rash of dots grow larger. Closer they came, the light blazing on their bulging sails and swinging weights, turning expertly as they swooped down through the air, preparing to land. Soon, across the entire Ironwood Stands, the uppermost branches filled with skycraft – sending the hackerbats flitting off at last, screeching with fear and indignation.
‘Over here!’ Fenbrus called across to the Professor of Darkness, who had manoeuvred his own skycraft down low amongst the trees and was looking for a place to land. ‘And welcome back, Tallus! What news do you bring?’
‘Nothing,’ came the reply as the Professor of Darkness touched down. He dismounted. ‘Whatever the shrykes are doing, they're not in the Twilight Woods.’
Fenbrus frowned. ‘Curious,’ he said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. ‘Being immune to its effects, I was quite convinced that they would launch an attack from there …’
‘Maybe they sensed that a Great Storm was on its way,’ said the professor. ‘You know how sensitive the bird-creatures are to the weather. And I'll tell you this, Fenbrus, nothing – not even the shryke-sisters – could have survived the after-shocks of that terrible explosion of lightning as it struck.’
‘You saw it happen?’ said Cowlquape.
The Professor of Darkness nodded. ‘Everything,’ he said. ‘From the advancing swirl of cloud, to the release of the bolt of stormphrax lightning. Quite awesome,’ he said, ‘though nothing compared with what came afterwards. A gigantic, glittering sepia storm that pulsed outwards in all directions, through the Twilight Woods…’
Cowlquape shook his head sagely. ‘And poor Rook, unsheltered on the rocky pavement of the Edgelands, must have taken its full force,’ he said softly. ‘It's a miracle he survived.’
Xanth, who was standing on a ledge to the right, busying himself with the rolling up of his hammock and packing of his bags, listened carefully. If it was as bad as they were suggesting, then maybe Rook would never fully recover.
‘A truly remarkable experience,’ the professor went on. ‘It was only a shame that Ulbus wasn't there to witness it for himself. As Professor of Light, he would have found it uniquely interesting…’
‘Skycraft approaching from the south!’ two look-outs bellowed in unison, and all around them, Undertowners and librarians began to wave and cheer.
‘Perhaps that's him now,’ said Fenbrus, raising his telescope and focusing in on the second squadron of sky-craft approaching the Ironwood Stands. He frowned a moment later. ‘No it isn't,’ he said. ‘It's my daughter.’
Three hundred more skycraft swooped down into the branches to be greeted with a rising swell of cheers and cries and whoops of delight. As Varis came closer, heading straight for the tallest tree in the Ironwood Stands, where Cowlquape, Fenbrus and Tallus Penitax were all assembled, Xanth swung his belongings onto his back and started down to the forest floor. Perhaps Rook had woken up feeling better this new day…
‘Good news,’ Varis Lodd announced excitedly, as she jumped down from the Windhawk. ‘Greetings, Most High Academe.’ She bowed her head. ‘Greetings, High Librarian.’
‘Yes, yes, daughter,’ Fenbrus frowned. ‘Forget the formalities. What is the news?’
‘Help is at hand,’ she said. ‘Even as we speak, the Freeglade Lancers are on their way!’
‘But this is tremendous news,’ said Cowlquape, excitedly.
‘Excellent, Varis,’ added Fenbrus. ‘You have done well. Very well, indeed. The Freeglade Lancers – finest fighters in the Deepwoods!’
‘Finest, until now, father,’ came a voice, and Fenbrus and the others turned to see the muglumpskin-clad figure of Felix on a branch of the next tree. He was standing with his hands on his hips, surrounded by the Ghosts of Screetown.
‘Oh, Felix,’ said Varis. ‘This isn't a competition.’
Felix glanced at his sister, and then at his father. Fenbrus coughed awkwardly and looked away. Felix smiled ruefully. ‘Isn't it?’ he said. He turned to his companions. ‘Ghosts!’ he called out. ‘Help the Undertowners down from the trees and spread the good news.’ He glanced back at his father. ‘The Freeglade Lancers are coming! We're saved!’ he added sarcastically, and then was gone.
Down on the forest floor, Xanth was searching for the banderbear nest. It was so cleverly camouflaged that, even now in the daylight, he was having trouble spotting it. Suddenly, from behind him, a few strides away, there came a yodel and Xanth spun round to see Wumeru emerging from a thicket with Rook in her arms. Barely able to contain himself, Xanth rushed up to them.
‘Rook! Rook!’ he began.
Rook opened his eyes and stared at Xanth. The startling blue intensity of his gaze chilled Xanth to the bone.
‘Xanth Filatine,’ Rook mumbled. ‘I remember now. You betrayed librarian knights on their way to the Free Glades, then ran away to the Tower of Night before you were unmasked…’
Xanth hung his head, tears stinging his eyes.
‘Oh, Xanth, you were my friend. How could you have done it? How could you…’
Rook's eyes closed again. Xanth stretched out a hand, but Wumeru shook her great head, and he stepped back to let her pass. What now? Xanth thought.
Just then, high above, fresh cheers broke out. Xanth's heart gave a leap. The third squadron of librarian knights – those who had set off under the leadership of the Professor of Light, Ulbus Vespius – must be returning from their foray to the Eastern Roost. Xanth craned his neck back and searched the skies.
Of course, Magda should be amongst them. Magda would speak up for him, even if Rook couldn't!
Soon, the air around the crowded Ironwood Stands was buzzing as the last three hundred skycraft hovered round, searching for landing spaces. High up near the top of the trees, the Professor of Light dismounted and strode towards the waiting welcoming-committee, all eager for his news. Bowing in turn to Fenbrus, Tallus and Varis Lodd – and Deadbolt Vulpoon and Felix Lodd, who had joined them – he addressed himself directly to Cowlquape.
‘I bring bad news,’ he said grimly.
‘From the Eastern Roost?’ said Cowlquape.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the professor. ‘There has been a great Hatching – the biggest battle-flock I've ever seen! Thousands of them, flooding out of the hatching-huts, and heading this way. They're young, but fully-grown, sleek of feather and sharp of beak and claw – and with a frenzy of blood-vengeance in their hearts.’ He shook his head. ‘I've never seen anything like it.’
‘And how far off are they?’ asked Cowlquape.
The Professor of Light shrugged. ‘Half a day on prowlgrin-back,’ he said. ‘Maybe more, maybe less…’
Cowlquape took a deep intake of breath. He turned to Fenbrus. ‘We can't risk breaking camp,’ he said. ‘The Undertowners must remain up in the trees.’
Fenbrus frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘If they're heading for the Ironwood Stands, shouldn't we get as far away from here as we can?’
‘On foot, we wouldn't stand a chance,’ said Cowlquape. ‘There are too many old'uns and young'uns among us. Why, we'd be picked off like the ripe fruits of a woodsap tree. No, our only hope is to wait for the Freeglade Lancers.’
‘But what if the shrykes get here first?’ asked Fenbrus.
‘Then we must defend ourselves,’ said Varis. ‘There are the librarian knights, the ghosts, the sky pirates…’
Deadbolt nodded in agreement. ‘We're well used to combat with the scraggy bird-creatures,’ he chuckled, and gripped the handle of the great curving sword at his side. ‘It'll be a pleasure to dispatch a few more.’
‘All right,’ said Fenbrus Lodd, at last. ‘But no fighter must carry a barkscroll. They must hand them over to a librarian or an Undertow
ner up in the trees for safekeeping – until after the battle. Not a single item from the sacred Great Library must be risked in combat.’
‘You and your barkscrolls!’ snorted Felix, turning away. ‘If we lose this battle, father, there will be no barkscrolls, no Great Library! And the shrykes will make slaves of all those they don't slaughter!’
As news of the battle-flock spread through the Ironwood stands, a numb panic gripped the Under-towners, one and all, as their thoughts turned to the awful possibility of their having to come face to face with the cold, bloodthirsty bird-creatures.
Xanth, still anxiously searching the skies, left the forest floor and climbed up into the trees once more. High into the upper branches he went and, as the pilots of the Eastern Roost flight landed, one after the other, he rushed after them, grabbed them by the arms and asked them all the same question.
‘Have you seen Magda Burlix? Have you seen Magda Burlix?’
Most of the librarians merely shook their heads. Either they hadn't seen her or, more often, they had no idea who she was. Xanth was becoming increasingly desperate.
Then, seeing a rather rotund individual landing his skycraft on a branch of the next tree along to his right, he leaped across the yawning gap – with no thought of the danger. The librarian looked at him curiously.
‘Magda?’ said Xanth breathlessly as he climbed to his feet.
The librarian finished tethering his skycraft. ‘'Fraid not,’ he said. ‘The name's Portix.’
Xanth frowned impatiently. ‘Have you seen her?’ he said. ‘Magda. Magda Burlix.’
The librarian shook his head and turned away. Xanth was about to leave when a gaunt individual appeared from the shadows, the tethers of his own moth-shaped skycraft wrapped round his hand.
‘Magda Burlix, you say,’ he said. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’
Xanth nodded keenly. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘We were in Undertown together.’