Doombringer Read online

  Calix leaped into a vast lullabee tree, while Rumblix chose an ancient copperwood, its leaves like burnished metal. It seemed to be a good decision. At first.

  The branch they dropped down onto was broad and sturdy and barely trembled as they landed. Out of the corner of his eye, Cade saw Calix hesitate, the knobbly bark of the lullabee confusing his aim for a moment. Rumblix jumped again. And again. And was just about to land on a branch on the far side of the copperwood, when there was a sudden flurry of movement.

  Cade gasped.

  There was a creature on the branch. Hunched. Slurping at rainwater in a hollow. As Rumblix’s shadow fell upon it, the creature turned. It hissed, its eyes glowing brightly and long snout dripping.

  A rotsucker. A foul carrion-eater, the stench of death clinging to its outstretched leathery wings.

  Rumblix caught a whiff and faltered in mid-air. He missed the branch and bounced off the trunk of the tree with a despairing whinny. And Cade realized they were falling. Rolling over in the air. Crashing through branches . . .

  Trust your prowlgrin. Cade’s stomach was in his mouth.

  Trust your prowlgrin. The reins slipped from his hands. He clutched the saddle, held on with all his might. He braced his legs . . .

  Just then, with a high-pitched yelp, Rumblix seized hold of a low branch. His foreclaws dug deep into the copper-coloured bark and the toes of his hind-paws found purchase. The next moment, he kicked off again, twisted round in the air and came down to land, lightly – and the right way up – on the forest floor.

  Glancing round, Cade was grateful to see the top of Thorne Lammergyre’s hive-hut poking up through the trees just ahead. Celestia and Calix landed beside them.

  Celestia was laughing. ‘I know he’s a thoroughbred pedigree grey, but if I’d known Rumblix was going to be this good,’ she said, ‘I’d have asked my father to decorate his saddle with mire pearls.’

  · CHAPTER EIGHT ·

  THEY COMPLETED THE final stretch of their journey at a slow trot, steam rising in twists from the damp fur of their prowlgrins’ backs and shoulders. Rumblix never once stopped purring.

  They entered the clearing set back from the lake. At its centre was Thorne Lammergyre’s dwelling, a towering hive-hut of woven willoak with high windows, an arched door and pointed roof. Around it was a tidy arrangement of outhouses and drying racks, and a coop where half a dozen egg-laying lakefowl were penned.

  The place seemed deserted. The low sun was casting long shadows.

  Cade dismounted. Celestia jumped down next to him, then Calix and Rumblix began lapping water from a long wooden trough. Cade walked across to the hive-hut and knocked on the door. It was unlocked and swung open. Cade smiled as he caught sight of the interior, with its rich glowing woods and artful carpentry.

  Thorne Lammergyre was a highly skilled carpenter and joiner. A master craftsman.

  The walls were constructed from thick stakes, fifteen strides long, driven deep into the earth, and clad inside with tongue-and-groove planks. The staircase, which led up to the second storey, was circular, each wooden joint cut with unfailing precision, while the ceiling had been made from alternating blond and dark woods, creating an effect like the rays of the sun, radiating out from an ironwood lantern that hung at its centre.

  Cade stepped across the threshold. A faint whirring sound seemed to be coming from somewhere upstairs.

  ‘Hello?’ he called.

  ‘Hello?’ came the reply.

  Cade smiled and turned to Celestia. ‘He’s in,’ he said. ‘Hello!’ he called again.

  ‘Hello!’

  Cade frowned. ‘It’s me, Cade!’ he called.

  ‘It’s me, Cade!’ came the response, and Cade laughed as he suddenly realized that this was not the grey goblin he was talking to. ‘Tak-Tak, is that you?’

  ‘Tak-Tak, is that you?’ the words repeated, and Thorne’s pet lemkin suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, his black and yellow striped fur standing on end. His ears quivered. His pointed nose twitched as he sniffed at the air. Then, his darting gaze focusing on Cade in the doorway, the lemkin let out a staccato cry – tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak – and came scampering down the stairs towards him.

  Cade stooped forward and the little creature leaped up into his arms.

  ‘Tak-tak-tak,’ Cade said, trying his best to copy a striped lemkin’s natural call.

  And Tak-Tak responded with a repertoire of phrases he had picked up. ‘It’s easy if you know how!’ ‘Come on, city boy!’ ‘Where are my spectacles?’ Thorne. Celestia. Blatch Helmstoft. Each of the impersonations was uncannily accurate. With his eyes closed, Cade could not have told Tak-Tak’s mimicry from the real thing.

  Cade tickled him under his chin. ‘Aren’t you going to imitate me?’ he said.

  Tak-Tak cocked his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you going to imitate me?’ he repeated, capturing Cade’s voice perfectly.

  ‘There’s your answer,’ Celestia laughed.

  ‘There’s your answer,’ said Tak-Tak.

  ‘I give up,’ Cade laughed, and ruffled the lemkin’s fur. ‘Where’s your master, then?’

  Tak-Tak’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Master, master,’ the lemkin echoed, before suddenly jumping back down onto the floor and bounding out of the door.

  Cade and Celestia turned and followed the lemkin. Across the clearing and through the trees they went, down to the lakeside, where they saw the familiar figure of Thorne Lammergyre standing knee-deep in the water.

  He had his back to the shore. His breeches were rolled up and he was wearing his old Hive Militia army jacket, the hem a darker grey than the rest where it had touched the water. Using leadwood pegs, he was attaching the last of four plaited fences to the side of a rectangle of stakes that had been hammered down into the mud at the bottom of the lake.

  Tak-Tak paused at the water’s edge and gave his staccato cry.

  Thorne turned and, seeing Cade and Celestia standing on the shore, raised a hand in greeting, his deep-set blue eyes twinkling in his craggy features. ‘Cade, Celestia,’ he called. ‘Just building myself an eel-corral. Thought I’d try my hand at eel farming.’ He patted the spyglass that swung from the front of his military coat. ‘I spotted a new arrival to the Farrow Lake the other day – a webfoot goblin from Four Lakes by the looks of him. Practically live on lake eels, they do, and that’s what gave me the idea.’

  ‘Cade’s met him,’ said Celestia. ‘Haven’t you, Cade?’ She smiled. ‘It’s been an eventful couple of days for you, all told. First you’re attacked by that snagtooth. Then you meet a webfoot . . .’

  ‘A snagtooth?’ Thorne climbed out of the water, his eyes wide with concern as he approached Cade and seized him by the shoulders. ‘Are you all right, lad? Did you get injured?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Cade reassured him. ‘Phineal – that’s the webfoot’s name – he saved me. But, Thorne . . .’ Cade’s face fell. ‘I’m afraid the coracle was wrecked. I’m so sorry. You warned me not to fish at dusk, and I know how much work you put into building it for me . . .’

  ‘Don’t you apologize, lad. A snagtooth can be unpredictable when it’s riled. You were lucky to escape with your life,’ he said, clapping a hand on Cade’s back and steering him back up the shore to the hive-hut. ‘And I can always make another coracle. Now, come on, you two. You must stay for some fish stew . . .’

  ‘But that’s not all,’ said Celestia, falling into step with them and taking Thorne’s arm. ‘Cade and I rode here over the Needles.’ They entered the clearing and she pointed over to the water trough. ‘Look!’

  Thorne’s face broke into a delighted smile. ‘Rumblix!’ he exclaimed and turned to Cade. ‘Your first ride together. Tell me, lad, how was he?’

  Cade grinned. ‘Perfect,’ he said simply. He whistled to Rumblix, who came trotting over from the water trough and nuzzled into him. Cade looked at Thorne. ‘He’s fast, he’s sure-footed . . . Even when he got spooked by this rotsucker, he mana
ged to right himself. Didn’t you, boy?’

  Thorne nodded and patted the prowlgrin on his shoulders. ‘No more than I’d expect from a pedigree grey,’ he said. ‘Finest prowlgrins there are. That friend of yours – the prowlgrin breeder – he certainly knew a thing or two. Rumblix is a natural-born high-jumper if ever I saw one.’

  Cade nodded.

  High-jumping was the most popular sport in the great city of Hive. It involved racing down a series of jutting wooden ledges, or ‘branches’, that descended the length of the waterfall that divided the city. Tillman Spoke was the name of the prowlgrin breeder, and he had told Cade all about it back in his cabin. Spoke had owned the batch of prowlgrin eggs that Rumblix hatched from. Cade had been working for him on board the skytavern, the Xanth Filatine, tending to the eggs – and would probably still be working for him at the prowlgrin stables he was establishing in Hive.

  If it hadn’t been for Drax Adereth.

  Cade had told Thorne and Celestia the story. How the gang-leader from the depths of the skytavern had framed him. Planted stolen goods on him to make him look like a common thief. Shamed him in front of Tillman Spoke . . .

  Cade swallowed. He could still see the look on the prowlgrin breeder’s face – a mixture of anger and disappointment when the skymarshal had arrested him. ‘I trusted you,’ Spoke had said to Cade. ‘And it seems my trust was ill-judged.’

  And there was nothing that Cade could say or do to make him believe otherwise . . .

  ‘He wasn’t a friend exactly,’ Cade said. ‘Like I told you, I worked for him. He was kind to me. I only wish I’d had a chance to explain things to him.’ He sighed. ‘But if I hadn’t jumped from the Xanth Filatine when I did, then Drax Adereth would have killed me.’ Cade stroked the fur on top of Rumblix’s head. ‘And you sort of came along with me, didn’t you, boy?’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you did jump ship,’ said Thorne, ‘or we’d never have had the pleasure of meeting you, Cade. Isn’t that right, Celestia?’

  ‘He’s not too bad. For a city boy,’ Celestia added, and laughed. ‘Now, where’s that fish stew you mentioned?’

  ‘Bubbling away on the stove,’ said Thorne, ‘and there’s more than enough for three. Calix and Rumblix here can have the innards. They’ve earned them by all accounts.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ said Cade, his rumbling stomach reminding him that he himself hadn’t eaten all day.

  ‘It’s decided then,’ said Thorne, clapping his hands together, and striding up to the door of his home. ‘And you can tell me all about your ride over our meal.’

  As they followed Thorne inside, Cade was again aware of the strange whirring sound coming from upstairs, and was about to ask, when Celestia brushed past him.

  ‘I’ll lay the table,’ she announced, and headed for the dresser, with its racks of goblets, plates and bowls, drawers of knives and spoons, and a tall decanter of something dark red which Celestia sniffed and declared to smell ‘delicious’.

  ‘And I’ll see to the prowlgrins,’ said Cade. ‘Where are those fish scraps?’

  Thorne nodded to a large wooden bowl on the workbench that had a piece of homespun cloth draped over it. Plump muleflies buzzed lazily around the top, landing briefly on the covered rim of the bowl, then flying off again. Cade gathered it up and stepped outside, to find Calix and Rumblix waiting by the door.

  Rumblix’s jewel-like yellow eyes were full of expectation. Cade set the bowl down on the ground, and the prowlgrins purred loudly as they slurped and gulped at the mess of bones and offal.

  ‘Enjoy,’ Cade laughed, watching them for a moment before going back inside.

  As he walked through the door, he paused. ‘Thorne,’ he said, ‘what is that strange whirring noise?’

  Thorne turned from the stove, his face puzzled. Then he smiled and glanced upwards.

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘is something I’ve been working on.’ He nodded, his face earnest, then added, ‘I think you might find it interesting.’

  · CHAPTER NINE ·

  ‘WHAT IS IT?’ said Cade.

  Cade and Celestia had followed Thorne up the stairs to a room on the first floor. Large and windowless, it was packed with shelves and cupboards that contained various tools, bits of equipment and raw materials. Against the far wall was a long trestle workbench. Thorne’s old Hive Militia musket lay at one end of the bench, while at the other stood a curious metal object.

  This was the source of the whirring noise that Cade had heard.

  ‘Like I said, something I’ve been working on,’ said Thorne, unable to keep the pride from his voice. ‘Remember that supper we had, Cade, when I talked about the possibilities contained in your father’s barkscrolls? Well, I’ve made a breakthrough based on his calculations.’

  Cade was amazed.

  His father, Thadeus, had entrusted him with the four barkscrolls back in the Cloud Quarter of Great Glade on the night Cade had escaped. The scrolls now had pride of place above the mantelpiece in Cade’s cabin. The calculations they contained were about phraxchambers, explosion rates and frost conversions, and far too advanced for Cade to understand. But Thorne, with his skill at making things, had been intrigued.

  Now, months after he’d first examined them and made notes, he’d managed to make some kind of sense of them.

  Cade stooped forward to inspect the object more closely. With its phraxchamber, propulsion duct, funnel and cooling gears, it looked like a miniature version of a phraxengine – the type that was used all over the Edge, from the factory stilthouses of Copperwood and East Glade to the mighty skytaverns that crisscrossed the sky.

  Yet this was no ordinary phraxengine. Even Cade could see that.

  Instead of the funnel rising up from the top of the chamber and billowing steam, it bent back on itself and was connected to the propulsion duct at the rear of the chamber. Around this central phraxchamber, four smaller spheres circled at different speeds, hovering just above its surface, yet not touching.

  It was these spheres that were emitting the whirring noise. Not only that, but they glowed white, then gold, then red, as they did so.

  ‘What does it do?’ asked Cade, unable to take his eyes off the object.

  ‘Do?’ said Thorne. ‘Well, it doesn’t exactly do anything. Not at the moment.’ He leaned forward on the workbench and pointed to the funnel. ‘I constructed this model to test the principles contained in your father’s calculations.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ breathed Celestia. ‘By connecting the steam and the flame, the power of the phrax has been changed somehow . . .’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Thorne. ‘These ironwood spheres are held in place, orbiting the chamber, by that power. Your father, Cade, referred to it as phrax force.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Cade, watching the glowing spheres circle the chamber. ‘But how is this useful?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ interrupted Celestia, unable to contain her excitement. ‘If you attached flywheels, pistons and connecting rods to these spheres, each one of them could power machines linked to them. A single phraxchamber could generate power to run four factories . . .’

  ‘Or four hundred,’ said Thorne, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘If the chamber was large enough. And that’s just the beginning of what this phrax force could be capable of. I’ve managed to work my way through the first barkscroll, but there are three more I copied the calculations from that I’ve yet to master. I’ve got to hand it to your father, Cade. He truly was a remarkable phraxengineer.’

  Cade thought of his father Thadeus: a shy, studious academic – too gifted not to stand out and earn the envy and hatred of less talented, but more ambitious, rivals in the Cloud Quarter Academy of Flight. He hadn’t deserved what had happened to him.

  ‘And yet . . .’ Thorne paused, and looked at Cade and Celestia, one after the other. ‘We lead a good life here at Farrow Lake, don’t we?’ he said. ‘Fishing the lake. Hunting in the forest. Tilling the land . . .’

  ‘A very good lif
e,’ Celestia agreed.

  Cade nodded. It was true. Life in the Farrow Ridges was a haven of tranquillity far from the frenetic pace of the great city he’d left behind.

  ‘Beautiful as the phraxchamber is,’ Thorne went on, ‘I fear it has no place here. I’ve seen the damage that phrax can inflict . . .’

  ‘Weapons,’ said Cade quietly. ‘Warfare.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Thorne.

  The grey goblin’s eyes grew unfocused as he stared off into the middle distance. Cade knew that his friend was reliving the nightmare of the Battle of the Midwood Marshes, where he had watched so many of his comrades cut down on the battlefield – and come close to perishing himself.

  ‘I took the speck of phrax from my old musket and used it in the phraxchamber,’ he said grimly. ‘And you can see the power it’s able to generate. A single speck . . .’ His brow furrowed. ‘But fascinating as it was to put your father’s calculations to use, I can’t help wondering if I haven’t made a terrible mistake.’ He paused again. ‘The thing is, science is a one-way journey. Discoveries can’t be undiscovered. Knowledge can’t be unknown . . .’

  Cade watched his friend’s troubled face as he wrestled with his conscience.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said at last, ‘it would be best if I stowed the chamber away and turned my attentions back to coracle building.’

  Celestia was looking at the grey goblin intently. ‘But imagine the good such an invention could do,’ she said quietly. ‘Turning phraxmuskets into steam looms, ploughshares, stilt factories.’ She looked at Cade, then back at Thorne. ‘With so much power generated from so small a phrax crystal, the phraxmine owners and merchants – not to mention all their cronies in the academies – would no longer control everything.’ She jabbed at the air with her finger to make her point. ‘This could completely change the Edgelands.’

  ‘That,’ said Thorne, ‘is my concern.’