Freeglader by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Read Free Book Online Page B

their midst, the librarians marched, with Rook and Xanth still deep in their own conversation.
    ‘And that metal muzzle he wore,’ said Rook, chuckling. ‘What was all that about?’
    Xanth smiled weakly. ‘Orbix Xaxis was a creature of many superstitions,’ he said. ‘He only bathed by the full moon. He never ate tilder if there was an “r” in the month. And he believed that the air was still full of the “vile contagion” which had brought stone-sickness to the Edge.’
    ‘He blamed the librarians for stone-sickness, didn't he?’ Rook added. ‘Believed we'd brought it back from the Deepwoods. Is that why he killed so many of us?’
    ‘He was mad, I realize that now,’ said Xanth, his face drawn and tense. He shuddered. ‘Oh, those accursed Purification Ceremonies of his. I dread to think how many Undertowners and librarians were sacrificed to the rock demons. And for what?’ He shook his head, leaving the question hanging in mid air. ‘Orbix Xaxis was mad all right, Sky curse his wicked soul …’
    ‘Xanth,’ Rook gasped, looking round uneasily, half expecting to see the spirit of the High Guardian himself emerging from the mists. ‘Careful what you say, here of all places.’
    The wind that had been howling continuously since they first stepped on to the rocky pavement had now died down, and a heavy swirling fog had descended like a white blanket.

    ‘This reminds me of when I was a young'un,’ said Rook, still endeavouring to keep talking, despite the cold, suffocating mist that tightened about them. ‘There was this old forgotten cistern in the sewers. I'd lower myself into it, pull the top shut over my head and spend hours there, tucked up and hidden, with only a lantern and a smuggled treatise for company…’ He frowned. ‘Xanth?’ he said, concerned that his friend was letting his mind stray. ‘Are you listening?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Xanth, his voice dull.
    Behind them, Ambris Loppix's voice could clearlybe heard. ‘They say he hand-picked the captured librarians for that master of his.’
    ‘I heard that he actually enjoyed listening to their screams. Called it “singing”, he did,’ replied his partner.
    ‘Do you know how they celebrate Wodgiss Night in a woodtroll village?’ said Rook, trying to drown out the sound of the librarians' conversation. ‘It's in my barkscroll, Customs and Practices Encountered in Deepwoods Villages .’ Rook patted his knapsack, where the barkscroll he'd been entrusted with was safely packed.
    Xanth made no response.
    ‘First of all, there's this huge procession,’ said Rook, ‘with drums and trumpets, and everyone wears these fantastic exotic head-dresses…’
    ‘And then he became a spy …’ Ambris was saying.
    ‘And the young'uns all get their faces painted,’ said Rook. ‘Like animals. Some are fromps, some are lemkins, and there is even one done up like a vulpoon, in a feathered suit and a strap-on beak…’
    ‘Betrayed hundreds of apprentice librarians on their way to the Free Glades, apparently…’
    Rook turned and glowered at the librarians – though tethered as he was, there was little he could do to shut them up.
    ‘Execution's too good for him, that's what I say,’ replied Ambris's partner.
    ‘They'll know what to do with him in the Free Glades, the stinking traitor…’
    ‘Don't listen to them, Xanth. They don't know whatthey're talking about,’ said Rook, still glowering at the librarians.
    ‘I'm sorry, Rook, I just can't stand it any more,’ Xanth said tremulously. ‘They're right. I'm no good. I'm rotten…’ His voice trailed away.
    Rook turned back to his friend. ‘You're not rotten, Xanth. You're … Xanth? What are you doing? Xanth! Xanth! ’
    His friend had vanished, the rope that bound him hanging limply from the main tether.
    ‘No, Xanth,’ Rook shouted, struggling to loosen his own binding. The rope fell away behind him as he dashed off after his friend. ‘Xanth. Xanth, wait! Come