Grimalkin, the Witch Assassin (Spook's- I Am Grimalkin) This content was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have DOWNLOAD EPUB. Spook's: I Am Grimalkin: Book 9 (The Wardstone Chronicles series) by Joseph Delaney. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. Wardstone 7 – The Spook's Nightmare Spook's: I Am Grimalkin of the Fallen, Grimalkin the Witch Assassin, Lure of the Dead, Slither, I Am Alice, the Spook's.
|Language:||English, Spanish, Dutch|
|Genre:||Fiction & Literature|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Register to download]|
1 The spooks I am grimalkin · 2 The spooks apprentice · 3 The spooks battle · 4 The spooks blood · 5 The spooks curse · 6 The spooks destiny. Wardstone Chronicles / Last Apprentice has 58 entries in the series. cover image of The Last Apprentice 3-Book Collection . cover image of I Am Grimalkin . Spook's: I Am Grimalkin pdf epub ebooks download free, download more free pdf , epub ebooks of Joseph Delaney, pdf, epub ebooks free.
Description eBook Details Click on the cover image above to read some pages of this book! Boy Overboard. Nanberry Black Brother White. Troll Mountain The Complete Novel. Once The Felix Series on eBook: Book 1.
The Alice Stories: In the Afterlight The Darkest Minds. Black Ice. A Thousand Pieces of You Firebird. Book 4.
After the End After the End. The Select Seven Wonders Journals: Gone Gone. The Eighth Day Eighth Day. She had been given a tour of this part of the castle a day or so earlier.
If this dark shaft ran through the turret rooms and then down into the ground, then there would have had to be some sort of circular stone structure, like a chimney, in each of the large rooms near the ground. Surely she would have noticed such a thing? Except for the sound of her muffled footsteps across the damp carpet and the water dripping onto the chandelier, the room was quiet. But Jenny could hear something new: She stared at the wine glass.
It was slowly filling with red wine. A thin stream was falling into the glass but there was no visible source for the liquid. Was it being poured by an invisible hand?
A second later an unmistakable metallic odour told her that she was wrong about the liquid. It wasn't wine. It was blood.
Jenny watched in fearful fascination as the glass slowly filled. The blood reached the brim and then spilled over onto the stone. The droplets began to steam, and the sudden sharp stench made her heave. As she watched, the blood in the glass began to bubble. Then the vessel wobbled and fell into the dark shaft.
Jenny counted to ten but there was no splash, no sound at all.
The shaft appeared to be bottomless. The room had been dank and cold, but now it seemed to be growing warmer. Steam began to rise from the circle of wet stones.
Her sense of danger increased. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her fingertips were tingling. These reactions told her that this attic contained something far worse than a poor soul needing to be coaxed towards the light.
She had hoped to demonstrate her bravery and prove her competence to become a spook. She had to learn to cope alone. Terror gripped her. She sensed that there was something really bad here; something big and dangerous; something that wanted to kill her. Jenny stepped away from the circle of stones, away from the couches, pressing her back against the wall. From the depths below, something enormous took a breath.
It was so vast that the air it sucked in rushed past Jenny with the force of a gale, slamming the inner door shut with a bang. The blast made her stagger forward onto her knees before it swirled away down the dark shaft towards an unseen mouth and cavernous lungs.
She dropped the lantern and was plunged into total darkness. Jenny cried out in terror as a monstrous glowing shape bulged up out of the vast impossible space and hovered in the air above it. Six glowing ruby-red eyes stared towards her; eyes set deep within a bulbous head. When it exhaled, the breath of this creature - whatever it was - felt hot and putrid; there was a stench of decay, of dead things that still slithered or crawled in a subterranean darkness.
Then tentacles were coiling and writhing, reaching out towards her, intending to twine about her and drag her back down into that dark impossible hole. She would never live to become a spook now. She would die here alone in the darkness.
It was the day that Thomas Ward, the Chipenden Spook, my master, died. Tom should have been back in the County fighting the dark, dealing with ghosts, ghasts, witches and boggarts. I should have spent time in the Chipenden library and garden being trained as a spook's apprentice. I should have been practising digging boggart pits and improving my skills with a silver chain. Instead we followed the witch assassin, Grimalkin, on a long doomed journey north towards the lands of the Kobalos.
They're barbaric non-human warriors with a thick hide of fur and faces like wolves. They plan to make war on the human race; they intend to kill all the men and boys and enslave the females. One of their warriors, a shaiksa assassin with deadly fighting skills, had been visiting the river, the divide between the territories of men and Kobalos. He'd been issuing challenges, then fighting human opponents in single combat, killing his adversaries with ease.
But the holy men of this land, the magowie, had been visited by a winged figure - a figure who had the appearance of an angel and who had made a prophecy: One day soon a human will come who will defeat the Kobalos warrior.
After his victory he will lead the combined armies of the principalities to victory! Hearing of this prophecy, Grimalkin had formulated a plan.
It was a plan that cost Tom his life. Grimalkin's scheme was for Tom Ward to fight and defeat the warrior and then lead an army into Kobalos lands so that she could learn of their magical and military abilities.
Tom had indeed defeated the warrior, but the Kobalos's dying act had been to pierce Tom's body with his sabre. So Tom Ward had died too. That was yesterday.
Today we are going to bury him.
Tom's coffin rested on the grass in the open. Prince Stanislaw, who ruled Polyznia, the largest of the principalities bordering Kobalos territory, stood beside it, flanked by two of his guards. He nodded towards Grimalkin and me, and then beckoned four of his men forward. They hefted the coffin up onto their shoulders. He and this armed escort were with us to do honour to Tom. I wished they didn't have to be here; I wanted to take Tom back to the County where his old master was buried and his family still lived on their farm.
I glanced sideways at the prince - a big man with short grey hair, a large nose and close-set eyes. He was in his fifties, I guessed, and hadn't an ounce of fat on his body. His intelligent eyes looked sad now.
He and his warriors had been impressed by Tom's fighting skill. Despite suffering a mortal wound, he had slain the Kobalos warrior, something that the prince's own champions had been unable to do. As we trudged up towards the place where Tom was to be buried, thunder crashed overhead, and soon torrential rain had soaked us to the skin. Grimalkin gripped my shoulder. I suppose she meant to be comforting - in so far as someone as wild and cruel as a witch assassin can be.
But Tom's death had been brought about by her machinations and anger began to build within me. Her grip was firm to the point of hurting, but I shrugged her off and took a step nearer to the open grave. I glanced at the headstone and began to read what had been carved upon it: It made my stomach turn.
Tom was a young spook who had fought the dark, and this should have been acknowledged. This shouldn't have happened, I thought bitterly. He deserved the truth.
But this again had been Grimalkin's doing. Tom had needed to pose as a prince because the armies of the principalities would not follow a commoner. I watched as a hooded magowie, one of their priests, prayed for Tom, rain dripping from the end of his nose.
I think it has something to do with the Spook's "purity" dogma. The book gives lip service t 2. The book gives lip service to the idea that we are all both light and dark, that there can be both good and bad witches, and I kept reading with the hope that learning to integrate our shadows would be part of the various character archs.
But no, the growth never happens, the mythology of the witches and magic remains shallow and dissatisfying. There is no deeper explaination for why some practices are "dark" or some "light" why is looking through a mirror so very bad that you're going to take a 14 year old girl and bury her alive where she will live in dark isolation and eat worms until she escapes in 40 years wanting to kill you?
Oh no!! So many of the "light" practices seem morally questionable or down right wrong to me, and the "dark" practices seem not so bad.