The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  Octavian clearly needed help. Kerian grabbed the reins firmly and turned to lead Toledo back towards the flames. The horse dug its hooves into the floor and resolutely refused to move, pulling him back around to face it once more.

  “Now listen here horse!” Kerian snapped, waving his finger angrily. “Either you come with me now and behave yourself, or I will leave you here to burn. Do you understand me?” Toledo’s dark eyes stared deeply into Kerian’s hazel ones and some iota of understanding passed between them. The horse shivered and rolled its eyes, nose snorting as the thick smoke rolled across the ceiling towards them. “Just trust me.” Kerian finished, using his hand to stroke the creature’s cheek and try to reassure it all would be well. Kerian turned away and this time the horse followed, all be it hesitantly and with a visible tremor to the stallion’s flanks.

  “Octavian.” Kerian shouted, struggling not to cough. “Octavian, where are you?” Damn, the smoke was getting too thick to see anything in here. Crashes and thumps arose from the stalls ahead and the frantic screams of terrified animals echoed around him as he tried to see what was going on. He pulled up the base of his tunic and tried to cover his face as he moved into the thick of things, only to find the large camel’s body blocking his path, its neck snapped, head lolling to one side, flames licking its pelt.

  The heat was growing more intense here and Kerian realised there was no way he could advance; the heat was simply too intense. He needed to find another way out. In a flash, he remembered the door they had encountered when they had first tried to gain access to the stables. It had to be here somewhere! He wheeled Toledo around, much to the relief of the stallion and headed back down the walkway, initially not noticing the door due to a row of harnesses hanging alongside it.

  Toledo seemed to know what was required, pushing Kerian over into the door with a shove from its muscular shoulder and a snort that seemed almost derogatory in nature. Kerian lifted the latch and pushed against the wood only to hear the padlock and chain rattling on the far side. He had forgotten the door was locked! How could he have been so stupid? He coughed again as the thick acrid smoke continued to funnel along the walkway. The fumes were clouding his head, making it hard to concentrate. His eyes watering, Kerian turned looking for inspiration, then realised the stallion was the answer to his problem.

  Toledo pivoted on the spot and in a response to Kerian touching his haunch, lashed out with his back legs, causing the doorway to splinter as his hooves smashed into the wooden door. The stallion kicked again, splintering the frame and leaving the top of the door hanging in the air.

  “One more should do it.” Kerian encouraged, touching the horse a final time to get the required kick. The door smashed to the ground, padlock still in place, smoke and fumes billowing through the opening out into the market area. Toledo did not hesitate, turning around and dragging his unexpected rider with him, almost wrenching Kerian’s arm from its socket as the stallion ran clear.

  “Whoa!” Kerian yelled as he bounced along the side of the horse, trying to keep up with the animal whilst avoiding its powerful hooves as they clattered across the market cobbles. He gritted his teeth, holding fast to the bridle, then timed his jump bouncing from the slick stone surface and lifting his foot up into the stirrup as his other hand reached out and grabbed the pommel of the saddle.

  It was not the most graceful mount Kerian had ever done but he still found himself grinning as he finally seated himself on the powerful animal. He felt the muscles moving beneath him, the horse’s sides breathing in and out between his boots. What an animal. He would never have believed he could feel this way about a horse again after Saybier. To think he was in control of such a magnificent steed.

  Toledo stopped dead in its tracks, sparks rising from the market cobbles, throwing Kerian forward and unseating him. He flew over the stallion’s head and smashed into some hay bales, the air blasting from his body as he crashed to the floor dazed. Okay, so maybe he was not in as much control as he would like to believe!

  The far end of the stables exploded open, ash and glowing embers flying about the yard as Octavian, crouched low over the back of his black and white stallion, came crashing out of the inferno, his clothes and hair streaked with cooked egg. A menagerie of squealing pigs, bleating lambs, ponies and horses piled out pell-mell behind him and began to run riot around the yard adding to the overall confusion of the scene.

  The gypsy pulled hard on the reins, his horse skidding to a stop as its rider turned in the saddle and gazed back towards the ruined building.

  “Kerian, Kerian, where are you!” he yelled, squinting into the flames and trying to shade his eyes with a blood streaked hand. He moved the horse with his knees, adjusting his viewpoint, torn between finding his companion, not stamping on any of the roaming livestock and running from the scene before people arrived to catch him in the act of stealing a horse. His eyes darted about the area before identifying the saddled figure of Toledo through the smoke and a still form lying on the floor before the steed.

  “Toledo?” The Gypsy nudged his horse over and looked down on the floor to where Kerian lay, secretly hoping that the old man was injured severely enough that this fools’ quest would be over before it even started. His fallen companion’s chest was still rising and falling but his eyes were closed. Maybe luck was on Octavian’s side, maybe Kerian had a head injury or had lost consciousness? “Kerian what are you doing down there? We have to leave now before others come.”

  Kerian opened an eye and took in the ragged, soot, blood and egg streaked appearance of his reluctant guide, before groaning in pain.

  “Octavian. Thank goodness.” He began. “I want to ask you a question. Can we swap mounts? I think my horse is crazy.”

  * * * * * *

  The William O’Rielly was lost at sea on the 18th April 1920, the doomed cargo ship said to have floundered in the Atlantic Ocean before issuing an S.O.S, answered by two British ships, the Baltic Wanderer and the Minnesota. No trace of the steamer was ever found and the fate of her crew was listed as casualties lost at sea in the Victorian Times newspaper later that same month. Alas, the real fate of her crew was grislier and more horrifying than simply drowning in heavy seas.

  She was a sorry looking ship now, no longer a pride to the fleet that she had once belonged. Her decks appeared skeletal in nature; the gangways rotted and covered in moss, her masts splintered stumps that had become roosts for sea birds and wild grasses to inhabit. Brass fixtures were dulled and heavily coated in verdigris. Streaks of rust ran from the metal plate work like crimson tears. Warped doors and spider-webbed windows did little to alleviate the perpetual gloom that hung over the vessel like a shroud. As her stern swung slowly into the moving current beneath her hull, she exposed her vulnerable port side to the mass of wrecked vessels groaning and settling around her at the centre of the ships graveyard.

  The O’Rielly’s bow collided with another shipwrecked casualty of this cursed place, the impact splintering wood and sending the smaller vessel, it had struck, back the way it had come. All 66 tonnes of the schooner Pioneer, lost at sea in 1893, swung back into a swirling eddy from which she had spent months escaping, destined to repeat her destructive cycle all over again.

  No more would crew or passengers wander the decks of either ship, although with a strong imagination, an observer would swear ghostly figures still paraded about their decks, their ethereal souls as lost as the ships about them. Until now that was, as a dark shadow, its movements as smooth as liquid ink, jumped onto the deck of the O’Rielly, huge paws extending claws to grip the slippery surface as surely as if it were walking a dry, level road. Hooded eyes stared intently about the deck; nostrils snorting seeking an elusive scent that the creature knew had to be hiding here somewhere, just out of sight.

  The Scintarn hound whined in frustration, its pointed snout sniffing one way then the other. There was something here, it was sure of it, food for its master and if lucky a prize for itself. The b
east became agitated, not sure where to turn, seeing only piles of rotting rubbish, discarded like flotsam on a beach when the tide begins to turn. The hound turned in a circle scanning for movement, expecting any cornered prey to run, scrabble to escape but nothing moved.

  “What is it?” said a dry rasping voice next to the Scintarn’s ear. “What do you smell?”

  The hound jumped skittishly, quickly moving over to the side, its head down, terrified of its master as the creature known as Malum Okubi hauled himself over the side of the vessel to stand at the Scintarn’s quivering side.

  Malum’s body appeared to be clothed in long robes that appeared solid one moment and almost transparent the next, cotton thin tendrils draped from the hem of these robes, the gossamer lengths twitching in the air, supporting barbed fans of bright colours that flickered and whirled around this horrific creature. The pattern of colours and movements changed at Malum’s whim and could be hypnotic in nature, deadly to any foe foolish enough to draw near. His dry, husk-like skin appeared jaundice under the mustard sky of the graveyard, translucent veins pumping whatever the creature used for blood, around a body that was tall and powerful. What little hair remained on his head was thin and wispy, like a corpse from a long-forgotten tomb.

  The Scintarn’s armoured spine clicked loudly as it returned to sniffing around the deck. The scent was confusing but there was definitely prey here. It just needed to figure out where the source of the smell was hiding. It approached a small pile of rubbish and seaweed, its nostrils flaring.

  Magic crackled, halting both master and hound as an archway activated nearby. Seawater surged through the opening as the gateway opened, the waves setting the William O’Rielly rocking to such an extent that Malum almost lost his balance. Several of his barbed fans flashed out and latched onto the side of the ship, holding the monster steady whilst his hound slid and scrabbled for footing.

  A huge battle skiff came through the archway, its sleek one hundred and fifty-foot length and thirty-foot beam of deck bristling with pikes, laser cannons, trapping nets and twenty hardened crew. In the centre of the deck the two giant lizards, Cornelius and Horatio stood alongside their captain Miguel Garcia, the crests on their heads flattened, huge tongues tasting the air and clearly not liking what they scented.

  “Thomas Adams, you sly bastard!” Miguel screamed, punching the air in triumph. “I would never have believed this possible. I knew you came from somewhere other than Maraket, I just could never prove it until now.” He took in the dank depressing vista around him and then shivered. This place was horrible! “Although now I have seen where you came from, I can understand why you decided to visit.” He muttered under his breath.

  The skiff shuddered beneath him, the power cells maintaining its hover mode flickering as the vessel fully entered the ships graveyard. Miguel stared in amazement at the row of archways stretching off to either side. So many gateways, so many possibilities for an entrepreneur such as he. Then the privateer turned his attention towards the massive groaning wreckage of ships that lay sprawled before him as far as his eyes could see. What in the world was this place?

  His vessel groaned beneath his boots, shudders running through the deck, making Miguel turn his attention back to his skiff and crew, unaware that his onboard technology would prove to be useless after prolonged exposure to the environment of the ships graveyard.

  “What’s going on Pheris?” Miguel asked, directing his questions to a dark robed man sitting on the deck before him. Pheris turned towards Miguel, his cybernetic eye automatically adjusting to bring the captain into focus. Several options for reply flickered across his vision and he ignored the more colourful ones for a simple honest reply.

  “I’m not sure. This is all new to me. My powers are based on technology not mysticism. Something in this place appears to be interfering with our engines.” He flexed his hand as digital readouts lit up across his palm, running an analysis on the ship’s power before turning his attention to the large jewel he held in his other gloved hand. “Strangely enough, it does not appear to be interfering with the power stream coming from the gemstone.”

  “Well whatever the interference is, figure it out fast.” Miguel hissed. “There is something strange about this place, something here is not right. Horatio, Cornelius, stay sharp, keep your weapons at hand.” Pheris held up his hand, gesturing to one of his displays, even as it degraded and turned into glowing pixels of meaningless code.

  “It’s amazing how the structure of the gemstone has become so fragile.” The cyborg confessed, taking a moment to tear his attention from the digital schematics flickering across his palm to observe the remains of the jewel in his hand and the thin tendril of power slipping through his fingers. “If you had not shown me the cloaked drone footage of the mage on that antique galleon opening the portal, I would never have believed magic could be drawn from a gemstone let alone open gateways to other worlds.”

  “Yes, it’s fascinating.” Miguel replied, not meaning one word of his reply, scanning the world around him with ever-increasing wariness.

  “This mystical spell casting has incredible potential,” Pheris continued, unaware of his captain’s lack of interest in the topic. “However, the discipline is entirely different to what I am used to. I am literally feeling my way in the dark.”

  “Well, can you please feel your way to finding out what is wrong with the skiff first?” The ship shuddered again and Miguel found himself grabbing the arm of Cornelius to keep on his feet. As he staggered, he noticed something moving on the deck of a wrecked cargo ship ahead. There seemed to be an old man standing there, intently watching him, with a very large black dog standing at his side.

  “Ahoy there!” Miguel shouted over, happy to see some sign of life in this depressing place. “Do you know where I can find Thomas Adams?”

  The hovering ship suddenly floundered, then crashed down onto the water, all the power cells stuttering before going dead. Crewmen picked themselves up from the deck then started flicking switches and hitting buttons but It was as if someone had disconnected the controls from the mains. The ship did not sink as it landed; it was not designed that way; however, it was now nothing more than a floating raft, at the whim of the currents swirling about them.

  Miguel got back to his feet and stared over at the man with the dog, noticing to his surprise that several other large dogs had materialised on the slanting decks of the shipwrecks all around them. The barge continued to float towards the wreckage, the rapidly shortening distance making Miguel suddenly understand just how large these growling animals were.

  “I say sir.” He called out to the strange man observing them. “I seem to be having a bit of a bother with my ship. Do you know of somewhere we can dock for repairs?” The crew started fidgeting with their weapons, clearly sensing the disquiet and overwhelming sensation something was horribly wrong.

  The magical gate snapped shut behind them as the power from the spell failed, making Miguel jump at the sound and one sailor drop his pike in shock. The swell from the water rushing into the graveyard stopped, the forward momentum from the diminishing current just enough to push the barge ever closer to the derelict cargo ship and the strange man who appeared to be smiling, despite looking incredibly pale and unwell.

  “You don’t talk much do you?” the privateer muttered, as the skiff bumped up against the ruined craft. “Pheris, get this ship moving now. You can work magic with technology. So do some magic before you find yourself swimming home.”

  The cyborg cursed at his inability to make the barge function and dropped to the floor, wrenching open a console and looking inside at the wires as if they had betrayed him.

  “I don’t understand what is wrong.” He replied. “It doesn’t make any sense. The power seems to have simply disappeared.”

  One of the large hounds howled, then leapt across onto the skiff, jaws clamping down hard on a crewman’s neck with a sickening crunch. Cornelius swung up his rifle, bl
asting the Scintarn with a hail of deadly fire. Horatio turned towards another of the creatures, perched on a nearby deck clearly ready to pounce and lifted his rifle, firing a spluttering bolt of crimson that hit the Scintarn in its chest, vaporising the monster. The lizard licked his chops in satisfaction, then brought his weapon to bear on the old man before them. The dogs started to whine and bark, clearly communicating their concern to their master.

  “Stop!” The voice of the old man made the hairs stand up on Miguel’s arms. The huge black animals watching them suddenly lowered their heads, turning towards their master, awaiting further commands. The privateer shook his head in dismay; he counted at least thirty of the animals now. What the hell did Thomas ever see in this place? It really quite terrifying. He needed to take control of the situation.

  “We will not hesitate to shoot if you don’t back down.” Miguel warned, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Call off your dogs. Or we will all start blasting.”

  “I don’t think you will be fast enough to make a difference.” The old man replied. “But by all means start blasting. I have plenty more Scintarns. I am sure you will run out of crew before I run out of hounds.” Miguel drew his pistols and looked nervously at the diodes flickering on the barrels. Was the power going on the weapons too? This was going from bad to worse.

  “Rather than kill you all.” The old man said, lights suddenly flickering around him in staccato flashes. “I would like to invite you all to my ship so we can discuss your previous request. You see, like yourself, I too am searching for Thomas Adams. Just drop your weapons and then I can have you all for dinner.”