This was madness! For the briefest of instances, Scrave had believed himself to be safe, finally away from the incredible heat, able to close his eyes and rest for the first time in months. Oh, how he wanted to rest! How he needed to sink down and close his eyes…
A hulking guard charged around the corner of the bookshelf swinging his weapon ineffectively in the close confines of the passageway, the weapon swinging up high only to get caught on an upper shelf. Scrave threw his arms up in shock, his actions permitting the sentient dagger to drag his raised weapon arm forward, plunging the twin golden blades deep into the guard’s exposed chest. The man’s scream of pain hung in the air as the blade fed.
Energy rushed up Scrave’s arm as if he were struck by errant lightning, lifting the Elf up onto the balls of his feet as his body arched in spasm. The dagger pulsed in his grasp, coils writhing in morbid delight. It was as if the weapon was quenching a prolonged thirst and it would not deny itself this opportunity. Scrave was powerless to resist, too weak and out of control of his own functions to withdraw the crimson stained blades from the guard’s chest. All he could do was hang on as the energy flowed through the gleaming serpent and further into his own battered form.
As he looked, the guard started to shrivel and sag before him, as if he were aging instead of simply dying. Before he could comprehend this further, he noticed his own exposed and charred arm where he clutched the dagger. The skin was starting to epithelise. Necrotic flesh was sloughing away and taut pink tissue, corded muscle and sinew were forming and knitting together under his gaze. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing!
With a final strangled gasp of expiring breath, the guard slid from the golden dagger and crashed to the floor, leaving Scrave standing dazed in the darkness, his heart racing, the dagger hissing contentedly on his arm.
What had just happened to him? What was this weapon doing? He felt younger, more vibrant than he had in days. This could not be real. Was he hallucinating and somehow still back in the inferno he believed he had left? The Elf reached out to touch the shelves beside him reassuring himself that he was really in the library and not dreaming. The clamour of guards following his route forced Scrave to focus on his chaotic current situation.
He needed to get out of here but he had no idea where here was, or more importantly where the exit lay. He needed to get up high and see more clearly. With a lightness and energy of body the Elf had not felt in months, he grabbed the edge of the massive bookshelf and started to climb up towards the ceiling, his feet lightly touching each shelf as he ascended into the shadows.
Guards entered the passageway from either end, cutting off any exit at ground level, drawn by the earlier screams from their demised associate, their arrival literally seconds after Scrave had disappeared into the darkness. They cautiously approached the fallen figure, gasping aloud and looking about fearfully when they realised the aged figure beneath them was once their colleague.
“Foul work is about here.” Whispered one, gripping his mace tightly, his eyes darting about the dusty books looking for the being that had struck the fallen guard down.
“It’s dark sorcery no doubt.” agreed another equally on edge temple warrior.
Scrave watched silently from above, his arms and legs spread wide, the bookcases either side supporting his weight, chuckling silently to himself at the confusion of the people below and trying not to sneeze at the heavy amount of dust tickling his nostrils. He listened to their exclamations and thought back to a similar situation where he had been perched on a window ledge above an alleyway in Catterick over a similar amount of guards. He remembered the huge Minotaur Rauph teetering opposite him with a pink pair of lady’s knickers hanging from one horn and felt a brief moment of nostalgia before he mentally brushed it away so he could start to focus on the matter at hand. He needed to get out of this library and figure out where he was. Ironically, the Elf had no idea he was actually in the same city he had been so fondly remembering.
Something ran over Scrave’s hand making him twitch in reflex and almost lose his grip. What in the world was up here on top of the stacks with him? He hoped it wasn’t a rat. Scrave had taken his fill of rats! The unseen threat chittered softly in the darkness. To Scrave the meaningless noise was filled with dangerous intent. The Elf tried to focus on the shadows, attempting to make out the details of whatever was out there, knowing instinctively that it meant him harm.
His imagination started to play tricks on him. Maybe it was a scorpion or something equally venomous. He tried to reposition himself aware that if he wasn’t careful, he could dislodge something and give away his precarious position. A soft touch whispered across the back of his hand. The caress was anything but intimate, instead chills raced up the Elf’s arm as he felt one of his finger’s being lifted from its position despite his struggles to pull it away.
The raised voices of the guards arguing where their quarry had gone suddenly faded in importance as Scrave tried not to shriek as he felt what could only be teeth pressing at the top and bottom of his digit. The teeth clamped down hard and all pretence at stealth disappeared. Scrave shrieked, snatching his hand away and horrifyingly found himself dragging the creature that was biting him out of the darkness.
Haunting empty eye sockets glared at him as he snatched the sorceress’s apprentice out from hiding. The creature knew Scrave had taken its tail in the past and now it was time for payback. Hamnet’s skull like head filled Scrave’s vision, it’s evil nature and intent all too clear to see. The demon bit down sharply intent on causing its nemesis more pain.
Scrave tried to bring his other hand to bear, the golden serpent dagger hissing in frustration, knowing that this prey was not flesh and blood and would do nothing to boost its desire for ending life.
An unexpected tremor ran through Scrave’s form as he tried to balance using just his outstretched legs. He realised with horror that he was weaker than he thought. Normally his balance and acrobatic skills were excellent. However, fighting with the monster hanging on to his hand and trying to use his other hand to assist in this fight without stabbing himself was easier said than done!
His left foot squeaked on the ledge informing the men below that the person, their priestess wished killed, hid in the shadows above them. Seizing the initiative two of the ignorant men, not bothering about the sanctity and precious nature of the items they walked amongst, shoved hard against the shelving making the bookcase creak ominously, unbalancing the Elf. Scrave tried to adjust his footing, still struggling with the snarling demon, only to find his foot slipping free. He fell clumsily, unable to bring his hands to bear and catch himself.
Hamnet twisted vainly in Scrave’s grasp as they crashed down amongst the guards, sending the men sprawling, weapons crashing to the floor as books started to rain down, thumping on heads, arms and backs and sending clouds of cloying dust into the air. The demon released its grip on Scrave’s finger and lunged for his exposed nose. Scrave saw the monster coming straight at him and was unable to move as the razor-sharp jaws snapped together. A large ledger crashed down onto the demon’s head ending its vicious attack. Scrave lifted his free hand and on reflex, checked his nose, thanking his stars when he found it was still there.
He breathed a sigh of relief before realizing he was amongst a pile of men intent on killing him. Quick as a flash Scrave leapt to his feet, dagger in hand and ran for the far end of the passage, his feet coming down on loudly complaining heads and vulnerable areas of struggling flesh. The golden dagger hissed in frustration once more, this time at the missed opportunities behind it.
Scrave dashed to the far end of the shelves, having no idea where he was going but determined to get as far away from the fallen guards. He risked a quick look over his shoulder noting the fallen men gathered their feet and struggling to rise, one shrieking out in horror, trying to pummel Hamnet’s flapping form with his mace. Clearly, the guard thought the demon was the terror that had dared attack them.
Guards crashed into Scrave from either side as he cleared the end of the shelves, bringing him down in a pile of breathless pounding bodies. Scrave fought scratched and bit at anything soft that came near, satisfying himself at the grunts and screams that arose from the chaos. He managed to get his head out from one guard’s sweaty armpit only to see the dishevelled figure of Justina stalking towards him. Incredibly, despite all the chaos and thrashing, perspiring and cursing bodies piling on top of him throwing wild punches, the Elf had time for one bizarre thought.
She really was quite attractive to the eye. He tried to shake his head as a cocky smile slid across his face, however, he was in a headlock, making such a move slightly difficult. Besides, what was he thinking about! She hated him.
“Kill him slowly.” She purred, leaning against one of the study tables and revealing a length of attractive leg from the slit side of her robes. The scream of the man to his side snatched Scrave back to the moment as a jolt of energy coursed into him. His mind may have been pleasantly distracted but his dagger had a single purpose!
Scrave staggered as the shock lifted him, his teeth snapping together as he convulsed. He lunged to one side and realised with amazement that the whole mass of men shifted with him as if he had suddenly gained the strength to shove them all. Scrave pushed a sweaty muscled arm from his face and ducked a haymaker punch that sailed into another guard. This was incredible was he this strong?
Another jolting shock, another scream. Scrave braced his feet, lowering his head back and pushing the scrum of people in the opposite direction, away from the woman who cared so hopefully about his untimely demise. If only the timing was better, he chuckled to himself amazed at the feeling of euphoria coursing through him.
The whole mass of bodies crashed into something hard, bringing Scrave’s jubilant musings to a halt. What did these people think they were doing! He was mighty now unstoppable! He simply dug in and pushed harder, laughing at the fact other guards were now crashing into the mob behind him even as screams of terror sounded from the men before him.
He lowered his head and pushed once more, determined to thrust the guards out of the way and make his escape. Something snapped and the resistance let up as screams filled the air. Scrave kept stepping forward, ignoring the hands trying to hold him back and the wild punches bouncing harmlessly off his head as if he were being hit by a child.
People started to slide off around him, sweating hands started to clench clothes and the whole mass of bodies started to slip and slide across the floor before him. At last he was breaking free, he was finally making headway!
“Stop you fool!” screamed one man. “The balcony! You are pushing us over the edge!”
What balcony? Scrave discarded the thought, pushing harder, before he suddenly found himself staring eye to eye with a man who had sheer terror etched upon his face.
“Please I’m right on the edge.” The man pleaded desperately. The Elf had no idea what the man was talking about and pushed harder, only to watch the guard drop away, screaming as he fell five stories to crash onto the cold marble floor below.
Scrave’s blood turned to ice in his veins. His arms flailed at the suddenly open air before him, failing to locate anything to halt his momentum as other guards joined the side of the scrum at his back and continued pushing. If he wasn’t careful, he too was going to fall! He tried to brace himself with his heels, then turned in place, his fingers outstretched pushing back but the mass of bodies was too much and he slipped relentlessly across the crumbling balcony. His boots squeaked in protest as the edge came closer and closer.
“Back up!” Scrave screamed. “Don’t push anymore. We are all going to go over!” He turned again, putting his back against the scrum, his boots sliding an extra couple of inches towards the precipice as he struggled to place his feet and shove back as hard as the throng were pushing towards him. He bit down hard on a fumbling hand and grinned as it was pulled away but the mass of men continued shoving against him.
Justina walked slowly towards the hulking guards, her body swaying seductively as she assumed control.
“What are you all waiting for?” she asked the straining crowd. “Push him over!”
The grin slid from Scrave’s face as if it were butter on a hot skillet. The force of the crowd surged forwards once more, Scrave’s foot slipping over the edge. He tried to get his shoulder under the guards, hold his ground and push back, but it was hopeless. There was only one thing to do.
Scrave stepped away into nothing and smiled.
“Flossador!” he chanted, his spell snagging the wisps of energy from a crumbling gemstone in his earring and using them to make his command a reality. It was as if an invisible platform had suddenly emerged beneath Scrave’s feet, buoying him up and preventing gravity from laying a claim to his previously tumbling form. He gathered himself and calmly moved to step away from the men staring at him in awe from the ruined balcony, their looks of amazement turning to one of horror as the push continued from behind them.
Scrave laughed as the guards started to slip over the edge and turned his back to walk away, intent on putting as much space between himself and the mob pursuing him. Screams rang out but the Elf did not care about the waste of life, shrill screams and wet thuds that filled the air. These people had tried to kill him, they deserved their fate!
A heavy weight crashed into his shoulder, another at his leg as two guards pushed from the balcony clutched eagerly at his body in an attempt to stop their fall. Scrave felt himself yanked to the side the spell struggling to support the extra weight putting him into a freefall. He tried to lash out with his hand, tried to force the men free but facing death can give a man reserves of strength he never knew he had.
The three men smashed down onto the massive open ledger held by the statue of St. Fraiser. Scrave groaned as his head slammed down onto the man beneath him, a sickening crack and sudden limpness of the man’s form making it clear the guard had sustained a mortal injury as they had landed. The spell faltered then dispelled as the Elf’s concentration lapsed.
He shook his head, trying to clear the stars dancing across his vision, hearing the screams of the men who continued to crash through the balcony and fall to their deaths. The rantings of Justina ordering the men to pursue him and the more sinister sound of footsteps approaching at a rush.
Scrave rolled as the mace came whistling down past him, bouncing up onto his feet as his right hand reached out, golden dagger hissing menacingly. The guard swung his weapon in low, causing the Elf to jump or get his legs swept from under him. He landed on the tips of his toes, the edge of the ledger creaking ominously beneath his feet. He risked a quick glance down and saw a long and painful fall below.
The mace whistled back across Scrave’s vision, the guard clearly understanding that he needed to keep a distance from his magical foe. Scrave judged the swing then barged in, the golden dagger whipping out and scoring across the guard’s side as the Elven fighter followed through to keep moving to the other side of the open book and much needed space.
As he paused, his left hand dropped to the sword scabbard at the guard’s side, deftly drawing the steel blade held there. The gleaming steel glinted in his hand, the symbol of the flaming cross etched on the steel just below the hilt of the weapon.
The guard spun around finding himself facing a foe with a writhing golden dagger in one hand and his own sword in the other. This was now a different challenge. Originally, he had needed to keep his foe from getting close enough to use the dagger. Now the Elf had a sword, increasing his reach! He paused, the mace suddenly heavy in his hand, fear creeping into his mind.
Scrave noticed the hesitation and decided to capitalize on the man’s indecision.
“What’s keeping you?” he taunted, his tongue darting to his lip and tasting sweat. A thought ghosted into his mind. He really hoped it was his own sweat and not something from the disgusting armpit he had been buried in earlier. A shiver ran throug
h his mind making his cocky grin waver slightly.
The guard looked around suddenly realising how high he was from the floor and the fact that an avenue of escape would be easier said than done. He knew he could not run, so he had a stark choice; kill the Elf before him or die. He had no intentions of dying this day.
Scrave lowered his blade and turned left side on, leaving himself with a narrow profile for the guard to attack. The sword felt good in his hand, an extension of his being that he controlled, in direct comparison to the writhing dagger wrapped about his right wrist. It was good to feel in control. He circled the tip of the blade and rolled his head working out the kinks his long incarceration had caused.
The guard lunged in, his cudgel swinging at Scrave’s head. Rather than parry the swing, the Elf simply leaned backwards letting the heavy weapon pass harmlessly by, knowing the guard would have to stop the momentum of his mace before he could bring it back for another blow. However, his opponent was not as naive as Scrave surmised, dropping his arm to allow the wicked club’s momentum to increase and swing back in from below.
Scrave suddenly realised the danger he was in, jumping back as the deadly weapon whistled bare inches from his leg. Before he could attack with the sword, the dagger on his right side yanked him around, pulling his arm directly into the path of the circling weapon, the golden serpent spitting as its length extended, fangs sinking into the guard’s astonished face just as the mace slapped against Scrave’s unprotected arm. Luckily, the shock of the serpent bite was enough for the guard to slow his attack, the power in the swing of the weapon decreased as the man tried to back away from the evil dagger. Instead of a broken arm Scrave just felt a wave of numbness race up his arm. If the golden weapon wrapped about his arm had been held in his hand, he would have dropped it to the floor in shock, instead it simply hissed and reared, preparing to strike once more, despite the numb arm it rested around.
The Labyris Knight Page 19