The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  He looked so old. The thought stopped him dead, staring at the grey hairs about his face and ears. If he thought that he looked old, what did Mora think of him? Would he be replaced soon? The thought made him shudder. A guard came into the room gesturing towards the room next door.

  “What is it?” Aelius snapped, annoyed at the interruption.

  “There is a dead body in the other room. We don’t want to go near it.”

  “I don’t see why not.” The captain snapped, pushing by and entering the room, taking in the chart table with the open books laid upon it and the ruined chair around which several guards stood warily. He stopped short, taking in the gaping mouth, the creases of the velvet robes heavily lined in dust, and the gaping hole in the figure’s torso where the mortal wound had occurred. Then he noticed the magical symbols on the corpse’s robes and the other runes and sigils on the chair in which the dead man sat. A shiver ran up Aelius’s spine as he took in the scene. Somehow, he picked up on an atmosphere in the room. He felt as if he were being watched.

  “It’s magic sir.” One guard reported. “I don’t like the feel of this. We need to leave this place.”

  “I think you might be right.” Aelius muttered. “This room is secure. Move on to the next one.”

  The next door opened into a small cabin. A birdcage hung from the ceiling and a small hammock was hanging from the wall. The Minotaur searching the room found there was very little space to turn and his horns caught in the cage.

  There was a protesting squawk as the cage fell to the floor, jarring the black and white bird inside and springing the door, bending it back. The guard jumped back worried about what this creature was rolling about near its feet and it lashed out kicking the bird and sending it bouncing against the wall. Chuckles from the other guards turned the Minotaur’s embarrassment into anger and he reached over and opened the porthole before roughly grabbing the black and white bird, swinging it sadistically by its leg. Several vicious pecks and squeals followed before the bird was hurled through the open porthole and the opening slammed shut. Leaving the guard with a bleeding hand and more chuckles of distain from his colleagues.

  “I hope it can fly.” The Minotaur smirked, trying to show he was in control of the situation. Aelius watched but did not find the situation amusing. He snapped an order, silencing the warriors and indicating the next room to enter. Without knocking, Aelius shoved the door open and stepped back as a stench wafted through the open door and into the corridor making several of the Minotaur place hands over their noses.

  The room within had a large hole in the centre of the floor. A bed against the wall held a figure from which the stench was coming from and a young woman was sitting with him holding a flannel to the man’s face and appearing to nurse him. Another figure lay on the floor with a sheet over his head. Aelius coughed several times before he was able to clear his throat enough to talk.

  “What is going on in here?” he asked, trying hard not to be sick.

  “Oh” Colette turned towards the open door appearing to have been caught by surprise and dropping her washcloth across the man’s face lying in the bed, her hands shook and a small crystalline object fell to the floor.

  “You can’t be in here.” Colette warned. “Please step outside in the corridor. These men are ill and under quarantine, if you come in here you need to stay with them.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Aelius choked at the foul smell. Colette wrinkled her forehead as if trying to remember something.

  “Malignalitaloptereosis.” Colette replied quickly. “It’s extremely contagious. You get…” She wrinkled her nose again as if trying to remember the rest of the information. “You have giant pink spots, hot and cold shivers, violent sneezing, green gas and um, and purple hair.”

  “Purple hair!” exclaimed the man under the flannel.”

  “Let me see.” Aelius moved forwards gesturing for Colette to remove the flannel.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She remarked, pulling the flannel away to reveal a vision of horror.

  The man beneath was barely recognisable as such. His pale skin had a greenish hue, mucus dribbled from his nose and his face was a mass of red oozing weals. The man’s pallor was further emphasised by a shocking mat of wet purple hair.

  “Hi,” Mathius sneezed, causing everyone to step back. “Is it visiting hours already?” A wet farting sound issued from under the sheets making Aelius step back in disgust.

  Colette covered Mathius face again before he spoilt the effect by laughing. She wiggled her hand down at her side, whispering words of a spell under her breath.

  “What was that?” Aelius remarked, certain something else was going on here.

  “I was just going to warn you how fast the disease spreads.” Colette replied, trying hard to keep her face straight. “But it is already too late. You need to leave here and put yourselves into quarantine for at least a week. I have no idea how terrible the symptoms affect Minotaur.”

  “What?” Aelius asked clearly confused. Screams started out in the corridor. Confusion rippled through his troops. The captain turned to see one Minotaur pointing at another as red lesions started to boil and erupt from his skin whilst another screamed at a shock of purple hair sprouting from between his horns.

  “Run!” Aelius shouted. “Get away from here. This is a plague ship.” He ran for the door, pushing his way through the assembled troops, his nose wrinkling and becoming peppery before exploding in snot and mucus. The other Minotaur ran after him, some belching others shrieking in horror as the illness took hold.

  Colette sat on the bed and smiled as she heard the screams running away. She pulled the flannel from Mathius’s face and started to laugh as he laughed with her. On the floor the corpse under the blanket sat up and grinned as he took in the state of Mathius lying on the bed.

  “Wherever did you get that idea from?” Aradol laughed as he watched the spots slowly start to fade from Mathius skin and his nose magically dry up. “I have never heard of Malignalitaloptereosis.”

  “Thomas told me a story once about a mighty magic duel that happened on his world.” Colette began. “It was an epic battle wizard vs witch, where they polymorphed into different creatures in a bid to outsmart each other. The witch, I believe her name was Mim, cheated by changing into a purple dragon, so the wizard, Merlin, responded by transforming himself into a germ called Malignalitaloptereosis.” Colette paused in her retelling.

  “I wish I could have seen it. The mental strength needed to perform such spells must have been incredible to witness. I understand that a chronicler imparted the tale in a saga named The Sword and the Stone. You must ask Thomas to tell you the tale when he returns.”

  “I think I will.” Aradol continued to laugh. “Although I fail to understand why anyone would put a sword inside a stone? That makes no sense.”

  “Will the symptoms last on the Minotaur?” Mathius enquired, picking at a scab on his nose.

  “No more than an hour at most,” Colette replied. “But it has given us breathing space and time to get the crew back from the banquet.”

  “I’m not so sure about the purple hair as a symptom.” Mathius moaned, trying to grab tufts of his hair and check the colour.

  “I remember now.” Colette laughed as she put her hand over her mouth. “It was the witch who had the purple hair.”

  “Well can you change mine back please?” Mathius pleaded.

  “Maybe later…” Aradol winked. “I think he looks kind of fetching.”

  * * * * * *

  Mora nudged Drummon, leaning in close to conspire with him, as she watched the colour drain from Thomas’s face.

  “I don’t know why you are so angry at Kristoph’s return.” she opened, not taking her eyes from the captain’s trembling form. “You were supposed to have killed him five years ago. It is your fault you messed up. Now look at him cavorting with these humans. If the citizens of Taurean were to see this ther
e would be an uproar. It cannot be allowed to continue.” Drummon snarled as he looked over at where his long-lost brother now sat with his crew, after having removed himself from the head table and several disappointed courtesans. He was laughing, smiling and hoisting the smaller member of the crew high over his head and catching him again.

  “He seems so happy with them.” Drummon moaned. “Why can’t I be as happy as that?”

  “Oh you will be.” Mora replied. “Kristoph has walked right into our hands. You can now legitimately challenge for the Labyris axe; you can finally be recognised as my replacement if you win the Labyris competition against another of royal blood.” She broke into an evil malicious laugh, gripping Drummon tightly by the shoulder.

  “I see…” The dark Minotaur offered an evil smile. “I really see.” Mora’s servant moved in close, placing Thomas’s missing goblet on the table beside her, before whispering into Mora’s ear, making her congratulatory smile at their joint subterfuge a short lived one. Her fingers tightened, digging into Drummon’s flesh and making him yelp out in pain.

  “Ow! Stop!” he complained, squirming beneath her brutal touch.

  “It appears that I need to change my plans.” Mora snapped, continuing to apply the pressure on her son’s shoulder. She paused for a second, before meeting the black Minotaur’s tear-filled gaze with her cold sadistic stare. “I want you to go out early tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Drummon replied, sinking lower in his seat in a vain effort to escape Mora’s clutches.

  “We need creatures for the Labyris tournament. I want you to take some of those crewmen. The archer, the fat one who eats too much and of course Kristoph into the jungle to help hunt some of them. Then I want you to make sure something unpleasant happens to them.”

  “What about the captain?” Drummon asked.

  “Don’t worry about him.” Mora replied maliciously. “He is no longer a concern.”

  * * * * * *

  “And then they all broke out in spots and started sprouting purple hair.” Colette laughed trying to lift Commagin’s spirits. The Dwarf tried to smile but at the back of his mind he was still trying to figure out how he was going to explain the broken steerage.

  Torches flickered on the harbour side and Colette paused in her conversation and smiled as she saw the crew returning.

  “Thank goodness they are back.” She remarked getting to her feet.

  “Colette!” Screamed a voice from the dock. “Colette! Run to the galley. Get the water boiling. We need towels and poultices.” The mage was on her feet in seconds, dread turning her blood to ice.

  Commagin was up in a second, snatching the Lady Janet into his hands and setting off suddenly all business-like towards the companionway. Rauph charged up onto the ship first, carrying the limp form of Thomas in his arms, closely followed by an almost frantic Rowan.

  “What’s happened?” Aradol stood open mouthed. “What’s happened to Thomas.” He took in the captain’s blue tinged lips, his slack, unresponsive face and the bubble of blood oozing from his nose.

  Violetta came up the companionway next, anger having set her face hard. She took in the oil streaked face of Commagin and the spiked hair of Aradol slowly reverting back to normal from purple without letting her professional face waver.

  “Rauph, get Thomas to his cabin!” she ordered, before turning to her young daughter. “Katarina get our Holy Saint, then help Colette get the herbs, water and towels we need. You two…” she gestured to Commagin and Aradol. “Get the armoury open, pass out the weapons and set the guard. No one gets on this ship without a fight!”

  “Is Thomas going to be alright.” Colette asked, taking in Rowan stroking Thomas’s hand, tears rolling down her face. “What has happened to our dear Captain?” The rest of the crew were gathering on the deck behind them, streaming up the gangway from the dock, staring at the unfolding drama in dull eyed shock.

  “Yes, Violetta.” Commagin pressed, refusing to move until he understood the situation more clearly. “Tell us what has happened to Thomas.”

  “They’ve poisoned him.” Violetta announced. “That Minotaur bitch and her court have poisoned Thomas!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kerian watched horrified, as the golden mummy lifted Octavian clear from the deck of the ship. The gypsy struggled in the monster’s grasp, trying to wriggle and writhe out of its vice like grip, growling and snarling, clearly in considerable pain, his hands vainly reaching out to tear at the creature’s ancient bandages and face. Kerian felt frozen to the spot, unable to move due to the fear and dread that radiated out from the creature. There were no weapons near at hand, no sword for him to slash at the monster, no mace, lance or hammer with which to bludgeon the creature and save his companion.

  The mummy raised Octavian above its head, then threw him with incredible strength across the deck. The gypsy smashed into a stack of crates that splintered as he fell. The crash snapped Kerian out of his paralysis, forcing him to move, to seek an advantage against the supernatural creature before it turned its unwanted attentions in his direction.

  Dorian the donkey brayed in protest, backing away and tugging Octavian’s mount with him. The pack animal backed into Kerian’s stallion and kicked out by reflex, making Toledo scream out in pain, rearing up high, hooves slamming against the deck as he landed, shaking loose a wide bladed oar from against the gunwales. Kerian turned from the source of the clatter just in time to duck as the mummy’s outstretched hands clutched at his body.

  He ducked, evading the creature, moving to clear space, its body brushing his arm as he rolled by, sending a numbing chill racing through his limb and releasing the scent of musty bandages from ages past. Ancient liniments and spices that had been involved in the preservation process along with mould spores and dust billowed into the air, leaving Kerian gasping for breath. The mounts continued pushing against each other, stamping and snorting, anxious to put as much space between themselves and the moaning creature that continued to pursue Kerian as possible.

  The knight lifted the makeshift weapon from the deck and spun around, smashing the paddle hard into the advancing mummy’s left side, before reversing the swing, whipping it back over his head and slamming the oar around towards the creature’s other flank. A mummified hand reached out, faster than expected and caught the wooden blade before it made a second contact. Painful vibrations ran up Kerian’s arm as the oar snapped in two. The fighter stared at the splintered oar in shock, before realising he needed to move again as the space between himself and the mummy shortened.

  The creature was nimbler than its shrivelled form suggested, its relentless stalking across the deck, now becoming a clear ruse to back Kerian into a corner from which there was no escape. Bandaged arms outstretched, bony fingers clutching for Kerian’s body, leaving the warrior no choice but to continue retreating. He took another step backwards, reaching the edge of the deck, the flaming torch in the sconce above him illuminating the preserved golden horror in blood curdling detail.

  Octavian appeared out of nowhere, leaping from the ruined crates with a bestial snarl. The gypsy landed on the corpse’s back, his arms grabbing around its neck, his head swinging in as if to bite the monster’s throat. The mummy instantly concentrated on the new threat, leaving Kerian with valuable time to re-assess his position as both gypsy and mummy wrestled for dominance. Kerian lunged with the ruined oar, determined to help out, only to hear it clang off the monster’s golden skin and raise Kerian’s growing sense of inadequacy.

  Where was a good sword when he needed one? This was ridiculous to feel so powerless! He looked up at the flickering torch in the sconce above him and snatched it down, hardly hesitating before shoving the burning brand into the monster’s side and barely missing Octavian’s flailing legs. The treated bandages caught instantly, flaring up and turning the monster’s moans into shrieks of fear as it tried to smother the flames with its bandaged arms only to inadvertently spread and fan the fire to
other areas of its body.

  Octavian fell to the floor, rolling away, leaving the mummy wide open to attack. Kerian brought the torch and oar to bear like twin magical lances. He shoved hard into the monster’s torso, pushing forward, edging the towering horror backwards towards the side of the ship. The mummy snarled in defiance, lashing out and grabbing for the splintered oar, tearing the remains from Kerian’s hand and sending it spinning away into the shadows but not before the knight used the torch to push with one last gigantic effort, finally overbalancing the heavy undead creature and sending it over the edge of the ship.

  There was a dull thud as the mummified corpse hit the ground. Kerian peeked over the edge of the ship, waving the torch backwards and forwards in front of him as if this would keep the nightmare at bay. He stared down at the flaming creature in morbid fascination, watching the bandages curl and char as the flames licked hungrily at the ceremonially prepared body, the corpse writhing and squirming as it vainly tried to get up off its back. Octavian came up alongside Kerian gasping and placed a hand on the knight’s shoulder in thanks, before leaning over the side to observe the smoking pyre below.

  “That was a surprise I could have done without.” The gypsy remarked, his cocky smile slowly returning to his face. “I wonder how long it takes for a mummy to go out?”

  “I don’t think it was enough to stop it. I think we have only delayed it.” Kerian replied, watching the corpse struggling to move in a more co-ordinated fashion as more and more of its gleaming golden body was exposed as the charred bandages fell away. “At that rate It won’t be long before it is going to get up again.”

  “Well we can’t have that can we?” Octavian replied. “Put the torch down and help me for a second.”