The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  The knight clenched his right fist in frustration, then lowered it to his side where it brushed against the satchel at his hip. This was all pointless there was nothing he could do. Kerian looked back over towards Toledo and watched as Octavian toyed with the stallion, goading it first one way, then the other, snarling and slashing at it with his claws as it snorted in terror.

  The satchel, of course! He could throw that! Kerian slapped at his side, fumbling with the strap as he tried to pull the bag free from beneath his cloak but it was all entangled and as he struggled with the bag his hand brushed against the flap lifting it free and opening it. As soon as he lifted the flap the satchel took on a firmer feel as if it was growing heavier. Kerian found himself dragged down to the right as the bag strap tightened around his neck and took on the weight of the contents inside.

  The shadowy opening of the bag beckoned, offering up its contents for Kerian’s use. He plunged his hand in blindly, to discover a smooth fist sized object atop a jumble of other items. The knight hefted it up and threw it as hard as he could, without looking at what he had actually held in his hand.

  A golden statue arced through the air and crashed onto the centre of Octavian’s back, making him spin around to face the threat, allowing Toledo to rear up as and lash out with a flashing hoof, catching the monster on its shoulder with a heavy crack. The beast turned, snarling in rage, its mouth opened wide, baring its fangs. Toledo slammed down another hoof, scoring a glancing blow across the creature’s snout and making it leap backwards in surprise.

  Another priceless statuette spun through the air, crashing into the back of Octavian’s twisted knee. He crashed down onto the blanket, then with a snarl sprang back up and leapt just as Toledo stepped aside. Dorian was not as lucky. The beast dropped down on the terrified animal, its teeth plunging into the donkey’s neck and savaged the ass in a spray of gore. The leash holding the donkey secure snapped as the monster bore down upon it. Dorian brayed in terror then sank down onto the sand, kicking weakly.

  The ground appeared to boil as several silver serpents slithered from below and sank their fangs into the struggling donkey, injecting their venom and wrapping around the doomed animal’s legs and body, making Octavian leap clear, frustrated at his lost victim.

  Kerian watched in horror as the monster retreated across the sand, his body blending in with the shadows in moments, making the creature practically invisible again. The knight looked towards the jerking body of Dorian, the pitiful brays from the creature now nothing but its own death knell, then towards Toledo who paced in agitation backwards and forwards on the blanket, threatening to churn the flimsy protection up and leave the two horses at the mercy of the same creatures squirming all over the poor donkey.

  Octavian would be back in moments; his hunger had not been sated. Kerian stood to dust himself down and as he did so, the flap dropped back over the satchel. The bag instantly became lighter at his side, almost making the knight lose his balance. He reached down cursing, his hand fumbling with the flap, lifting it up only to find himself staring into an empty bag once more.

  “Oh not now!” Kerian complained aloud, bringing his shield back around to guard himself as he focused his attention on the search of the bag. The silvery lining remained inert, the location of the contents of the bag once more a mystery. Kerian let the flap fall again and found himself staring at his own reflection in the mirrored surface of his shield.

  A much younger Kerian stared back at him. One with jet black hair, a flushed face and hazel eyes tinged with sadness. The image froze Kerian in his tracks. It was as if he had never been cursed, never aged. How could this be? He lifted his right hand to his hair and grabbed a lock of ebony in the reflective surface, pulling it forward so he could see out of the corner of his eye and watched as the face in the mirror pulled the same contorted face that he knew he was making. The lock of hair in Kerian’s hand remained grey with age, unlike the one in the mirror.

  What was going on? What powers did this shield have? What did the youthful image before him mean? Something shimmered in the glass, reflected back over Kerian’s shoulder. Octavian was back, purposefully stalking across the sand towards him, down on all fours, hackles up, piercing blue eyes not focusing on anything but the prey in front of him. His pelt still shimmered in the moonlight but in the surface of the mirror it took on a translucence that showed something below the surface of the monster’s skin.

  Kerian angled the shield to get a better picture and gasped. Octavian, the real Octavian, was clearly seen in the picture, trapped and struggling to get out from within the monster, clawing at the skin trying to fight his way free, fingers splayed as if he were trying to part the hide and pull himself from the beast that controlled his body and haunted the desert that night. The gypsy’s face contorted, screaming at Kerian, clearly trying to warn him of the stealthily approaching danger.

  As if on cue, the two stallions began to snort again and stamp their feet. Kerian reached down to the satchel again, fumbling with the pouch, his eyes not daring to move from the terrifying image of the snarling monster stalking towards him. It had worked when he needed it last time, maybe it would again. The flap lifted and his hand plunged into the bag only to feel the same lack of weight, the same feeling of emptiness. His time was up, there would be no salvation from the satchel this time. It was all down to him.

  Octavian leapt across the sand, his body arrowing in towards Kerian, unaware the knight was intently watching his every move. The beast picked up speed then pounced; claws outstretched.

  Kerian waited as long as he dared then turned to face the charge, swinging the shield around as hard as he could, intercepting the beast in mid-air. The shock of the shield slamming into the monster sent vibrations racing along Kerian’s arm and he knew if the weapon had not been strapped on, he would have dropped it. The edge of the shield knocked away Octavian’s outstretched claws and slammed into the side of his snarling snout.

  The knight tried to follow through, to flip the monster over himself or at least knock him harmlessly off to the side but Octavian’s rear claw snagged the edge of the shield then became tangled in his cloak, snatching Kerian around and dragging him after the lunging monster. The two of them collided, Kerian desperately trying to avoid the creature’s snapping jaws and vicious claws by hanging on tightly and trying desperately not to let go. The two of them crashed down upon the stone slab, Kerian’s right hand clutching Octavian about the throat, trying to force the beast’s jaw upwards, whilst the monster’s claws slashed across the bracers and shoulder pads of Kerian’s armour determined to find a vulnerable spot.

  Foul breath washed across Kerian’s face as he struggled to pin the creature but it was simply too strong and determined, it’s growls and snarls echoing around the dunes, emphasising the victory it felt sure it would achieve. The beast was just so strong! So full of energy!

  Kerian pushed up his shield trying to knock the monster away, realising as he did so, that he was exposing his lower limbs to the kicking back claws. He tried to draw his legs up under the pitifully small shelter the shield offered but realised it was leaving him with less ability to fight back. He grunted as the horror pounded hard against his stomach and rolled. A hind claw punched him in the side, snagging on the satchel strap.

  The knight pulled away as far as he could, trying to save himself from the slashing claw, struggling to free the strap from the monster’s foot. The shield smacked off Kerian’s forehead making him see stars and groan aloud. He tried to focus, tried to shake the double vision from his eyes and pulled at the strap as hard as he could.

  The satchel suddenly snapped free, dropping to the floor and flopping open. Kerian’s hand flailed for the bag, trying to keep it safe. Colette’s necklace was still in there. He was not going to relinquish the satchel ever! His shield slipped down as he turned his attention to the satchel. His right hand slipped inside the bag and wrapped around an unmistakable shape. Something any warrior, especially
with Kerian’s training could recognise with their eyes closed.

  Octavian’s maw opened wide, lunging for Kerian’s exposed neck. The knight pulled his hand from the bag, dragging an ornate sword from its depths. As the blade left the satchel the metal exploded into blinding light, a crystal set at the hilt of the blade appeared to sense it was finally freed from years being kept in the darkness and drew upon its enchanted powers, celebrating its release.

  Then for the first time in a thousand years, the desert night was bathed with the light of the sun.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kerian closed his eyes in shock, the burst of light from the magical sword searing his vision, causing explosions of vivid red to flare across his closed lids. He knew he needed to be doing something, needed to parry Octavian’s assault but he was completely blind! He felt claws frantically scratching at his clothes, heard screams of pain as the monster thrashed beside him and all he could do was flail about with the incandescent weapon in his hand and hope that he hit something vital.

  His vision had failed him, shadows and flares of light adding to his confusion as he struggled to push across the stone. The knight’s mind started playing tricks on him, was he the one screaming or was it Octavian? The last thing he had glimpsed was the beast’s jaws coming down towards his neck, now he was struggling to slide out from beneath the creatures pressing weight, striking out desperately to prevent his grisly demise.

  All of his senses were amplified, the scuffling and screaming so loud, the scent of sweat and animal musk overpowering. He jerked away from a flailing limb and tried to get to his knees, feeling the satchel flopping down at his side and the warmth of the desert stone beneath his hands. He had to get away, needed to move from the monster thrashing about alongside him to give his eyes a chance to recover. Kerian started to crawl, oblivious to the direction he was heading, the hilt of the magical blade striking the stone as he moved, flaring brightly at each jarring motion.

  A warning hiss froze Kerian in place, his hand raised in mid-air. Hell, he had forgotten about the damned snakes! His breath caught in his throat, could he move to the right, to the left? Had he inadvertently crawled into a corner? He dared not back up, for he knew Octavian was still screaming in pain behind him, a sound like knuckles cracking prompting each agonised vocal outburst. Kerian blinked away the tears, desperately trying to see more clearly but everything was just a great big red blur. He had to chance it, had to move either one way, or the other.

  Something sounded on the rock behind him. A footstep heavily followed by another, breathing coming in ragged gasps, signals that the monster was pursuing him again. A hand came down on Kerian’s shoulder making him start in surprise and move to dodge away.

  “Kerian, don’t!” Octavian warned; his voice edged in pain. “For both our sakes, stay exactly where you are.”

  * * * * * *

  “So when she asked how much Taurean Elite Guard stock I had in me, I replied I have it in me most nights, sometimes twice!” Karlar laughed, checking her reflection in her vanity mirror and teasing one of her blonde curls.

  Squeals of laughter filled the fan-cooled atrium as the herd of aristocratic female Minotaur sprawled about on their loungers, the punchline to the story causing the larger Wanessa to choke on a seedcake she was gorging and several of the others to pass wind. Pascol wrinkled her nose at the odour, pulling a handful of red hair across her nose as if somehow this act would filter the pungent smell, only for her shoulder seam to part as she moved. She gestured to the small serving child standing behind her, ordering her to spray perfume to sweeten the air. Shuesan put down a manuscript she was reading, allowing the parchment to curl back upon itself and obscure the hand drawn sketch of the local strolling players who were stealing hearts in the town’s public houses and sneezed loudly.

  Wanessa rolled her eyes wildly, her slaves battling to dislodge the seedcake from her throat by hitting her on the back and offering sweet drinks, which the choking Minotaur angrily tossed aside. Chane stepped in, pushing the servants away with heavy blows, her tufted orange hair formed into a fan as subtle as her volatile actions. She slammed a fist down hard behind Wanessa’s neck forcing the seedcake to rocket from her maw and skid across the marble floor. Wanessa sucked in a huge gasp of air and moved to sit down, her hands incredibly reaching out for more food to replace the fragment of slobber covered seedcake just lost.

  Mora sighed heavily at the wanton display of vulgarity and gluttony. These were the ruling elite, the people destined to replace her, the matriarchs of choice to rule the populace. Tradition decreed it, Mora had spent hours checking and rechecking the laws, trying to find a loophole, something to allow her to rule until the day she died but the rules were clear. At the time of her next birthday, she would be forced from power and one of these spoilt cows would be stepping literally into her robes as she was put out to pasture! The very thought of it made Mora bristle with rage. She had to find a way; some means to maintain her hold on the lifestyle she had come to enjoy but the texts revealed nothing. No way to justify more years on the throne, no way to extend a role that Mora had literally been born to. It was her birthright and she had no intentions of giving it up before she was ready to.

  Then she had discovered a clause in the rules of the ancient Labyris contest, an antiquated and brutal means to succession for rulers of the past, to ensure only the strongest Minotaur sat upon the throne. Today it was more of a theatrical contest with contestants’ content to risk their lives simply navigating the deadly maze at the base of the pyramid, in a massive spectacle of colour and violence that kept the populace entertained, enthralled and therefore controlled. No one was brave or insane enough to attempt the second and most dangerous part of the challenge ascending inside the pyramid for the actual Labyris axe.

  Mora smiled to herself, she knew that in the past anyone seizing the axe could claim the throne, something unheard of in present generations. This year a true prince would be competing, Drummon would be taking part and through Mora’s manipulation, he was going to win and therefore secure his right to rule.

  The Matriarch was sure none of the group lounging before her had the intelligence or foresight to realise her plans; that her champion would dare to undertake the second deadlier challenge and risk going for the Labyris and then seize the throne. The very thought of it made Mora grin. Threatening to turn the female led Taurean society into a male led one. It was so ridiculous and therefore equally unexpected!

  Mora believed it would go one of two ways, either Drummon became the ruler of Taurean, shaking the very foundation on which modern Taurean was built, whilst becoming a puppet king for Mora to pull his strings and manipulate whoever she chose. Alternatively, the winner could declare a favour from the ruling party, instead of accepting his chance upon the throne, Drummon could plead that the ruling party continue to offer protection over the populace and Mora as that humbled ruler, was more than happy to accept such an onerous task. Either outcome was acceptable to her; she just needed Kristoph to be a legitimate challenger to make the ceremony more impressive, more spectacular and more binding than any challenge that had gone before.

  There was just one problem. No one knew where Kristoph was.

  Mora moved to stroke the royal ring and realised a second too late that it was still missing. Why had Aelius not returned with the jewel? Surely, the Halfling was swinging in the breeze by now, his eyes food for the crows, the ring safely back in the captain’s hands. It was a troublesome feeling that lurked in the back of her mind, like an itch she could not scratch.

  Something was not right and the thought of losing control and her throne made Mora feel the pressure rising. She turned her attention back to the master of ceremonies for the games who had been talking continuously about all of the wonderful exhibits and surprises he had in store. The matriarch tried to concentrate on the enthusiastic presentation, noting that with all the spectacle this Minotaur was including, the cost would be astronomical. T
axes would have to rise next year.

  “So all is ready?” she asked. “The tournament can now go ahead as planned.”

  “I await your command your majesty.” The games master bowed. “All I need is a date.”

  A loud clatter came from outside of the double doors leading into the chamber. The clattering of plate mail crashing to the floor, cries of outrage swiftly silenced with dull thuds and grunts.

  “What in the world is going on?” Mora asked, indicating with her hand that the guards best investigate and swiftly. Could it be Aelius returning with her ring? Had Drummon made it back from the jungle with Kristoph in tow? Or was it something else? Mora’s hand slipped into the sash of her robe and felt for the stiletto dagger she had secreted there.

  The doors crashed open, sending the guard nearest the entrance spinning away to smash into a brazier of hot coals that crashed to the floor, scattering burning embers across the rugs. Ammet thrust two serving children towards the coals and started screaming for them to pick the embers up with their bare hands, as smoke started to spiral up from the rugs. Chane leapt up, snatching a serving tray from in front of Wanessa and sending finger food all over the astonished rotund Minotaur. The stern Minotaur scooped the tray across the floor, batting the coals off the rugs and onto the cool marble where their heat could harm no one.

  Karlar, meanwhile, was on her knees, flashing a sizeable amount of cleavage into the fallen guard’s face as he struggled to regain his feet but as she knelt a shadow fell across the room, stifling her forward advances as the huge figure of an enraged Minotaur smashed his way into the room.