The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  “Welcome to the grand event. By the decree of the Matriarch, it begins at dusk tomorrow. Come see your heroes, including the Prince Regents, Drummon and Kristoph, battle deadly monsters, navigate lethal traps and fight each other to the death for your entertainment and the greatest of all prizes. The Labyris Axe.

  “Gosh! That sounds exciting.” Ashe stated to Sinders, “Maybe Rauph is not being thrown out after all. Doesn’t he look all ferocious and brave, snarling at that ugly Minotaur Drummon. I’m not so sure about how Drummon is holding that huge mace, if he is not careful, he might hit Rauph with it!” The Halfling continued to scan the poster stopping with the small writing at the bottom.

  “Don’t forget to queue early to get your seats.”

  Ashe turned around and reached for a passing cloak trying to snag the man’s hand and ask the most important question regarding exactly where these seats might be found, only to discover his hand filled with the man’s coin pouch. These people were so careless with their belongings!

  He turned to another passer-by and came up short, noting the scruffy youth that had been talking to him by the fountain when he had been collecting all the thrown away coins.

  “I know him.” He pointed at the poster. “He’s my best friend.”

  “That’s nothing. I’m sleeping with the matriarch.” The urchin replied, scratching his spiky hair.

  “Really?” Ashe replied wide-eyed. “Then I suggest you get a new girlfriend because believe me she is a very nasty person with a very bad temper.” Ashe turned to point out Sinders on his shoulder.

  “This is my bird. The one I was looking for before I got into that misunderstanding with the guards. Sinders meet… Umm. Meet...”

  “Porthon.”

  “Porthon... of course!” Ashe turned back to the poster. “Where exactly do we go to get the best seats?”

  “You are in luck.” Porthon replied. “I happen to be going there myself. The earlier we get there the better view we can secure.” He gestured over towards the mainland and the huge pyramid. “It all happens over there and from the gossip I have heard, I would not miss this event for the world!”

  “Then Sinders and I shall tag along.” Ashe replied enthusiastically. “Maybe if we are lucky, we will also spot the villain everyone is looking for on the way. Whoever it is, they must have done something really bad. Maybe we can claim a reward!”

  * * * * * *

  Rowan leapt up for the next link in the chain, feeling her arms starting to tire from the long climb. The more she ascended the more she felt she should have spent time climbing the rigging of the El Defensor to stay trim. A smile crossed her face. What a great idea… and Thomas would have had kittens if she had done so.

  She grabbed the link firmly and tried to pull her knees up, gripping the cold metal between her thighs. The long thin chain dragged relentlessly at her shoulder where it remained fastened to the safety pin, every link advanced resulting in a heavier and more cumbersome burden to manage.

  It was no good, she had to rest, had to stop and catch her breath. The chain tugged gently at her shoulder as if it had snagged on something and then became free again. Rowan shrugged her shoulder and yanked the chain back again, sending a silvery wriggle back down through the slender links.

  The snagging at her shoulder came again, a sharp tug down followed by no resistance at all. It was as if the chain were caught up on something. She needed to move on, needed to keep climbing the chain and find the end. Taking a deep breath Rowan jumped up for her next handhold, only to find her shoulder wrenched painfully and her hand slip from its grip. She scrabbled at the huge links, her breath held in horror, trying to find a way to stop her fall, shoving an arm out instinctively into the hole in the metal only to have her full weight yank on it as she arrested her descent.

  Rowan hung there, eyes closed, trying to fight through the pain, momentarily breathless and confused as to what had just happened. The pain in her arm started to ebb and she sucked in a breath and looked up the chain, willing that the last link be hung up just above the one she was on, even though she knew it was wishful thinking on her part.

  The safety pin at her shoulder tugged again. What was wrong with this stupid chain? Rowan frowned and tugged back, determined to free it from whatever it was stuck on, only to find the safety pin snatched back hard against her shoulder, pulling her out and away from the chain into open air.

  She screamed as she fell into darkness, watching as the chain she had so laboriously climbed slipped away from her as she plummeted. Rowan had no thoughts as to looking towards what had pulled her from her lofty perch, no courageous need to turn about and stare down towards her ultimate demise. Instead, she closed her eyes and screamed.

  * * * * * *

  “What do you mean he has escaped into the desert.” Justina hissed angrily, like the snake she so vehemently desired. “Kaplain. I swear to you if you have let him slip through our clutches.” The Bearer looked down at his sandals and shuffled his feet. Looking like a schoolchild caught doing something he knew was wrong.

  “Well we had no supplies to give chase. He is bound to be running out of water. The salamanders were not equipped for a long expedition.”

  “If the Elf and my dagger are crossing the desert, then we are going to go after them. Do I make myself clear?” Kaplain looked up towards his mistress, his eyes lingering on the horrific demon sitting upon her lap, currently occupied with chewing on a shrivelled child-sized hand. Hamnet paused in its meal and stared back, eyes gleaming coldly from the bony sockets of its skull.

  “Completely clear mistress.” The Bearer replied. “Your will shall be done.”

  “It had better be.” Justina replied, stroking the skull of her demonic pet.

  “Or I shall know the reason why.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The look on Octavian’s face told Kerian all he needed to know.

  “We split three water skins.” The gypsy confirmed, holding up the deflated bladders and letting them flap in the wind to reinforce their predicament. “There is no way we are going to get to Al Mashmaah with the water we have left and these are beyond repair.”

  “We have a perfectly good oasis behind us.” Kerian gestured. “The horses have already had their fill and I can see there is plenty left for the likes of you.”

  “But I have nothing to carry it in.” Octavian replied. “I’m not sure about you but I think my pockets might leak!”

  “What about if just one of us goes?” Kerian snapped, raising an eyebrow and staring at Octavian with barely contained ire.

  “Really?” Octavian shot back. “After us spending the night together? Shame on you Mr Denaris. I say shame!” Kerian tried to remain mad, tried to avoid catching the contagious smirk showing on the gypsy’s exhausted face and found he could do nothing but crack a smile.

  “Damn you.” He whispered to himself, turning to gather his scattered belongings and pack them onto Toledo’s already overloaded back.

  “We need to reduce our baggage. Throw away everything we don’t need.” Kerian stepped off the blanket and started to pull other items from Dorian’s corpse, waving his hand rapidly to dispel the flies that had already descended on the donkey’s decomposing carcass. A roll of faded material came away from the sand and Kerian noted the faded insignia on the pennant that had fascinated Octavian so much.

  “Well we don’t need this anymore.” He grunted, pouring sand from the flag.

  “Give me that.” Octavian yelled, running across the sand and yelping as his bare feet touched the burning surface. “You are not getting rid of my keepsake.”

  “Then carry it yourself.” Kerian replied, throwing the flag in Octavian’s direction.

  “Have you come across any of my clothes.” The gypsy asked, scrabbling through the sand and struggling to pull more items from the deceased donkey as Kerian rolled up the first blanket, tugging it away from beneath Octavian’s feet exposing him to the hot san
d again.

  “I’m not worried about your clothes,” Kerian replied, struggling not to laugh as Octavian pulled a battered boot from the sand only to yelp and drop it as a silvered serpent slithered from its neck. “I am more concerned about finding us a safe haven on the supplies we have left. I had one destination in mind and had not considered any others.”

  Octavian hopped about the remaining blanket, pulling on the solitary boot before standing up and turning about, shading his forehead from the rising sun and the prevailing wind with a raised hand.

  “I am going to need to get up onto one of the taller dunes to be sure.” Octavian commented, as Kerian pushed him aside and rolled up the second blanket. “But I think we are closer to one edge of the desert than the other. If we take it steady and conserve our supplies, we should make it out of here but it won’t be easy.”

  “Here’s your other boot.” Kerian threw the sand filled boot over to his companion then continued to tug at the debris littering Dorian’s corpse but the donkey seemed almost sucked down into the sand and a faint vibration near Kerian’s hand made him draw back warily. “I don’t think we are going to get much more out from under him.” He sighed. “We will have to make do with what we have got. Are you ready?” Kerian drew himself up into the saddle, tugging Toledo’s reins and easing the horse up towards the crest of the nearest dune.

  “Wait for me.” Octavian yelled, stuffing the last few objects he could salvage into his stallion’s saddlebags, whilst lamenting the supplies he had to leave behind. “I don’t think my horse is going to be able to take my weight with this wound to its back leg. Is there any chance I can hop up with you?” Kerian scowled down at the gypsy, his features clearly showing what he thought of that idea.

  “You were the one that attacked the horse. You deal with the consequences!” Kerian pulled up at the top of the cream and crimson striped dune and looked about. There seemed to be a storm on the horizon back over towards Tahl Avan but otherwise the open desert appeared to stretch for miles. Octavian slogged up beside him, struggling to pull his ragged shirt about his shoulders, before giving up with a curse and casting the whole lot aside.

  “Are you sure you never found my spare clothes?” he whined.

  “For the last time, I have not got your clothes.” Kerian shouted. “They must have been under Dorian. If you want them, go back and dig them out by yourself. It is too hot to dally and I want to be well on our way before the sun gets too high in the sky. Now, which way do we go?”

  Octavian looked down at his ragged clothes in resignation then sighed deeply before turning about to check his bearings. He tutted and scowled, looking up at the sun, taking in the distant smudge of a mountain range on the horizon and the endless expanse of desert before he turned back towards the fiery orb hanging in the sky and pointed to the horizon below it.

  “We have to go that way.” He muttered, clearly not happy with his choice of destination.

  “What’s over there?” Kerian asked, noting, that Octavian’s skin was already turning a reddish hue from the kiss of the sun. The man really did need some clothes to shelter him from the elements or he would be too ill to travel by nightfall.

  “Blackthorn.” The gypsy muttered. Kerian shook his head, remembering full well the path the ghostly woman had warned him he would take, it appeared he had no control over his own fate. Everywhere he went problems beset him, leading him on to dangers anew. He dismounted, deciding for now to keep the information of his clandestine meeting close to his chest and moved to one of the saddlebags, tugging it open and pulling out a roll of clothing he knew lay there.

  “Here, you can borrow this.” He remarked, throwing the clothes over to his companion who caught them in mid-air and started to unroll them to reveal a familiar moth-eaten set of armour that appeared to be a mish-mash of multiple suits roughly stitched together.

  “I know this suit of armour.” Octavian remarked. “This is the set I got from the crypt back in Tahl Avan.”

  “I know.” Kerian replied, remounting the saddle, before lifting his hood up to protect himself from the wind and pulling his cloak tighter about him. The knight turned Toledo in the direction Octavian had indicated and then started to ease the stallion down the far side of the dune before shouting back over his shoulder.

  “I don’t seem to need it anymore.”

  Octavian struggled to pull the musty clothes over his head and cinched the belt at the tunic’s waist before wrinkling his nose in disgust. The armour smelt foul; the thought of sand fleas and lice sprang vividly to his mind. He was sure he would end up itching by the end of the day!

  The gypsy tugged at the reins of his stallion and led the horse as he started to follow his companion then he paused as something made him halt. A growing sense of dread swept over him, as if someone had walked over his grave. The feeling was unexplainable and something told him it was not just down to the troublesome thought of their ultimate destination. He twisted about and stared over at the storm on the horizon, furrowing his brow.

  It made no sense, the clouds seemed wrong, misplaced somehow. He licked a finger and held it up. The wind was definitely blowing in the other direction, towards the cloud, yet it still appeared that the cloud was heading relentlessly towards them.

  Octavian shrugged his shoulders before tugging hard on the reins and started coaxing his horse down the rise, its forelegs sinking into the soft shifting sands, right up to its fetlocks.

  The mysteries of the Vaarseeti desert were many and no matter how often Octavian travelled here, there was always something new to alarm him.

  * * * * * *

  Rowan hit the spider’s web with such force that her spine felt as if it had snapped, her head jerking back so hard that she saw stars. There was a sensation of dropping into a sticky trampoline before she found herself flung back up in the air again as if on a wild carnival ride.

  The swift rise ended just as roughly, the sticky filaments at her back clutching so tightly that when she reached the apex of her ascent, she felt the exposed areas of her skin rip as the adhesive prevented her from leaving its clinging embrace. Rowan cried out as her body snapped back, her wounds adhering to the sticky web and coating the grey like strands crimson.

  Rowan found she had no choice but to close her eyes in an attempt to prevent herself from being violently sick and waited for the up and down movement of the web to cease its vibration. Her ears felt like they were humming, her breath came in shuddering gasps but she could not move to assess her wounds due to the unbreakable grip of the resilient weave she was mired in.

  “Damn it!” she cursed, trying to lift her head and examine her situation, only to feel the sharp pull of the web from behind her. This was ridiculous! How had she managed to get herself in this mess? It was like something out of one of those Mrs Pepperpot books by Alf Proysen her father used to read to her when she was a child. The main heroine used to shrink to miniature size at the least expected moments and have all kinds of adventures. Rowan started to chuckle, imagining meeting her childhood hero, walking up, curtseying and offering her hand in welcome. The chuckle became a full-fledged laugh.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rowan knew the hilarity was wrong. She was stuck to a giant spider’s web, had not achieved her goal at all and was in danger of reverting to her normal size at any time. This was if she did not end up being eaten by whatever had crafted this sticky death trap in the first place! I must be in shock, she realised, the laughter dying on her suddenly dry lips. Rowan took a few deep breaths, then angled her head to take in her surroundings. The wrench lay off to her right side, stuck fast to the web. A glow behind her head explained where the lantern had landed, shadows cast from its stuttering flame indicating the light was off balance and the fuel tilted away from the wick.

  Well, she could lie around here all day and wait to see what happened, or she could pull herself together and try to get out of here. Rowan tried to move her hands, and started patting down
her pockets, first one side then the other, feeling the skin on her exposed arms pulling taut and threatening to tear. She had a penknife somewhere in her overalls; she just had to find it.

  A faint vibration ran across the web towards her, causing Rowan to lift her head and strain against the webbing pulling at her hair, trying to discover where the disturbance was coming from. There was nothing but shadows over there, nothing but… A large hairy leg reached out from the shadows, causing Rowan to catch her breath.

  This could not be happening! This had to be a nightmare that she was going to wake up from. Rowan struggled to tear herself free, sending vibrations through the web and causing the huge leg to lift from the web surface before another and then another hairy limb eased out from the shadows. Eight beady eyes glowed in the darkness as the spider’s body moved out into the illumination cast by the flickering lantern.

  Rowan stopped her struggling instantly, remembering that spiders homed in on the vibrations of distressed prey trapped in their webs. She renewed the search for her pocketknife, trying to remain as still as possible as she tried to find the lump that meant her goal was nearby but these damned overalls had more pockets in them than she realised and the search was taking too long! The spider was going to be upon her before she…

  The safety pin still strung over her shoulder snapped down, drawing Rowan deeper into the web and snapping her head painfully backwards. Two further tugs followed, yanking her arm so hard she feared her shoulder would dislocate, as whatever was pulling on the thin chain yanked down hard. The web thrummed beneath her and the arachnid rushed over to investigate the movement, mistaking the pull as that of its prey, its thick bristling legs scuttled across the web, advancing in rapid jerky movements.

  Rowan barely had time to scream, as the web stretched downwards again, bowing beneath her, the excruciating tension from below increasing the pressure on her shoulder. Whatever held the end of the chain it was worrying it backwards and forwards, pulling first one way then the other as the sticky strands of web cut deeper into her arm, releasing a fresh trickle of blood. Rowan tried to move, tried to angle her body to release the safety pin and free the chain but the adhesive in the web had her so firmly secured that she could not even scratch her nose, even if she had wanted to!