Kerian reached out and grabbed an old table leg, wedging it beneath the door handle, before digging the bottom edge into the floor. He quickly checked through the gap in the door as to the progress of the storm. The sand whipped along the dry riverbed, borne by a wind that heralded its passage with a piercing whistle. A tremor vibrated through the wooden door, a repetitive booming, once, twice, a third and fourth time, before the pattern repeated again, growing in intensity and volume.
The knight frowned at the sound; boom, boom, boom, boom, it was like a marching beat, the tremors causing dust to spiral down from the ceiling in a slow spasmodic trickle. Clumps of soot crumbled away and dropped into the open fire with a clatter, causing the flames to spit and spark. The knight blinked his eyes and then returned his attention to the doorway and the raging storm without. The sight he saw made him freeze in place. Sinister figures were moving along the riverbed, mere feet from his place of concealment; dark shapes, marching onwards, ancient spears held high, faded pennants cracking in the wind, footsteps in time and synchronised. It was an army on the move, intent on traversing the desert to a destination unknown. But what was an army doing here?
Toledo nudged Kerian hard in the small of his back as he continued to shuffle about the cramped living space looking for more food, causing the knight’s head to bang loudly against the doorjamb. Kerian bit back a curse, rubbed his forehead in a bid to try to relieve the discomfort and then noted with concern that his mild concussion had caused more than just a throbbing pain. It had also grabbed some unwanted attention.
A foot soldier within the passing shadowy ranks had paused in his march, turning his head towards the hidden doorway and Kerian’s current hiding place. Kerian pulled himself back from the door, gasping at his discovery, whilst hoping that the darkness within the small ravine would be enough to hide the entrance to the soldier in much the same way it had been masked from Kerian. However, the knight’s wishes were not to be. The soldier took one faltering step, then another, causing others within the ranks to file past him as he walked unerringly towards the cliff face hovel and the knight hiding within.
Kerian slowly drew his sword, his eye still pressed against the gap in the door, studying the figure advancing but not yet sure if this was a friend or foe. Two other soldiers shuffled to a stop, pausing in their march to turn and follow their curious brother in arms into the shadows, their hands reaching for their weapons.
Toledo snorted in delight at discovering another withered carrot and nudged Kerian again, reinforcing the fact that there was very little space to manoeuvre in here should a melee develop. Kerian shoved back hard with his bottom and stared back through the gap, vainly attempting to identify some sign or insignia, some idea of what army these troops belonged to. The first soldier moved closer, his actions stiff and unnatural, perhaps even stilted, now that Kerian could observe the figure up close. Something about the way the soldier moved caused the hairs to rise on Kerian’s forearms.
The foot soldier stumbled in the darkness, falling hard against the door, making the table leg creak ominously and Kerian step instinctively backwards, before the unidentified figure regained his unsteady footing and stood up tall. The sparse light from the fireplace passed over Kerian’s shoulder, beaming through the gap in the doorway to capture the soldier’s state of decay in vivid detail.
Kerian took in the sight of the withered flesh, the bleached pieces of skull showing through the flaking face, the yawning hole where a nose would normally be, and the stained teeth that grinned due to a lack of lips with which to do otherwise. He stepped back in shock, pushing against Toledo as the shambling undead creature brought its face up to the opening through which Kerian had been spying. It stared through the opening with its one remaining shrivelled eye, acting as if it could see clearly. Half a ragged eyelid blinked closed, the other half missing, probably food for desert scavengers’ years ago.
Aurora slammed between the boards of the door, the flawless blade taking the creature through the neck, severing its spine and dropping its head to the floor. There was no shriek of alarm, no opportunity to call for help. Kerian’s strike was clean and almost surgical in its precision. The skeletal soldier dropped to its knees, hitting the door hard and causing the table leg wedged beneath the handle to finally snap in two. Kerian did not hesitate, tearing open the door, allowing the dust from the storm to swirl into the room and causing the horses to snort in alarm. He charged out, leaping over the monster at his feet as it collapsed in upon itself, swinging his blade in low, hacking the legs out from underneath the second skeletal warrior before bringing his blade up, then back down hard upon the skull of the third, cleaving it in two.
The second soldier tried to get to its feet but a swift backhanded chop with Aurora stopped that idea before it could reach fruition. Kerian brought his weapon around before him, clutching the hilt in both hands, feet slightly apart, eyes squinting out into the clouds of dust, watching for the next wave of monsters he knew would come towards him, even as he realised that he had attacked the three undead foes with a fluidity he had not experienced in years!
Kicking at the tabard of the nearest corpse, Kerian tried to make out the faded insignia inscribed upon its tunic but the light from the doorway only reached so far and it was so dark out here in the ravine that he could not see sufficiently to throw much needed illumination onto his predicament. Why did Aurora not shine brightly, why did the weapon not light up the night sky as it had before? He shook the blade as if by somehow agitating the weapon it would flare into searing light but the blade remained stubbornly dull.
Another large shadowy figure stomped over in Kerian’s direction, causing the knight’s questions about his mysterious blade to be set aside. A tattered cloak whipped about the tall figure, its ragged length snapping in the wind, the hood shading a grinning skeletal face that stared at Kerian with such intensity that the knight could have almost believed the creature still had its eyes instead of dark sockets.
Several other indistinct shapes marched past behind it, oblivious to their fellow soldier’s change of direction, intent on heading further down the ravine, the rank and file of hundreds of warriors marching in step to a destination known only to them. The sound of their passing creating a level of noise that almost matched the intensity of the storm whistling about them and set the sides of the ravine trembling.
Kerian moved forward to intercept the charging creature, figuring it was better that he took the initiative, swinging his blade in at waist level, only for the huge undead soldier to lift up his arm and deflect the attack on an ancient shield carried within the cloak. The skeletal warrior tilted its head, first one way, then the other, then dropped the shield and drew out a huge spiked mace from within its cloak before leaping forward in a rush.
Aurora parried the first and second crushing blows, sending a ringing out into the darkness as the weapons collided. Kerian noted an opening, leaping forwards, lunging at the skeleton, beating the mace out to the side as he swung his blade in with deadly accuracy, piercing the monster’s cloak, once, twice, only for his weapon to pass out the back of the material having managed to damage nothing. The mace swung back, barely giving Kerian time to withdraw his longsword and make a quarter turn to the inside, concealing his vulnerable front but exposing his back as the mace whipped by overhead.
Kerian struggled to recover, finding himself up close to the monster, enveloped in the decayed smells that lingered about its person. He took a deep breath and almost gagged before attempting to turn around, beating his blade against the haft of the mace, desperately trying to hit the monster’s hand, to dislodge or remove a few fingers and send the weapon spinning away into the sand.
The grinning skull seemed to mock his attempts, ignoring the flicks of the blade that Kerian offered in its direction. It parried his next lunge, bashing his blade down with a bind knock that slammed the blade from high to low, dragging Kerian along with it. The knight overbalanced, stepping past the huge und
ead soldier, more fully out into the dry riverbed and the roaring tempest.
The sandstorm slammed into Kerian, stabbing at his eyes, ripping at his skin, making him lose his focus on the foe before him and instead start panicking about the hundreds still left unseen, marching ever onward through the debris and dust. However, Kerian need not have worried about this, as the skeletal soldier apparently held a grudge and charged right after him, straight back into the vortex of grit and sand.
Kerian just managed a Sixte parry, bringing his longsword up in a deadly arc to knock the mace out to the side, before he reversed the swing in a two-handed chopping action. Aurora’s keen edge skidded across the monster’s armour, striking sparks off some rusted chain mail to catch the creature right beneath the chin, knocking it back several steps. It crashed into another marching infantryman, sending the skeletal creature spinning out of step, to collide with a rank of spearmen who spilled about like children’s dominos, one losing its head, another an arm as they fell to the rocky ground.
The huge skeletal warrior lashed out angrily with its mace, striking left and right as the next two skeletal infantrymen marched up, inadvertently pulverising a bony chest and permanently realigning a lumbar spine before the weapon located its enemy within the dust storm and clanged heavily into the mirrored shield hung at Kerian’s back. Kerian found himself lifted up and thrown forwards several feet, before he managed to stagger about to regard the monster bearing down upon him. He needed to figure out the best attack to slow the creature and leave it vulnerable. Go for the leg, the neck, its weapon arm? He needed to decide and swiftly, before the creature was upon him.
Kerian smiled as an opening made itself clear, bringing his sword up above his head as he timed the precise moment to strike. The skeletal warrior strode closer, swinging its mace from side to side, its boots striking the stony floor in measured strides that brought it within striking range. The knight watched the steps, measured the rhythm to the swing of the mace, waited until the creature was almost upon him, then as the mace moved to the left, he spun to the right, bringing the gleaming sword about in a glittering arc, to strike not at the front of the monster but to its rear.
Aurora slammed into the back of the soldier’s left knee, shearing fibrous tendons and ligaments, splintering the monster’s tibia and cracking its femur, sending a gristly kneecap spinning out across the sand. The skeletal warrior spun with its mace, not realising that this very movement only served to snap the knee further apart, sending the skeleton crashing to the floor, its cloak billowing out around it. Kerian continued his turn, arcing the longsword up and then down, shearing the monsters now exposed neck, snapping the vertebrae and finally laying the unholy creature to rest.
Kerian turned, sword outstretched daring any further warriors to attack only to realise that an eerie silence had now descended on the riverbed. The wind inexplicably died down, the marching boots and clattering bones all stopped. Kerian blinked his eyes in disbelief, not sure what was happening but preparing for the worst.
The marching soldiers all stood at silent attention, not moving, as still as in death, except they were vertical instead of horizontal and lying in their graves. A faint bugle call sounded from beyond the ravine wall where other warriors had apparently halted their march as well. It hung in the air, a call to assemble the ranks, to inform the troops that their march, for this day at least, was over.
The silence was almost deafening. Not an animal stirred, nor snake hissed, even the nocturnal desert owls dared not break the sanctity of the moment. It was as if the whole world had decided to take one large breath and everyone but Kerian had been included in the message. The knight looked at the skeletal statues all so still about him, rows upon rows, rank upon rank of undead soldiers stretching away as far as he could see; wondering if they were all looking at him, watching him to see if he would turn his back and let down his guard. He half expected them to suddenly charge and bury him alive with their incredible numbers alone!
What army was this? Why was it following him? Kerian wanted answers, he looked down at the ruined skeletal warrior at his feet and the long flowing cloak the monster still wore. It was a senior figure, judging by the faded braid upon its uniform, yet Kerian recognised enough that it was not the commander of the unit. That warrior was still out there somewhere, possibly moving among the ranks of soldiers now standing motionless about him.
He knelt down to examine the faded uniform more closely, realising he was the only person moving within sight. The unsettling sensation of being watched sent tingles up the back of Kerian’s neck, he kept imagining the soldiers turning and springing upon him at any moment, filling the air with gleeful shrieks as they chopped him to a thousand pieces but despite his jittery feelings nothing happened.
Keeping a tight grip around the hilt of his sword, Kerian moved his free hand down to lift up the edge of the cloak and examine it more closely. The blade in his hand suddenly flickered, as if a tongue of flame had just raced along its glittering length, before it instantly extinguished, returning the blade back to its normal appearance. Kerian froze, caught between looking at the longsword, the cloak of the skeleton at his side and keeping a watchful gaze out of the corner of his eye at the troops standing to attention.
Aurora stayed dull, just a steel blade reflecting back the clouds scudding overhead. Kerian counted to three inside his head, then shook the sword again just in case he had inadvertently activated its magical illumination then cancelled it again. The sword remained stubbornly dark. The damned weapon made no sense…
Aurora flared back to life, the blade shining as bright as the sun, just as something large hairy and wolf like leapt through the silent ranks of sentinels, only to find itself yelping and squealing in horror as it moved into the magical sphere of radiance, crashing to the ground in a writhing heap.
Kerian looked up with a start, shocked that anything could close in on him so quickly without him noticing, only to recognise the humanoid figure transforming on the ground beside him and shrug his shoulders at the gypsy’s obvious discomfort. It served Octavian right, trying to sneak up on him and scare him in this way. He looked back down at the cloak, now brilliantly lit, noticing the spider insignia and confirming his thoughts on who this mysterious legion was.
“Provan” Octavian growled mid-transformation. “Kerian we have to run. The Provan legion are after us.” Kerian ripped the cloak from the dead skeleton at his feet and threw it over to Octavian’s naked form before grimly getting to his feet.
“I already know.” He replied firmly, gesturing at the eerie soldiers standing motionless around them. “They are already here. The question is, why?” Octavian got to his feet shivering, pulling the cloak about his frame to protect his modesty.
“Seriously Kerian, there was no need for the sword. I can change back myself now it is no longer a full moon. You pulling that blade makes me feel like I’ve run into a barn door.” Octavian looked about, sniffing the air, hoping about on his bare feet trying to avoid the worst of the sharp gravel covered ground. “Where have you hidden the horses? I need my clothes and boots back.”
“Over here.” Kerian replied thoughtfully, leading the gypsy back to the cave and the rickety doorway through which the two horses stared out at them wide-eyed. “Did you see any sign of a giant lizard in your travels?”
“No not a single giant lizard, which is a shame because I hear they taste like chicken.” Octavian paused when he saw the errant apple core Kerian had dropped on the floor of the cave. “Did you keep me an apple?” he enquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Apparently the apples were off.” Kerian replied, looking back out over the ranks of silent troops. “Why do you think they all stopped like that?” He turned back to Octavian only for the gypsy to stare at him with a frown.
“Excuse me.” The gypsy remarked. “Please can you turn your back? I need to get dressed.” Kerian moved to comply, still struggling to understand what was really going on. If the
Provan legion were really after them the question remained why? If there was a need to capture or even kill them then surely the troops would have kept attacking? It simply made no sense.
“Come on, let’s go.” Octavian urged, pulling at the reins of his mount and turning to exit the cave. “We need to get out of here. All these piles of bones standing here are giving me the creeps!”
“And a guy who changes into a wolf and eats people doesn’t?” Kerian shot back, leading his horse after the departing gypsy and staring longingly at the small shelter they were now abandoning.
“Sounds just like my kind of guy.” Octavian joked before looking at his horse and frowning. “Who the hell packed my saddlebags? I’ll never get the creases out of my tunic!” The two adventurers moved cautiously out across the riverbed, weaving their way through the skeletal troops as quietly as they could, waiting for the inevitable scream of a battle cry or the creak and clatter of old bones moving together as the soldiers prepared to attack.
“Hang on a moment.” Kerian whispered. “Where’s my food.”
“In the same place as my apple.” Octavian shot back.
* * * * * *
The fire in the little fisherman’s cave had slowly burnt itself out, the fuel for the fire so rotten that the flames had consumed it incredibly fast. Clumps of soot continued to tumble free into the fireplace, causing hissing and spitting from the few hot coals that remained alive. The wind began to pick up again, gusting into the cave, lifting the disturbed sand upon the ground and blowing it back into the furthest reaches of the room. The discarded lantern toppled onto its side, the little lantern fuel remaining, glugging mournfully from its reservoir. The tracks of the previous visitors began to smooth out, forming gentle waves upon the surface of the floor.
The Labyris Knight Page 71