The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  Rauph slammed into the granite pillar with a grunt that blasted the air from his lungs and almost made him release his grip on the shattered remains of the bridge. He scrambled to find purchase on the granite pillar, glancing over his shoulder at the gleaming tips of the spikes that had so nearly claimed his life, knowing that if the timings were right, he had but seconds to ascend the pillar and make it across to the safety of the next one.

  “Come on Rauph!” a piercing voice screamed. “Get a move on, she’s getting away.” The Minotaur shook his head. Obviously, he was suffering from some kind of concussion. He could have sworn he heard Ashe but he knew Ashe was a zombie now, stalking the darkened alleyways of the town searching for fresh brains to consume. He shook his head and continued to climb, straining to ascend hand over hand.

  Rauph finally pulled himself onto the top of the granite column, noting a tell-tale vibration within the stone signalling it was about to follow the fate of the previous columns. He ran for the next bridge, head down, arms pumping, his breath coming in snorts as he charged across the swaying obstacle, barely noting that the pit below was filled with wriggling giant poisonous centipedes. The navigator lunged for the next column, just as the one behind him exploded, dropping the bridge just as he reached the granite sanctuary.

  “Go Rauph!”

  There was that voice again. The navigator shook his head from side to side. He had to have hit his head harder than he thought! He looked up, noting that only two bridges remained and spotted Chane already dropping down from the final pillar and disappearing through the entrance into the next part of the labyrinth. He set off in pursuit, spotting that the other contestants were nearing the top of the ladder.

  Drummon reached the top first and pulled himself over the lip of the exit, then he got to his feet and tried to shove the ladder aside but the weight of the other two contestants climbing rapidly after him made it hard to dislodge it from its position. He placed a boot against the rung and pushed as hard as he could, lifting the ladder away from the edge by about a foot before it bounced back down again, the vibration of the drop almost causing the two female Minotaur to lose their grip.

  He grunted his disapproval and tried again, pushing the ladder away, noting that the hostility of the crowd was rising. Movement out of the corner of his eye showed Kristoph was making up swift ground and the initial thought of slicing through the bridge supports and dropping his brother to his doom briefly played through his mind. Then the image of Mora berating him also appeared, scolding him and reminding him that he needed Kristoph alive to add credibility to the competition.

  A grasping hand reached out and grabbed his boot, making the black Minotaur reconsider his actions. He kicked out at Ammet, and then pulled his boot swiftly back as she tried to drape the edge of her cloak across his foot. The top rung of the ladder disappeared with a ‘pop’ and its instability increased further. Drummon checked where Kristoph was and to his chagrin discovered that his brother was already running across the final bridge towards him. He growled to himself, angry that he had no time to get rid of his troublesome pursuit, then the Prince regent turned and ran through the exit, deeper into the labyrinth, leaving the three competitors to fight it out amongst themselves.

  Ammet pulled herself over the lip of the sill and rolled through the exit, disappearing into the maze in a swirl of red cloak, just as Rauph jumped from the final granite pillar and landed in the exit way. He took a split second to take in the passageway beyond; noting the smooth walls that seemed coated in a shiny slime like a slug would leave behind. The vegetation appeared strange too, as if nothing would grow in the area where the slimy residue remained.

  He stepped forward intent on following the other competitors and heard another ominous trumpet blast as his foot touched the sloping floor. The stone doorway immediately began to grind its way slowly across the sill.

  “Please don’t leave me!” screamed a voice behind him. Rauph spun about, trying to locate where the voice was coming from and noticed the ladder rattling below his feet. He stepped back through the opening, brushing against the rumbling block of stone slowly moving out to seal the portal and stole a glance down the ladder where Karlar was struggling to ascend. The blonde Minotaur painfully drew herself up, one rung at a time, a huge swelling blossoming above her left eye.

  “Hurry up!” Rauph tried to encourage her. The exit is sealing itself, we don’t have much time.” Karlar ascended another step then slipped and fell back two rungs. She stared at Rauph with pleading eyes and looked far from the pampered, blond haired Minotaur that he knew. Now her hair lay matted to her brow, the strands grimy and damp with sweat, her left eye was swelling shut, her makeup smeared and the nails of her right hand chipped and splintered. There was even a dribble of spittle running across her chin. Karlar had never looked so pitiful.

  “Pass me your trident. Maybe I can wedge the door somehow.” Rauph suggested, swinging his head to check that the door was grinding ever closer.

  “Never!” Karlar shouted her defiance. “I will never give up my…” The explosion from the pillar directly behind the female Minotaur made her shriek and nearly drop from the ladder. The column splintered into large jagged fragments, the top half dropping towards her. Karlar looked up in horror as the granite tilted over then fell directly towards her. She struggled to rise up, get out from beneath the shadow looming over her, her actions now as rapid as the dazed Minotaur could make them. The tumbling stone smashed into the ladder just beneath her feet, missing her by inches and pulverising the rickety construction, dropping the Minotaur as the remains of the ladder and the destroyed pillar fell from beneath her. Karlar screamed, just as Rauph’s hand reached out and caught her wrist, leaving her swinging over the rubble.

  “Drop the trident.” Rauph grunted, “I need your other hand.”

  “I will not give up my trident!” Karlar reiterated shaking her head and causing more spittle to run down her chin. Rauph grunted with the weight of the Minotaur, gritting his teeth and snorting his pain as he struggled to heave her up the side of the wall. The grating of the stone slab sliding shut behind him mimicked the grinding pain he felt coming from his ribs as he struggled to lift her inch by inch up and over the ledge.

  “Come on!” he snarled, lifting Karlar high enough that she could finally get her boot on the sill. Their muzzles kissed, causing Rauph to start and throw himself backwards, taking Karlar and her trident with him as he tumbled through the exit. They landed with a crash, Karlar on top and Rauph underneath, just as the doorway closed shut, sealing the arena behind them.

  The crowd laughed aloud at the compromising position their prince now found himself in, lying flat on his back with a female Minotaur straddling his stomach. They started shouting down rude comments and making obscene gestures. Rauph looked up past Karlar’s ruffled blonde locks, realised what everyone was staring at and blushed.

  “Did the earth move for you?” someone shouted, laughing raucously. Rauph’s gaze moved from one laughing face to another and spotted a small child like face staring down at him, his face as flushed as Rauph felt his own should be.

  “Ashe?” Rauph was totally embarrassed as their eyes met. The Halfling surprisingly looked quite pink for someone supposed to be a zombie, he thought. Maybe he had just eaten someone? Karlar moved sluggishly on top of him, weakly pushing herself up from his chest with her right hand and staring about dazed. She looked to the left then the right, then looked down at the navigator with bleary eyes that suddenly sharpened into deadly focus. A dull sound to the left of the two figures signalled that another piece of labyrinth was slowly moving away but neither Rauph nor Karlar dared to take their eyes off each other.

  “Trident!” Ashe screamed, jumping up and down and waving dramatically. “Look out Rauph she has a trident!” Karlar swung her left arm up, bringing to bear the gleaming golden weapon which she then moved to plunge deeply into Rauph’s chest. Rauph had already spotted the cruel betrayal in Karlar’s ey
es the second that she moved and he acted on reflex turning towards her left arm, knowing she was not balanced on that side, before hurling her from him with a roar. There was a wet splodge like sound and Karlar stared to scream.

  Rauph staggered to his feet, turning towards where he had thrown the female Minotaur and froze at the sight that beheld him. The section of wall that had slid aside contained a huge blob of gelatinous material that stood as tall as the slime marks on the passageway walls. Marks below which no vegetation dared to grow. Inside this massive jelly hung the remains of rodents, birds and small mammals, all in various states of translucency, their bodies appearing to look like they were trapped in amber; only if you looked closer you could see they were slowly dissolving as they were absorbed into the gelatinous whole of the creature they were trapped inside.

  Karlar hung on her side, one arm and half of her face embedded in the gel. Each time she screamed the blob seemed to pulsate and then suck her body further into its mass. Rauph froze, not sure what to do. He grabbed her free arm but could not find a way to gain leverage on the smooth scoured floor. Karlar screamed again as he pulled at her arm and then the gel oozed over her lips and raced inside her mouth filling every part of her lungs and slowly suffocating her before Rauph’s horrified eyes.

  The blob of gel started to wobble then it slopped forwards, oozing and squeezing through the gap that had opened out into the corridor, causing Rauph to step back onto the sloping floor or risk suffering the same fate as the now slowly dissolving Karlar. Another horn blast echoed from the walls and the crowd roared again.

  The navigator looked down at the slope beneath his feet and suddenly realised why the walls of the maze were so clean, why they had that tinge of slime about them and also why the floor beneath him had a slight downhill gradient that led off into the twisting turns of the labyrinth. The gelatinous blob slid forward again, confirming his fears, its mass conforming to the walls and leaving no space for the Minotaur to escape on either side. He had no option but to turn and head down the slope in the hope he would find a way of avoiding the jelly as it slowly began to pick up speed.

  Ashe peered at the scene unfolding below him through his little fingers, trying to decide if he was about to be violently sick as the twisted lifeless body of Karlar slowly rolled within the gelatinous blob and stared up at the crowd, her mouth forever frozen in a silent agonising scream. The Halfling closed his eyes, grimaced and said the first thing that came into his little mind.

  “Oh, but that was just so gross!”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  So this was what it was like to be dead.

  Everything felt cool and dark after the intolerable heat of the desert; the ever-present wind that had not only scoured his exposed flesh but also the edges of his sanity, was now an echo, still present but subdued in the background and more like a whisper. Vague demonic shadows flitted about around him and somewhere in the distance, the clarion calls of horns sounded over the tumbling roar of an avalanche.

  Yet despite this, Kerian felt at peace. Given, his arms felt like they had suits of armour tied to them, his head felt the size of an enormous watermelon and his body felt it was sinking deeper and deeper into the soft bedding on which he lay but it felt so good to just let go and rest. No more fighting undead monsters in dusty tombs, no more dealing with that rogue Octavian, just simple peace and quiet.

  The voices rising and falling about him tried to drag his attention from these pleasant thoughts of tranquillity. He recognised them but it was such an effort to remember, such a struggle to identify them from a memory that was as fogged and incoherent as his own. Something wet touched his lips and splashed across his face. For a second, he could not breathe, stunned by the alien sensation, as the cool water trickled into his mouth and ran across his swollen tongue. He arched his back, reaching for more like an infant stretching towards the sustenance of a mother’s teat.

  “Not too much Kerian, you will only make yourself sick. Only little amounts first.” Another tantalising trickle of fluid passed Kerian’s lips as he suddenly recalled who the voice belonged to. Octavian. That’s who it was! Still bossing him around, still dictating terms! Well that confirmed it, he was clearly destined for one of the hells and part of his eternal torment would be a pale shade of that damn gypsy guide haunting his every tortured moment.

  “Are you sure that is Kerian Denaris?” Another voice, this one from further back in his memory. He knew that voice but from where. It was infuriating, as if the answer was right on the tip of his tongue.

  “Why do you ask?” Octavian enquired. Would this man ever stop with the incessant questions?

  “Kerian Denaris is an old man of at least sixty summers. This man has lived maybe forty, if that. This man must be an imposter.”

  “How do you know of Kerian Denaris?” Octavian’s voice more cautious this time. “Why were you out in the desert all alone. Were you following us?” A loud crash resonated through the area causing Kerian to startle and move to sit up, only to smack his head on the underside of a drinking bowl that Octavian was using to deliver the water.

  “Kerian stay still. You need to gather your strength. We cannot cross the Alicieus span without you being well. The Givrea guardians have permitted our passage but they will not save us from the perils of the crossing.”

  “Where are we?” Kerian muttered, rubbing his head and taking in the sight of the cool cavern in which they dwelt. Reflected golden ripples off a welcoming pool flowed across the red and white striped ceiling, their motion created by the horses drinking deeply at the edge. He opened his mouth to ask another question, only for Octavian to pour more heavenly water into his parched mouth.

  “I already told you. We are about to cross the Alicieus span into Blackthorn but the winds across the span make the storms in the Vaarseeti seem like gentle zephyrs. When you are ready, we really need to depart. The Provan legion are still trying to follow us but the guardians will never permit such an army to cross.” Octavian paused and turned to a shadowy figure standing over by the horses. “We shall need to rope ourselves together. Scrave throw the rope please.”

  The soothing water in Kerian’s mouth turned to vinegar. He turned his aching head, his eyes widening as he took in an improbable sight. An emaciated vagabond stalked across the floor of the cave towards him, cloaked in torn rags and coated by the dust of the desert. The figure threw back his hood, exposing scraggy shoulder length Elven hair bleached from exposure to the sun and a face impossible to forget: the diamond tattoo on his right cheek and the wicked scar running from his left eye socket and down along his jawbone. This could be but one person, despite the fact that the last time Kerian had seen him he was stabbing the cold-hearted bastard through the heart with his own sword before leaving him to bleed out on a bed of gold coins and exotic gems.

  But why the eyepatch?

  Scrave continued moving closer, his sharp Elven features becoming clearer as he moved from the darkness of the cave and into the flickering torchlight, his dark eye scrutinising Kerian intently as if searching for a clue to an enigma that only the Elf was party to. The killer tilted his head to one side, as if taking in the view from another perspective, the light accenting the sharp bone structure of his face and highlighting a pointed ear poking out from his headscarf. He nervously licked his lips, his hand dropping to pat the side of his robes, as if checking that something valuable remained secreted there.

  Kerian met Scraves’s cold gaze head on, not wishing to show any sign of weakness, despite how wretched he felt. Indeed, if Scrave was thinking of taking revenge he had chosen the ideal moment to exact it and the knight realised he would be powerless to stop him. Kerian had witnessed the incredible speed and skill of this callous fighter, the deadliness of his cold-hearted attacks and yet he remained lying on the floor allowing the killer to move closer! He needed to do something, needed to prepare for the inevitable one-sided battle that was about to shatter the sanctity of their refuge. He inche
d his hand towards the hilt of his sword, trying not to break his gaze from this impromptu contest of wills and inadvertently telegraph his intentions.

  The Elf allowed a cold smile to slide across his face, stealing a glance at the unguarded movement of Kerian’s hand, before returning to scrutinise Kerian’s face with even greater intent.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his suspicion emphasised by the dry husky tone of his voice.

  “Excuse me?” Octavian butted in, causing Scrave and Kerian to break away their gazes and stare at the gypsy in clear annoyance. “What? I need the rope, okay?”

  Scrave’s hand moved from behind his back, drawing Kerian’s gaze towards his adversary again. This was it; this was where the Elf would use his sword and the cave would become the scene of a blood bath. The movement was lightning fast, making Kerian draw his breath in a gasp, even as he commenced drawing his blade. The coil of rope Scrave had been holding behind his back sailed across the room and slapped Octavian firmly across the face, even as the Elf’s boot moved forward and incredibly hooked Kerian’s blade from his hand and flipped it up into the air, where the Elf then caught it and weighed the weapon in his hand, turning it over and admiring the workmanship.

  Kerian tried to rise from his prone position, tried to get his hands beneath him and prepare to move away but Scrave’s dusty boot planted squarely on his chest and the Elf leaned closer, causing the front of his robe to part slightly. Kerian’s eyes widened in recognition at what he saw, as Scrave leaned further towards him to increase the pressure on the knight’s chest.

  “If you wish to impersonate someone you really need to do more research.” Scrave hissed. “For one, Kerian Denaris is an old man. You might fulfil the part in another twenty years or so.”

  Kerian tried to remain calm, tried to keep his emotions from betraying him. How had Scrave managed to get his hands on it? He tried to focus on anything but the object swaying before him and locked onto Scrave’s eyepatch and the untold mystery surrounding this, only to find himself suddenly feeling afraid that what lay behind the eyepatch was a greater danger to him. Scrave took in the frightened look and failed to understand its relevance, believing that the look was in response to this impostor being caught out.