“Put your blade away!” Kerian shouted down. His eyes still mesmerized by the gleaming snake. “If you cut the rope Octavian will fall to his death.”
“He’s dead anyway.” Scrave snapped back. “Let the Harpies have him.”
“He’s not dead until I say he is.” Kerian retorted angrily, alarmed at the callous reply. “Now put away your blade and Iet me haul you up.”
The serpent hissed angrily in Scrave’s hand, as if urging the Elf to continue hacking at the rope. Scrave moved to do so, determined that the young knight above him was nothing he could not handle.
“Maybe I’m not making myself clear.” Kerian replied, an icy tone to his voice, causing Scrave to look up mid-saw and see that the knight had placed his own blade against the rope just above the Elf’s reach. “If you cut my friend free. I shall have no hesitation to do the same to you.”
“Do you honestly feel you can take me?” Scrave threatened. “I was killing people before your father was a gleam in your grandfather’s eye. I can get up this rope in seconds. I doubt you can cut through the rope in that time.” Kerian looked down at Scrave and muttered under his breath. It was possible the Elf could make good on his promise. It was time to up the ante.
“Maybe you are right.” He replied drawing his blade across the rope, allowing several strands to part with ominous twangs.
“What are you doing?” Scrave cried out in disbelief. “Are you mad? What about your friend?”
“What about him. You have already told me he is dead. Now put the weapon away or I drop you both.” Something moved behind Kerian, a rustle of feathers moving across stone, a snort of alarm from Toledo. “Now! Before I make good on my threat.”
Scrave scowled angrily then, recognising he could not win, slipped his hand back into his tunic and let the dagger slide reluctantly back into its sheath.
Kerian staggered to his feet and grabbed the rope with both hands, trying not to think about the weight hanging on the other end and pulled for all he was worth. The Harpy lying behind him on the span jerked its leg, inadvertently aiding him and yanking the Elf up higher as its claws became more entangled in the rope.
Inch by inch, grunt by grunt, Kerian pulled the Elf higher, until Scrave was suddenly hanging onto the lip of the span with his good hand and then was rolling onto the bridge and gasping in pain, as he finally managed to free his arm from the rope’s tenacious grip. Kerian grunted as Scrave rolled free, realising that the Elf weighed almost nothing. The burden on Kerian’s back remained as crushing as ever but he dared not give up, pulling hand over hand gritting his teeth and cursing aloud as he pulled. Slowly but surely, the limp figure of Octavian rose from the mist’s embrace.
“Never, ever, threaten me boy.” Scrave whispered in Kerian’s ear, poked his dagger hard into the small of Kerian’s back, causing the knight to falter in his rescue attempt and curse at his own stupidity. “With one thrust I can send the two of you to your graves. So tell me, no plead with me, as to why I should not finish you both now.”
“Well I for one have no idea what to do at the end of this span.” Kerian replied, trying to keep the anger from his voice, not daring to move. “We could travel all this way and find the gateway onwards locked, our way forward barred. Is that a risk you are willing to take?” Toledo whinnied anxiously as the Harpy struggled to move again, kicking out with its legs and uttering a keen shrilling sound of distress as it gently fluttered its wings.
“You have a choice to make Scrave but hurry, I cannot hold Octavian all day.” Kerian warned. A shriek of alarm cut the air, the Harpy finally regaining consciousness, one wing thrashing towards the two men, causing Scrave to spin around and duck as the black feathers passed inches above his head. The Elf ran over to the struggling beast, reaching into his robes and pulling free the serpent dagger, to strike repeatedly at the creature’s neck, causing it to thrash and moan in pain as its ichor stained the bridge beneath it.
Kerian refused to look, shuddering as he heard the monster’s inhuman shrieks at each plunge of the cursed weapon. He pulled hard at the ropes before him, desperate for his body’s punishment to be over with, pleading with himself that he had the strength to achieve the impossible, until with a monumental effort, he finally pulled the gypsy to safety and collapsed beside him shaking with exhaustion.
Octavian looked a mess. His clothes had been ragged to start with and where his body was exposed it had been lacerated by the wicked claws of the creatures Scrave called Harpies, yet despite the gory mess, the wounds were not as grievous as Kerian had initially feared and more superficial in nature. A ragged breath passed the gypsy’s lips causing Kerian to finally release the breath he never realised he was holding. Octavian’s eyes flickered open and he looked about confused, unsure where he was.
“Nice to see you are joining us in the land of living once again.” Kerian joked, the relief palpable in his tone. He staggered to his feet, his joints on fire and walked back past the still twitching Harpy towards Toledo and rubbed the exhausted animal behind the ears.
“Oh Toledo. If only you understood what I feel for you right now.” He ran his hand along the stallion’s flank, noting the ragged wounds, the shaking of the stallion’s frame and its loud snorts. He reached out to untie the guide rope, realising with surprise that his own hands were shaking with the shock of the moment. He clenched his fist tightly, trying to calm himself, before reaching up and finally freeing the rope.
“I guarantee you when we have finished this journey you shall have a thorough rubdown, rolled oats and as many mares as you can sire.” He smiled reaching out to stroke Toledo’s neck.
The blast of wind hit Kerian like a wall, making his ears ring, knocking him to the floor and hitting his head. He heard Toledo scream, felt warm blood splashing across his face and when his vision finally cleared Toledo, his stallion, the loyal mount that had carried him across the desert, faced down ghouls and terrors that would have sent normal men screaming for their beds, was gone, several solitary black feathers spinning on the bridges surface the only explanation to his fate.
* * * * * *
“Now that is ridiculous! I mean how is a Halfling supposed to reach that?” Ashe gestured, pointing up to a brick in the labyrinth wall several feet higher than he could reach. “Come on Rauph, I’m telling you that is the way out. Push the button quickly.”
Rauph struggled to tear his attention from the sight of the scholar being sucked into the jelly. He winced as the man screamed and turned his face towards the Minotaur, allowing Rauph to witness the horrors of seeing the skin of the man’s face sucked hungrily from his skull, starbursts of crimson erupting inside the gelatinous mass and colouring its yellowed surface in a scarlet mist.
“What did you say?” the navigator mumbled turning back to his diminutive ally.
“The button Rauph, the button on the wall!” Rauph followed Ashe’s gaze and noticed the worn brick set at his eye height, a small mark carved upon its surface setting it apart from the rest of the wall.
“What do you want me to do with the brick?” Rauph asked, his gaze being dragged back to the figure of the scholar, still struggling despite his horrific injuries, as he was finally consumed by the jelly.
“Push it!” Ashe screamed. “Pull it! Move it! I don’t care just do something! Before that jelly gets to us. The way out has to be here. It just has to be.” Rauph pushed at the brick and felt it click beneath his stubby fingers.
“Now what?” He asked, warily eyeing the jelly sliding towards them. Barely ten feet separated them from the creature now and Ashe was showing no signs of avoiding the danger. “Do you think you should be moving away from that thing now?”
“I don’t understand it.” Ashe shook his head, as the roar of the crowd rose above them and the jelly bore down on them. “That should have worked. It makes no sense. Hit it again.” Rauph reached forwards and pushed the button again, feeling the same click as he let go. He turned to Ashe and shrugged his
shoulders.
“I think it’s broken. We need to go now.” The jelly was now only six feet away and Rauph was considering grabbing Ashe and running with him.
“Where to?” Ashe screamed. “Push the damn button again.”
“I told you it doesn’t work.” Rauph replied leaning over and pushing the brick once again. “See?”
“I don’t understand. You must be doing it wrong. Lift me up so I can have a go.”
“We really need to run now.” Rauph replied.
“Pick me up!” Ashe screamed waving his arms about and causing Sinders wings to flap in agitation. “I’m telling you that’s the way.” Rauph leaned down, swung Ashe up onto his shoulders and moved over to the wall to let Ashe examine the brick.
“Well it doesn’t come out of the wall; it doesn’t move up or down. It has to be a push.” The brick clicked into place once more and then popped out again. “Damn it! What are we doing wrong?” Rauph moved a nervous step away from the jelly nearly upsetting Ashe and accidentally dropping the Halfling into it.
“Where do you think you are going?” Ashe snapped angrily. “I’m telling you that’s the way out of here.” He stretched his arm out, pulling at Rauph’s hair as he tried to shift position, obscuring the Navigator’s vision and causing the Minotaur to put out an arm to steady himself. His hand swept bare inches above the surface of the gelatinous blob causing Ashe to shriek out a warning, just as the Halfling’s hand hit the brick again.
Rauph continued to struggle, reaching out his other hand to touch the far side of the passageway. His hand brushed the masonry and touched another brick set at exactly the same height, in exactly the same place. Both bricks pushed in, both bricks clicked and the floor of the passageway suddenly opened up and dropped Ashe and Rauph into the darkness before rising back up and closing with a boom.
“Well that was unexpected!” Ashe coughed, struggling in the pitch darkness. “A trapdoor in the floor. Who would have seen that? Are you okay Rauph? I can’t see you as there are no lights on down here. If only they had served me carrots in prison.”
“I am now you are off my head.” Rauph replied, his voice booming in the darkness. “Why is it so quiet down here?” Ashe stopped scrabbling about in the darkness, trying to ignore the gooey strands of something that kept coating his hands wherever he put them down.
“It does seem odd that there are no spectators down here.” Ashe replied. “Maybe we pressed the wrong button? Can you find a way to make a light please because there is something on the floor and it’s all gooey and not in a nice way?”
“Well it’s obvious why there are no spectators,” Rauph replied helpfully. “I mean how would they see what was going on? Hang on.” There was a scraping in the darkness. Flint sparking and suddenly a small flame flickered into being, cupped inside the Minotaur’s massive hands. Ashe looked down at his feet and took in his surroundings with his usual tact.
“We definitely pushed the wrong button.”
The flame went out plunging them both into darkness again. Sinders shuffled nervously on Ashe’s shoulder causing the Halfling to ‘coo’ gently to reassure the bird.
“We need something to feed the flame.” Rauph mumbled.
“Hold on.” There was some scrambling in the dark then Ashe said “I have some things you can set fire to. Damn now my fingers are all sticking together.”
“Ashe are you ready?” Rauph enquired. “I’m going to strike the flint now.” An explosive flare lit the darkness as Rauph turned towards the sound of the scuttling. Ashe looked up at his hairy friend as the light flared and noticed the Minotaur had stupidly turned his back to him. He stepped lightly around the sticky corpses lying at his feet, kicked aside a dusty skull and ran around in front of the Minotaur, holding a bundle of rags in his hands.
“Okay Rauph use this stuff.” Ashe held up the rags trying to catch the flame but the Navigator’s hands were too high above him. “Down here stupid!” Ashe laughed, jumping up and down trying to reach the tinder box in the Minotaur’s grasp. He knocked Rauph’s hand plunging the room into darkness again.
“Oh come on Rauph. Let’s be serious.” More scrabbling sounded in the darkness as Ashe felt about on the floor, finally finding the box so he could strike the tinder and make a fire. The sparks caught on the dusty rags and Ashe had a fire going in moments “There you go, no problem at all…” Ashe looked up and noticed that Rauph was still staring past him up at the ceiling. He turned around anxious to see what the navigator was staring at.
“Oh!” Ashe exclaimed. “Wow… That’s got to be one of the biggest spiders I have ever seen.”
Chapter Forty-Six
When the wounded Octavian finally led the group of weary travellers off the span and through the gateway at the end, there was no feeling of elation, no sense of relief at having completed the dangerous trek. Not one voice was raised in triumph, instead the three sombre men stepped off the span’s streaked colours, out onto a loamy forest floor and shivered at the cold weather swirling around them.
“What is this place?” Scrave whispered, turning about, his worn leather boots scuffing up the heavy carpet of grey green pine needles at his feet, releasing an acrid odour of decaying fungus spores into the air. He stared up at the towering heights of the silvered coloured trees standing silently around him, almost to where they kissed an anaemic sky, noting the skeletal, naked limbs upon which nothing appeared to grow.
The gateway swirled itself closed, leaving a huge tree trunk exactly where the path terminated. Kerian noted this with a grateful nod and relaxed his grip on his sword. There would be no going back that way. The nightmare of the span was now behind them. He just wondered what terrors they had replaced it with.
“Welcome to Blackthorn” Octavian sighed, sinking down to the floor and dropping the bloodied remains of his saddlebags beside a large clump of yellow and white spotted toadstools. He rested his back against the bark of the tree trunk and dropped his chin to his chest. “Now If you don’t mind, I would like to catch my breath.”
Kerian stepped away from the group, his mind thinking back over their ill-fated trip, still stunned that Toledo was gone, brutally snatched from him by one of the Harpies that hunted in the mists. Octavian’s mount had fared little better, its remains discovered further along the bridge. The poor animal torn to pieces, leaving just the saddlebag that Octavian had managed to salvage.
At least the gypsy had saddlebags! All of Kerian’s belongings were gone, snatched away in a second. His mother’s mirror, his diary, even his old black outfit, stolen by the accursed birds.
He hoped they choked on them.
Kerian let his eyes scan their surroundings. Row upon row of trees stretching away, branches devoid of any vegetation, dark blues, slate greys as far as the eye could see. The ground was not much better, dips and hollows choked with rotten vegetation and windfall strangled by wiry brambles and briars adorned with wicked thorns. Occasional clumps of bright fungus added much needed colour to this painter’s palette of gloom.
A pathway snaked away through the trees, drawing Kerian’s eye to follow, only for the sinister figure of Scrave to step into view. Damn that Elf. He looked the healthiest amongst them and that was saying something. Even his arm where the rope had crushed it on the span appeared to have miraculously improved in colour and plumped out again, the skin smooth, the limb no longer bent at a strange angle. Dark magic to be sure.
Kerian refused to meet the Elf’s eye and continued his survey of the landscape, completing his sweep, noting where the path climbed via slow switchbacks to the left, surmounting an imposing granite cliff, its ominous grey dotted in orange mosses and clumps of red grasses, making it seem like the rock face was haemorrhaging blood.
“Where have you brought us this time, Octavian?” Kerian whispered to himself, exhaling deeply, his breath fogging the cold damp air.
The trio settled into an uncomfortable silence. Octavian winced at every intake of bre
ath; his wounds clearly troublesome. Scrave leaned against a tree, his right hand inside his tunic, probably gaining comfort from his cursed blade and shaking his left arm as if the Elf was trying to regain circulation to the crushed limb. Kerian rubbed absentmindedly at his clothing, hoping the blood stains from Toledo’s violent departure would come out of the desert fabric. After all, this was the only outfit he had left to his name! He wrinkled his nose feeling an itch on his face and lifted his blood-stained hand to his forehead, feeling the scab-like texture of congealed blood spattered there.
“So where does the road lead?” Scrave opened, breaking the silence. “Which way do we go now?” Octavian looked up at the Elf, his face a picture of weariness.
“The road leads two ways: Glowme Castle lies in that direction,” he pointed towards where the path climbed up the cliff face. “Or you can go the other way to the hamlet of Thernout.”
“What’s at the castle?” the Elf asked, his eyes tracing the route and clearly not happy at what he saw.
“My wife and daughter.” Octavian replied as if the weight of the world were upon his shoulders. “They are ransomed there and I have no treasure with which to free them.”
“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.” Kerian stated confidently, despite the fact his face clearly betrayed the fact, that he was not exactly sure how this miracle would be achieved.
“Well I never signed up for anything like that.” Scrave replied. “Thernout you say! I shall look forward to good food and warm company. Join me once you have finished having fun storming the castle.” He waved in Octavian’s direction then paused in front of Kerian.
“Damn if there isn’t something about you that reminds me of my Kerian.” Scrave offered. “It’s like you are his younger brother. Be careful you don’t live long enough to turn into him. He was also a suspicious bastard. It might just get you killed.”
The Labyris Knight Page 82