“Many have tried.” Kerian replied arching his eyebrow, his hand inching towards the hilt of his blade.
“Until we meet again.” Scrave responded, his gaze looking down to Kerian’s moving hand and then back up to meet Kerian’s gaze, before tutting, shrugging his shoulders and turning to throw a wave over his shoulder as he walked away.
“I’ll look forward to that.” Kerian replied, walking over to where Octavian still sat against the tree and offered his hand. “Are you ready to rescue your wife and child?” Octavian looked up at Kerian’s hand then reluctantly took it and let the knight pull him to his feet.
“Kerian you look a state!” he remarked, taking in that his friend was covered in dried blood from head to toe.
“You don’t look much better.” Kerian replied pointing out the hodgepodge armour the gypsy wore and the lacerations covering his body where his skin dared show itself. “We are hardly dressed for the occasion.”
Octavian winced as he threw his saddlebag over his shoulder, then gazed wistfully after the departing Elf.
“You know for all his sombreness and unpredictability I was rather hoping that Elf would help us rescue my wife and child. He was quite good in a fight. What’s the story between you two?”
“He’s not that good a fighter.” Kerian replied with a smile. “I killed him once.”
Octavian looked after the Elf, watching him make his way determinedly through the trees towards the road.
“Well take it from me. You didn’t do a very good job!”
* * * * * *
The two companions found the trail tough going, the persistent inclines and switchbacks sapping the little strength they had remaining. Their boots frequently slipped in the slurry at the edge of the road where carriage wheels and animal tracks had rutted the trail before them. Frequent pauses for breath and the repositioning of Octavian’s saddlebag made the thought of restarting the climb a distinctly unpalatable one.
Every muscle of Kerian’s back ached, his calves felt like they were on fire but every time he looked over towards Octavian and caught an unguarded look, he saw a man with defeat clearly etched across his face. A failure who knew with certainty that he was walking towards his doom. Kerian had to admire Octavian’s spirit, for the gypsy never faltered in his steps, his lip never trembled. Instead he stared resolutely ahead and prepared to meet his fate head on.
There was no way Kerian was going to let him face that fate alone.
The track ahead of them curled gently to the left and slowly started levelling out, giving the companions much needed respite from their arduous climb. As the trees thinned, a breath-taking panoramic view of the grey spindle covered valleys presented itself. Slate grey lakes dotted the landscape, nestled in the cupped valleys between mountainous peaks frosted delicately with snow. As the track wound perilously along the edge of the cliff, it revealed a dizzying drop and finally allowed Kerian his first glimpse of castle Glowme.
It was perched on a column of stone, set apart from the surrounding mountain. The sides of the peak on which it rested dotted with yet more grey spindle-like trees. Access to the castle was via a misshapen stone arch that reminded Kerian of a withered arm and spindly hand that reached out from the ground they were traversing and appeared to grip the base of the castle in its withered grasp as if it were trying to throttle the keep.
Four square towers set the corners of the castle, with a stark portcullis marking the entrance between two huge stone gargoyles armed with spears. The main keep grew from within the towers like a child’s sandcastle, the walls not quite true, several areas of the keep crumbling where ivy and briars had consumed them. Tall windows lit from within by sickly yellow light dotted walls of cold slate grey that looked stark and unwelcoming despite the orange glow of the setting sun. Smaller towers sprouted from within the walls, guard posts set behind crenellations, their sharp roofs looking like arrows pointing to the cloudy sky. Behind these, set to the back of the castle, there rose a larger more robust tower, a huge stained-glass window set within its curved walls.
Kerian took a long look, judging the defences of the place, how difficult it would be to scale the walls and the long drop that any invaders would face if they were to fail. It was quite a fortress; all be it one falling into ruin. Something about it made the knight shiver, he felt ill at ease and turned to voice his concerns to Octavian but the look on the gypsy’s face stopped him from speaking. It was a look of reminiscence but no good memories were being recalled here. Octavian looked like he was reliving a nightmare.
“His laboratory is in the taller tower.” The gypsy whispered aloud, nervously licking his lips. “That’s where he does all of his experiments.” Kerian took a deep breath, feeling the chill in his companion’s words but determined to put on a brave face for his friend. He needed to act on this whilst he could still feel the courage to do so because just standing here staring at this gothic citadel was making him feel more and more like running for the hills.
“Then I guess we had better let him know he is having guests for dinner.” Kerian replied, nonchalantly, patting Octavian on the shoulder before setting off down the path
“That’s what I’m hoping to avoid.” Octavian replied ominously.
They walked side by side following the track until they reached the bridge that led to the castle. Two gargoyles stood sentry on this end of the bridge barring entrance with their spears. Kerian stared up at the towering stone carvings, easily twenty feet tall. Admiring the artistry in the creature’s tails, spiralled horns, curved talons, pointed teeth, stubby wings and protruding tongues.
“They are quite intimidating.” He confessed, moving to step onto the bridge.
“Halt!” boomed a voice. Kerian looked about for the source but could only see the gargoyles so he took another step, then jumped back as the two spears slammed down onto the bridge in front of him.
Octavian pushed Kerian aside and stepped forward as the two gargoyles creaked and grated, their tails dropping across the pathway to prevent anyone passing below their spears, whilst their lips pulled back in a fearsome snarl.
“Tell our master that I have returned.” Octavian replied, staring up at the nearest gargoyle, his arms crossed as if he were ordering about something that was half his size instead of the other way around. Kerian flinched as the other gargoyle leant down, its stone skin rasping as it moved, nostrils flaring to sniff at Octavian, before turning to sniff at Kerian.
“We know you.” It confirmed turning to Octavian, “but we don’t know who this is.” The stone monster drew itself up and raised its spear, its threatening stance unmistakable. “What is his business here?”
“He is with me and is helping bring tribute to pay ransom for my wife and daughter.” Octavian growled, his voice taking on a noticeable animal snarl. The gargoyle stood up and stared into space for a moment as if communicating with someone unseen, then leant back down again.
“Our master bids you welcome and enter.” He replied his voice all gravely and rough. The gargoyle’s tails rolled aside; their spears parted, revealing the entrance to Glowme castle. Kerian stepped through the animated statues and pretended to act confident, striding purposefully across the bridge with Octavian at his side.
“Can I let you into a little secret?” Kerian whispered, his face set in a stern look as he took in the portcullis slowly cranking up before them revealing the dark sinister throat of the keep.
“What’s that?” Octavian replied, struggling to keep his own stern countenance, despite the fact his saddlebags were slapping against his legs and ruining a lot of the effect.
“I’m really not that confident going in here.” Kerian confessed. Octavian’s footsteps staggered and he choked loudly.
“What?”
“I mean now we are getting closer the castle does look rather foreboding. I mean just look at this place. It’s like a bad horror story. I expect to see bats flying around! I’ve an image of a cloaked maniac
sitting at an organ playing depressing music, suffering from a serious dental problem and a bad case of photophobia.”
“Well you’ve got the psychosis and the rotting teeth right.” Octavian replied solemnly but he doesn’t need an organ, the spirits haunting the halls make enough noise for that. And instead of bats, he has hounds like me.”
* * * * * *
Scrave’s eyes followed the meandering track ahead and wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time how far it was to this damned hamlet. He felt like he had walked for hours, surrounded by nothing but spindly trees and prickly briars. Nothing seemed to live here. Not a hopping rabbit, a bouncing squirrel, a foraging boar. No birds sang, hooted or squawked. Indeed, the only sound he heard was his own footsteps, a wet squelching soundtrack to a boring monotonous journey.
The scenery never appeared to change. He was sure he had seen the clump of fungus on the ground, sitting over by the large dead tree on the left several hours ago. Even the tree over to the right with the twisted branch and the lopsided slant looked suspiciously familiar.
He looked down at the tracks on the road and noted the fact that someone had been walking the path before him, quite recently too from the look of the fresh boot prints. Well if someone else had walked along here then it stood to reason the path went somewhere.
Scrave looked around again and noticed that the sun had appeared to jump across the sky. He had no recollection of the time passing but now there were more tracks on the road ahead of him and they seemed to be wearing the same sized boots. He slowed to a stop, a strange suspicion rising in his mind.
His boot squelched into the mud alongside the nearest footprint, then he carefully withdrew his muddy footwear and stepped back feeling his heart sink as his eyes confirmed the nagging feeling he was dreading. The tracks were his. He had walked this length of the road several times already. The Elf swallowed the curse rising to his lips and stepped over to the other side of the track, sure enough his boot marks were there too.
How could this be. It made no sense. Something slithered behind his eyepatch causing him to start.
“What is going on?” he muttered.
“Denarisssss.” A voice whispered in his ear.
“No!” he screamed aloud. “You’re messing with my head again! You’ve been turning me about!” He thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand, striking himself just above the eyepatch, venting his fury and frustration, before calming himself to lower his hand and realise what a ridiculous situation he found himself in.
He needed to think, needed to figure out what was going on but with that infernal worm squirming at the back of his eye, controlling his actions, he was powerless. He felt like ripping the eyepatch off and sticking his finger into his eye socket and rummaging around in the gore, not quitting until he had pulled the parasite free, consequences be damned! Then he stopped himself.
“What do you mean Denaris!” Scrave snapped, shouting the question out and making himself jump at the loudness of the sound as his breath rasped in his ears. “Denaris isn’t here!”
“Yes he is…” the little voice in his mind whispered. “You had him and you let him get away.”
“That wasn’t our Denaris!” Scrave shouted again. “He’s too young! He’s…”
Someone was standing in the road ahead of him. Scrave uttered a cry of shock, his hand reaching for the dagger inside his tunic and getting caught in the folds, he looked down then up again and the figure was gone. He could have sworn he’d seen someone. A knight, ancient clothes armour, the works, looking directly at him.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
He spun, feeling as if someone were standing at his shoulder, his feeling of unease growing. Was that a tree or another knight? A rock or a man observing his every move? He needed to flee but what way, the damned thing inside his head had got him so confused he did not know which way was to the hamlet and which way was to the castle.
Someone was behind him; this was not his imagination. He could hear breathing and caught a scent of perfume.
Scrave spun round, coming up short, his face inches from the tantalisingly beautiful sorceress who had been such a part of his dreams these weeks past. Her beautiful long hair, the tight bodice of her outfit drawing his gaze down from her piercing eyes and sultry smile for just a split second to admire her smooth cleavage.
“Oh hi gorgeous, fancy seeing both of you here…” The sword hilt struck him right above the eye dropping the Elf to the floor and leaving him senseless, his skin swelling almost instantly.
Justina looked about her, taking in their bleak surroundings and shivered as the magic portal spiralled shut behind her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders then clicked her fingers, feeling the material turn from silk to a thick fur coat.
The bearer stepped up alongside her, his book in his arms, beckoning for his knights to step away from the trees they were hiding behind and drag the groaning Scrave up from the ground. Justina walked over to where they supported the Elf and traced one beautifully painted nail down the Elf’s face to his chest before she slid her hand inside his tunic and finally grasped her prize.
“You see Kaplain,” she purred. “That is how you get your man.”
* * * * * *
The courtyard of Glowme castle revealed itself in all its glory as Kerian and Octavian stepped out from under the creaking portcullis and passed through the outer wall of the castle. The floor beneath their boots was uneven, making walking unsteady and the flags were slippery with algae in areas where the light of the sun rarely shone. On the mud splattered flagstones remaining, some lifting at the edges, others cracked and broken, the companions could identify where nature was attempting to re-establish a foothold, with spindly blood red grass stalks and ferrous coloured clumps of moss occupying areas not often traversed.
A stained fountain gurgled as if being strangled, yet failed to produce a stream of water, its bowl half-filled with foul smelling dark sludge upon which clumps of buoyant moss from the gables and eaves of the keep, bobbed gently. An obligatory gibbet cage, complete with skeletal occupant, swung from a large hook in the castle wall, alongside limply hanging rotting flags coated in fungus, their designs too faded to discern. Two spluttering braziers set either side of the main doors raised cloying smoke into the air.
“What a dump!” Kerian remarked. “You say someone actually lives here?” He glanced towards Octavian expecting to see the gypsy’s usual cocky smile and instead faced an expression full of concern. They advanced towards the oak doors and Kerian raised his fist to knock then paused, remembering the face of the man alongside him and that Octavian’s wife and child lay within. Instead of knocking he pushed the heel of his hand against the door, his other hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.
The door creaked open as if on arthritic hinges, popping, crunching and shuddering, somehow managing to catch on a stone under the bottom edge of the door and scraping along the dusty stone flooring beyond, with Kerian wincing at every agonising inch. The corridor beyond lay in shadow, stone pillars stretching ahead into the unknown, a wide sweeping staircase lazily gyrating up to a level above them. Ivy grew over the walls, poking through holes in the doorframe, winding its way up and under the tapestries hanging forlornly on the stonework. Rugs exhaled dust as the two men stepped across them, their footsteps clearly marked as they made progress.
Glass cases were set back into alcoves along the right wall, from which a soft illumination flickered, as if the source of the light were alive. Kerian cautiously advanced, his senses alert for sounds that the castle’s occupants were aware of their presence. Glowme castle creaked and groaned about him as if breathing. It was like being back on the El Defensor when she gently rocked at berth but this sound was menacing. He reached his hand out to part the leaves of a plant positioned before the first alcove and found his gloves holding nothing but powder, that crumbled at his unwanted touch.
Now he was closer to the alcove Ke
rian was finally able to see into the glass cases and the grisly secret contained. He leaned closer, taking in the pile of rags and dried bones heaped haphazardly at the base of the cabinet, staring in fascination at the gently spiralling column of vapour that appeared to dance about them, pausing for a moment in an area before jumping across to another and examining the remains as if searching. He shook his head, was he imagining a sound coming from the glass, like a wailing, sobbing sound? Kerian moved closer, gently placing his hand against the glass.
The column of vapour turned instantly, rearing up and transforming into a ghostly figure that charged the glass surface, mouth wide, screaming its anger to the world, only to crash into the other side of the glass and explode like a ripe fruit, dripping ghostly residue down the inside of its prison, to pool on the floor beside the bones that had belonged to it in a past life. A keen wailing rose anew from the ghost as it sought to collect itself again.
Kerian jumped back, only to step directly into Octavian and jump again. Whipping round as he struggled to bring his sword to bear in the confines of the passageway and finding himself entangled with Octavian’s saddlebags.
“By Adden!” he cursed, realising that the ghostly glow he had been witnessing was the spectral remains of the creature in the case. He looked at Octavian’s face, made ghostly in the darkness and the reflection of the supernatural luminance; taking in the gypsy’s wide eyes, before Kerian turned to stare off into the darkness where alcove upon alcove flickered and wailed. “How many of these cases does he have?”
“Hundreds” Octavian whispered solemnly. They moved on, carefully walking down the passageway, ghostly wails from apparitions trapped in their glass tombs heralding each step. Here a spectral woman sobbed and wrung her hands in shimmering ectoplasm, there a ghostly knight, pushing against each corner of the glass, struggling to find a means of escape from his entombment.
The Labyris Knight Page 83