by Sandra Kopp
For a moment no one moved. Except for their horses’ increasingly nervous breathing and the creak of leather in response to a restless movement, they heard nothing.
Arris raised a finger. “Something’s out there,” he whispered. “I can’t tell precisely where, but—” He slowly dismounted and led his horse off the narrow trail. His companions followed him to a spot where dense foliage allowed only traces of sunlight to filter through. “This glade should conceal the horses.” Arris patted his stallion’s neck. “Barada, be brave. Do not leave me should things go ill.” The big chestnut nuzzled his master’s shoulder. Arris grabbed his bow.
Hans seized his own bow and nodded once. “Let’s get the beast!”
With Arris leading, they slipped to the trail and turned east, running as quickly and quietly as possible. Some distance ahead the trail curved left. Arris raised his hand and stopped. The overpowering odor of burning sulfur met their nostrils so intensely that Davon choked and put a hand to his nose.
“Where is it?” Charles whispered hoarsely.
Arris pointed to the plunging hillside straight ahead. “Somewhere down there. Quietly, now. Let’s go.”
They stole like shadows off the path and down the mountainside, taking care not to lose their footing on the steep slope. Rocks, logs and moldy needles and cones hampered their steps. Many a time the loose shale gave way or a foot slipped on decaying vegetation.
Some seventy feet down, the ground leveled out again, but a legion of fallen trees impeded their progress. The stench intensified, and now the smell of animal waste intermingled with the sulfur. The debris cleared as the terrain descended gently, and the men picked up their pace. Arris, with Charles close behind, sprinted ahead.
A gaping hole yawned suddenly before them. Charles slid to a stop but teetered on the brink, desperately waving his arms to keep from pitching forward. Arris had stopped just in time and now pulled back the shaken Charles. Chests heaving, they watched a handful of clods fall to the bottom.
“That was close.” Arris turned and waved a warning to Davon and Hans, who had just caught up.
Hans stepped forward and peered over the edge. “Oi!” he breathed. “I never would have seen that coming!”
Davon frowned. “What’s that strange gurgling?”
A low rumble emanated from the pit. As the company listened they discerned another sound, this resembling slow, regular breathing accompanied by a hollow echo much like air blown through a pipe.
“What is that?” Hans asked. “Sounds almost like something breathing under water!” He inched back to the hole and again peered over the edge. “There’s a pool of black slime on the bottom.”
“Probably a shadow,” Charles returned. “This forest is full of them.”
Hans shook his head. “That’s no shadow. It’s all shiny and—” He waved a hand as he searched for a word—“shimmery.”
They stared down at a phosphorescent puddle of thick black goo spilled out across the ground. Ever so gently it rose and fell, while a curious, almost ridiculous-sounding blubber issued from one end, creating little ripples along its edge. A sooty mist hovered above.
Hans gestured toward the pit. “Is this it? Does Ryadok mean to cover us in tar—feather us perhaps? Can he do no better than that?”
A flatulent rumble accompanied by the overwhelming stench of pure sulfur rolled up from below. The men turned aside, hands clamped to their noses.
“Zounds!” Hans sputtered, his eyes watering. “What a stink!”
“Watch out!” Davon shouted, but his warning came too late. Hans had stepped onto an outcropping with no support underneath. The ground gave way, and with a startled cry he went down.
Charles dropped to his knees and peered over. Arris and Davon sprang to his side. Hans had caught himself less than halfway.
“Hold my feet. I think I can reach him,” Charles instructed.
Each brother took a foot and dug in their heels as they lowered Charles over the side. Hans swung up his free hand and clasped Charles’ wrist.
“Got him! Bring us up,” Charles panted. The brothers complied, but as their comrades cleared the rim, the benign blubbering became a menacing growl. The men scrambled to their feet as the shimmering, glowing mass below gathered itself together. A shaggy head with slanted red eyes, bared fangs and cruel tusks reared out of the pool, tossing itself back and forth as the monster rocked to its feet. A shrill squeal, louder than a trumpet blast, pierced their brains.
“Baugonril!” Charles gasped.
The monster crouched. Arris’ knuckles whitened as he readied his bow and shot an arrow into Baugonril’s left eye. Screaming, Baugonril leapt effortlessly out of the hole and landed not ten feet away. Its long, rope-like tail whipped furiously, making a strange hissing sound as something resembling a stone on its tip beat the air.
Charles and Davon released their arrows. One put out Baugonril’s other eye; the second lodged in its throat. The tormented creature flopped onto its side, thrashing.
“Devil!” Hans shouted and, lunging forward, buried his blade into the shaggy chest. Baugonril whined pitifully, kicked twice, then shuddered into lifelessness.
Hans recovered first. He pulled his sword from the carcass and spat in disgust. “Fart at me, will you?” he growled.
Charles laughed tremulously. “I see I shall have to restrain myself, Hans.”
Davon smiled, but Arris remained grave as he inspected the carcass. “These paws didn’t make the spoor we found this morning.”
“Indeed,” Charles murmured. “They’re only half as big.” He stared into the distance. “Which means we have another out there twice the size of this one.”
Arris nodded. “Yes. Possibly this one’s mother.” He glanced around the group. “At least the creature’s not invincible. But is this really Baugonril or a trick to deceive us?”
“Look at this.” Charles studied the hard knot, nearly the size of a man’s fist, at the end of the spiny tail. “At first I thought it a snake’s head, but it’s just a lump of some kind.”
Hans poked it with his sword. “Solid bone covered with skin.” He cocked his head. “Looks like a snake’s head, though.”
“So,” Charles said, “Ryadok bred a wolf with a wild pig and a. . .what do you think those legs come from—a bear?”
Arris nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, from the look of them. But see, where it bleeds the ground should be red, not yellow.” He knelt and, firmly grasping the arrow’s shaft, carefully pulled the missile from Baugonril’s eye. A sickening yellowish liquid, much like watery pus, spilled forth. The men stopped their noses against the putrid stench.
“Don’t touch that,” Davon cautioned. His hand over his nose gave his voice a comical nasal tone.
“I won’t.” Arris stared at the tip, now glowing with phosphorescent light.
“Oi!” Hans noted that his sword also glowed.
“You’d better wash it off,” Charles advised.
“Aye.” Hans looked around. “But I see no water anywhere.”
Arris held up his finger and pondered a moment. “Davon, bring your flint over and drop a spark onto this arrow.”
Davon moved to Arris’ side and struck his flint near the arrow’s tip. It ignited so forcefully that Davon’s hand would have burnt had he not jumped back.
“Hold out your sword, Hans,” Arris instructed.
Hans stretched forth the blade and gaped as it, too, erupted into flames.
“So Baugonril burns like dry tinder,” Charles said.
Arris nodded. “Evidently.”
“Let’s incinerate this stinking thing then.” Hans jerked his thumb toward the carcass. His sword, cleansed now of Baugonril’s fluid, had extinguished.
Arris glanced around. “Stand clear!” he commanded, and pitched the nearly-consumed arrow onto the shaggy form.
The carcass exploded into a towering yellow ball of fire burning fast and hot, reducing the beast to a scattering of blackened bones within seconds
.
“Amazing!” Charles stared at the dying flames.
Arris walked back to the hole, studied it a moment, and carefully stepped over the side.
“What are you doing, man?” Hans exclaimed.
“Checking to see if any more live down here.”
Hans rushed to Arris and grabbed his arm. “Are you mad?”
“I’ll go only as far as needed to see if there are places for the creatures to hide.”
Davon shook his head. “The beast began as a puddle. It might have left residue or poison capable of killing anything it touches. We still have plenty of daylight. I say you three circle the rim and look for more creatures, while I watch to ensure that you don’t step onto an overhang.”
This they did and, satisfied no beasts remained, commenced the long climb to the trail.
EVIL STALKS THE NIGHT
Two miles south they found a small clearing, where they prepared for a sleepless night. The same dread filled each one: a monstrous beast still lurked in the shadows and even now might be hunting them. Despite the damp and chill, no one attempted to set up their crude shelter. They huddled under their oilskin ponchos in grim silence, watchful and waiting.
Davon finally spoke. “How can we hope to fight this monster, should it find us? We can’t see it in the dark. Even if we could, the forest’s density hinders flight.”
“The fastest horse cannot outrun Baugonril under the best conditions,” Arris answered, “and he can sniff us out wherever we hide. We must fight—we cannot run. I hear fear in your words, little brother, but do not let it overcome you. You saw yourself the beast’s mortality and how we can kill it.”
“That can’t be Ryadok’s indestructible weapon,” Hans put in. “If so, he is not the all-powerful sorcerer we believed him to be.”
“We accosted a fearsome creature capable of great destruction,” Arris returned. “Ryadok will swiftly correct any weakness it possessed. However, I suspect he intentionally bred a few flawed ones to mislead us.”
Hans shuddered. “Even now I see those blood-red eyes glaring through the darkness. Such evil, such hate! I will never forget those eyes!”
A deafening shriek shattered the stillness. A series of short yips followed, and after these a ravening howl. The horses lunged and reared. Grabbing their swords, the men jumped to their feet and rushed to their terrified steeds.
Hans cursed as Parsius’ front hoof smacked his shin. “Damn the beast! Where is it?” he hissed.
“I don’t know, but it sounds close,” Charles whispered hoarsely.
“I say we ride!” Hans turned, ready to leap into his saddle, but Arris brought the broad side of his blade down hard across Hans’ shoulders, stopping him short. “Stay where you are or you’re apt to ride right into its jaws!” Arris rasped. “Stand your ground, all of you!”
Each man held his horse’s reins in one hand and sword in the other, trying to stay clear of flying hooves while scanning the black wall of trees surrounding them, teeth gritted against the mind-numbing cacophony of shrieks and howls. Somewhere to the east heavy feet pounded the ground as the monster loosed a leonine roar. The men caught the fleeting stench of dung and sulfur, which almost immediately evaporated into the dank air. The creature’s utterances died away. The horses quieted, and the exhausted men sheathed their swords and slumped against the trees.
“Apparently Baugonril found some other prey,” Davon murmured.
“Let’s hope it stays away till morning.” Charles groaned, for while holding two horses he had received numerous blows to his legs and back.
“Are you all right?” Arris looped Barada’s lead around a nearby branch and stepped to Charles’ side.
“Aye. Just sore.” Charles grimaced and lowered himself onto a nearby rock.
“Let me tie your horses.”
Charles gratefully surrendered his reins to Arris, who tied the horses’ leads to a tree near Barada. A mournful howl rose in the east, growing steadily into a tortured squeal reverberating among the distant peaks.
“Such an alien, otherworldly sound,” Davon murmured. “And so tormented.”
“Well.” Hans settled himself against a tree. “Give me the chance and I will gladly end its torment.”
“Amen to that.” Charles shifted to a more comfortable position. “Let’s get what rest we can and rise early. I’ll take first watch.”
No one answered. Charles thought he heard someone whispering and cocked his head to listen. In a low, soothing voice, Arris had begun an Arganian chant. Davon yawned and sank to the ground beside Hans.
Charles felt his own eyelids closing and shook his head in feeble protest. “Enough of this, Arris.”
“I’ll watch first, Charles. Sleep securely.” Arris resumed his chant.
Charles barely heard when Arris finished speaking. As if in a dream, he felt himself moving from the rock to the ground, finally leaning against a pine where he immediately fell into deep slumber.
A little smile played on Arris’ lips. He continued his chant until his companions’ slow, rhythmic breathing told him they were asleep. Still smiling, he rose and slipped out of the clearing. But as he picked his way through the grudging pines, a look of grim determination chased the smile from his face. Certain questions required answers for which he could wait no longer, and now his companions’ repose allowed him to pursue what he sought.
Stifling darkness, unbroken by moon or stars, enshrouded the forest. Arris’ boots padded on a mat of duff and old needles. An owl hooted. Powerful wings flapped furiously, making a sharp snapping sound as the bird soared into the heavens. Some hundred feet ahead the trees parted and Arris heard the trickle of running water. With bated breath he inched forward. One foot sank in thick, soft ooze. The sour-sweet smell of rotted wood rose to his nostrils. A few steps beyond, his leg brushed a rock large enough to sit down on, and here he stopped.
For several moments he simply sat, listening to the little stream as he gathered his thoughts. Finally he closed his eyes, putting a hand to his temple as Merewyn’s face took shape in his mind. How pale she looked—how fragile. She seemed dazed, blinking intermittently as she stared past him.
“Merewyn, can you hear me?” The words evaporated off Arris’ lips. Merewyn’s lashes fluttered. She moistened her lips but said nothing. “Merewyn!”
Persevere. . .continue, loyal ones. Deep and ominous, the voice floated soundlessly into Arris’ brain. Startled, he fought to keep his eyes closed and mind focused.
Merewyn vanished. The breathy whisper spoke again: Doe mah. Ichlah.
Arris waited, chafing in the ensuing silence. He closed his eyes tighter and tried to concentrate. Though schooled in telepathic arts he must choose his thoughts carefully lest he expose himself as an intruder and alien. Speak. I would hear more of your good wisdom.
But the Presence did not answer, neither did Merewyn return.
Charles woke first. The dim light of early dawn had turned the fog enveloping their camp a milky yellow. Hans and Davon slept soundly. Davon lay quietly on his side, his head pillowed on his arm. Hans lay sprawled on his back, snoring loudly, one hand slung carelessly across his stomach, the other still grasping his sword. Charles saw no sign of Arris. He sat up. A wave of dizziness passed over him. “Arris?”
Hans stopped in mid-snort, hiccupped, and resumed his somnolent song. Charles shot him an exasperated glance as he stood and brushed flecks of duff off his oilskin. “Arris!”
The call awakened his companions who, still drowsy and somewhat dazed, slowly sat up. “Ach, what is it, man?” Hans huffed.
“Davon, where might your brother be?” Charles demanded.
“I’m here,” came a quiet voice behind him. Charles turned.
Arris calmly emerged through the trees. “I’ve been circling the camp. We enjoyed a peaceful night.” He smiled and breathed deeply. “How fresh is the morning air! I trust you all slept soundly.”
Indignantly Charles marched over and looked Arris full in the f
ace. “Why did you go off alone, leaving us senseless and defenseless? Explain yourself!”
Arris remained unruffled. “I didn’t leave you defenseless, Charles. You were all exhausted, yet sleep fled. I simply used my gifts to ease your burden and help you relax while I watched. With other of my gifts I refreshed myself. At daybreak I walked around to see—” He gave a little shrug—“whatever.” He clapped Charles’ shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Even my most powerful potions can’t heal and renew like a good night’s rest. And tonight you can watch while I dream.”
Charles’ face fell. “I spoke hastily. Forgive me.”
“I should ask your forgiveness for not explaining myself beforehand. Will you forgive me, Charles?”
Charles’ taut features relaxed. He slowly nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, now that’s out of the way, how about some breakfast?” Hans growled. “I’m starved!” He dolefully laid a beefy hand on his stomach. “How I wish for a river close by! I’d give my right arm for one fat trout.”
“Would you?” Arris walked to his horse. “Ah, Barada,” he murmured, rubbing the burnished wither, “tonight I promise to take this saddle off your back and give you a well-earned rubdown.” The stallion nickered softly. Arris laughed as the velvety muzzle brushed his shoulder and face. He tousled Barada’s forelock, then untied one of the saddlebags and rejoined his companions.
“I’m not sure I can look at another piece of jerky or dry bread, let alone eat it, but I’m famished.” Arris plopped down on the ground between Davon and Charles. He nodded to Hans then and smiled. “Tonight we’ll camp beside the Lost River and dine on some of those trout you crave.” He pulled a small bundle from his saddlebag and unwrapped it. “I could go for one myself. In the meantime. . .” He took out a piece of bread and held it up as if offering a toast. Putting it to his mouth, he bit off a piece and glanced around the group, smiling as he chewed.
Charles chuckled and, shaking his head, reached for his own breakfast.
With lighter hearts and a bit of banter they ate. A stiff breeze arose from the southwest, fanning the tops of the groaning pines and dispelling the heavy fog. The men looked up to see the last stars fading into dawn.