The monster Klay dropped his halberd so that he might grip Sigourd with both mighty fists in an attempt to tear the young prince from his breast. But it was futile, Sigourd had clamped his jaw firmly around the neck of the knight, and his taloned hands had punctured the armored plate about Klay’s torso in an effort to strengthen his hold.
In the midst of this life and death struggle, Sigourd sensed that his body had undergone some change in this strange place. He understood that he was no longer fully human, but was instead caught between his former self and something new, some animal form that had crept over him like a shadow. Unbeknownst until it had chosen to reveal itself at this moment of desperate climax.
Brodus Klay, with the half human Sigourd still clamped to his chest, staggered to the cliff’s edge. Gripping Sigourd in a titanic bear hug that threatened to break the youngster’s back, he fixed Sigourd with a terrifying stare. The madness in the eyes of the knight burned more brightly than ever, matching in intensity the torrid flames that swept through the old forest behind them.
‘Abomination!’ was the last word Brodus Klay uttered, throwing it into Sigourd’s face like an accusation, before he threw himself and the half human from the cliff’s edge.
The old man hung off the end of Jonn Grumble’s sword staff, suspended there like a macabre marionette as his blood ran of the sword’s tip to pool about his feet. Jonn Grumble leaned in so that he could look the old man in the eye as the life drained out of him.
‘That’s for the bird...’ said Jonn Grumble with a feral snarl upon his lips, ‘...and this one’s for me!’
Jonn Grumble raised his foot and kicked out, the blow connecting solidly with the old man’s chest, causing him to stagger backwards unceremoniously, sliding off the blade that pierced his throat. He landed in the fire pit, the flames billowing around him in a second furious fireball.
Sigourd and the monster hit the crashing waves with a tremendous bang, the impact stunning Sigourd into near insensibility. They began to sink, only to be picked up suddenly by the swell of the currents and tossed like a leaf in a gale as the black waves rolled them this way and that.
Sigourd had released his grip on the knight before they’d hit the water, but Brodus Klay’s irresistible strength would not be denied. He held fast to Sigourd, that back-breaking bear hug still locked tight.
Sigourd struggled with all his might against an unholy might that was imbued with the power of the ancients of the Ash’harad. He looked up to see that the monster was staring down at him, the light of madness in his eyes diminishing rapidly as his rancid life blood billowed in the water around them, a small snarl of triumph upon his lips. Down, down, down they sank into the black depths of a nameless ocean.
With Sigourd over his shoulder, Jonn Grumble ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Down, down, down the spiral staircase. The structure of the skull keep had begun to collapse in on itself, and the thundering of crashing rock and molten glass echoed down the narrow confines of the stairwell after them. It would only take for Jonn to stumble once and fall for all hope to be lost, for the pair of them to buried under the unforgiving tonnage of falling debris.
Jonn did not look back. Instead he quickened his pace down the stairs, almost slipping on the smooth surface of the stairs, managing to right himself mid stride as he careened ever downwards.
As the entrance to the skull came into view at the bottom of the stairwell, there came a terrifying booming, like thunder crashing from somewhere above. The entire conical roof section of the landing far above must have finally given way to gravity. Whatever support system that had been ingeniously carved into the molten rock had finally given way to the intense destructive force of the raging magical fire. As Jonn Grumble neared the opening in the rictus grin of the keep that would open onto the shore of the atoll, he could feel the swell of un-heat against his back as the pressure of the collapse forced what remained of the inferno down the funnel of the stairwell.
Almost without thought, the wild man threw himself and Sigourd through that opening, sprawling onto the black sand as the fireball screeched past.
They had missed being consumed by the otherworldly flames, but their close proximity as they swooshed overhead filled Jonn Grumble with an icy dread the likes of which he hoped never to experience again.
Taking a moment to look to the sky, Jonn mouthed his thanks to the gods of the four winds, which were the particular deities to whom he subscribed belief, before rushing quickly to Sigourd’s side. He turned his friend over, studying his pale, waxen complexion for signs of life.
‘Wake my friend, wake,’ he said to Sigourd, desperation in his tone as he sat helplessly by the young lords side side.
They continued to sink, Brodus Klay holding fast around the waist of Sigourd who fought with all his strength against the grip of the madman, and was now struggling just as feverishly against the encroaching darkness of his own oblivion.
Brodus Klay’s eyes were still fixed on Sigourd as they sank, and his words rang loud and clear in Sigourd’s mind even though his lips never moved.
‘I will not suffer your reign to pass, half wolf!’ he said, ‘I willingly give my life in the cause of the good.’
In sheer desperation, as the last dregs of his strength ebbed away, Sigourd reached up to fasten his taloned fingers around the head of his would be destroyer. With every remaining ounce of hatred and aggression he drove his taloned thumbs into the glowing eyes of Brodus Klay, who cried out in agony, streams of tiny bubbles flowing from his horribly corrupted throat as more black blood billowed from his ruptured eye sockets into the icy water around them.
In that instant, some unnatural bond was forged between them. Sigourd saw flashes of vivid imagery which flickered through his minds eye almost too fast for him to comprehend what he was seeing.
He saw a young man resplendent in the ceremonial black and and gold of his uncle’s household. It was Brodus Klay as he must have appeared years ago. He saw a hunched creature nearly twice the size of a mortal man, covered in thick fur with yellow eyes that burned fiercely and a mouth full of razor fangs. It stood as a man might, yet for all the world appeared to be more wolf than human.
Sigourd saw the young Brodus Klay wandering the frozen wastes of the Ash’harad and his discovery of the ancient skull keep. He saw Brodus Klay in combat with another of the wolf men. They fought on frozen wastes at the edge of a large forest beneath a jagged mountain peak. That imposing peak tapered to a fine point like the carnissal of a flesh eater, and above it shone a full moon so bright it ached to look upon it. Through it all, Sigourd was aware of the steady transformation of a once noble man, turned by the powers he’d discovered and attempted to harness out here in the forgotten corners of the known world. Brodus Klay had been driven insane by whatever magics he’d tried to control.
To see all of these things was like a dream within a dream, a glimpse of the knight’s mysterious past scried from the hidden places in his fractured mind.
Brodus Klay’s grip around Sigourd suddenly went slack as the life drained out of him. His expression faltering for an instant even as Sigourd drove his thumbs deeper into the frontal lobes of the knight’s brain, piercing the soft tainted jelly beneath the skull.
To Sigourd, it almost seemed as if the knight wore an expression of regret, of sorrow perhaps at a life wasted out here in the ice wastes.
Sigourd looked to the surface, where he could see the churning waves turning far above him. With a final grunt of effort he kicked away, powering his way toward the bloody sky as the knight Brodus Klay sunk forever into the darkness of the nameless sea.
Jonn Grumble felt helpless as he stared down at the near corpse state of his friend. He shook Sigourd gently at first, trying to rouse him from the sleep that the old man had cast upon him. But as his concern grew, and his emotions began to overcome him he began to shake Sigourd more aggressively.
‘Wake up dammit, this ain’t no time for a kip!’ shouted Jonn Grumble. ‘We’ve still
got a damsel in distress to rescue...’
But it was no use, Sigourd was still under the sorcerer’s spell and would not rouse. Jonn Grumble checked again for the pulse of Sigourd’s life blood, and was dismayed to find that this time there was nothing to be found. He shook Sigourd with all his might, desperate to awaken him from whatever enchantment he was under, and when finally he had shaken Sigourd so much that his muscles burned and his heart hammered in his breast, he sank back onto his knees and wept for his lost friend.
It seemed as if Sigourd would never reach the surface. All of his strength had been sapped by his struggle with the terrifying knight, and although he kicked furiously against the currents, they seemed intent on dragging him down into the icy depths. His limbs felt as if they were cast of lead, and he struggled now to even raise his arms.
The darkness without was mirrored by a darkness within, which threatened to submerge him.
And then, an image of Isolde came to him unbidden. Her beautiful pale skin, her raven dark hair and her mesmerizing gold eyes. At first she was smiling, the light of her perfect face so uplifting that it filled Sigourd’s heart with hope. Then the recollection of her abduction stormed into his minds eyes, he saw her struggling against her captors, a look of terror on her beautiful face and into his heart there flowed a renewed vigor. An anger that would not be quenched.
Sigourd felt new life in his tired limbs, and he began to kick and thrash again at the murky waters around him. He fought the currents as he had fought the monster Brodus Klay, and would continue to fight until he had rescued Isolde.
Nearer! The surface grew inexorably nearer. Sigourd powered his way through current and ice water, his determination spurring him upwards like a propellant.
And finally he broke the surface of the nameless sea, his head and torso exploding from the waters in a shower he came to rest upon the backs of the churning waves. He sucked great lung-fulls of the cool night air into his lungs, relieved and amazed that the strength of his will had delivered him from certain doom.
He looked up into the blood red sky, where the full moon hung low and achingly bright over a mountain top that curved sharply upward like the carnissal of a flesh tearer.
Sigourd’s eyes flickered open as he inhaled sharply, gasping for air like a man who is struggling against drowning. Jonn Grumble was so surprised at the sudden awakening of his friend that he fell back on his ample backside, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him.
‘You’re alive!’ Jonn gasped, as Sigourd struggled to sit up.
The wild man could not contain his joy at the unexpected turn of events, and flew at Sigourd, gripping him about the shoulders so that he could study his friends face as he laughed with joyous abandon. The booming of that laughter echoed around the vast cavern of the lake.
‘Gods be, you’re alive boy! You’re alive!’ Jonn Grumble hugged Sigourd close to him, squeezing him like a rag doll.
‘How are we outside?’ asked Sigourd, trying to force his words out despite the unrelenting pressure of his friend’s embrace. The wild man released Sigourd, suddenly aware of his uncharacteristically emotional outburst.
‘That old crow,’ said Jonn Grumble, ‘he poisoned the bloody bird. When I found the poor little sod I legged it back down here, and by the time I arrived he already had you under some kind of enchantment.’
‘The tea,’ mused Sigourd aloud, ‘it was drugged.’
Jonn Grumble looked about them, as if seeing the epic scope of the lake within the cavern for the first time, ‘What is this place? It defies all belief...,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he’d suddenly found himself talking too loudly in some holy place of worship.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Sigourd as he struggled to sit up. ‘Brodus Klay found this place decades ago. Sent out into the wilderness by my uncle Mortaron for witnessing an attack on my mother by some kind of man beast. Over the years his isolation and his exposure to this place drove him insane.’
‘The old man told you all that?’ asked Jonn Grumble, ‘Did you even get a glimpse of this Brodus Klay?’
‘They were one and the same person. He’d been with us all along, getting the measure of us.’
Jonn Grumble blinked in confusion, and so Sigourd pressed on, ‘He wore the mask of helpful old man as a disguise, but his true self was something altogether more monstrous. After he rendered me unconscious, some magic within this place allowed him to enter my dreams. We fought.’
Sigourd’s eyes became glassy and distant as he struggled to recall the combat that had taken place in the dreamscape, for just like a dream it was already fading fast from his memory.
‘He talked of a prophecy that I was a part of and that he would not suffer to pass,’ said Sigourd.
‘What kind of a prophecy?’ asked Jonn Grumble, who now wore a dubious expression.
‘I wish I knew,’ said Sigourd.
‘Well, one thing is for sure. With the bird lying dead out there on the mountainside, our chances of finding your girlfriend are pretty bloomin’ slim,’ said Jonn Grumble bitterly.
Something flashed in Sigourd’s minds eye. Another dreamlike recollection that loomed like a dark shadow across his conscious mind. Like a shadow, or a silhouette. The image of that sharply tapering mountaintop, jutting into the ink dark sky like a jagged tooth. The brilliance of a pale yellow moon, full and bright, hanging low behind it.
‘I know the way,’ said Sigourd finally, ‘I know where we will find Isolde.’
CHAPTER 13
Sky fang...
The pale leaves of spring were blossoming new upon the trees. After a harsh winter, the city was in need of the breath of rebirth, and there was not a finer sight to the mind of The Baron Mortaron than that of the city’s gardens is bloom. What majestic gardens they were. A place of orchards and fine floral blossoms of uncounted species and variety and vibrancy of color.
This time of year was the signifier of change and renewal, and there could be no more apt a season to be entering into when the entire land was on the verge of momentous political change. Though that change was to be brought about through bloodshed and betrayal was of little consequence to The Baron. All that mattered was that it was long overdue, and he was the lynchpin upon which everything was held in the balance.
Mortaron had played this delicate game for decades, maneuvering the pieces of the royal dynasty so subtly and with such care. Every detail had been painstakingly prepared months or even years in advance. His grand scheme had moved so glacially slowly, but it was always moving, inexorably onwards towards the ultimate goal.
Most irritatingly, recent events had thrown something of the proverbial lead pipe into the works, but they had not terribly undermined The Baron’s carefully laid plans. Mortaron considered himself mentally dextrous enough that he could improvise and adapt when he was called upon to do so. So far he had turned the disappearance of the troublesome brat Sigourd to his own ends.
Such were The Baron’s thoughts as he negotiated his way between the tall hedgerows of the Governor’s Maze. The maze itself took center stage in the upper most level of the palace’s tiered gardens. Intricately manicured and attended by all manner of landscapists to ensure that the maze was as well kept as it possibly could be, it was considered by many to be one of the most significant artistic achievements in modern Corrinth Vardis. The Baron simply liked it because it was an ideal spot for secret rendezvous, of both the political and carnal varieties.
He held in his hand an elder blossom, an early blooming flower with an off white hue that was possessed of many beautiful silken petals. The Baron plucked at those petals, laying a trail of them behind him as he continued to wend his way though the maze. He didn’t do this so as to find his way back. He knew exactly where he was going and how to go about getting there. He had walked the maze a hundred times and knew its secret ways well enough, although he hadn’t been here in many years. But it all came back to him well enough.
Around one final
corner, he was not surprised to see his sister sitting on an ornately finished bench at the center of a squared cul de sac. Upon seeing her brother, Veronique’s sorrowful expression became darker still.
Mortaron held up the stem of the flower, with its single remaining petal.
‘Do you remember when we used to play this game?’ he said in a jovial tone, ‘one of us would follow the trail of petals laid by the other to a secret treasure. Or so we imagined.’
‘Do not toy with me brother,’ said Veronique, desperation edging her tone, ‘tell me what news of my son?’
‘Those were such happy, carefree times,’ continued Mortaron as if unaware that Veronique had spoken. ‘I could almost stand the sight of you in those days,’ he mused aloud to himself.
Veronique’s expression hardened, and her tone matched the stony look that came into her eyes, ‘Tell me damn you.’
Mortaron idly flicked the petal and the stem into the wind, where it was carried away on a gentle spring breeze, and looked up to meet his sister’s reproachful gaze.
‘Reports are inconclusive,’ he stated matter of factly.
‘Inconclusive?’ implored Veronique, ‘what by all the Gods does that mean?’
‘The boy has been tracked into the Ash’harad. After that...who knows.’
Veronique stood suddenly, and began to pace the small enclosure, ‘The Ash’harad. That means he is near to finding the truth!’
‘If he survives,’ quipped The Baron nonchalantly.
Suddenly, Veronique looked up at her brother, her eyes burning with accusation, ‘I should have never heeded you. I should have told the truth. Before Sigourd was born I should have told the truth!’
In The Shadow Of The Beast Page 17