The abomination stood proudly before its prey, relishing the effect it was having. Through wide nostrils composed of bone and slimy black gristle, it breathed in deeply the hot waftings of the boy’s sweat. Thick, dirt-encrusted horns struck out from its domed skull to curl round behind its head, and hide like set wax stretched glistening and livid over its cranium. Hunched over it stood, with arms trembling in weird excitement, as featureless black eyes fixed Gapp with their malefic intent.
Slowly, but eagerly, it advanced.
‘. . . And then there were five,’ the Peladane breathed heavily.
In all his years of campaigning, he had never known the like of it. At his father’s side he had faced hordes of enemies, vast battalions of the infidel, and still come out victorious. Whether as a sergeant in charge of fifty, Thegne in charge of two and a half thousand, or as part of an entire Toloch of fifty thousand, he had never yet tasted defeat. He – they – had been invincible! There had been casualties, there had been madness and confusion, and Death was ever present; but courage, strength and determination had always seen them through.
Nothing, however, had prepared Nibulus for this. He was only just realizing that up till now all that his battle experience had ever taught him was how to succeed. And now began the next stage of his education: how to fail. Clearly, however, it was not as easy as it seemed.
His failure gnawed at him, gnawed away so quickly he felt himself being consumed by the second. But Nibulus Wintus silently swore to himself, and to his god, that if Pel-Adan would grant him but a chance, no matter how desperate, he would do everything in his power to help his men. Even if it meant making the supreme sacrifice.
But at the moment it appeared he would not get even this opportunity. He almost deserved to die.
He looked around. Gapp’s torch – that pathetic little twist of damp rag – had at last burnt out. But still its dim illumination was retained, for a while at least, in the gold-flecked jade of the walls in this strange place. In its fading light he could see the dejection of his companions, but he was strangely warmed to note that they, too, had not totally given up yet.
Finwald, Appa and Wodeman sat in concentration, trying against all odds to summon up what little priestly power they had left in them. It had been agreed that any magic they might invoke would not be wasted on trying to release them from their cells; they would be out of them soon enough anyway, once Nym returned. Instead they had opted for making an attempt on the lives of the Kobolds. Those monsters seemed to be the main obstacle in their path, once they were out of their cells.
Nibulus, in an attempt to forget the sickening cries of his esquire that still echoed in his head, called out to the others:
‘Do you have any idea what we’re up against here? What are these things?’
‘Chailleag Bheur,’ Paulus mused, ‘the Hag of Blue, the Siren . . . these are names I have heard of from the old times of the North. Children’s tales. To be honest, I don’t believe she knows who she is.’
A voice interrupted them. ‘Old stories that were once just that are now reaching out of the darkness to engulf us,’ Wodeman said, breaking his own concentration. ‘It’s a strange journey we’re taking, this one.’
Nibulus was becoming a little annoyed at the pair of them; they both appeared to know things he did not. ‘Well, what is she – are they – then? If there’s anything I should know, tell me. It might help.’
‘We have met up with a huldre,’ Wodeman explained, ‘as I warned you we might, now that we are beyond the lands of men. And a rather potent one, too, to exert dominion over all these others.’
‘They’re all huldre, too?’
‘Oh yes,’ Paulus confirmed. ‘Those Spriggans she talked of – Nym herself must be a particularly potent one to hold sway over those wilful little devils, all the way from here to the foothills of the Blue Mountains. I’d guess those villagers we heard back in the woods were they.’
Paulus was now shuddering almost uncontrollably, and his customary fetor had taken on a new piquancy. ‘They must have been spying on us all the time,’ he whispered shakily, ‘walking amongst us without our knowing. My people say that the Hidden Ones are everywhere, always ready to snatch away mortal souls for their deviant purposes. Not even our beasts are immune from their tampering. Oft have I opened the stable door of a morning to see our horses literally besodden with sweat. We slay them whenever we can.’
Nibulus thought about this for a second, but failed to grasp the Nahovian’s meaning.
‘Making horses sweat doesn’t sound that terrible to me,’ he remarked.
‘It means the huldre have been riding them hard all night long at their disgusting carousals,’ Paulus explained in spittle-flecked loathing.
‘Like that young shepherd you got rid of?’ Appa suddenly asked of the Peladane. ‘The one who used to make sheep limp?’
‘No, that was something entirely different,’ Nibulus replied, vexed at being sidetracked. ‘Tell me about the wanderer on the moor.’
‘A Ganferd, as Finwald guessed,’ Wodeman explained.
‘Ellyldan,’ Paulus agreed in his own tongue. ‘They are lamentable souls, pitiable to behold, huldres that fill the hearts of mortals with sorrow and darkness. But troublesome, drawing folk wherever they will, and usually to a sticky end. The Blue Hag must have sent it out deliberately to lure us to her domain.’
‘And the Afanc thing she mentioned?’
‘Odd,’ Wodeman admitted. ‘For Afanc is not just one of her world, but also of ours. I do not understand why she would have such a creature in her employ . . . still less how she could control it.’
‘Perhaps she rewards it in ways we dare not think about,’ Paulus suggested darkly.
‘Hmn, possibly.’ Wodeman pondered. ‘I certainly wouldn’t blame the Afanc for that. Yet Afanc is not something to be controlled. Kobolds are one thing, slow, unbelievably dull-witted clods that can be led by any huldre worth her salt, but the Afanc is a creature of great power, a thing of Chaos.’ He paused as if listening. ‘I’m sorry, but I very much doubt there’s much left of your esquire now, Nibulus.’
At exactly that moment Gapp burst through the door, threw an armful of their weapons down on the ground, and began fumbling with a ring of keys. He had his own small pack upon his back, and his shortsword safely in its scabbard at his belt.
‘Bolldhe’s back!’ he shouted in elation as they all sprang up from the floor. Then finally he found the key to his master’s cell, and freed him.
‘That thing . . .’ the boy stammered as Nibulus burst out of his cell and swept up his Greatsword.
‘The Afanc, yes,’ the Peladane replied, savouring the feel of Unferth in his hands at last.
‘Whatever it is,’ the esquire went on breathlessly, ‘it was up there in her room. It came at me with its fangs and all, but – there you go, Paulus, your sword’s down there – but then I heard the witch screaming and looked round, and there was Bolldhe holding a shortsword – mine, I might add – at her throat . . . Oh fiddlesticks, this isn’t the right key . . . And then, and then . . . oh yes, and then he tells her to call off her lackeys or he’ll kill her, so he sticks my sword into her neck a bit, only a bit but it draws blood, and she screams and he goes on threatening her, so, um, so yes so she snaps her fingers and the two hairy buggers, they just scream and start smoking and shrivelling and leg it out the door, and I can see them shrinking still and smoking as they dash out the house and are gone . . .’
Nibulus and Paulus were now distributing the weapons, hurling them through the bars of the appropriate cell doors as well as they could in the scant light, while Gapp still struggled with Appa’s lock.
‘Got it!’ he cried, still suffused with excitement after his harrowing experience. His voice had climbed to a new level of shrill hysteria, but for once this was the least of the others’ worries. With Appa now also free, he leapt over to the next cage, and continued his story to any who might be listening.
‘But the
thingy, the Afanc, it wouldn’t go away, just ranted and steamed and tried to get at Bolldhe. But it knew it daren’t get too close ’cos of the sword at her ladyship’s neck – and she screams to Bolldhe that she can’t do anything so he pushes the sword in deeper and it – that Af-thing – it cowers away ’cos of her screaming much worse, and it holds its head like so—’
‘Gimme some of those keys!’ Paulus snapped, and ripped a few from the ring.
‘Then Bolldhe chucks me my sword,’ Gapp continued, ‘and the monster suddenly jumps at him really quick but Bolldhe’s already got his axe in his hands, and he HACKS it one of the best hacks I’ve ever seen in my life, right in the face—’
‘So it’s dead?’ Nibulus cried.
‘But that didn’t have much effect, and it comes back for more, but Bolldhe’s got her by the hair now and there’s all this stuff coming out of her mouth and . . . and, and he holds his axe right above her head! That stops the monster, and Bolldhe yells at me to get our weapons and the keys he’s found, and to get you all out of here, so I did but I don’t know if he can hold it off for long, what with it being so mad and all—’
A ghastly screech echoed down the passageway beyond the door, and after four or five footsteps that approached with impossible swiftness, the Afanc burst into the chamber. The last glimmers of light in the gold-flecked jade walls now sprang into life again, and the gaol was lit up with sick light.
The Afanc had clearly decided that Nym was too precious to risk, but the other enemies in this place held no axe over her head. It surveyed them now appraisingly – the boy with the keys; another one, much taller, also struggling to unlock cell doors; a puny old one backed up against the far wall, beyond the well; and the big, royal warrior in the middle of the room. Drool gouted from its mandible; it would decorate the walls with their remains!
As Nibulus gazed upon his latest enemy, there was a part of his mind registering the fact that the Afanc was, quite simply, the most dreadful and loathsome adversary he had ever faced in his life. There was another part of his brain that reminded him he wore no armour, and that of the four of them who were already out of their cells, only he was likely to engage straight away.
But none of this made a blind bit of difference; he had made his vow to his god, his prayer had been answered, and he was a Thegne of Pel-Adan – and more to the point, a right hard bastard.
The Peladane in him kicked in immediately and, hefting his sword, Nibulus charged screaming at the beast.
The Afanc’s face split wide in a horrible grin and it hurled itself down the steps towards him. The Peladane’s challenge would not go unanswered; many more fearsomely accoutred than this one had it slain in the halls of kings ere now . . .
Nibulus flung himself out of the way of the onrushing monster, and at the same time used the weight of the Greatsword to spin himself around in a full circle, the blade fully extended, all in one smooth, well-practised motion. Unable to swerve in time, the Afanc found itself flying into the path of the weapon as it scythed through the air. With a sickening thud the beast caught the six-foot-long blade full in its stomach.
The impact caused the walls to shudder and the copper-hued bars to sing, its echo reverberating down the well like the moan of a fleeing phantom. Gapp’s gut lurched and he reeled with sudden nausea. Unferth had struck so hard and bitten so deep it was almost wrenched from the Peladane’s grasp. It was a blow that would have cut any normal man in half, and the air throughout the gaol was immediately tainted with a stench like rotten fish mixed with oily acid.
Nibulus recovered his balance and looked. His mouth sagged; the monster was still standing!
Three thoughts flashed through his brain simultaneously: the Afanc was not a normal man, the others had not joined in yet, and he was going to die.
Then a blow he had not even seen sent him crashing with a gasp against the wall nearby.
He sprawled on the ground as many-hued patterns like lightning bolts and exploding flowers filled his vision. Wodeman’s voice kept screaming something he could not understand, and just in time he realized that the Afanc was coming for him again. Instinctively he brought up his right foot and kicked the brute savagely in the face. His enemy roared in muffled fury as the big man’s boot crunched hide and bone into one painful substance.
But still it came on. Nibulus had a vivid image, one that he knew would stay with him for the rest of his life – however long that might be – of a leering, fang-filled mouth flowing with blood-reddened saliva, and two tiny hell-black eyes staring straight into his own. He was only just aware of the frantic gibbering of Gapp as he still scrabbled with the ring of keys.
Then, just as a huge taloned hand caught the Peladane by the throat, Paulus finally plunged his blade deep in between the beast’s shoulderblades, scraping noisily in between two vertebrae. Screeching in agony the Afanc lurched upright, its back arched and wet with blood, but in the next second the Nahovian’s blade swept back again and caught it a vicious swipe across the neck.
Unbelievably, the monster still did not fall. This time it lashed out at Paulus. There was a strange sound as all the wind was knocked right out of the stricken mercenary, and he was flung right across the dungeon to fall right beside the well.
On the other side of this aperture, Appa stared down in shock at the fallen warrior lying on the floor. He himself cowered against the wall, gripping his Crow’s Beak Staff tightly and refusing to move. All he could do now was stare.
Gapp, fingers quivering uncontrollably, bounded over towards the cell in which Wodeman and Finwald were still confined, leaping up and down like caged monkeys. And, within the chaos of his fury, Wodeman finally managed to find his Aescalandian tongue and scream at Appa, ‘Help Paulus, you useless bastard!’
The Afanc was now free to come after the two little people fiddling around at the far end of the subterranean gaol.
Yelping in alarm, Gapp gave up on the final cell door and drew his shortsword to face the beast. In the cage right beside him Wodeman crouched with his quarterstaff brandished horizontally, while Finwald stood back against the rear wall with sword-cane drawn. Outside, even Nibulus was trying to get to his feet, but they all knew he could not reach them in time.
Suddenly there came a shrill scream from somewhere outside the prison chamber. The Afanc halted its advance momentarily and cocked its head.
Then it returned to its grisly purpose. It was coughing blood and bleeding abundantly. Nevertheless it now lunged at the boy with the limping gait of a wounded primate, and Gapp, stricken with horror, dropped his sword upon the floor and stumbled backwards.
At exactly that moment Wodeman thrust his staff out between the bars of his cell, between the feet of the oncoming monster and, already unbalanced, the Afanc tripped. Howling, it pitched forward, and swept savagely at the boy as it went down. Gapp instinctively flinched away, and the blow missed him by inches. But as he did so, his feet caught against the still prone form of Paulus, stretched across the aisle, and he lost his balance.
For one awful moment he teetered, as he sought desperately to right himself. Then, with one final wail of despair, Gapp pitched over backwards and disappeared down the well.
‘Radnar!’ cried Nibulus, then hurled himself towards the beast.
But at that precise moment the same screech that had sounded earlier was uttered again, only this time much closer. Everybody, the Afanc included, looked up towards the doorway.
There now stood Bolldhe, the fingers of his left hand enmeshed inextricably in the thick tresses of Nym-Cadog’s hair as she convulsed at his feet. His axe, in his other hand, was poised above her neck.
‘Kill it, Nibulus!’ he cried frantically.
‘Kill them, Afanc!’ Nym-Cadog sobbed with equal desperation.
Then Bolldhe’s axe swept down, at exactly the same moment as did Unferth.
From the top of the stairs came the obscene sounds of chopping, choking, and gristle separating, till nearby the steps and walls streamed wit
h blood. From the Afanc, however, came only a single wet grunt, followed by a squelching impact as it landed on the cold, hard flagstones, its head split neatly in two.
Silence . . .
The last lingering light from the jade walls glowed red through the blood that ran down them . . .
. . . traced the trickle of the Afanc’s life-force as it coursed down the sluice and into the well . . .
. . . flickered one final time . . .
. . . and died.
There came from the darkness that familiar rasping noise again. Like the sawing of bones with a trepan. But it was only the xienne rod of Bolldhe’s lantern, and seconds later a spark leapt out of the dark at them and blossomed into a bright flame that stung their eyes.
They looked around themselves, hardly daring to breathe.
‘For Nokk’s sake, where are we?’ cursed Nibulus.
They were no longer in the dungeon, that was for sure. The chamber that only seconds ago had surrounded them was now gone, and they were standing instead in what looked like a derelict mineshaft. Gone were the smooth flagstones, evaporated now to a rough, pitted earth floor bestrewn with rusted mattocks, fallen wooden support beams and grimy puddles of freezing water. Gone, too, were the walls of jade, the crimson drapes and the copper bars, now transformed into nothing more than creaking pit props. And gone was the well, replaced by a shaft that plummeted down vertically to unknowable depths – and presumably down to Gapp Radnar’s corpse.
The Afanc, however, was still with them, just a pathetic heap of carnage steaming in the sudden chill. But of Nym-Cadog herself, there was not a trace.
The smells of decay and stagnant air, never mind the dripping of icy water from the sagging roof above, told them that this mine shaft had not been used for decades at least. It all had an undeniably creaky feel to it, and to this unease was suddenly added a deep rumbling beneath their feet.
‘I really don’t think you should have killed that huldre bitch while we were still in her dimension,’ Finwald reproached Bolldhe.
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