The Fabled Beast of Elddon

by David Barber

  Pale hands lifted him up and Tristan blinked at the elluen who was holding him by the front of his tunic.

  “You alright?” Loth asked.

  Tristan coughed and nodded his head mutely.

  “Good lad,” Loth said, clapping him on the shoulder and springing past him. The second guard had awoken as well and was on his feet, reaching for his sword. Loth fell on the man before he could take a step, buffeting him to the ground.

  Ander appeared at the top of the ladder, gave Tristan a quick grin, then moved past him to where the first guard was trying to rise to his feet. Ander’s fist collided with the man’s temple and he went down again, dropped like a felled bull, and did not rise.

  Loth dragged the second guardsman across the floor to the edge of the pit and, lifting the limp form, laid him out on the rungs of the ladder and let go. The man slid a few feet, toppled off the side and struck the floor below with a groan of pain. Ander picked up the other man and unceremoniously heaved him over the side. He then grabbed hold of the ladder and hauled it up. He closed the metal grate and tossed the ladder down on top of it.

  “Well done,” Ander said, putting an arm around Tristan’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

  The three emerged into what looked like a guard house and barracks on the tower’s first floor. Tristan stood watch while Loth and Ander searched a small armory, coming away with their weapons and other possessions. Ander took up a shield with the swan of Elddon painted on it and they proceeded out into the night.

  At the foot of the stairs a single guard stood watch, warming himself over a brazier. At the sound of the door opening the man looked up, his eyes going wide. Loth leapt from the stair, falling on the guard and knocking him senseless before he could call out or draw his sword.

  They waded into the shadows, carrying the unconscious guard with them. There they took a few minutes to don hauberks and cinch sword belts. Then they were moving, sliding through the darkness like shades through a graveyard. The castle gates were closed, the drawbridge raised. The only light came from torches along the parapet where a few unlucky guards stood watch.

  They reached the stables without incident. Loth woke one of the grooms, commanding him to saddle three horses. He paid the boy a silver coin, taken from the stolen pouch of the guard he had overcome, then sent the youth back to bed. Holding the coin tightly in his fist the groom swore to remain silent, at least until they were gone. Loth led the horses from the stable, soothing them with words in his own language. There he waited while Tristan and Ander made their way down to the gatehouse.

  As Ander and Tristan approached the gatehouse, a guard appeared in a doorway. He challenged them at once. Tristan, playing for time, launched into a sordid tale about the baron’s missing chamber pot and the unhappy life of a squire. The puzzled guard was still trying to work it out when Ander knocked his head against the wall.

  Ander entered the gatehouse, climbing to the upper floor while Tristan waited below. Two more of Elddon’s guards called down, wanting to know what the noise was. Ander was almost to the top of the stairs when he met them. Both men reached for their swords, but Ander was on them before they could draw. He punched one man, breaking his nose. The guard staggered back, blood pouring out between his fingers. The second man had his sword half out of its sheath, but Ander used his borrowed shield to knock the man senseless. The guard with the broken nose launched himself at Ander, cursing and swearing oaths. Ander used the shield again, battering the guard and laying him out across the floor beside his fellow.

  Ander listened, but heard no one else approaching. He went into the wheelhouse, moving swiftly as he pulled the pin to free the drawbridge chain. The bridge came down with a chattering of chain links and a resounding thump. Ander sprang to the narrow window, sliding through it, and climbing hand over hand down the chain. He dropped cat-like onto the end of the open drawbridge, and there he waited.

  At the sound of the drawbridge coming down, Tristan ran to the gates. He lifted the heavy cross bar and threw them open. At the same time Loth flung himself into the saddle and rode across the yard, dragging the other two mounts along behind him. Ander and Tristan waited on the drawbridge as angry shouts woke all around them. But the castle was in confusion, with many thinking the beast of Elddon had returned. Ander and Tristan climbed up onto the horses and the three dug in their heels, riding for the mountains, leaving Elddon castle in a state of panic and disarray.

  Chapter 6

  As her senses returned, Ryia realized she was being carried. She was slung across a kerram’s shoulder like a sack of grain, the length of chain swinging between her shackled wrists. Without turning her head, she tried to see where she was. The yellow light from the kerram’s lanterns swung back and forth, revealing walls of stone and a floor covered in centuries of dust. She realized, with a jolt of fear, that they were somewhere inside the city.

  At almost the same instant, a door opened and the kerram moved outside. The smell of lavender and wild flowers filled her nostrils, clearing the fog that shrouded her thoughts. The cool touch of the midnight air revived her even more. The kerram paused to adjust his grip, then stepped out onto a narrow walkway. Ryia was suddenly looking down into a chasm, a deep ravine with a dry river bed running through it. Her stomach lurched and she had to close her eyes, fighting against the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her as she waited for her courage to return.

  For some reason it seemed important that they were outside and not confined behind walls of stone. The need to do something rose in her like a wave. If there was any chance of getting away, it had to be now.

  “I give to the sea, may her waters run deep...” Ryia whispered the words to a song she had heard Tristan sing once long ago, “...all thoughts of the past, to lie there in sleep...” She kept her voice low, so low that it could barely be heard.

  The second kerram, the one with the dark tawny fur, said something in his strange chittering language, and the one carrying Ryia, the tarnished gold kerram, stopped walking. Ryia’s hair was suddenly grasped, hard, and she stifled a cry of pain as her head was jerked up. She found herself looking into the fierce brown eyes of the dark kerram. The lenses he wore had been pushed back, and the whiskers on the creature’s muzzle twitched as he bared his fangs.

  “Stop talking or I’ll...” he began in the common tongue. Ryia spat in his face. The reaction was more than she could have hoped for. The kerram gasped in surprise, shook his head violently and staggered back, dropping his lantern as he wiped frantically at his muzzle with one furry hand. The lantern shattered against the stone, a sharp report of breaking glass, as a noxious cloud of pale smoke rose from the interior of the globe.

  “Ach! The foul creature has soiled me!”

  The gold kerram said something unintelligible, swinging around. Ryia heaved herself off his shoulder, twisting out of his grip, and landing in an awkward stance. She took a step back to restore her balance. The gold kerram reached for her and she swung the length of chain. It smashed against the kerram’s skull. The surprised creature gave a high-pitched squeal as he fell sideways and disappeared off the bridge.

  The dark kerram swung his staff, catching Ryia on the shoulder and staggering her, but it was only a glancing blow and she was able to keep her footing. Ryia swung the chain again, aiming at the creature’s knee, but missed completely. The kerram danced back, crouched, and lowered his staff, aiming it at her head. The staff was unusually straight and the lumens along its length glowed as if lit from within. The kerram twisted the wood and a ball of fire shot from the end of it, streaking at Ryia’s eyes.

  She ducked and the fire ball whistled past, disappearing into the darkness. She lunged, desperate, angry, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She grabbed hold of the staff, trying to wrench it away. The kerram snarled at her, oaths and spittle flying from his lips as he tried to free the staff from her hands. She clung to it, refusing to let go.

  Assuming the anatomy of the kerram was much the s
ame as men, she brought up a knee, slamming it into the creature’s groin. The kerram fell back, wheezing in agony. Ryia tore the staff out of his hands, smashing it against his head and knocking him sideways. One foot slipped off the side of the bridge. The kerram howled, reaching for her, trying to find purchase, and then he was gone.

  Ryia stood for a long time, sweat trickling down her face and stinging in her eyes. Her hands shook so that she could barely maintain her hold on the staff. The fear that had gone unnoticed a minute ago, washed over her. Gradually it receded and the trembling in her legs eased. She breathed in the night air and looked around.

  The stone bridge ended at a door set deep in the rock. A sheer cliff face rose up in front of her and she could see balconies, windows, and ledges above. Behind her the bridge stretched back to the first door, through which they had come. Above that door, higher up on the cliff wall was another bridge, wider than this one, but only a broken end. She turned to face the wall in front of her. She was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was. She moved to the door the kerram had been making for, hiding herself in the shadowed alcove that surrounded it.

  She looked across to the first door again, uncertain what to do next. That was the way out, but what was behind it? Her mind had been in a fugue, somewhere between delirium and unconsciousness as they passed through that part of the city. She had a vague recollection of descending, of going through doors and moving along passages, but nothing was clear. And she still remembered the beast, the sound of its footfalls, the trumpeting of its voice, the glow of its eyes. She looked down at the broken shards of the kerram’s lamp. Perhaps she had not seen the beast at all, but only these two emerging from the smoke filled passage. But then, what had she heard?

  She placed a hand on the door in front of her, the ancient wood rough against her fingers. What terrors lay beyond that portal? Where had the kerram been taking her? And why? She knew she should run back to Elddon. But what then? Tristan was in a dungeon and there was no help forthcoming from Baron Leofrick or Sir Egan. She would likely end up back here or on a pyre of burning branches.

  Ryia shook herself. She was no adventurer, no hero or great warrior. But she was no timid damsel either. All arguments aside, she simply wanted to know. She had to find out what lay behind that door. She had to know what mysteries Ibridion held. Ryia gripped the kerram’s staff in one hand and reached for the heavy iron ring on the door with the other. It opened easily, groaning slightly as it swung back to reveal only darkness and silence. Ryia gritted her teeth and plunged into the black.

  Ryia wandered for a time, clutching the kerram’s staff as if her very life depended on it. The shackles on her wrists felt heavy, the weight of the chain beginning to make her arms ache again. She could hear sounds, what even sounded like voices, but they were distant and of no immediate concern.

  She had not gone very far before she entered a part of the city that was lighted by a series of oil lamps set on shelves along the walls. She took one of these down and snuffed out the flame. Then she poured the oil over her wrists and hands. By twisting and pulling ferociously she was at last able to free herself from the shackles. The skin on her wrists was raw and she had scrapes and abrasions on both sides of her hands, but the pain was worth it. Free of the restraints, she continued her exploration with renewed confidence.

  The sound of approaching footsteps alerted her to danger and she had just enough time to slip into a shadowed alcove before two more of the kerram appeared, hurrying along the passage. The creatures each carried one of the strange curved swords and seemed to be in a great hurry. They had only just passed Ryia’s hiding place when she heard them stop.

  “Well,” said a man’s voice, “have you found her yet?” The voice was terribly familiar. Ryia felt her skin prickle.

  “She is here, in the city,” said one of the kerram in the common tongue. “We found these.” Ryia heard the clink of chains and cursed herself for not thinking to hide the shackles. She had left them in the open where anyone might stumble upon them.

  “Find her,” the man commanded, “or you will pay dearly for your failure.” It was then that she recognized who the speaker was. Sir Egan Stroud. Sir Egan was here and he was working with the kerram. It seemed impossible, but she was sure it was his voice she had heard. But why? To what end? She felt a sudden stab of anger in her chest and wanted more than anything to step out from the alcove and demand an explanation. But that would only put her in peril again.

  Ryia swallowed her anger, pushing herself deeper into the shadows and waited. She heard the sound of boot heels on stone, moving away, and the kerram scurried past, searching for her along the corridor. She waited, waited for what seemed like a long time, then slid from her hiding place and hurried down the passage in the direction she believed Sir Egan had taken.

  In a short while, she came to a large chamber. At the center of the chamber was a great pillar with an arched opening in the center of it. Through the arch she could see a spiral staircase. As she moved closer, listening for the sounds of approaching enemies, she saw that the stairs climbed up to another level as well as descending to some deeper part of the city. Ryia hesitated, thinking. On an impulse she went down, her heart pounding, afraid that at any moment she would come upon more of the kerram.

  The stairs went down a long way, terminating at another arch in a room very similar to the one above. As Ryia stepped out into the chamber, she could see that the far wall and part of the floor had been removed. In the opening where the floor ended a broad staircase descended to a tunnel twenty feet below. She paused, listening, and heard shouting and the sharp crack of a whip, somewhere off in the distance. The floor trembled beneath her feet and there was a low grumble of sound. She remembered again the way the ground had trembled at the beast’s approach and felt the cold touch of fear along her spine. Taking a deep breath, she summoned what little courage remained to her and started down.

  She held the staff before her, gripping it the same way that the kerram on the bridge had. She had seen how the kerram twisted the wood and how the staff had spit fire. Ryia was fairly certain she could duplicate the effect. The staff was a weapon and she would use it to defend herself if need be.

  At the base of the steps was a long, crooked tunnel, the roof of which was supported by posts and heavy beams. Lamps, like the ones her kerram captors had carried, were set on the floor at intervals, lighting her course. At the end of the tunnel was a huge cavern, a vast space lit by a thousand lamps set in niches along the walls. Ryia paused, remaining in the shadows near the entrance, afraid to go any farther lest she be revealed in that sea of illumination.

  The size of the cavern was such that the entire village of Elddon could easily have fit inside it. It was a honeycomb of misshapen alcoves and blind tunnels beneath a crude dome. Portions of the ceiling were held up by an elaborate framework of wooden timbers and sagging arches, the joints of which were pinioned with thick cords of rope. A wooden walkway had been built thirty feet above the floor and several kerram walked along it, watching the activity below.

  Some distance from where she stood, Ryia caught sight of a monster the like of which she had never seen. The thing looked like a gigantic beetle and it appeared to be chewing a hole in the cavern wall. Smoke billowed out of a pipe in the center of the monster’s back and steam issued from narrow fissures along its body. The lower portion of the creature consisted of countless wheels and pulleys, odd protrusions and leather straps, all heaving and twisting, moving in a coordinated effort. The monster inched forward, ingesting large chunks of earth and stone and expelling smaller sized rocks behind it.

  A dozen or more people, clad only in soiled rags and with shackles binding their ankles, scrabbled through the rubble in the beetle’s wake, filling wheelbarrows with pulverized rock. When the wheelbarrows were full, they were pushed out of sight, somewhere deeper inside the cavern.

  More kerram guards, some with curved swords and others carrying lumen-etched staffs, monitored the pris
oners’ efforts. Several of the kerram bore coiled whips. These they used from time to time, lashing the prisoners into greater activity. Ryia recognized some of the people’s faces. Here were those taken by the beast of Elddon. Not devoured as many surmised, but deposited here in the bowels of the earth and forced into labor by the kerram.

  Ryia took a step back, stumbled, her foot slipping on the gravel strewn floor. The sound drew the attention of one of the guards who turned to look in her direction. The kerram began moving toward her, coming to investigate, but then some commotion drew his attention away. The kerram paused, then turned back, uncoiling his whip. Ryia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She retreated quickly along the tunnel to the stairs, then to the room above. She darted through the arch and began climbing the spiral staircase, moving swiftly and trusting to luck that she would not encounter anyone coming down.

  When she reached the passage where she had heard Sir Egan’s voice, she stopped, her pulse racing. She listened and watched, but the passage remained empty. Ryia knew now what she must do. There was a mystery here, some plot involving the kerram and Sir Egan. The missing villagers were still alive and for their sakes she had to tell someone. She had to find help, even if it meant going all the way to Linheath.

  She had come to the boundary of the lighted part of the city when she heard a sound, the echo of booted feet on stone, distant, but drawing nearer. Ryia froze, gripping the staff with both hands. She was reminded again of how alone she was, and that she was surrounded by foes. She listened, ears straining. Someone was coming. No, many someones. More than one at least.