The Fabled Beast of Elddon

by David Barber

  She looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide. She ran to the side of the passage, to a closed door, beneath a stone arch. She pulled on the ring, but the door would not open. Ryia flattened her back against the wood, trying to press her body into the shadows. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but it was all she had. She would kill whoever was coming, even Sir Egan. She didn’t want to, but would do whatever she had to do to escape.

  Chapter 7

  It was well past midnight when the three companions reached Ibridion. They slowed their horses to a walk, passing through the cleft in single file, and emerged into a landscape of dust and broken rocks. The night was mostly clear with only a few high clouds. A full moon hung in the velvet sky, lighting their way.

  At the edge of the courtyard, they dismounted, tethering their mounts in the shadow of one of the monolithic stone pillars that surrounded the place. Ander drew his sword, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Tristan did the same and Loth unslung his bow, fitting an arrow to the string. The three crept forward to the thick wooden post in the center.

  “She was here,” Loth said, stooping to examine the area around the base of the pole. “There are marks in the dirt, small sandaled feet.”

  “How can you possibly see that?” Tristan asked.

  “With this moon I can see as well as you do in daylight.” Loth glanced up at the round, white face hanging in the sky above them. “The elluen existed before the sun and moon. We see well, even on the darkest night. There are other tracks here. Some were made by men. Others...” he frowned. “These look like...”

  “The beast,” Tristan said, unable to contain his anxiety. “The beast has her!”

  “I don’t think so. It appears as if she was bound to this pole, probably from that hook up there, but somehow managed to free herself and ran away.”

  “Aye,” Ander said, “the girl’s got spirit. Well then, if you can make out her tracks, which way did she go?”

  “This way,” Loth said, rising. They followed Ryia’s footsteps into the rocks, wandering through the maze of pillars to the point of Ryia’s capture. Here Loth paused again, examining the ground for a long time.

  “There was a struggle,” Loth said. “The girl was subdued and dragged...”

  “The beast--” Tristan said.

  “No, not the beast. Something else. Someone else. Two persons in fact. These tracks were not made by men. They are more like...“ Loth scanned the darkness. “These are kerram tracks.”

  “Kerram?” Ander said. “What in Onar’s name are they doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but it was kerram that took her, without a doubt. They bore her away, back toward the city.”

  “That’s almost good news,” Ander said.

  “How is that good?” Tristan shot back, clearly agitated.

  “If the beast of Elddon had come for her, she would most likely be dead now.” Tristan grimaced at this and Ander laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But if the kerram have her, then she may still be alive. We can still save her.”

  The three made their way back to the courtyard, moving quickly over the stones to the entrance of the city. They paused outside the great double doors, listening, but no sound came from within. The night remained still and quiet. Ander placed his hands on the doors and heaved them open. The doors swung inward, moving easily on well oiled hinges, revealing a large hall shrouded in darkness.

  “Since I’m the only one who can see, I’ll take the lead,” Loth said, gesturing for Ander and Tristan to follow. “Stay close.”

  Crossing the threshold, they entered an immense hall. Massive stone pillars were set into the walls at regular intervals, with carvings of heroic figures, some wearing robes, others armored and holding raised swords, occupying the spaces in between. The floor was made of massive slabs of granite, fit together so carefully that the seams were barely visible.

  “This is strange,” Loth said, moving across the hall. Here there were barrels of pitch and piles of green branches and leaves, along with a dozen or more clay bowls as big around as wagon wheels. An acrid odor hung in the air, as if something had been recently burned. There were musical instruments as well; huge drums as big as beer barrels and a six-foot long horn fitted with a copper mouth piece at one end.

  Ander appeared beside him. He used flint and steel to ignite a bit of bracken in one of the bowls, then fished out a branch from the pile and coated the end of it with pitch. He stabbed the branch into the fire, turning it as the end caught and raising it up. A warm glow spread out across the floor around them.

  “What’s all this, then?” Ander said, examining the horn.

  “The kerram have a great love for machines and devices. Perhaps they are musical as well.” Loth tapped a finger experimentally on one of the drums, producing a deep rumbling sound.

  “Let’s just find Ryia,” Tristan said, glancing about nervously. “There is an unwholesome feel about this place.”

  They continued across the hall and entered a passage on the far side. It went back a long way, past portals to other chambers and halls. A short time later they emerged onto a terrace, the front portion of which had fallen away. Across from where they stood, on the other side of a deep chasm, was another opening, a doorway much like the one they had just passed through. Loth scanned the rock face, seeing other doors and windows directly across from them. A long walkway ran along the cliff edge, just above eye level, disappearing into the gloom on either side.

  “Look, down there,” Ander said, pointing.

  Loth looked and saw several bridges, all of them broken, but there was one that still remained intact.

  “We can cross there,” Loth said. “We passed a landing with a stair several yards back. That should take us where we need to go.”

  They retraced their steps, taking one of the side doors and descending a narrow staircase. The stairs let out into another passage parallel to the one above. At the end of it they came out onto a second terrace, much like the one they had just left. Here a solid bridge spanned the chasm between the two cliff faces. Loth started across the bridge, with Ander and Tristan close behind. They moved swiftly, scanning the wall in front of them, alert for any sign of movement or attack, but nothing stirred in the long dead city.

  On the far side of the bridge, they entered through another door and continued down a long hallway. Before long they came to an area that appeared in use and was lighted by oil lamps. There they paused, lingering at the edge of the darkness and exchanging wary glances. Loth could hear a distant rumbling sound and smell a faint animal odor. Ibridion was not so dead after all. There was life here and there was danger.

  “Wait a moment,” Ander said. “I hear something.”

  The Northman handed Tristan the torch, then unslung his shield and raised his sword, moving forward into the lamp light. He had only gone a few paces when a small figure, a faint, ghostly apparition, slid from the shadows of a doorway. The figure gripped a staff of some sort and aimed it at Ander’s chest, twisting the end of it. Ander tried to bring the shield up, but not fast enough. A ball of flame struck the Northman high on the right side of his chest. The force of the blast lifted him off his feet and he came down hard on the stone.

  “Ryia!” Tristan said, dropping the torch and launching himself at the girl.

  Ryia, for her part, stood frozen, eyes wide and staring. “Oh no!” she cried. “I am so sorry. What have I done?”

  Ander heard the voices as a distant echo, as if hearing them through layers of cotton. His mind was consumed by the pain in his chest and back. His groping fingers reached up to touch the chain mail where it had been melted, the metal still hot to the touch.

  “Onar and Iden,” he croaked. He could smell something burning, something rank and overcooked, and realized it was his own flesh. He groaned and tried to raise himself but the pain was too great. He let his head thump against the stone and hoped that he would lose consciousness soon.

  A moment later Loth was kneeling b
eside him. The elluen laid a hand on the Northman’s scorched chest, whispering words in a language Ander could not comprehend. He felt a coolness spreading through his limbs, like ice water in his veins, and the pain began to ease. He let out a grateful sigh.

  Tristan and Loth took hold of him by the arms, helping him to a sitting position. Ander lowered his head, examining the wound and probing it with his fingers. A portion of his hauberk and tunic had been burned away and the skin beneath was pink and tender to the touch, but the burning sensation was receding. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he appeared to be whole.

  “What in seven worlds is that thing?” He nodded at the staff.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ryia said. “I took it from one of the guards who... when I saw you, I thought... I, well, it just sort of--”

  “Oh, Ryia,” Tristan said, releasing Ander’s arm. “I thought I would never see you again. I thought--” Tristan abandoned Ander entirely, rising to meet the woman he loved.

  “Tristan!” Ryia flung her arms around the youth’s neck and crushed him to her. He plunged his fingers into her dark hair, gripping her tightly. The girl’s hands found his face and their mouths met. There were tears in their eyes and they clung to each other as if they were drowning.

  “Don’t mind us,” Ander said, offering Loth a wry smile. The elluen took hold of Ander’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

  “Thanks for that,” Ander said, touching his shoulder. He rotated his arm, testing its flexibility, then he collected his fallen sword and adjusted the straps on his shield. “That’s a good trick to know.”

  “I’m no great healer,” Loth said, “but I know a few useful spells.” He glanced around. “We shouldn’t linger. Someone is bound to have heard the noise--“

  “Wait,” Ryia said, disentangling herself from Tristan. “There are people here, peasants, villagers, those believed to have been taken by the beast.”

  “They’re alive?” Tristan said. “All of them?”

  “I don’t know about all, but some at least. The kerram are forcing them to work. There is a mining operation in a cavern below the city.”

  “Glow rock,” Loth said, scowling and shaking his head. “They’re probably looking for glow rock. It’s what fuels that staff. The kerram are obsessed with it. They use it to power their strange devices, but it is a foul substance, deadly if ingested, and lethal if one is exposed to it for a long period of time. In its raw state, it is flammable and highly unstable.”

  “Sir Egan is here as well,” Ryia said. “He is working with the kerram!”

  “What?” Ander growled. “Onar’s beard, that traitorous wretch. No wonder he didn’t want us coming near this place.”

  “So,” Loth said, “the kerram are working with Elddon’s goodly knight, and Baron Leofrick is none the wiser. He trusts the man over much. I’m beginning to perceive the baron as something of a blunt arrow. The kerram are here for the glow rock, that much is certain, but Sir Egan must be getting something out of it.”

  “What about the beast?” Tristan asked, glancing over his shoulder. “We’ve seen no sign of it.”

  “I don’t know,” Loth said. “I saw the creature with my own eyes. I know it exists, but there’s no evidence of it here. Perhaps the kerram have it enslaved and are hiding it in some hall we’ve not yet seen.”

  “It may have been the kerram,” Ander said, “as woke the beast in the first place--”

  “We have to get her out of here,” Tristan said.

  “We can’t go,” Ryia said. “I was on my way to find help and here you are. We have to free those people--”

  “Were there children among them?” Loth said, taking the girl by the shoulders. “Were there three boys, strong young farm boys with golden hair?”

  “There were children, yes, and women as well, but there are more people in the mines than what I saw, I am certain of it.”

  “If Sir Egan realizes we are here, he might put the prisoners to the sword.” Loth said. “I have sworn an oath, and I will not leave until I find the boys I seek.”

  “Shouldn’t we at least fall back to a safer place?” Tristan suggested. “Come up with a plan?”

  “We planned for a day and night before our ill-fated rescue attempt,” Ander gave Ryia a weak smile. “For all the good it did. We don’t know enough about what’s going on. We don’t know how many kerram there are, and we don’t know where the beast is hiding. We don’t have enough men, and where would we find them even if we had the time?” He put a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “I’m afraid, Tris, that it comes down to us again. We’re here now and if we don’t do something, no one will.”

  Chapter 8

  The group huddled together in the shadows at the entrance to the mine. Loth looked out across the vast cavern in front of them. The landscape had an alien feel, like another world, a bleak, cheerless scene without joy or comfort, like some demented painter’s interpretation of Tironed-dum, the land of the dead.

  “This is bad,” Ander said. He gave Loth an appraising look. “Surely you know some spell that could help in this situation.”

  “I know a great deal about magic,” Loth said, “mostly theoretical. I’m not a wizard. And I know no enchantments that will open locks or spirit prisoners to safety.”

  “We have to do something,” Ryia said.

  “We will,” Loth assured her. “We will win their freedom, but we will have to rely on courage, speed, and cold steel to do it.”

  “We can’t just go charging in there,” Tristan said. “There’s too many of them.”

  “We don’t have to overcome every last kerram,” Loth said, “just enough to free some of the captives. They will join the fight and there are more of them than there are guards.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be a lot of fight left in them,” Ander observed.

  “Be that as it may--“

  The scrape of sandals on stone alerted Loth to the presence of others. He turned in time to see two kerram coming down the tunnel. There was a moment’s hesitation as the confused kerram eyed the strangers, their muzzles twitching, then the kerram on the left brought up his staff. Loth raised his bow in the same instant and put an arrow through the kerram’s eye. The creature made a low gurgling sound as it fell. The second kerram barked a warning and brought up his sword, but Ander was already in motion. The big Northman blocked the kerram’s steel with his shield and brought his own heavy blade down on the creature’s shoulder, nearly cleaving him in two. The kerram collapsed and lay twitching in a widening pool of blood.

  Answering shouts came to them from deeper in the cavern.

  “So much for having the element of surprise,” Ander snarled, turning back.

  Tristan was reaching for Ryia, his eyes searching back the way they had come. He might have been thinking of running, but the girl was already in motion, moving into the cavern. A kerram guard appeared in front of her, brandishing a sword. Ryia raised her staff, twisting the end of it. A ball of yellow fire struck the kerram on the shoulder, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground, the sword clattering from his hand.

  “Come on, Tris,” Ander grabbed Tristan by the tunic and pressed him forward. “There’s nothing for it now but to kill as many of the mongrels as we can.” Ander drove his sword into the guard Ryia had just knocked down, wrenching the blade free and flinging blood across the cavern wall. Then he plunged forward, sword raised and a war cry spilling from his lips.

  Ryia and Tristan followed, but Loth held back, pausing to scan the broken cavern floor, the tunnels and alcoves, the wooden ladders and catwalk. He drew an arrow from his quiver, fitting it to the string, drawing and firing, all in one swift motion. The arrow took one of the kerram on the catwalk in the throat. The creature squealed, then pitched forward, dropping from the walkway like a stone. A second arrow followed the first, leaving Loth’s bow before the first kerram hit the floor. The arrow struck another kerram in the chest. The creature gave a
grunt and collapsed.

  Loth heard a popping sound and saw two yellow balls of flame roar across the cavern, narrowly missing their targets. He saw Tristan cut down one of the staff-wielding foes and Ander remove the head of the other. Some of the prisoners were cheering now, forgotten hope kindling in their souls. A ferocious-looking kerram with a whip was poised over them, trying to lash the prisoners into submission. Loth put an arrow into the creature’s shoulder, causing him to drop the whip, then put a second shaft through his eye, the point ripping out through the back of the kerram’s skull as he fell.

  An assailant Loth had somehow missed rose up before him, swinging a curved sword. Loth blocked the stroke with the haft of his bow, spinning as he drew his own blade from its sheath. The clash of steel was like the ringing of a bell as the two swords met. Loth swept his opponent’s blade to one side, then opened the kerram’s throat with a backhanded slash. The kerram fell, his life’s blood spilling onto the cold stone.

  Ander, Tristan, and Ryia were running across the uneven floor, dodging bursts of flame from kerram staffs as they moved deeper into the cavern. Loth slung his bow and, gripping his sword tightly in his fist, ran after them. Ryia reached the spot where the whip-wielding kerram Loth had shot lay sprawled in a puddle of crimson. Ander engaged two kerram guards, roaring like a bull, while Tristan and Ryia quickly searched the kerram’s body, coming away with a set of keys on a metal ring. Ryia went to work, unlocking fetters on the prisoners nearest her while others shouted, clamoring for freedom.

  Ander opened the chest of one of the kerram with a powerful stroke, but a second creature, who appeared to be something of a swordsman, pressed the Northman hard, forcing him away from Tristan and Ryia. More guards appeared, but by then, some of the prisoners were indeed joining the fray, wielding pickaxes and shovels.