The Silent Enemy

by Richard A. Knaak

  “This doesn’t have to be like this,” Nermesa uttered as he approached. “Surrender to me, and we will ride out of here. I promise that Count Trocero will spare your life if you tell him all about Sir Prospero.”

  The other knight’s disappearance had to be the reason for the attack on Nermesa. In truth, Wulfrim had initially tried to capture, not kill him. Otherwise, the cloth would have been unnecessary. The Gunderman could have stabbed him through the throat while he had been sleeping. Eduarco’s estate had to be in league with those who had kidnapped Sir Prospero.

  What bribe could make the noble betray a hero of his own land to the Zingarans, Nermesa did not know, but surely it had been a very large one. Possibly, Eduarco had even accepted it in order to lavish upon his wife enough riches and such to keep her trysts to a minimum. Men had done much worse for much less.

  Thinking of Lady Jenoa, Nermesa added, “Consider your beloved wife, my lord! Without you, what will become of her?”

  Lord Eduarco’s fearful expression gave way to something that the approaching knight could not fathom. “Jenoa? What would become of her? If you only knew!”

  He took a swing at Nermesa, an attack that only forced the Aquilonian back down a step due to its wild, unpredictable path. Immediately recovering, Nermesa thrust up.

  The tip of his blade made a small cut in the Poitainian’s robe and even drew a red crease along Eduarco’s stomach. The wound barely scored the latter’s skin, but Nermesa’s former host gasped as if his heart had been cut out. In a panic, he dropped his weapon and retreated out of sight.

  Nermesa leapt up after him, aware that he could not permit the man to escape. The knight charged into the tower—

  And something huge and winged filled his view.

  There was a flash of claws, giant claws, then Nermesa was sent hurtling across the tower chamber. He had a mad glimpse of Lord Eduarco gaping in fear, a thick wing larger than the knight himself and, just before he struck the wall hard, the haunting, mocking visage of Eduarco’s bride.

  “So kind of you to finally accept my invitation,” the voice of the Brythunian temptress cooed. “You are just in time to help me with the feeding of my darling pet.”

  The thing that had battered Nermesa around gave a shriek that shook every bone in the Aquilonian’s body. He twisted around, eyes finally focusing on the creature. It was a bird, a raptor, such as the falcons used by the nobles of Aquilonia to hunt rabbits and small game birds.

  Only this bird—with its wings expansive enough to fill the tower chamber, a beak large enough to crush Nermesa’s skull, and a body greater in mass than the knight’s—clearly did not subsist on such small fare. In fact, under the behemoth’s wide, tree-sized perch lay a recent carcass torn asunder. A goat’s carcass, which reminded Nermesa of the bleating that he had thought he imagined.

  And as he tore his eyes from the grotesque display, they fell upon other examples of the giant raptor’s dining.

  Only these were not the bones of goats.

  No, by their skulls, they were clearly those of men . . .

  7

  NERMESA LOOKED FOR his sword, but it lay under the broad, wooden perch near the goat carcass. That left him only his armor to protect him from the avian giant and, from the massive scratches already along his breastplate, that protection was scant indeed. It was only because the raptor was chained to its perch that the creature had not slain him outright. In its eagerness, it had not waited until its prey had gotten closer.

  Of course, that was likely the fault of Jenoa, who stood near the one wide, arched window in the tower with a braided whip in her left hand. Over the seductive gown she had draped a large, brown robe that fell almost to the floor. It was a wise addition to her ensemble, for bloodstains covered it. Clearly, the raptor was not a fussy eater, not that such a fact seemed to bother its mistress.

  And on the other end of the chamber, near the entrance, Lord Eduarco quivered. Unlike his wife, he stayed most definitely out of reach of the carnivorous bird. Nermesa had the suspicion that the noble was wise to do so.

  “See what is going on down there with Wulfrim, you dolt,” the golden-haired woman commanded her husband.

  “Surely he can handle himself—”

  She brandished the whip. “Do you want it found out by the others that we failed to help him if he was wounded? Do you want them coming here? Find Wulfrim so that he can take his prize to his masters! Hurry!”

  The cryptic remarks scared Eduarco more than either Nermesa or the bird did. Bobbing his head, the Poitainian anxiously crawled along the side of the circular room, every few paces skirting the tall, iron torch stands lining the walls. A moment later, he vanished down the steps.

  Nermesa had not been idle during those moments. He had been scouring his vicinity for anything strong enough to use against the bird. Nermesa had thought of grabbing a bone to use as a club, but all the larger ones had been splintered in two, a sign that the raptor’s beak would make short work of any makeshift club. Some of the pieces did have sharp, jagged edges, but as swords or lances they were hardly desirable.

  And then, of course, there was the matter of Lady Jenoa.

  She, in turn, now focused on him. The frustration and anger with which she had spoken to her husband had vanished, replaced once more by the seductive tones the Brythunian had earlier used.

  “My darling Nermesa, I’d hoped you would come to see me under more intimate circumstances. I would have greeted you in another chamber, where we could have enjoyed our own pleasures . . .”

  “After which you would’ve fed me to this thing?”

  Jenoa shook her head. “Not unless necessary, dear Nermesa! You would have slept in my bed until Wulfrim came for you, surely much more pleasant than lying alone in your own, your last minutes of freedom spent uselessly . . .”

  The woman was mad, and Nermesa did not hide that belief in his expression. Nevertheless, Jenoa’s attitude did not change. She rolled the whip into a loop as she continued. “I can still make things very comfortable for you while that dolt sees to Wulfrim, but, of course, now you’d have to be chained. You look to be a very strong man . . .”

  Nermesa contemplated pretending to acquiesce to her insane offer but knew that Jenoa was not naive enough for that. Instead, the Aquilonian surreptitiously studied the window, wondering whether he could reach the ground if he managed to get through the opening. Of course, that meant getting past not only her but the raptor as well.

  The Brythunian was quick of eye, too. “Darling Nermesa, you shouldn’t think such foolish thoughts! I’d hate to see that muscle torn apart by Soron’s claws and beak! He’d peel your armor off with one strong bite, taking most of your chest with it.” The woman smiled coyly. “I have seen it done before, of course, so I can say it all truthfully.”

  He glanced at the bird, trying to gauge the distance the chain allowed. ‘ “Soron’?”

  “A word from my native tongue. It means ‘king of the air,’ and isn’t he so? Soron is a Brythunian condor hawk, but the largest of his kind by far! I found that feeding him a good diet of fresh meat . . . a variety of meat . . . made him grow splendidly! He also is fed a potion first mixed by a Stygian sorcerer who came to my father’s castle! Not only does it help Soron to stay so large, but it keeps him eager and strong . . .”

  She talked as if the creature were her child, a child fed human flesh. Nermesa could not hold back his disgust. “You make an abomination out of this bird!”

  The whip suddenly uncoiled. Before Nermesa could react, it stung his cheek, leaving a long, crimson mark. Soron screeched and hopped about his huge perch, possibly believing that he was about to be fed. A bird so huge would have a voracious appetite.

  “Careful, my lady,” Nermesa growled. “You don’t want him accidentally taking me for his supper! That would not do!”

  Her expression briefly shifted to concern. “No, Wulfrim would not like that.”

  Not for the first time, Nermesa noted that she spoke of the
Gunderman as if he was the master, not Eduarco or her. “He needs to take me to the others, just as was done with Sir Prospero . . .”

  The sinister coyness returned. “Now, my darling, we do not need to speak of Wulfrim or Sir Prospero! Surely we can find something more interesting with which to pass our time—”

  What she intended to offer now, the Aquilonian would never know, for suddenly Eduarco returned, his face so red he looked feverish.

  “Jenoa! Jenoa! There is a contingent of knights at the gates demanding entrance!” Eduarco gestured sharply at Nermesa. “In search of him! I’ve got the guards stalling them, but they seem very suspicious!”

  His wife momentarily looked aghast but quickly recovered. “They are merely making a random search of the area! Leave it to Wulfrim! He will turn their attention elsewhere!”

  “Wulfrim is still unconscious, thanks to the Aquilonian! He had to be dragged out of the knight’s room, which is half-burned and still reeks of smoke!”

  Jenoa looked from her husband to Nermesa and back again. She even glanced at Soron, who had suddenly grown pensive.

  “Kill him,” Eduarco abruptly declared, eyes suddenly dangerously narrow. “We don’t need this! Kill him!”

  She shook her head. “Oh, yes, he’s needed. They’ll kill us if we fail them!” Jenoa considered. “Take those chains,” the woman commanded, pointing at a pile of metal that looked as if it still kept imprisoned the bones of one of Soron’s previous meals. “Bind him, then gag his mouth.”

  Jenoa straightened, once again the seductress. “Keep him in the tower while I entertain our ‘guests.’ They shall leave without ever coming up here.”

  “But they—” The Poitainian cut off his words under Jenoa’s fierce glare. He slipped around where the chains lay, then gingerly shook them free of their rotting contents. “As you say, my love.”

  Nermesa could only imagine that the knights were led by Sir Gregorio or why would they be so adamant in their hunt for him. Still, while their presence offered him hope, it was very likely that Jenoa would keep them from searching the entire estate. They had no reason to believe that he was here.

  Eduarco closed on the knight. “Please make this easier on yourself, Sir Nermesa . . .”

  The knight prepared to leap at the noble, but suddenly Jenoa’s whip caught him again on the cheek. Nermesa felt another streak of blood. The whip was not barbed, but it did have small metal pieces sewn into the tip and Nermesa felt grateful that he had not lost an eye or had part of his nose torn off.

  Soron screeched, but with a snap of the whip, Jenoa silenced the great raptor. To the Aquilonian, she murmured, “Stand completely still. You need to be alive, but not necessarily whole. It would take only a single word to Soron to make you less of a man . . .”

  At that moment, the Brythunian’s narrowed green eyes looked as predatory as the avian’s brown ones. Nermesa glanced at the huge, scaled talons. With one set alone, Soron could envelop his head. Despite her claims that the bird could simply injure him, it seemed far more likely that once Soron had his prey, he would not give it up until there were but loose gobbets of flesh left.

  “Turn to face the wall, please,” Lord Eduarco muttered. “And do hurry.”

  As Nermesa obeyed, Lady Jenoa slipped past both. “I should not keep those darling men waiting any longer.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  A snort of contempt preceded her answer. “You stay up here with him. I will tell them that you are in bed with illness and cannot be disturbed. You would be liable to show your fear and reveal the truth.”

  Her husband nodded. “As you say, my love, as you say.”

  Jenoa removed the robe. “I must be at my finest when I greet our stalwart knights,” she commented. One hand briefly grazed Nermesa’s unbloodied cheek. “Try not to miss me while I am gone, darling.”

  The Black Dragon would have said something sharp, but Eduarco chose that moment to thrust a gag into his mouth.

  Soron let out a small cry as his mistress left. With his captive better bound, Lord Eduarco became more brave. He shoved Nermesa toward the direction of the window. “Not a sound out of you!”

  The chains were now hidden from his captor’s view. Nermesa tested them, but found the manacles strong. His eyes surveyed the room. Surely there had to be keys somewhere.

  There! Across the chamber behind Soron. They hung on a peg on the wall, tantalizing Nermesa. He tried to measure the distance, seeing if there was some path by which he could avoid Soron’s insidious claws.

  Jenoa had left her whip behind, and now Eduarco toyed with it. He snapped the whip toward the Aquilonian, laughing at what he thought was jumpiness on Nermesa’s part.

  “You’ve a better fate awaiting you than most of her lovers,” the fat noble sneered. With the whip, he pointed at the bones. “That’s where most of them end up. She generally picks those who will not be missed. She was hoping to taste you at least, since she never got to taste that vain dolt, Prospero! No, Wulfrim’s masters had other plans for him . . .”

  Under other circumstances, Nermesa would have paid more attention, but he had noticed that every time Eduarco swung the whip, Soron focused only on the Poitainian noble. The bird did not act as he had done with Jenoa; Soron did not like his mistress’s mate in the least.

  Just a moment later, Eduarco revealed why. He turned toward the massive raptor and, to Nermesa’s surprise, snapped the whip within an inch of the creature’s face.

  “Stupid beast!” hissed the man. “You should’ve taken him in your claws and bitten off his head when you had the chance!”

  Soron squawked, and the leg chained to the post tugged hard.

  This only made Lord Eduarco more furious. “Yes, you’d like to be free of that, wouldn’t you? But you’re not!”

  This time, the whip caught the raptor on one wing. Nermesa’s eyes widened as he realized that his captor was jealous of the affection Jenoa had for the massive avian, jealous of that affection and the lust his bride had for other men.

  Even if that affection more often than not led to her lovers’ horrific demises soon after.

  “Damn Wulfrim and his plots,” snarled Eduarco to Soron. “I should let you feed after all!” Again, the whip licked the wing, this time taking from it a large feather.

  The bird made a sudden lunge for Jenoa’s husband but came up short. Eduarco knew exactly where to stand to avoid even a breeze from Soron’s wings.

  The Poitainian raised the whip again . . . and Nermesa threw himself in the direction of the window.

  Eduarco’s obsession with the raptor caused both to react a moment slower. Soron moved first, the condor hawk leaping toward the knight.

  But Nermesa did not simply run like a rabbit. Instead, inspired by the fire in his room, he leaned into his shoulder and charged into one of the great torch stands. Despite its strong design, under his mass it tipped over.

  Flames rained down on the bird, which instinctively drew back. Eduarco, who had just been starting to laugh at what had first appeared a futile escape attempt, instead swore. Enraged, he whipped at Soron, urging the creature to go after Nermesa.

  With a shriek, Soron dove as best as the chain allowed him. His claws scratched at the back of Nermesa’s breastplate and nearly snagged the chains binding the knight’s wrists.

  Nermesa collided with another stand, sending more flames flying toward the raptor. Filled with a natural fear of fire, the bird spun about and tried to get as far away from them as possible.

  However, Lord Eduarco was having none of that. “Go and feed, you damned bird! Tear his flesh from his bones!”

  Clearly, Jenoa’s husband no longer cared a whit about what either his wife or the missing Wulfrim desired. The jealousy that he had hidden at the meal now consumed him entirely. He no doubt thought that he could blame Soron for the “accidental” death of their prisoner.

  But in his desire to see Nermesa fed to the bird, Eduarco made one step forward too many. As he raised the w
hip, Soron let out a loud screech . . . and lunged at him.

  From his vantage point, the Aquilonian caught a glimpse of his captor’s suddenly pale visage as the raptor seized the heavyset man. Eduarco let out a high-pitched scream.

  Soron’s razor-sharp talons impaled the treacherous noble. Despite that, Eduarco did not die. His breath coming in harsh gasps, he tried frantically to push the bird’s talons from him. Unfortunately, Eduarco might as well have been trying to push a mountain away.

  Soron’s beak thrust down. With one bite, he tore open the man’s chest, garments and all, instantly slaying his mistress’s husband.

  With the bird momentarily distracted by his kill, Nermesa made it the rest of the way to the keys. Gingerly, he maneuvered his bound hands to where they hung, then struggled to get the proper key for his manacles.

  Soron, his beak bloody, looked up. The raptor’s right eye faced Nermesa’s direction, and the knight knew enough about birds to understand that the giant was staring directly at him.

  The first manacle clicked open.

  Rising as much as the perch’s chain allowed, Soron dove for the Aquilonian. Nermesa did the only thing that he could think of, pushing over yet another stand. As the iron structure tumbled over, the raptor veered away.

  Nermesa started working on the other manacle, but it would not open.

  By now the raptor was as nervous about the flames as he was eager to take Nermesa. The knight shoved over one stand after another, all the while fighting to open the remaining manacle. Just ahead lay his sword, the only hope of defense he had against Soron should the giant overcome his fear.

  Suddenly, a figure emerged from the direction of the stairway. Lady Jenoa. Her face was no longer beautiful; the monstrous heart that beat within her beguiling chest now lay fully revealed in her expression. She was a harpy of legend, a witch out of the darkest tales of Nermesa’s youth.