by Sam Ferguson
“Sounds good. It has to come out some time for food, right?”
Kyra nodded. “You sure there is only one?” she asked, nerves causing her voice to crack.
Kathair nodded emphatically. “Reports from Midton always claim to see one large, black beast that attacks animal or man after dark.”
The two of them scrambled atop the entrance and sat there quietly, waiting for the monster to emerge. A screen of silvery clouds rolled in front of the bright moon, dimming what little light they had to work with.
Off in the nearby distance, Feberik’s horse whinnied nervously and pawed at the ground.
The two of them waited for well over an hour before they heard anything.
Then, a low growl emanated from the tunnel. It grew louder and louder until they could hear heavy footsteps on the ground. The horse whinnied again and turned to run, its hooves echoing in the night. A black mass of fur and claws came shooting out of the tunnel, snarling as it ran for the horse. Kathair jumped down, but missed the quick beast.
Kyra jumped to her feet and summoned a fireball, but it too missed the speedy demon as it rushed the now frantically galloping horse. A moment later the beast lunged, and the horse was tackled to the ground, screaming and shrieking as the snarling beast ripped into its flesh.
Kathair ran forward a few steps, and then took aim with his mini-crossbow. He fired, and the bolt struck the beast in the left side. It snarled and turned on him, baring its yellow fangs that shone wet with blood in the moonlight. It pawed the ground and took two steps on all fours toward Kathair. The young man lifted his sword to the ready position and called out to the beast.
“Come on then, let’s have us a dance, shall we?”
At that moment, the clouds moved away from the moon, uncovering its full brightness.
Kyra’s heart stopped in her chest and her mouth dropped in horror as she grasped for the words to scream.
The beast rose up to stand upon its back legs. Its torso was wide and muscular, and black fur covered its entire body. Its snout was filled with fangs and its front legs ended in razor sharp claws. It howled into the night air, sending chills down Kyra’s spine.
Then the werewolf charged.
Kyra, still frozen with fear, watched as the beast sprinted for Kathair.
The young man seemed undaunted by his mistake, and ran forward, shouting and yelling. An instant before the two collided, the werewolf leapt forward and Kathair ducked out to the left, swinging his sword up into the creature’s side as he spun safely away.
The werewolf snarled and landed upon all fours again. It spun around nimbly and Kyra watched its hulking shoulder blades rise and fall as it stalked toward Kathair. The young man grinned and held his sword up, ready for another swing.
Kyra finally regained her senses and summoned another ball of fire. She sent it hurtling toward the werewolf, who was caught unawares in the rear. The fire blasted its fur from its body and scorched its rump. It howled and its back legs collapsed under itself. Kathair rushed in and slashed at the werewolf’s neck. The beast recoiled from the attack and the blade managed only to graze the werewolf’s skin. It stood on its hind legs and swung out with its left hand, but Kathair was quick to leap away several feet.
Kyra sent another ball of fire, this time aiming for the werewolf’s head.
The beast ducked under it and came running toward her with alarming speed. It tore up the ground with its furious claws as it closed the distance between them.
Kathair called out for her to run, and tried to pursue the beast, but he was nowhere near as fast a runner as the werewolf.
The monster leapt into the air, claws out in front and fangs close behind.
Kyra summoned a powerful ward and put her hands up in front of her. The beast slammed into a blue orb, scrambling to get atop it and claw at it ferociously. It slammed down with its arms and even bit at the orb, but nothing was getting through.
Still, with each assault on the orb, Kyra could feel the strain of maintaining her spell. Soon a crack formed in the orb and the beast moved to concentrate on that point. A small piece of the orb was ripped away, making a sound like shattering glass. The werewolf howled in delight and then stretched his arm down to swipe at Kyra. The young sorceress ducked low and tried to reinforce the orb.
Just then she heard a feral yell and looked up to see Kathair. He had managed to climb up the side of the hill and was now leaping through the air toward the werewolf. The beast tried to retract its arm and move away, but Kathair was faster. His blade chopped down and severed the werewolf’s arm just inches below the shoulder.
The werewolf cried out and tumbled down to the ground below the hill and writhed in pain. Lepkin bounced off the side of the orb and stumbled down the hill as well. The monster rose up, eyes filled with bloodthirsty rage and it turned on Kathair. It raised its good arm to strike at the young man, who had not yet recovered from his fall.
Kyra shouted out in anger and directed her fury at the werewolf. The orb disappeared and in its place a column of fire swirled out from her hands. The whirling flames shot out like lightning, blasting the monster and lifting it high into the air. The werewolf spun around and around, caught in a fiery tornado of death. It howled one last time and then turned to ash that fell softly to the ground.
The young sorceress then scrambled down to check on Kathair. The young man was lying upon his back and grinning wildly.
“So, I guess that was not a garunda beast then?” he said with that devilish grin.
Kyra thumped him in the chest and puffed air angrily as she walked toward the pile of ash on the ground.
Kathair laughed a couple of times and then hurried to follow after her, placing his sword back into its sheath. “Also, next time we should take Leatherback,” he added.
Kyra glared at him and pulled a glass vial, which had been meant to collect garunda blood, out of a satchel on her belt and scooped up some of the ash.
“What are you doing?” Kathair asked.
Kyra shook her head. “With Feberik’s horse dead, we will need proof that we did something worthwhile,” she replied.
Kathair’s smile disappeared. “Nu-uh, I’m not telling Feberik anything about his horse.”
Kyra corked the vial and stood up. “You would let him think it just disappeared?”
Kathair nodded. “Yep,” he said. “I’ll even let him think a monster killed it, but he doesn’t need to know that I was the one who brought it out here.”
“Let me get this straight, you will laugh off fighting a werewolf, but you don’t want to tell Feberik that you stole his horse, is that what I am hearing?”
Kathair scratched the back of his head. “Maybe we can buy him a new one here and he won’t notice…”
Kyra shook her head and began laughing. “You’re ridiculous,” she commented.
Kathair shrugged. “Call me whatever you like, but I am not telling Feberik, and that’s final. Now, can you teleport us back to Kuldiga Academy, or do we have to walk?”
Chapter 12
Kathair spent most of the next morning sitting in the chair next to the bookshelf that concealed the ladder leading to the crawlspace beside Headmaster Herion’s secret meeting room. He was busy gnawing on a pear and hoping that Kyra kept to her word and had not ratted him out about Feberik’s horse. Kathair assumed that Feberik would figure it out eventually, but he hoped to be back in the field with the dragon slayers by the time that occurred.
Either way, he had absolutely no plans for leaving the safety of his hidden room today. Dengar and the others were preparing to conduct a routine patrol out to the north, and had given him the option of staying, so there would be no expectations for him to be seen on campus by anyone at all.
He had even been sure to swipe enough food from the kitchen that he could comfortably stay hidden for at least another day if he had to.
After two pears were chewed down to their seeds and stems, Kathair grabbed Headmaster Herion’s journal and tucked it
into the back of his trousers. He thought it wise to at least return the book sooner rather than later. If he was going to be hung for stealing a horse, perhaps he could avoid adding being burned alive by an angry wizard.
It was peculiar, really, how much he had changed since coming to Kuldiga Academy. Kathair had always explored before, and been in plenty of trouble with the elves for getting into places that he should never have set foot into, but he hadn’t really ever been a thief before. He had always looked and thought about how to get things from the places he explored or snuck into, but he had never actually done it. He didn’t have to think long before coming up with the answer as to why he was doing it now, though. Even a fool could see he was doing it to impress Kyra. It was working too, but now as he made his way into a small tunnel that he could barely crawl through, and which smelled of mold and stale water, he had to wonder if it was worth it.
After all, Kyra was betrothed to Feberik, and Feberik had made it perfectly clear that he would be more than willing to crush Kathair like a bug if he caught him hanging around Kyra.
Kathair lifted his shirt collar up over his nose and crawled through the dank tunnel. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he liked Kyra, and they were friends. If he could help her solve the riddle of her mother’s murder, and bring the culprit to justice, then that is what he wanted to do. Had he ever known his own mother, he would assume he would appreciate someone helping him in similar circumstances.
After about two hundred yards on his hands and knees, Kathair was finally able to stand up. A small, rectangular chamber allowed him to choose between three additional tunnels - two more that had drained into the chamber at some point in the past, and one that flowed outward, or at least he assumed it did, for it sloped downward and was set lower than the others, like a drain. He had never actually followed it though. He had always been just wary enough that someone might unleash water from somewhere and sweep him away that he never dared chance it.
He didn’t choose any of the tunnels, however. Instead, he turned around and found his chosen handholds in the jutting rocks above him. He climbed up the wall of the chamber and then squeezed into a space that went straight up. It was narrow enough that once he was out of the chamber, he could push his back against the wall behind him and scoot upward with his hands and knees. It was essentially like crawling again, only this time if he slipped, he would end up with a lot more than just a face full of moldy water.
Up he went, about thirty feet or so, before he found the ledge he was looking for. He reached out with his right hand and pulled himself into a chute that ran horizontally. It gave him a chance to rest his knees a bit. He wormed his way through for about twenty feet and then the chute turned upward again. This time, it was wide enough that he used one hand and one foot on either side, using a kind of half jump to propel himself vertically for another twenty feet. At the top, the chute opened up into a large, square area with beams of wood running parallel to each other across it and smaller poles crossing underneath the beams. The poles held wooden panels in place in the ceiling above Headmaster Herion’s office.
It had been an accidental discovery the first time, but once Kathair had found it, he had often returned to this spot. Just lying on the beams above the wooden panels was close enough for him to hear any discussion in the office. Some of the conversations had been horribly boring, but many had been quite informative. Why, in his time in the space above the ceiling, Kathair had learned more about the Middle Kingdom than he had in all of his years before, and that included when he had studied with the elves of Tualdern.
He snaked out onto the nearest beam, careful to move slowly and silently. He didn’t hear any talking from below, but there was no way to be sure the room was empty until he removed a ceiling panel. For all he knew, Headmaster Herion might be sitting in the office reading, as he was often wont to do.
Fortunately, as Kathair reached down to pull up his favorite panel which rested above a sturdy bookshelf that reached up all the way to the ceiling and had an actual ladder that he could drop down to, he found the office to be empty.
He maneuvered himself through the open panel and lowered himself down. He was hanging by his hands at arm’s length, just about to drop, when he heard the lock on the door click open and the latch began to turn. Quickly, Kathair pulled himself up, slid over the top of the ceiling, and placed the panel back into position.
He could hear footsteps entering the room. There was a cough then, followed by a sigh. A few moments later, another set of footsteps entered the room.
“Ah, Master Fenn, come in,” Headmaster Herion said.
“You wanted to see me?” Master Fenn asked.
“Yes, I wanted to ask you something,” Herion replied. “Close the door.”
Kathair heard the door close and he tried to keep his breathing shallow and light so as not to make any audible noise.
“Master Fenn, you are one of the foremost wizards of our time, and I know you have been doing quite a lot of research.”
“I try to remain sharp, Headmaster,” Master Fenn said.
“Well, what do you think of Nagar’s Blight?” Herion asked. “Is it truly a curse that will last forever? Or, will it fade over time?”
Master Fenn laughed. “You know as well as I do that Nagar’s Blight is as strong now as it was when it was created.”
“Sure, sure, but can it be negated somehow?” Headmaster Herion asked. “I have heard of trees that can filter dark magic out of entire regions. Might there be something to that?”
“No,” Master Fenn said. “That is nothing more than an old wives tale. Trees cannot filter out dark magic any more than wearing a colander in front of your face will save you from toxic swamp gas.”
“But have you researched it?” Herion pressed. “Has anybody actually researched it?”
Master Fenn laughed again. “What brought this on?” Fenn asked. “Did that old coot of a wizard tell you that he used to fend off shades with trees?”
“You mean Cyrus?” Headmaster Herion asked.
“Yes, I mean Cyrus. I know everyone thinks he is an incredible wizard, but I find his stories about his encounters with demons and their ilk a little beyond believability. If you ask me, he is a braggart who embellishes his former glory days in order to remain relevant enough to teach here.”
“Don’t forget that he fought off the shade when it attacked Kyra,” Headmaster Herion put in. “Cyrus is not all boasts.”
“Yes, well, if he was half as good as he claims, then why didn’t he kill the shade on the spot?”
“Master Fenn, I don’t recall you ever slaying a shade, am I incorrect?” Headmaster Herion asked.
“No, you are correct, but I have also never claimed to have done so.”
Headmaster Herion scoffed. “In any case, Cyrus is not the person who put the idea into my head. I heard it elsewhere and thought it an intriguing concept.”
“It may be an interesting notion, but it has no merit,” Master Fenn replied.
“And what of dragons in general then?” Herion asked. “Suppose we had no curse to deal with, do you think dragon slayers would still be necessary? I mean to say, do you think we could finally live in peace with the dragons?”
“I don’t believe so,” Master Fenn said decisively. “The Battle of Hamath Valley was not only fought between us and cursed dragons. There were dragons who freely chose to join the other side as well. If we want peace in the Middle Kingdom, then two races must die; namely the orcs to the south, and the dragons that remain. If either exists, then we shall be doomed to a violent existence.”
“Yes, yes, orcs I understand,” Headmaster Herion replied. “They endlessly seek opportunities to do battle because they value displays bravery and valor above all else. That is how they attain their own version of heaven in the afterlife, you know.”
“There is no heaven for those sent to Hammenfein,” Master Fenn countered. “Hammenfein is a realm made of varying levels of hell, and that is
all it is.”
“Yes, but you are forgetting that orcs who attain a certain degree of valor in this life are granted nobility in Hammenfein by the gods that rule the various levels of hell. Here, in the plane of the living upon the face of Terramyr, they are cursed of the gods, but in Hammenfein, they become kings so long as they have fought well here and proven their bravery.”
“Which is precisely why we can never coexist with them,” Master Fenn put in. “They will always war with us, for that is all they value.”
“But what about dragons?” Herion asked. “They have nothing of that sort to gain from destruction. So why do you say we cannot coexist with them?”
“Because they are too powerful. They will always turn on humans. To be sure, the Ancients may have led an era of peace and prosperity over this land, but once the dragons grew in numbers, they even turned on themselves. They are beset by the same vices as men, such as greed and jealousy, the only difference is the fact that these vices befall them more easily, and they cause much more destruction when they turn feral.”
“Surely not all of them turn wicked,” Herion said. “I should like to think that they have some semblance of decency and honor.”
“No,” Master Fenn said. “From everything I have read, and from my time with the dragon slayers, I would say the opposite is true. A dragon always turns against humans. Whether because of the curse, or a simple function of time, they all turn in the end. No human can tame or coexist with a dragon. Eventually, it will look upon humans as food. They see us as we see cattle. We are nothing more than beasts that are good for food and labor, but we are not considered equals.”
There was silence for a few moments. Kathair tried to process the words he had heard. Did this mean that Leatherback would turn on Kyra? Kathair couldn’t believe that. The dragon had helped her through so much already. Could it possibly turn against her? Then again, everything Kathair had ever heard pointed to the fact that eventually Leatherback would succumb to Nagar’s Blight. The curse would turn him feral and he would wreak havoc.