Guardian

by Jon Kiln

  “All right,” she relented. But she drew the dagger Harkan from her belt, brandishing the milk-white blade in the misty morning light. She was not some fragile little girl, and her companions had better not forget it. Hendon smiled as though he understood.

  “I will go first,” said Linz, breaking the moment. The young man led the way up the steps, which were slippery from the mist. In moments, the trio stood before the entrance to the ancient stone temple. Moss hung from above, and creepers clung to the walls where they climbed from the thick, surrounding undergrowth. The oppressive atmosphere had grown heavier with every step.

  A massive banyan tree grew near the entrance, its sprawling roots breaking through the centuries-old stone that covered the ground. Its branches hung over the gaping maw of the entryway, throwing deep shadows that enhanced the sense of gloom.

  Linz straightened his shoulders and put on a resolute face. Ignoring his fear, he stepped into the temple. Hendon and Myriam, gripping their matched daggers, followed just behind. None of them noticed the great serpent where it lay coiled in concealment amongst the twisting, gnarled roots of the banyan tree.

  As the trio passed within the ancient temple, the snake stuck its head out from its lair and tasted their scent with its long, forked tongue. Sensing prey, it slithered out from beneath the tree with a near-silent rasping of scales across wet stone. Foot after foot of its thick, serpentine body uncoiled from the natural den. All in all, the serpent was thirty feet from snout to the tip of its tail.

  Hungry, the snake wound its way into the temple in pursuit of its meal.

  23

  “Linz, wait. We need a light.”

  Hendon would have reached out to halt the younger man with a hand on the shoulder, but already he had lost Linz in the darkness. The exit behind them was a faint glow. The heavy mist seemed only to have thickened since they arrived, and it blocked out most of the sun’s light. The interior of the temple was a murky shadow realm that deepened to pitch black lightlessness within paces of the entrance.

  “You’re right,” muttered Linz, sounding reluctant. The lad had led them in purposefully, his strides eating up the distance. He was eager. For the newly minted chieftain of the Lake Men, this was about more than rescuing a companion. He had his uncle to avenge. “Wait here.”

  “What? Linz, wait-”

  But the faint silhouette that was all Hendon could see of the Lake Man had vanished. Hendon squinted against the darkness, but could find no sign of Linz. Grumbling to himself, he turned toward the princess. He had been about to remark on their young friend’s rash haste, but the words died in his throat.

  Myriam had been standing a pace behind him, bringing up the rear of their party. The princess had halted when Hendon stopped Linz. Unobserved by any of them, a tremendous serpent had slithered up behind Myriam and now, just as Hendon turned toward her, the monster struck.

  The princess let out a yelp of shock and fear as the great snake enveloped her body with its coiling, sinuous length. The creature wrapped itself around and around the young woman, tightening its grip inexorably.

  In the shadowy foyer of the ancient temple, Hendon could barely see the unfolding struggle. He started forward, shouting Myriam’s name. But before he could reach her, the serpent jerked the princess off her feet and dragged her away.

  Following some instinct, or perhaps acting from sinister intelligence, the great snake dragged Myriam further from the light spilling through the entryway. In an instant, predator and victim had disappeared in the inky blackness of the temple interior.

  “Linz!” Hendon spun about wildly, searching the darkness for his companions. “Linz, damn it! We need that light! Now!”

  “What’s happening?” The voice came out of the darkness.

  “Some kind of monster,” Hendon shouted back. “It’s got Myriam. Quick, the light!”

  Hurried footsteps, and then Linz was back. Kneeling next to Hendon, the younger man fumbled with something in the darkness. Hendon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatient and anxious.

  “Hurry,” he urged.

  Linz struck flint and steel, producing a spark. Then again. On the third try, the mostly dry torch he had found caught. The flame was small and weak, but it held. The flickering light spread in a pale pool around the two.

  “There!”

  Several paces further in to the murky temple, they saw the princess struggling with the demon serpent.

  ***

  Myriam flailed about on the temple floor, fighting for her life. The snake encircled her, constricting. As the coils tightened round her, she felt the breath being squeezed out of her body. Her chest filled with fire as her ribs came near to breaking. And still the serpent tightened its implacable grip.

  The reptile’s cold, scaly skin scraped against her own and sent shudders of revulsion through her. Myriam held tight to Harkan, struggling to get her hand free so she might stab at the monster. Suddenly its head reared up, the ugly, slitted eyes hanging before her own. The serpent’s glare was hypnotic and devoid of mercy.

  Myriam wrenched her body, trying to break free. The snake held her tight. They rolled across the floor, tumbling madly. The beast’s yellow eyes stayed locked on her face. Its jaws broke apart, the lipless slit of its mouth opening wider. The forked tongue flickered in and out, lashing the air before her face. The terrible maw opened wider and wider. It was preparing to swallow her, the horrid jaws waiting to engulf her.

  Twisting and squirming, Myriam at last managed to work her arm out from beneath the serpent’s coils. It hissed angrily, the breath fetid with the rotting scent of its last meal. The head drew back. Myriam knew that in a moment it would come forward again, to close around her head. She struck with every ounce of strength, driving the point of her blade into the monster’s throat.

  Hissing in pain, the serpent reared up. Myriam was jerked off the floor and raised into the air, still hopelessly caught in the spiraling body of the snake. It shook her violently, constricting even tighter than before. Myriam gasped. She was being crushed. The pain in her torso was unbearable. Flailing madly, she stabbed at the beast again and again with Harkan. Cold black blood splashed into her face, but the snake still gripped her.

  Myriam was weakening. Stars exploded in her blurred vision. Her lungs felt as if they would burst, and her ribs were being crushed. Stubborn to the last, she stabbed her tormentor again and again with Harkan’s blade. But her strength was flagging. Where were her friends?

  Sensing its prey’s struggles weakening, the serpent drew its wide-stretched jaws closer and prepared to swallow the princess whole. Nearly blinded, on the verge of passing out from the lack of air, Myriam saw the dark maw swelling, blocking out every other sight as if it were swallowing the world. With the last of her defiance, she drove Harkan straight into that gaping pit of death.

  The keen blade pierced the roof of the serpent’s mouth and bit deep. Thick blood spurted. The snake convulsed, its entire length going rigid in shock. And then, at last, with Myriam’s dagger buried to the hilt in its reptile brain, the demon reptile finally perished. Its crushing hold on the princess relaxed in death and Myriam tumbled free, coughing and spluttering.

  Hendon appeared at her side, gripping her by the arms and turning her over onto her back. Myriam sucked in great, spasming breaths of blessed, cool air. The stars in her eyes faded. Her head spun and her chest heaved. But she was alive. Choking on a mad burst of laughter, she pressed her palms against the cold stone of the temple floor and tried to rise. But the last of her strength fled her body, and she collapsed into merciful darkness.

  24

  “I think she’s coming around.”

  Hendon’s voice was distant and fuzzy around the edges. Somehow, Myriam seized on to the sound as though it were a lifeline and dragged herself up. With a sharply indrawn breath, the princess opened her eyes and sat up. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she nearly collapsed over sideways, but Hendon caught her in his arms and held her
steady until her head cleared.

  “Easy,” he said, his voice soft and full of concern.

  “Is she all right?” Linz crouched nearby, the flickering torch gripped in one hand and his long-handled fishing spear clutched in the other. He peered at Myriam, his eyes bright with the same concern she heard in Hendon’s voice. Myriam scowled and, ignoring the lingering pain in her chest, got her feet underneath her.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

  “Highness,” said Hendon. “We should get you back to Halawa. You need a healer…”

  “I said I’ll be fine.”

  Hendon’s face registered disapproval. He rose to his feet alongside her, hands still outstretched to offer steadiness. Myriam pushed him gently away and gave him a stern look.

  “We should keep moving,” said Linz, also getting to his feet. Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and started deeper into the temple. Hendon glanced after him, the disapproval in his expression deepening. Myriam touched him lightly on the shoulder and shook her head.

  “We’re not leaving,” she said, quiet but firm. When he met her eyes, she saw his resistance weakening. “I’m not hurt seriously. Honestly, Hendon, I’ve been through worse. Now come on.”

  Repressing a shudder of revulsion, Myriam leaned down to retrieve her dagger from the serpent’s corpse. Even in death, the monster made for a deeply unsettling sight. She knew that she would relive that death struggle in nightmares for many nights to come. But she lived, and the snake was dead. She wiped the black blood from her blade and straightened to follow after Linz.

  The youth led the way purposefully, footsteps never faltering. Linz set a rapid pace, and Myriam hastened to catch up. She did not relish the idea of falling behind. Linz carried the only torch. As she trotted along behind him, the princess wondered about his strange certainty. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  “Linz, have you been inside this temple before?”

  “No.” He offered nothing further, and Myriam decided not to press him. Yet. But there was definitely something strange going on.

  They penetrated deeper into the temple, following Linz and his guttering torch. The ancient stone walls shone with damp, and here and there a crumbling pillar appeared beneath creeping tendrils of vines and furry carpets of moss. It was altogether eerie in the torchlight, like a haunted tomb.

  In fact, realized Myriam, that was precisely what this place was. How many victims had the Rooggaru carried off to this place over the years? This time there was no stopping the shudder that shot down her spine at the thought of the creature and the confrontation that was coming.

  “Here,” whispered Linz, pausing at a dark opening in one wall. He cast his eyes back over his shoulder in a warning glance. “We’re close, now. Be ready.”

  How could he know that? Again, Myriam held back her questions. She had her suspicions about it, but now was not the time for such a discussion. There would be time enough to interrogate Linz about his unexplained knowledge after they rescued Ganry. Assuming, that was, they all survived the attempt.

  Through the doorway, Linz led the way down a gently spiraling stairwell. The stone was smooth and damp beneath their feet, covered over in places with thick moss. The passage narrowed as they descended, and the air grew chilly. They crept down the stairs, keeping close together and straining to move silently. The oppressive atmosphere grew heavier with each step.

  Eventually there appeared the faint glow of light ahead and below, around the bending stairwell. Linz paused again, chewing his lip for a moment before he thrust his torch down at the floor to extinguish it against the stone. The weak flame died quickly, and Linz carefully lowered the torch so it would not make a sound. Then, little more than a dim silhouette against the faint illumination, he nodded to his companions.

  They crept forward slowly. The light increased as they wound their way down the final levels of the stair. Hendon pushed his way in front of Myriam, giving her a stern glance she could barely see in the weak light. Part of her wanted to protest, but she kept silent.

  The stairs terminated in a tiny antechamber with a single doorway directly in front of them. The light spilled through that doorway from a much larger chamber with a vaulted ceiling. The three companions stole up to the entrance, peeking through into the cavernous, subterranean room.

  The light emanated from a low, massive stone brazier set in the center of the room. Waist-high, the firepit was more than two paces across. Intermittent tongues of flame leaped and danced over the bed of red-hot coals. The heat was palpable from all the way across the room, and the languid air was redolent with a rich, sickly-sweet smell like some form of incense.

  All around the brazier, scattered haphazardly across the floor and piled high against the walls, was the greatest horde of treasure Myriam had ever imagined. Gemstones sparkled and gleamed in hues of red and gold, sapphire and emerald, sprinkled amongst mountains of gold coins and gilded ornaments. Jewelled chests spilled fountains of silks and brocades, or overflowed with coins of gold and silver. There were crowns and great, regal broadswords with gem-crusted hilts. There were plates of hammered gold and fine utensils of delicate ivory. It was an incalculable fortune.

  But Myriam quickly forgot the great wealth that lay strewn carelessly about the hall. For there, visible through the shimmering haze of heat rising from the brazier, was a broad stone table with a large figure bound to it with great chains of iron. Flat on his back and strapped tight to the table, Ganry de Rosenthorn was still alive.

  25

  “Ganry!”

  Forgetting herself, forgetting her companions and the danger, forgetting everything but the man strapped to the table, Myriam dashed forward into the treasure room. Cursing, Hendon made a grab for her as she shot past him. The princess evaded him, slipping through his grasp.

  “Highness!”

  Myriam ignored his shout, rushing to the man who had been her bodyguard and her friend. They had first met, not all that long ago, as strangers. Though her childhood tutor had vouched for the mercenary, Myriam had never met him before the day he spirited her away from Castle Villeroy. But in the short time since, he had become closer to her than any friend she had ever known. He was family. How could she not go to him?

  She reached his side in seconds, grabbing for the chains that secured him to the table. Ganry was conscious, but barely. His sodden clothes clung to him, and his shirt had been torn away from his shoulders. There, just below the collar bone, was an angry red wound just beginning to form a scab. His face was bathed in sweat, and the rolling eyes were feverish and confused. They found her, strayed, came back and finally focused.

  “Myriam…”

  His voice was a harsh rattle in his throat. Ganry stirred, but could not lift his hand or move in any way. The chains bound him too tightly. Myriam searched for some fastening, some way to release him. He moaned softly and closed his eyes, working moisture into his dry throat.

  “Myriam,” he said again. “What are you doing?”

  “We came to rescue you,” she told him. “What else?”

  “No…”

  Ignoring his delirious protests, Myriam gave up on the chains and cast her eyes about for something to use, something to smash the fetters with. There! Ganry’s great sword, Windstorm, cast aside amongst the other treasure like so much worthless trash. He had told her of the sword, which had belonged to his father before him and been forged by the legendary Grimlock bladesmiths.

  Thrusting Harkan into her belt, Myriam seized Windstorm’s hilt and raised up the dark blade. It was heavier than any weapon she had ever held, and she struggled to hold it up. Wrapping both hands tight round the leather-wrapped hilt, she lifted the sword ponderously over her head and prepared to strike at the chains binding her friend.

  Before she could bring down the keen, dark blade, however, a furious shriek tore the air. Myriam whirled to face the direction of the terrible sound, and Windstorm fell heavily from her grip to clatter on the floor.
Myriam gasped in shock and fear as she beheld the monstrous beast that had dropped down from above, to land on wide-spread feet between her and her two companions.

  The Rooggaru rose from a crouch, its baleful eyes glaring at her full of menace. She had only glimpsed the creature before, when it had invaded Clay’s house in Halawa. Now it stood towering before her in its own lair, massive and powerful. It was enormous, larger even than the warrior Ganry. In the hellish light of the burning brazier, its gray-green scales glistened. The stiff tail swung lazily to and fro behind it, lashing the air.

  The flat, triangular wedge of a head tilted back, and the gaping jaws fell open to reveal a savage mouthful of jagged, razor-sharp teeth as the Rooggaru roared again. Its howl was a primal screech out of nightmare. It raised its muscular arms, clenching its three-fingered hands into clawed fists of rage.

  Myriam gaped at the monster, frozen in place by irrational terror. She had seen fanciful drawings of mythical dragons before. They had seemed frivolous to her, but no longer. If those legendary creatures had ever truly existed, and if they had somehow bred with humans, this creature before her must surely be the result. It was every inch a demon, a monster out of the darkest pits of hell.

  Beyond the howling Rooggaru, Hendon and Linz had started into the room after her. Now they froze, just as Myriam did. The beast’s roar echoed through the hall and it lowered its head again to fix the princess in its grim stare. Her legs trembled beneath her. Windstorm lay forgotten at her feet.

  Hendon was the first to break the paralysis. Dagger in hand, he charged forward. Heedless to his own danger, he bellowed a wordless challenge to the monstrous creature that threatened his princess. The Rooggaru pivoted at the hips, snarling at the little man who dared to defy it. Its burning eyes fell upon the dagger in Hendon’s hand and widened slightly. It roared again, almost as if in recognition.