Tales of the Horns: Part 1 The Berserk Beast

by R Mountebank

  Chapter 14

  A change

  Bliss. Unadulterated bliss. To sleep on a mattress after a long day’s work beat the pants off sleeping on the floor surrounded by monsters after a long day’s work. Mary smiled and snuggled into her thin blanket quite contentedly. She certainly was moving up in the world of serfdom. She now enjoyed the comforts of a mattress, blanket, privy pot and her own private room. Granted, the room was rather cramped and was better suited as a broom closet, but she was taking her victories where she could.

  As the morning bell rang she stretched, dressed in her dirty track suit and apron and left her private sanctuary. She was beginning to find her way through the maze of tunnels and only got lost once on her journey to the kitchens. She was in a much better mood as she threaded her way past the dozens of servants in the main corridor. Barnabas was waiting for her as she entered the kitchen.

  "How did you sleep, missy?" he asked with sly grin.

  Good knowing I could lock my door, thought Mary as she smiled up at her lanky boss.

  "Very well, thank you."

  Barnabas grinned back her, all yellow teeth and beady black eyes.

  Mary scuttled around him and grabbed the nearest tray of food to avoid further discourse with the creepy man.

  "That's for Kyron Bell’s lot, missy. The stuffy adventurer’s table. Be on your best behaviour around them or you'll soon lose that pretty head. Harhar," chortled Barnabas after her.

  Mary groaned and made her way to the great hall. The adventurers were the first to be served as they held special privilege over the regular soldiers and much lower clerks and store men. They were already seated and talking amongst themselves when Mary appeared. A cheer rose up amongst the soldiers as Mary entered the hall, wolf whistles and all. The relic hunters looked up in confusion from their quiet conversations and cast about for the source of the disturbance. Mary felt herself shrink beneath their combined glare. She felt demeaned and insignificant as she stood there, crowds of slavering buffoons cat calling and ogling her behind. Gritting her teeth, she crossed the room with as much grace as she could muster. Now focused on the bizarre food on her tray she came to the horrible realisation that she didn't know any of the orders.

  "Um... Good morning, everyone. Who ordered the bowl of raw meat-looking stuff?"

  The red man at the head of the table coughed into his fist, drawing Mary’s attention.

  "I do believe I am to be served first. Protocol and all..."

  Mary blushed. "Oh! Sorry, sir. What did you order?"

  "The herrings and porridge of course."

  Mary doffed a clumsy curtsey and served him the bowl of what looked like slop.

  "Ah. That's the stuff," said the man, clapping his hands together. Mary made to leave when he grabbed her firmly on the shoulder.

  "You do know I'm the boss, right?"

  Mary gulped and nodded.

  "Just checking," he laughed. "And call me Kyron, please. I can't stand being called ‘Sir’ all the time. We're not in school or the military, are we? Well, you're not at least." He winked and patted Mary on the arm.

  Still blushing, Mary moved slowly away and called out "Meat! Raw meat!”

  She searched the adventurers’ faces for a glimmer of approval. A bear wearing a Roman helmet mail raised a furry paw. "Is there honey on it?"

  Mary gave the disgusting bowl a sniff and immediately wished she hadn't.

  "Yeah. This is the stuff."

  "Pass it here then, love."

  Mary plopped the disgusting bowl down in front of the bear who grumbled his thanks before tearing into the meal. Mary held up the next plate of food for everyone to see.

  "What looks like a broiled hog’s head stuffed with... with..."

  "Dates and cheese. Yes. Yes. It's quite obvious. Over here,” screeched a man with leopard spots, gesturing impatiently. Mary dumped the plate down unceremoniously, prompting a growl from the leopard.

  "Um... soup?"

  Another sniff. "Liquor," said Mary, eyes watering.

  A slim man with pale grey skin raised his hand. He wore a black leather body suit which had a high laced collar that covered the lower half of his face. His dark black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing long pointed ears. As Mary carefully lowered the bowl of liquor in front of him, the man grabbed her hand and brought it up to his face to inspect it. The man inhaled deeply and turned her hand back and forth before his eyes. Mary tore her hand free from his rude interrogation.

  "You have been around the Dökkálfar recently, girl. Tell me who."

  "That's none of your business, sir," spat Mary, smarting over the rough handling of her person.

  The veiled man stood to confront her. Mary shrank back, thinking he would cut her head off as Barnabas suggested. Instead he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer, pale eyes pleading.

  "I haven't seen my kin in so long. Please tell me what you know."

  Mary faltered beneath his sincere gaze. "I'm afraid I don't know much..."

  He shook her gently. "Please. Anything at all. Who did you meet?"

  "My brother called her Laedwynn. She's his wife," said Mary

  The man's eyes narrowed sceptically. "Laedwynn? What did she look like?"

  "Tall, pretty, long silver hair."

  "Silver hair? And her name was Laedwynn, you say?" The man stood back from Mary and rubbed his chin. It was hard to read his emotions with that absurd leather collar covering half his face. He looked back at Mary sidelong.

  "Why wasn't she at home in Dókkalheim? Did she say?"

  Mary shrugged. "My brother said something about leaving because it wasn't safe anymore. A deal had been made with the Western Hordes to go to war with the other elves… the ‘Lollies-alpha’ or whatever they’re called"

  The man seemed to wilt. He dropped his head and trembled, either choking back tears or a frightening bout of rage. Finally, he slumped back into his chair and cradled his head in his hands.

  Mary didn't know what to say so she served the remaining meals and returned to the kitchens for more. Unwilling to return to the adventurers’ table so soon, she picked a meal meant for the soldiers. Back in the great hall she saw that the collared man was still slumped at the table. Mary imagined it was quite hard to hear your people were about to march to war and to realise that you were powerless to help in any way. Mary tuned the dark elf out of her thoughts and approached the head of the soldiers’ table where the highest officers sat. All the officers wore an assortment of detailed Roman armour which stood them apart from the rank and file warriors in plain steel and leather.

  Gruewolf the captain wore red lacquered armour made of overlapping segments that fanned over his muscular girth. Gaping serpents’ heads wrought in silver adorned his pauldrons, their sharp fangs jutting out several inches. Mary laid the platter before him first, reluctant to make a second mistake so soon. The soldiers all cheered, whether at the sight of the food or her, she wasn't sure. Gruewolf beamed up at her through a fanged maw, his scaly copper-coloured hide catching the yellow light of the chandeliers.

  "Ah. Bless me blind. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes?"

  Mary fought down her ire and gave a weak smile. "Is there anything else, sir?"

  "Aye," said the captain winking at his closest officers. "My lap be empty and so too my cup. What will it be?"

  The soldiers hooted and hollered. Mary bit her tongue and refilled Gruewolf's mug with ale. The captain pouted mockingly. "Prick me dead. And here I thought you'd pick the former."

  Mary turned to leave but a clawed hand grabbed her arm. Mary felt a flash of anger. She was beginning to get rather annoyed with all of the grabbing and pinching. Pain racked her body as she grew an inch taller suddenly. Mary adopted a breathing technique to calm herself down.

  "Can I help you," she growled.

  Gruewolf smiled back, unaware of her change in height or the icy tone she used.

  "I'd have you serve me and mine personally thi
s morning, lass. You're a cut above the rest and we deserve the best."

  Mary nodded back at him and shrugged herself free. Stomping back to the kitchen, she saw Kyron Bell indicate to her.

  "What now?" she muttered.

  The red man stood as she approached and took her to one side. His casual smile was gone, replaced with what Mary thought could only be described as a fatherly scowl.

  "I've seen the way those guards treat you, girl, and I'm not sure I like it."

  Mary shrugged. "What would you have me do, sir? Go to the police? Beg The Old Man to make them stop? I'm just the help."

  Kyron looked down at her arms crossed. "That's no way to think of yourself, even here under these circumstances. You do have some rights, after all."

  "I can't stop them, even if I do have some rights as you say. They're bigger than me and there are more of them. It's just like school all over again..."

  Mary looked at the floor as memories of the past mixed with her current predicament.

  "Could you help me at all, sir?"

  Kyron looked at her for a long moment. "No," he said slowly, "I think you should help yourself."

  Mary gritted her teeth in frustration.

  Fat lot of good, that was.

  Her skin began to flush red and another emotion-fuelled growth spurt threatened to occur. Mary took a deep breath and counted to ten before nodding to Kyron and excusing herself. She was too busy focusing on regaining control over her body to notice the slight expectant smile on his face.

  Platters heaped with bacon and eggs were waiting in a queue back at the kitchen. Several of the waiting staff were talking to each other using wild hand gestures.

  Busy doing nothing while I get grabbed by every man with a hand.

  Barnabas was wringing the life out of his hat when he spied Mary return.

  "There you are!" he bellowed. "What have you done to those bumbling idiots in the army, lass? They've sent back every plate of food I've slaved over for the past hour. They don't want nothing if it's not delivered by your own hand!"

  Mary shrugged. "They're idiots, sir. Just like you said."

  Barnabas sneered back at her. "Watch the lip, girlie."

  Mary did her best to act repentant while her ire smouldered.

  Barnabas sat his mangled bicorn hat back on his head and puffed out his hollow chest.

  "S'no matter if you charmed 'em all with a love potion or the like, I need that food out there. Now chop-chop. And remember the lip... none of it."

  Barnabas swung his ladle like a judge’s gavel closing the session.

  "Sir, yessir!" Mary saluted and quickly marched away from him before he could tell whether she was being sarcastic or not. Rolling up her sleeves, Mary took a tray in each hand and got down to business. She figured that if she kept moving she’d be a harder target to hit (or pinch, in her case). She dumped each of the heavy trays without any aplomb on the soldiers’ long table, twisting and turning her hips expertly to dodge the numerous pawing hands. Keeping at speed she managed to deliver twenty trays piled up with various breakfasting goods to the stupidly long table – and was only grabbed once.

  Feeling quite pleased with her effort, she started back to the kitchen bearing a heaped tray of plates and cutlery, hoping that she would now have time for a break and a bite to eat herself. She was so pleased that she didn't notice Gruewolf's hand reaching out for her as she walked past him. He slapped her on the behind.

  Hard.

  Startled, Mary fell forwards, desperately trying to regain control of the heaped tray of plates. She landed with a crash on the stone floor, shattered plates and bowls flying everywhere. Pain lanced up her hands and arms from a multitude of minor cuts caused by the shards of ceramics and pottery. Tears in her eyes and a low, desperate wail in her chest, Mary writhed on the floor unaided. It was there amongst the broken plates bearing the smears of other men's breakfast that she heard the laughter.

  They were laughing.

  All of them.

  At her.

  Gruewolf leaned back in his chair, one hand holding his belly, the other pointing at Mary, his eyes half closed and glistening with tears. Around him his cohorts thumped the table with meaty fists or clapped outright, bestial faces filled with inane merriment. Mary's eyes locked back on Gruewolf, taking in every detail of the man that had just humiliated her.

  Again.

  Simmering hate gave way to full-blown fury. Blood boiling, joints popping, limbs stretching, Mary dragged herself to her feet. She was two inches taller. Now five. Now ten. A foot taller and a hand span broader. Her tracksuit was stretched beyond its limits, elastic or not. The cotton material spilt at her neck, wrists and, calf muscles. Strength swelled through her body in a heady rush, bringing a fresh wave of pain. Mary clenched her teeth and focused her anger before her. Gruewolf was still chortling away, happy and content with what he had done to her. Mary balled up a fist and shuffled closer without thinking.

  "Hey," she growled.

  Gruewolf, still chuckling, looked up at her for the first time, not seeing what she had become. "Yes?"

  A straight jab to the temple sent him flying across the room. He crashed into a table seated with clerks, who now gaped at the unexpected sight before them, this most muscular of men in a heap at their feet. He lay there, unmoving, his neck at an odd angle, thin gruel splattered over his immaculate uniform. Stunned silence filled the room as every eye turned to Mary. Disbelief and surprise was etched on every face. Mary panted slowly, her anger still up.

  The unmistakable sound of swords being drawn from sheaths brought her attention back to the moment. All down the table, the soldiers were drawing their weapons and standing. A red-faced officer was shaking a fist at her and screaming obscenities.

  "Get her!" yelled another officer.

  "Come and get me," chuckled Mary.

  As one the soldiers charged. Mary laid waste to them with unfathomable ease. She had never felt so strong before, her movements so swift and confident, so effortless. The soldiers, on the other hand, seemed to be wading through water, their movements drawn out and slow. The un-girl slapped aside slashing steel and broke swinging arms. She punched through plate mail and pummelled flesh.

  It was a game.

  It was fun.

  She heard nothing but the singing rush of blood through her veins, her own maniacal laughter and the dull thud of her fists striking armoured bodies.

  "More! More!" she howled, her mind completely lost to violence. "Bring me a challenge!"

  "Up spears! Form a ring!" roared a familiar voice.

  The soldiers ceased their suicidal assault and formed a protective ring around her, shields up and long spears tipped with barded heads pointed at her breast. Arms trembling, eyes bright with fear, the soldiers closed the ring, the wicked spear tips inches from Mary’s unprotected hide. The un-girl smiled, too arrogant to know fear, too strong to feel threatened by mere steel. A winged warrior was skirting around the edge of the soldiers ringing her in.

  "On my mark, advance!"

  Mary spun to look at the creature, one burly fist raised. Mac watched her with unflinching calculation. Behind Mary there was a commotion. She turned in time to see a scruffy little man slide through a soldiers’ legs. He looked like a cross between a goat, a unicorn and a desert island castaway.

  His name is Timberash, whispered some part of her brain.

  "Stop! Stop!" he lisped, eyes wide and goatish ears pressed back. “Surrender, Miss Horn! It's your only option!"

  "They hurt me! Humiliated me!" spat the snarling un-girl. "They deserve what they get. Every one of them. I won't stop till I've broken every one of their damn backs."

  The soldiers ringing Mary shifted uncomfortably.

  Timberash squealed and gripped his head with both hands. "No! No! Don't do that!" He said hopping on his cloven feet. "I understand you're upset, Miss Horn, I really do. But for the love of gold, girlie, you have to stop. You can still come back from this. A
ll you have to do is give in." Timberash slowly placed his feeble hand on Mary’s leg. "Please, Mary."

  The berserker shrugged him off and howled a blood-curdling scream. "Never!"

  Mac smiled wickedly and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Up spears! Down the beast!"

  Sweeping back an arm, she snapped the spear shafts threatening her like match sticks. Changing direction she brought her battering ram of an arm back at Mac. Before it could connect, a searing wave of pain coursed through her chest, sapping her strength and crushing her heart. Mary fell in a heap on the floor, writhing in agony as the pain increased. Her straining lungs were empty of air as she tried to utter an unintelligible plea. The pain continued. As her body convulsed on the floor she felt her mind retreating from the horrible pain. As her vision started to go black she saw Barnabas standing over her. The chef’s wrinkled face was drawn down in a sneer, his eyes set in concentration. Holding his ladle like a pistol, he aimed it two-handed at Mary’s chest. That same malignant light that The Old Man had sent into her chest radiated from the battered kitchen implement.

  Before she blanked out completely, Mary thought that knocking the smile from that lecherous old goat’s face had been worth it.

  She woke slowly, her consciousness coming back to her in a trickle of harrowing memories and dulled senses. Her eyes blinked as she watched the rough stone floor rush away in a blur of motion as she was lifted up and away. Tough hands gripped under her armpits, dragging her somewhere. Mary moaned and tried to raise a hand to her throbbing temple. Cold iron manacles now bound her hands together tightly and were chained to her waist. Trying to look up at her captors proved to be too much in her weakened state. The strength required to stay awake was taxing enough.

  Mary coughed and spluttered, tried to ask a question. Her tongue felt numb and several sizes too big for her mouth. The tunnel she was dragged through was dark and damp. The smell of filth buffeted her nose: human waste, garbage and mildew. Desperate and harsh voices called out as she passed, begging for their own release, or threatening the guards with immediate violence.

  Her guards said nothing in return, just marched on with her dangling like a ragdoll between them. In a more remote section of the tunnel they stopped. She heard the jangle of keys and the creaking of rusted hinges. The guards dragged her into a cell and dumped her on the ground. She lay on the floor in a tangle of limbs, too tired to protest or move. Her guards shuffled out without a word. The cell door clanged shut and the lock rasped closed. The room grew darker as the guards walked further away and with a flash of fear, Mary realised the guards must have carried a lantern. The last of the light winked out and Mary was plunged into complete darkness. Straining to hear, she could make out nothing but a slow drip of water from further down the tunnel. If she had any neighbours they were deathly silent. Then, unsure whether her eyes were closed or not, Mary drifted off into a dreamless sleep.