Tales of the Horns: Part 1 The Berserk Beast

by R Mountebank

Chapter 18

  Light and dark

  It had been another dull day of boring lessons and hostile classmates at Pennysworth Normal School. John was struggling with his new identity as a teenage student. It was supposed to be a distraction while he hid from the coming war. Instead, he found himself angry and depressed every school day. He was above being lectured to by mortals younger than himself and he should not have to concern himself with the opinions of simple-minded, acne-ridden yokels. Life with the mortals was not what he expected.

  And there weren’t even any girls of interest. He had expected some to be curious at least about his looks – here he stood out as quite different, even exotic. But these humans, they were just so… boring.

  Where were the friends he had expected to make, impressed with his advanced education and physical prowess?

  Where were the pool parties and sleepovers he had heard so much about?

  Where was Mary Horn?

  John missed his only friend. She hadn’t been to school since the magical storm had torn through Pennysworth. John and his guardian had fought the monstrous gale for hours, diverting the worst of the winds away from their neighbours. Their efforts hadn’t been enough. Men and women from all over the small county were still cleaning up the destruction. Many students had stayed home from school to help their parents fix damaged property or replant lost harvests. Schoolyard rumour had it that several people had died as well.

  Did that include Mary?

  The school was emptying after the last bell. John walked alone through the corridors, his sensitive ears picking up words like ‘freak’ and ‘loser’ as he passed students heading for the exit. Sighing, John made his way to the stone boundary where he had first met Mary. It was an ideal place for his particular magic with little iron about, good sun and a natural border.

  John called the light.

  It answered in a rush of heat and radiance, transporting him several kilometres away to Mary’s house. He appeared on the road, the tar smoking in a ring beneath his feet. Several feet away was the large gate of iron barring his way to Mary’s home. John could feel the spiteful metal from that distance, radiating its hate for his kind. John hissed and backed away. Through the metal bars he could see that the old house had been damaged. There were gaping holes in the tiled roof and several windows had been boarded up.

  John frowned. He and his guardian had been instructed by Mr Horn not to visit him openly. He wasn’t going to wait for an invitation on this occasion.

  John looked along the stone wall. Pieces of rusted iron showed through the gaps of the stone every few metres. He could possibly climb over the wall, so long as he didn’t touch the blasted metal, but he would be severely drained when he reached the other side and would likely need several days rest to replenish his reserves. Instead, John started down the road, following the course of the wall. Perhaps there was another way in.

  After half an hour of walking, John had gone halfway around the Horn estate, passing derelict orchards and wild pastures. Far from the road and hidden in a dense woodland was a hole in the wall. Pieces of stone and iron lay in messy piles, torn and pulled from the wall by hand or by tool. The earth had been churned to pieces by heavy footprints leading from the woods into the estate grounds. Fearing the worst, John slipped through the gap and ran towards the house. Thankfully, he soon left the horrid iron and its insipid taint behind. John passed through stony pastures, startling woolly sheep and wild horses from their grazing and entered the rough and overgrown gardens. Here he slowed to a walk and crept up to the house using the shrubs and bushes as cover. He stopped behind a gnarled elm a short distance from the back of the house to spy.

  John waited patiently, watching for movement. After several minutes without a sign, he edged tentatively forwards. As his foot touched the crushed coral that surrounded the house, an almighty wail spoiled the peace.

  “Ljósálfar! Ljósálfar! Ljósálfar!”

  John looked up at the roof. Dozens of miniature stone gargoyles were jumping up and down, pointing little clawed fingers in John’s direction.

  “Burn me. I forgot about you,” muttered John to himself.

  Screaming and yelping their battle cries, the gargoyles dropped from the roof. Most of the grotesque beasts bounced off the ground and lumbered towards John with hands outstretched. Some of the unfortunate creatures shattered on impact, sending body parts flying in every direction.

  “I come in peace!” yelled John.

  The gargoyles continued their charge without pause.

  John summoned his talent to transport to safety. Burning light enveloped him, pulling John away. Something was wrong, however, and he only moved a foot in the air. The damned iron around the grounds was putting him off.

  The gargoyles, having closed the distance, leapt at him, clawing, punching and, biting at his legs. John fought back, kicking and deflecting the stone-critters away. His defence had little effect on the gargoyles, who quickly recovered and charged with renewed fury.

  Desperate and, still a little drained from his proximity to the iron, John once again summoned his element. It answered reluctantly. White hot light flared in each palm, spitting and arcing as the air turned to plasma.

  “I’m warning you! Stay back!” urged John.

  The gargoyles stopped to hiss and spit curses in reply then rushed forward, attempting to overwhelm the light-elf.

  John unleashed his magic, sending bolts of energy at the wave of stone, blasting holes through head and chest. The hurt creatures fell to pieces, as whatever art animating them unravelled. The gargoyles pressed on, stepping over their fallen comrades as they closed in around John. One creature slipped past his defences and grabbed a leg, jerking him off balance. John’s concentration lapsed and his summoned magic fled. More of the gargoyles reached him and pulled him down. They piled on top of him, pressing him into the earth. John gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. His vision dimming, John attempted one final act.

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  Remy had been repairing the walls he had knocked over during his fight with The Old Man’s minions when he heard the alarm. The words rang through the house like a bell – Ljósálfar! Ljósálfar! Ljósálfar!

  Remy dropped his tools and ran back towards Mary’s room to check on his family.

  Light elves in Pennysworth? How did they find us?

  He met Laedwynn in the hallway, striding down the corridor with their son in her arms, her beautiful face twisted by rage.

  “By the seven-circles-of-blackest-Hell, Husband! What is going on now?” she demanded in her native language.

  “I have no idea, darling,” replied Remy. “I heard the alarm and came running.”

  “Take the child then,” snapped Laedwynn as she handed over their son. “I will investigate, you useless deadweight…”

  “But it might be dangerous,” stammered Remy as he held the baby delicately.

  It was no use. Laedwynn was gone. Remy looked at his pale grey child, who in turn, frowned back at his father. “You are so much like your mother,” sighed Remy.

  Laedwynn had disappeared into shadow. Her essence spread outwards, searching for the disturbance. She crept though every dark corner and hidden space, no more than a shade herself. From her hidden vantage, she saw a pile of stone gargoyles writhing in a heap several metres from the back of the house. Laedwynn gathered herself back together, stepping out of the shadow of an elm tree and watched. White-hot light suddenly appeared through the gaps of the little creatures. It intensified, cloaking the gargoyles in a raging ball of fire. Laedwynn crouched behind the tree and covered her eyes. The mountain of gargoyles erupted, flinging fragments of molten rock in a wide circle. The light died down.

  Laedwynn peered around the tree. Standing in the middle of a small crater was a young Ljósálfar, his clothes burnt and in tatters. Beneath the smoking garments he wore the thin copper-alloy armour of his kind, a shade redder than
his own skin. Golden ichor ran from minor wounds to his arms, neck and face. Small fires bloomed around him as the molten rock set the shrubs and hedgerows alight. He paid them no heed. His attention was fixed on the house.

  Laedwynn ducked back into shadow. Her kind was at a disadvantage during the day against the much stronger ‘lords of light’. Her only hope was to catch him unaware with a lethal strike and end the fight before it began. It was foolish for a Dökkálfar to attack a seasoned Ljósálfar warrior while the sun was up. This boy seemed inexperienced, however, and Laedwynn liked her chances.

  But why he was here? Never mind, she didn’t care. Laedwynn would gladly kill one of her ancestral enemies without provocation. If by chance he was here for her or the babe, it made the murder all the sweeter.

  Laedwynn skirted behind the intruder, slinking from shadow to shadow. All she had to do was close the distance and strike.

  _______________________________________________________________________

  Pain wracked him from head to foot. John’s entire body was bruised from the gargoyles’ crushing weight, not to mention the bites and cuts they had given him. John breathed deeply and focused on ignoring the discomfort. He got to his feet unsteadily and looked at the stone house. He was more than a little wary of entering after the rude reception he had just received.

  To be fair, Mr Horn did warn me to stay away…

  John tore the remaining scraps of his school uniform off. Luckily, he wore his armour beneath, just as his guardian had advised. He would have been dead without it just now. John summoned his flagging talents and strode towards The House of Horn.

  He was halfway to the door when he sensed the attack. He felt the light change behind him, signifying a large mass moving fast. John quickly dived to his left, dodging a thrust of solid shadow. He rolled to his feet, a ball of burning light in each fist. A Dökkálfar assassin cloaked in darkness was standing where he had been with two swords of darkness scything through the air. John dodged backwards, unleashing a blast of searing light at the dark-elf. The shade was torn apart, spilling dark matter over the ground.

  John relaxed at the sight of the fallen assassin.

  “Dökkálfar? What is going on here?”

  Too late, his element-attuned senses warned him of an attack.

  It struck him from behind, tearing, clawing and freezing his exposed flesh. John howled in pain, the agony overwhelming his thoughts.

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  Laedwynn had used a decoy to put him off balance while she prepared her real attack. The young Ljósálfar was down, his own, stronger magic trumped without a source to draw from. Laedwynn smiled and poured on her violent shadow. She would rend the boy to nothing.

  From out of nowhere, a fervent tunnel of wind trapped her, spinning her wildly into the air. Panicking, Laedwynn let go of her shadow magic as she was dashed against the ground. Winded, she got to her feet.

  Meanwhile, the Ljósálfar had recovered from Laedwynn’s attack. He stood facing her, breathing deeply, his skin raw and bleeding.

  “I will raze the flesh from your bones, dark-spawn!” he growled in their native tongue.

  “I will devour your coward heart, cloud-licker!” spat Laedwynn.

  The two elves leapt at each other across the expanse of ground as spells formed in their hands.

  A lightning-bolt split the earth between them. Both elves stopped mid-stride and searched for the source.

  Stephen stood in the doorway to his home, his cane pointing at the two elves and crackling with potential. “I will incinerate the first of you to make a move,” he said slowly.

  Laedwynn and John looked at each other then back at Stephen.

  “Now move apart and dispel your magic,” commanded the old man.

  The Dokkalfar and Ljósálfar glowered at each other for a moment. John released his summoned light and walked several paces away from Laedwynn, his eyes flicking between Stephen and the dark-elf. Laedwynn smiled slyly and folded her arms.

  “That’s better,” said Stephen. “Now explain what is going on. What brings you here to my home, Prince?”

  Laedwynn gasped and arched an eyebrow at the light-elf.

  “I was looking for Mary, Mr Horn,” replied John steadily despite his wounds. “I was worried when she didn’t turn up for school after the storm. My fears were justified when I found tracks leading from the woods into your grounds. I crossed the boundary seeking to give you aid. It was then that I was attacked by this filthy mud-dweller,” he said pointing at Laedwynn.

  “That filthy mud-dweller happens to be my grandson’s wife,” replied Stephen coldly.

  John gasped and looked at Laedwynn.

  “Did she attack you before or after you set off the alarm and reduced my gargoyles to slag?” asked Stephen.

  “Afterwards,” said John meekly.

  “Right, so she attacked you after the magical alarm went off – the same magic that has protected my family for generations without incident. The magic that you have reduced to piles of rubble?” said Stephen, pointing his cane at the smoking ruins.

  “Yes,” said John.

  Stephen scowled at John. “I do hope that is enough damage you are planning on doing to my house today. As you can see, we have had more than our share recently,” he said, indicating the building.

  Laedwynn smirked at John and started to walk away.

  “Where do you think you’re going? I have words for the both of you,” snapped Stephen.

  Laedwynn froze in place.

  “I will not have the two of you tearing up the county on some mad, pointless death feud,” lectured Stephen, stabbing the cane at both elves. “If either of you wish to stay here in Pennysworth and all of the safety it provides, I demand you take an oath.” He gave both Laedwynn and John a look which plainly told them he would not take no for an answer.

  Laedwynn studied her feet while John went a deeper shade of red.

  “Make peace or leave,” said Stephen. “Those are your only options.”

  “I will swear to peace,” said John through gritted teeth. “Though my ancestors howl and curse my name.”

  “I swear,” purred Laedwynn mockingly. “No harm blow-hard when he in the Pennysworth.”

  “Good enough,” said Stephen, relaxing finally. “Would you care to come inside, your Grace? We have wine and can see to your wounds. Laedwynn, would you please fetch your husband.”

  Laedwynn disappeared inside, giving John a dirty look in passing.

  “Pay no attention to her, your Grace. This way, please,” said Stephen as he led the way inside.

  John paused in the foyer. “By the creator! What happened here?” he exclaimed.

  “Ah,” replied Stephen. “We will get to that in due time. I’ll fetch us something to drink first.”

  Remy appeared at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily as his skin flushed red. “Stephen, we need to talk.”

  Stephen sighed. “Please, take a seat through here,” he told John as he indicated the door to the sunroom. “I won’t be long.”

  John gave Remy a disapproving look before he turned on his heel and walked into the sunroom, closing the door behind him.

  “What the hell, Stephen,” whispered Remy. “You bought one of them into this house? Are you mad?”

  “Relax,” soothed the older man. “It’s all part of the greater plan. Now fetch a bottle of our best pinot and put on your best behaviour. We need to charm the pants off this one.”