The Man With No Hands

by Toby Neighbors

  ***

  Crucifus wanted to jump into the fight, but the treetop canopies were too thick for his massive body to move through, and he knew that one tiny blast of fire could set the whole forest ablaze. The best he could do was snap at the strange creature who had landed on the platform, even though his neck wasn’t long enough to reach the beast. From the corner of his eyes he saw Feray diving off the platform. The woman was fearless in many ways, yet humble with her power. His guess was that she had rushed away to protect her fledgling, but he couldn’t be certain. Some might propose that she was fleeing the fight in terror, but a human jumping from the high platform was more terrifying than the appearance of the strange creature.

  The great dragon watched helplessly as the elves scattered. More flying creatures soared through the trees, their long, articulated talons grabbing at the elves. The city was in chaos and Crucifus roared in anger.

  “Stand! Fight!” He bellowed. “Do not panic!”

  He was about to say more, but a sudden weight dropped onto his foreleg. As Crucifus raised his long neck from the canopy of branches and leaves, a searing, tearing pain erupted on his chest. He could feel powerful claws ripping into his soft underbelly. With a roar the big dragon jumped clear of the trees, his massive wings beating hard to raise him up into the night sky. The moon was out and one glance showed a huge eagle hanging from him, its powerful talons digging hard into his flesh. Normally, no animal would dare get so close to the massive dragon, and even the softer scales on his underside would resist an animal’s claws, but this creature was filled with dark magic. It was the size of a small dragon and fearless even though Crucifus was much larger.

  The huge red dragon filled its lungs with air, and spewed fire across his stomach. The eagle dropped away just before being immolated. It spread its wings and swopped down above the treetops. Crucifus turned to follow, but the eagle dropped back into the forest canopy where the dragon couldn’t follow and it carried a hunk of the dragon’s belly with it. The wound wasn’t serious, but it was vexing just the same. Crucifus could still hear the screams below, and the great dragon felt helpless. Suddenly, a shock ricocheted up from the forest below. Powerful magic was being channeled and Crucifus knew the evil sorcerer was there, only the big dragon couldn’t reach him. A cold fear shot through the dragon, one that couldn’t be managed with fire. Another ripple of angry magic struck and suddenly one of the massive forest trees was falling.

  Crucifus circled as a hole opened in the canopy. The big dragon had to be careful as he flew downward, but he managed to land just behind Feray, his massive wings barely finding room to fill with air and slow his descent.

  ***

  Feray heard Crucifus land behind her, but she couldn’t turn to see. Her eyes were searching the darkness for the evil sorcerer, or his hideous creatures, but she saw none, even the wretched men with bison legs had been carried away in the darkness. There were only the battered and broken bodies of the elves, their soft, glowing auras dimming as they lost their struggle to survive.

  “We have to help them,” Feray said. “We have to help the elves.”

  “Alright,” Orin agreed.

  It was almost total chaos. Crucifus bent his head over the fallen tree. A slow, gentle bloom of flame billowed around his face and illuminated the forest in an orangey-yellow light.

  “Luc, stay with Rolo right here. No matter what, you don’t move, understand?” Feray said in a loud voice.

  The little boy nodded, wiping away tears and flinging one arm around Rolo’s thick neck.

  “Keep him safe, Rolo,” Feray ordered.

  Safe! the dog barked in reply.

  Most of the elves on the ground were wandering aimlessly. Feray ran to the nearest and shook the bewildered elf.

  “Move the wounded,” she said loudly. “Bring those who need serious help over to me. Take everyone else to the dragon. Do it quickly and get the others to help.”

  The elf, a female with a long scratch on her neck and a rip in her tunic, nodded. Feray hurried to the closest elf lying still on the ground. She immediately began channeling healing magic. More elves were brought to her. There was no way for her to tell what was wrong with each one, so she let the magic decide. She focused the magic, coaxing it to flow up from the earth and down from the mighty trees. More and more wounded elves were brought to her, and she found that she could channel the magic into several at once. Some were too damaged and the magic resisted them. She wanted to do more, but she had to focus on those with the best chances of survival.

  The night passed like an awful dream. Most of those brought to Feray were healed, or at least saved from dying. A handful were too hurt, and even more were killed when the tree fell. The death toll was in the dozens, but would have been much higher if not for Feray and Orin fighting off the wolves. When the sun rose, Feray was too tired to continue. Orin, she discovered was by her side, and had probably been there throughout the night. Most of the elves had climbed back up to their homes in the treetops, and Luc was asleep, nestled in Crucifus’ wing.

  Orin helped Feray join her son, then went looking for their horses. Feray felt terrible, but also realized she had a role to play in saving the Western Realm. The magical races like the Ivory Elf Clan might be wiped out if she turned away or ignored the evil growing somewhere in the forest. She couldn’t live with that, but she also knew her own limits. She needed sleep and wanted to hold her son.

  “He has slept well,” Crucifus said in a quiet rumble. “Join him, Bright One. No harm shall come to you this day.”

  “Thank you, Crucifus,” Feray said with a yawn. “I saw him. I saw the sorcerer.”

  “I suspected as much,” the big dragon said.

  “He was an elf. A white one, like the others.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Crucifus said. “We should keep that fact to ourselves for now. It is enough that the vile one failed. We have survived to fight another day, and if I’m right the sorcerer will flee. That should give us the time we need to make plans.”

  “Good,” Feray said before another yawn struck. “Wake me when Orin returns.”

  “Never fear,” Crucifus said. “Now rest, you have earned it.”

  She laid down on the leathery wing, taking Luc in her arms. Crucifus wrapped his wings around his body, so that the tip where Feray lay was covered with the other wing. The big dragon curled around them and watched the forest, knowing that things in the Mossy Woodlands would never be the same.

  Chapter 18

  Horace thought the Evergreen Forest was an imposing place. The war band had discovered the signs left by the warriors charged with following the widow, showing them where she had crossed the Kinsey River. Over half of the knights and squires had refused to cross the Kinsey until a ferry could be found, which would be days, perhaps even weeks. Horace understood that they cared more about their reputation than carrying out the king’s orders. Not that Horace was in a hurry to catch up with the sorceress Feray or the king’s son, Orin. Nor was he hoping to impress anyone, he simply didn’t want to be absent if the war band managed to overtake the travelers they were pursuing.

  The forest was gloomy as the sun began to set. The huge evergreen trees made it impossible to see very far and Horace couldn’t help but feel as if he were being watched. At least they didn’t have trouble following the trail left by the group of warriors tasked with watching the widow and her son, although Horace found it odd that they left such obvious markers. Perhaps they wanted to be able to find their way out of the forest, but then all they had to do was travel east to escape the towering evergreens. Horace didn’t mind that the trail was easy to follow, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were rushing into a trap.

  When the group, about forty strong, found a decent-sized clearing just before dark, they halted and made camp. Horace saw to his horse, then built himself a small fire, before slipping out of his chain mail and leather. He kept mostly to himself even though he considered himself to be equals with
the other knights. They gave him plenty of space after having won his duel with Sir Leon, but Horace was beginning to feel the sting of loneliness. He had thought of reaching out to Sir Tolliver, but the younger man was eager to ingratiate himself within the group, and Horace had no desire to spend all his time trying to impress the other knights.

  He had a small bottle of spirits, which he sipped on to help him relax after the long day of riding. His clothes were still damp from crossing the river, but the strong liquor helped him stay warm. He also had pipe tobacco, a sweet mix that had a mild taste. He reclined on a blanket near his fire, sipping from his bottle and smoking his pipe, his eyes gazing deep into the flames as his body relaxed. The fire had burned low when the first sounds of trouble shook Horace from his languid state. He got to his feet as shouting was heard from the far side of the clearing. After staring into the fire he saw nothing across the darkened camp but the bright patches of light around the other fires. He shook out his pipe and was just about to reach for the big sword he had taken from the fallen Sir Leon, when something thick and hard clamped suddenly around his neck.

  Horace cried out in shock, his hands coming up to the thick, serpentine body that had suddenly coiled around his neck. His first thought was that some awful creature had dropped onto him from a tree, despite the fact that he was a dozen paces from the nearest tree. But then he heard the sound of large wings beating in the air above him. All around the camp there were more screams. Horace would have joined the cacophony but the coiling body around his throat had cut off his air supply.

  Horace scratched and clawed at the thick appendage around his neck, trying to pry it free but failing as he was suddenly jerked from his feet. Another coil wrapped around his left arm and shoulder. He kicked and jerked, trying to break free as he felt himself carried up into the air. His eyes were finally adjusting to the gloom and he could see the dark shapes of treetops all around him. The fires were like stars below his feet, and a sense of panic gripped him just before the lack of air caused him to black out.

  When he woke up, he was cold. Air was rushing around his body and his shoulders ached horribly. Swallowing was difficult as well. He opened his eyes, but it was too dark to make anything out. He turned his head from side to side, the muscles in his neck and back cramping hard. All he could do was lie still, but he wasn’t lying down, he realized. He was hanging. Both of his hands were numb, but as he focused on what he could feel, he realized the two serpentine creatures that had attacked him were wrapped around his shoulders and upper arms like bands of iron. What made no sense was how they were flying, snakes didn’t attack in groups, and they certainly didn’t fly. As the night passed, Horace slipped in and out of consciousness, his mind trying desperately to understand the impossible situation he had found himself in.

  At last, just before dawn, he struck on an idea. He had never been a very religious man, but the thought occurred to him that perhaps he had died. Whatever had been choking him in the Evergreen Forest had killed him, and now he was being carried away to his eternal reward, or more likely, his eternal damnation. He didn’t recall anything about snakes in the afterlife, but then again, who could say for certain. It didn’t bode well, he thought to himself, that he was in such pain and forced to endure the suffering with no explanation as to where he was being taken.

  When the sun finally appeared, light cut through the darkness and revealed the truth. It hurt to raise his head, but after catching sight of the huge raptor above him, Horace couldn’t help himself. His eyes watered from the frigid air high above the ground, yet the huge eagle was plain to see. It had dark brown feathers and a huge, curving beak that was a bright yellow color.

  Below him, far, far down from where he hung helpless in the grip of the strange avian creature, was a dense forest. The trees weren’t evergreens and with a start Horace realized he was beyond the Mountain Veil. His heart sank and he felt a tremor of fear that made his bowels feel as though they had turned to water. He wasn’t sure what was more frightening, the creature above him, or the idea of falling from such a great height. Horace had been to the top of the high tower in Glory Keep. Earl Uthar had often retreated to the top of the fortress to think as he gazed out over his domain. Horace had joined him there often enough, although he preferred to stay away from the edge of the great tower. Just looking over the crenellations made Horace nervous.

  He forced himself to turn his head to the side, despite the awful pain it caused. His neck was sore in a way he’d never experienced, but then he’d never been lifted from his feet by his neck either. As he turned his head, he was shocked by the sight of the massive, serpentine body sprouting from the feathery underside of the great eagle. He could see the thick coils around his shoulder and arm. There was no doubt that he was being held by the body of a snake, yet his mind couldn’t process how the snake and eagle had become one terrible beast.

  He turned his head the opposite direction and saw the other serpentine body, the scales glinting in the morning sunlight. When he looked beyond his own terrifying bondage, he caught sight of other similar creatures. They too carried men in their clutches. They were too far away for Horace to recognize the dangling prisoners, but he had no doubt they were his fellow knights, captured in the Evergreen Forest and carried into the Wilderness for some heinous purpose he couldn’t fathom. His mind went into a dreamlike state, refusing to process what he was seeing, and he lost track of time.

  The next thing he knew, the bird was descending and a desperate hope that he might somehow escape began to grow in his mind. Perhaps the huge eagle was tired. It had been flying all night, and carrying his weight too. If they landed in a clearing he might be able to break free and make a run for safety. Then again, the Wilderness beyond the Mountain Veil was supposed to be home to all kinds of foul beasts. Horace had heard tales of dragons and orcs, monsters and magical races. He had never believed the stories, but after being captured by a creature that defied explanation, how could he deny them any longer.

  It was possible, he realized, that the giant birds had captured him to take back to their nests where he would be fed to their young. He began to kick and scream, but the snake bodies that held him fast only tightened their grip, the coiling bodies sliding over his flesh that had been chapped from the long flight. The pain was intense, even when Horace didn’t think it could get any worse. The trees below them loomed closer and closer. It looked to Horace as if they would land right in the thick tree tops, but somehow the eagle found a gap and slipped into the canopy, the big wings extending as it the creature glided toward the ground. Horace saw a camp of sorts below him. There were fire pits and piles of what looked to be manmade implements. The ground was trampled down, and he even saw some movement in the shadows of the big trees.

  Suddenly, the snaky coils loosened and Horace felt himself slipping through the eagle’s sinuous grasp. He tried to take hold of the creature, but his hands were numb from lack of blood circulation and wouldn’t respond. Horace fell the final ten feet, hitting the ground hard and falling onto his face, unable to break his fall with his useless hands. He lay moaning, his face pressed into a mixture of rotten leaves and damp earth. Around him he heard other bodies hitting the ground, their groans and cries all too familiar to him.

  He expected some foul creature to come rushing from the trees to devour him, but instead he was bound with a rope by a strangely human figure. The rotund elf had dark, mottled skin and sharply pointed ears, but otherwise he looked like a man. The elf made no attempt to speak as he tied Horace’s feet together and bound the knight’s hands behind his back. Horace tried to struggle, but with the muscles in his neck and back locked in painful spasms and his hands tingling numbly, he was quickly subdued.

  The elf dragged him and the other captives, thirteen all told, under a huge oak tree with massive branches that were shrouded with ghostly hanging moss. Horace decided to wait and see what would happen. He couldn’t get free until his hands recovered from their lack of blood flow. The pain in
his hands was increasing and he decided that was a good sign. Soon enough he would be able to control his hands and fingers again. The other captives were awake, for the most part, and soon they would be able to work together to free themselves. But before any escape attempt could be made, the elf returned with a small cauldron hanging from a golden chain. Horace had no idea what was in the small pot, but it was smoking profusely. The elf carried it at arm’s length, waving the small cauldron near the captives. Horace held his breath for almost a minute, but eventually he was forced to breathe in the acrid smoke.

  It was obviously some foul concoction. Horace saw the other captives slumping over, not quite unconscious, but completely succumbing to whatever was in the smoking pot. Horace tried to resist, but the elf waited patiently, knowing the captives couldn’t escape before the concoction took its toll. When Horace finally inhaled the smoke burned his nose and throat, causing his eyes to water and his lungs to ache, but the sensation passed quickly. His pain vanished, and the tension in his shoulders and back eased. He felt a warm, languid peace overtake him. The desire to flee vanished as well, and he eased himself back, his eyelids feeling heavy, his mind drifting aimlessly as the elf waddled away.

  Chapter 19

  It was midday when the dragon unfurled its wings. Sunlight shone down through the canopy where the fallen tree had once stood. When Feray opened her eyes, she found the elves busy. Some were planting trees in the soft turf around the stump of the fallen tree. Others were busy carving the stump into what looked like a shrine, while still others were harvesting the wood from the trunk of the massive tree. She stretched and Luc yawned. The elves that had perished in the attack had been taken away. Feray was grateful that Luc wouldn’t have to see them. Her son had been through enough, and she longed for a way to shield him from the dangers of the world. Fortunately, the horrors he’d seen hadn’t dampened his sweet spirit. Smiling up at his mother he said in a chipper voice, “I’m hungry.”