The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  Thomas took in the stranger’s clothes which looked like the uniform of a Roman legionnaire. Laminated black and gold strip cuirass armour with a Pteruges leather skirt, a light grey Sagum cloak fastened by a Fibula brooch in the shape of a pyramid also in black and gold. The only thing not gleaming on this magnificent creature was worn and battered scabbards strung across the Minotaur’s shoulders which held some familiar looking long swords. The captain looked again, walking around the visitor, his eye noticing the tell-tale scar below the Minotaur’s ear.

  “Rauph?” Thomas asked, awe struck at the transformation of his friend from a scruffy shaggy monster into this sleek regal looking figure. “Is that really you?”

  “I feel so stupid.” Rauph replied.

  “Rauph… Our mangy navigator? No way!” Weyn gasped, getting off the couch to walk around his colleague offering admiring comments. “Now I don’t know who you are but I want our shaggy friend back please.”

  “I am Rauph.” The navigator replied, clearly feeling a lack of confidence in his new attire.

  “By all the gods. Our Rauph truly is a prince among these creatures.” Ives commented from the balcony. Thomas took stock of the Minotaur, taking in Ives words. It was true, if there was ever a picture of a regal and elegant Minotaur prince, this was it.

  “Rauph. This is incredible.” Thomas said, relief flooding through him as he realised his friend was safe. “I have so many questions to ask you. They did not hurt you did they.”

  “They cut off all of my hair.” Rauph replied, his eyes growing moist. “And they polished my horns!” he shook his head woefully, looking like a puppy that had just been given a reluctant bath. “I have never been so embarrassed.”

  A dull thump came from the balcony, causing Ives to turn and Weyn to reach for his bow. Low curses sounded as the mysterious figure tried to secure his perilous grip on the marble balcony.

  “Any time you want to lend a hand.” Mathius groaned, struggling to pull himself up over the edge. He collapsed onto the marble with a sigh. “I see that you are all coping badly with your captivity.” He remarked, spotting Ives still holding the bowl of fruit and chewing merrily. “What’s with the new guy?”

  “Hello Mathius,” Rauph waved cheerily. “Was there something wrong with the stairs?”

  “Well you certainly brush up well.” Mathius replied, rolling onto his back and gasping to catch his breath on the cool marble floor, deep scratches and grazes all over his weary features and hands. “You have no idea what I have gone through to get up here!”

  “Why have you come to us Rauph?” Thomas asked, ignoring the groans from the assassin. “What plans do they have for us?”

  “Everyone is really friendly,” Rauph replied, before scrunching his forehead in deep thought. “They want us to have a great feast and are inviting everyone from the El Defensor to celebrate us rescuing a prince they thought was long dead. Oh, and they all keep calling me Kristoph and I told them so many times that my name is Rauph but they don’t seem to listen.”

  “Everyone? The whole crew?” Thomas asked. “I’m not happy about that. There is no way I am leaving the ship unmanned. When is this feast?”

  “Dusk tonight.” Rauph stated. “Apparently I’m the guest of honour. We all have to witness the setting sun on the pyramid and be blessed.”

  “I don’t like this and I certainly do not trust our benefactors” Thomas stated coldly. “Something is not right. We have all seen the brutality they initially showed towards us, yet now they all want to be nice. I need to get back to the ship and warn the crew.”

  “That isn’t going to happen.” Rauph replied. “They want to extend their friendship to you and offer you baths and pampering like they did to me. A phalanx of troops will be sent to the docks to extend the invitations to the crew and the serving girls are on their way here already. Just a word of advice. Don’t let them take your hair.” A knock sounded on the door, ending the discussion.

  “That’s probably them.” Rauph warned.

  “Ives, hide Mathius!” Thomas snapped. Ives ran out onto the balcony, pulling a throw from behind Weyn and dropping the archer heavily back into his couch. He threw the sheet over Mathius’s prone form just as the door opened and several slave girls walked in with towels and fresh changes of clothes.

  “We have come to take you all to the baths.” The first petite slave informed them. “Please follow us.”

  “One moment.” Thomas replied gently grabbing the young girl by the shoulders and easing her back towards the open door. “We need a private moment with our friend, can you please wait outside. Two minutes?” Thomas promised ushering her outside and closing the door.

  “Oh I’m all for that!” Mathius smiled, pulling the throw off himself and making Ives catch the bowl of fruit that had served to complete his disguise as an occasional table. “Baths with the ladies.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Thomas replied coldly, turning to Rauph. “When are the troops expected at the dock?”

  “Within the hour.” Rauph replied.

  “Okay, Weyn, Ives, let’s not ruffle any feathers and do what they want. Let’s go with the serving girls.”

  “My plan exactly,” Mathius replied limping towards the door.

  “As I said before Mathius, I’m afraid not.” Thomas restated.

  “Why?” the assassin moaned. “They are just outside the door.”

  “And you are not supposed to be here!” Thomas shot back. “You are the one person they have no idea is with us. You need to get back to the ship and warn the crew.”

  “This is so unfair.” Mathius groaned. “Okay I’ll come with you all and slip out the door.”

  “No one must see you!” Thomas shot back. “You need to go back the way you came in.” Mathius looked over towards the marble balcony and groaned anew.

  “Over the balustrade?” he questioned.

  “Off the balcony.” Thomas confirmed.

  “We must move faster.” Rauph butted in looking slightly agitated. “Mother likes things done straight away. She doesn’t like to wait.”

  “Is that really your mother?” Thomas asked, turning from the crestfallen assassin to regard his navigator once more.

  “I do remember her.” Rauph confessed. “But it is all really blurred. I can see images but nothing really makes sense.”

  “Okay let’s go.” Ives interrupted still holding his bowl of fruit and heading for the door. “I can’t remember the last time I had a truly relaxing bath.”

  “Neither can we!” Weyn jibed.

  Thomas turned back to Mathius and clicked his fingers to grab the man’s attention. The scowl that returned showed the captain that his clicking fingers was one step too far but time was not on their side to argue rules of etiquette.

  “I do not want the ship left unmanned for any reason. Feign sickness, important repairs, anything… but do not leave our ship unmanned for even a moment.” Mathius looked at the two men eager to pass through the door to the baths and then back at the balcony and the perils that lay beneath it.

  “Go back to the ship.” He muttered. “Save the day again! Oh how I wish for those good old days when I simply killed someone and then went on my merry way.”

  * * * * * *

  The shifting orange and white sands of the Vaarseeti Desert did not whisper as they were carried aloft by constant winds to wander and spin across seemingly endless dunes. Instead they either sounded like a persistent irritating hiss, or as Kerian was now experiencing, a fully-fledged roar.

  Pulling the remains of his hastily fashioned keffiyeh headscarf tighter about his face, Kerian vainly attempted to prevent the coarse grains of sand from hitting areas of exposed skin and scorching them. Every step forward was unsteady, his weight causing the sands to slip beneath him, using all of his strength to simply stand let alone lead a horse through the shifting mountains of terracotta and cream. This was a torment like no other and the constant buffeting from
the wind was depleting his energy supplies much quicker than he ever anticipated. After what seemed an eternity, he finally managed to lead Toledo down into the protective lee of a dune, offering some limited respite from the sandstorm.

  Kerian finally began to make sense of his surroundings as the sound of the abrasive storm eased. It was a relief he could hear something other than the constant hissing of sand hitting the material of his cloak and scarf. He hung his head in exhaustion, gasping as the shrieking wind continued unabated above him, blown sand from the ridges of the surrounding dunes arcing off like crests of breaking orange waves before falling to the ground about him as an arid rain.

  Octavian sat patiently ahead, sitting astride his own horse and wearing a smug grin on his face that instantly made Kerian consider walking over and removing it by force. His companion had been overly self-righteous during the last few days of hard travel and he appeared to be sadistically enjoying the assorted tortures he was putting Kerian through.

  “That was really good.” Octavian stated, slowly clapping his sand coated colleague, “You managed almost two dunes before you had to stop this time.” Kerian gritted his teeth and choked down a venomous reply. He had to admit to himself he was in an alien world with strange savage rules and unfortunately, he needed to rely on Octavian more and more as they travelled further through this hostile desert.

  They had slipped into a tedious routine since leaving the ruined watchtower, despite Kerian’s attempts to smooth over their forced relationship. Octavian always took the lead, Kerian assuming the position of rear-guard, with discussion between them sparse and normally derogatory and at Kerian’s expense, until they finally made camp each night. Although Kerian liked the time to think and observe the changing vegetation and wildlife on the trail, he found there was only so much cactus and dashing hares he could take.

  Their journey continued this way for several days, observing the vegetation becoming sparser and the colour of the ground slowly changing from cracked soil to drier and more barren crumbling rock and sand. Kerian realised quite early on that Octavian was an excellent hunter. He often made excuses of checking the surrounding area after their evening meal and slipped away for a few hours, managing to bring back something worthwhile to cook for the following day.

  His choice of supplies obtained by his less than honourable rolling of dice also appeared to be a blessing, not least of which the headscarf Kerian now wore and three large felt blankets that Octavian unrolled every evening for them to rest upon. Kerian soon found out that the desert, despite appearing lifeless, was far from it.

  Crimson scorpions lay just under the surface of the sand and came out at night looking for places to hole up for the following day. Any rocky overhang, unattended saddlebag or a naive traveller’s boot were all fair game to set up home. Octavian had almost let Kerian put on his boot with one inside, before appearing to reconsider and warning him to empty the boot out and reveal his nocturnal lodger. When the scorpion had fallen onto the blanket it had frozen in place not moving as if the soft surface upset it somehow, allowing Octavian to stab it in the back of its carapace with his dagger and hoist it up for Kerian to see.

  “This is why we sleep on felt.” He remarked. “The scorpions don’t like it so they won’t crawl onto this at night. Make sure you do not move too close to the edge whilst you sleep as the sting of a crimson scorpion can paralyse a limb and to be honest even with the four limbs you have, you are still having problems moving.”

  Another morning found Kerian awoken and informed by his gracious guide that he was lying on top of a shimmering sidewinder. When he had looked around the felt blanket there were small pieces of crimson scorpion scattered all around him, the external shells cracked open, as if something had eaten the creatures even as they had gathered around Kerian in the night. When he stood to his feet, boots firmly in place after his earlier scorpion experience, his blanket had moved as if alive. Carefully lifting the edge had revealed a silvery four-foot-long serpent that hissed disapprovingly at being disturbed before it slithered off across the hot sands to find another place to hide from the suns daytime heat leaving a tell-tale sinuous track behind it.

  “The Sidewinder is a smart snake.” Octavian had informed his shocked companion, with yet another smug look. “It finds warmth in the chill of the desert night and waits for the scorpions to come to it instead of wasting valuable energy hunting for them. You could learn something from this. It is not too late to return to Wellruff and if we wait maybe your belongings can come back to us as the market moves around.”

  The desert dunes took on a ghostly shimmering appearance at night and could easily be mistaken for waves at sea, heightening Kerian’s sense of isolation from his friends back on the El Defensor. Sleep did not come easily with the crawling creatures of the desert threatening to share his bedroll. Black and purple coloured salamanders made strange ‘pick pock’ sounds as they raced across the sands using their widespread flat padded feet and whipping tails to traverse the soft surface beneath them. The whistling winds at these times created a haunting sound that echoed about the dunes, with Octavian joking it was the tormented dead making the noise, struggling to make their way free from the sands that entombed them. The guide post bells rang gently as the wind moved them, however finding each subsequent one marking the trail was another part of the frustration that travelling the Vaarseeti seemed to promote.

  The desert constantly moved like something alive. Sometimes trail posts could be found high and free from the dunes, the tarnished bells ringing softly several feet above their heads. Others had either fallen over or been swallowed by the migrating dunes. The further they advanced into the desert the softer the sands became, engulfing heavy boots and pulling them deeply into the shifting material beneath. The relentless heat, seared down from the shimmering sun, drying mouths and making voices rasp…

  “Did you hear a word I said?” Octavian shouted, nudging his horse closer. Kerian shook his head to clear it realising that his guide had been talking to him whilst he was reflecting on his experiences.

  “I’m really sorry,” Kerian replied, getting a mouthful of swirling sand for his trouble. “I’m absolutely exhausted walking up and down dunes. Why can’t we go along the bottom of this one where there is some degree of shelter and pick up the trail when we get to the far end?”

  “Have you any idea how far that could be?” Octavian replied, brushing drifting sand from his clothes. “It could add hours to our route… maybe even days at the rate you are travelling.”

  “I’m not as sprightly as you.” Kerian replied. “You have to understand that my stamina is not as endless as yours.” He frowned, more in frustration at himself, knowing that the missing amulet with the emerald inside would have made him at least Octavian’s equal had he still worn it. He needed to catch up with those merchants and reclaim his treasures the faster the better.

  Taking a drink from his water skin to clear his mouth, Kerian observed Octavian looking up at the next dune towering above them and then followed to the pinnacle with his eyes to see where their passage would take them if they moved off the trail. He seemed to be thinking long and hard before nodding his head and then said the words Kerian desperately wanted to hear.

  “Okay then we will try it just for this dune but then it’s back to the main trail. At least we can ride this part so maybe we will pick up some time if we are lucky.” He tucked in his headscarf and turned his mount, dragging Dorian the donkey along with him.

  Kerian turned to Toledo and met the cream stallion’s stare head on.

  “Don’t even think of starting anything.” He warned, before grabbing hold of the saddle to steady himself. “I’m just going to empty my boots and we can be on our…” If a stallion could display an evil smile, Toledo managed it, instantly moving sideways trying to tip Kerian from his one-legged stance but his rider was well experienced with stubborn animals and kept his balance, holding onto the pommel and pulling himself up. Ke
rian swung his leg over the saddle and gained his seat, before cracking the reins and digging in his heels to move his rebellious mount after Octavian, even as his guide slowly disappeared into the swirling sands.

  His boots would have to wait until later.

  * * * * * *

  “Can you hear a trail bell now?” Octavian asked, perplexed and clearly annoyed.

  “I thought I heard one over there!” Kerian shouted, pointing towards another orange and cream streaked dune that bore a clear resemblance to several other dunes they had passed in the last few hours.

  “The trail has to be here somewhere.” Octavian yelled back in exasperation. “We need to keep looking.”

  “Why not follow our footsteps back to where we came from.” Kerian suggested, blinking his eyes and trying to dislodge the sand that had gathered around his face and upper torso. Octavian stormed over to him and for a second Kerian thought he was about to strike him, instead his guide snatched Toledo’s bridle and turned the horse around before gesturing at the floor.

  “What footsteps do you suggest we follow?” he asked over the howling wind.

  Kerian unclenched the fist he had made to defend himself and looked down at the rippled sand, expecting to see the signs of their passage, only to realise that even the most recent tracks were already being obscured by the ever-moving sands.

  “Oh by Adden!” Kerian cursed, his eyes meeting Octavian’s and realising with sinking certainty that they should never have left the trail. He waited for the expletives and accusations that were bound to follow, but the gypsy had already turned his mount and was moving away, heading for the nearest dune in an attempt to get to the top, Dorian the donkey complaining loudly in his wake.