The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  The swirling sandstorm rushed in around them, reducing visibility, making Kerian worry that he risked losing sight of Octavian again, when they suddenly burst out from under the storm and found themselves sliding down a sand dune towards what appeared to be an abandoned settlement. It lay half buried by the migrating sands, with only the odd weathered structure rising above the dunes, as if the desert were an endless blanket slowly smothering it. The storm raged behind them, sand cascading down in translucent orange and cream curtains.

  The gypsy charged ahead, leading Kerian down between crumbling buildings that appeared to have been recently uncovered by the cyclone. On some sides sand piled higher than the buildings, pouring in through open windows and filling long abandoned cellars. Fallen pillars lay like dropped children’s toys along the edge of a thoroughfare that led further into the partially buried city. It was along this route that they galloped, Kerian looked back frequently, checking the position of the skeletal horde chasing them against the backdrop of the screaming wall of sand. His face fell as he realised the number of ghostly troops charging down the dune numbered in the hundreds! They needed somewhere to hide, somewhere to defend themselves from these terrifying beings.

  Octavian seemed to have the same idea, leading them confidently through an opening guarded by two immense statues of cloaked figures, their features eroded away by the desert sands. He turned down a shadowed passageway that opened into a wide courtyard piled with soft drifting sand and rows of indistinct statues, silent sentinels lining a pathway to a building on the far side. The riders charged along it without hesitation, arriving at an ominous squat building largely buried within the sand. However scary and foreboding the creepy crumbling ruin looked, it had one outstanding factor, it appeared to have a largely intact and intimidating stone door! His guide dropped from his horse and ran to the door, looking for a way to open the formidable gateway and secure them sanctuary inside.

  Toledo skidded to a halt on the cobbles allowing Kerian to dismount and assist. Octavian was beckoning furiously, struggling to turn a wheel at the side of the entrance that had long seized from lack of use. They grabbed either side of the wheel and tried with all of their might, their faces red with the effort, grunting and groaning as they strived to get the wheel to turn, before Octavian noticed there was a lock on the wheel. He pulled out the bolt, bending to the task again and ever so slowly, the massive door started to rise with an ominous creaking and an outburst of ancient disturbed fetid air.

  More shrieks and moans filled the air, angry sounds of the skeletal legion searching for the two travellers amid the ruins. Octavian nodded at Kerian, indicating he take the full strain of the wheel whilst the gypsy gathered the horses and ushered them through the entrance in a task that felt like it lasted a lifetime. The horses shied and neighed, clearly spooked by all the tension about them, with first one horse then another going inside the opening and then trying to get out again. Kerian grunted with the effort, his muscles shaking with the constant stress and weight, sweat running down his face and trickling down the small of his back, his leg muscles cramping from the effort before Octavian finally poked his head out of the opening.

  “Why are you still out there?” he enquired. “There is a mechanism inside here that keeps the door open. I wedged it ages ago.” Kerian looked daggers at his companion before carefully letting go of the wheel, only to find the door did indeed remain open. His look instantly changed to one of concern as shambling jerking skeletons started to enter the courtyard and run towards them across the open space, screaming for reinforcements as they came.

  “Now! Now!” Octavian gestured, pulling Kerian through the doorway as ten of the monstrous creatures passed the centre of the courtyard and began to pick up speed, sensing their prey was cornered.

  “The door! Shut the door!” Kerian screamed out. The creatures were getting closer, rusting armour hanging loosely from bony limbs, spiked weapons flashing through the air. “You better make this quick!” A pennant tipped spear came hurting through the air to clatter across the floor into the darkness, emphasising Kerian’s earlier demand for haste.

  Octavian flashed a cocky smile, waiting a few more agonising moments before pulling at something on the inside of the doorframe. The massive stone slab came crashing down, with a deafening rumble, crushing several of the skeletons flat, splintering bones, snapping spines and sending shattered metatarsals and limbs spinning across the floor at Kerian’s feet. The two men and their horses were plunged into complete darkness that seemed filled with cloying dust and sand. Kerian tried to still his pounding heart, struggled to take in a full breath and then finally, started to nervously laugh, despite the fact he could see nothing at all and could only hear the horses jostling anxiously behind him and the muffled pounding of what could only be several skeleton warriors on the solid outside door.

  “Well this is cosy!” Kerian joked, relief flooding through him. A scuffling sound came from over in Octavian’s direction, before a flicker of light burst into being. The gypsy lifted a torch from a sconce by the door and soon had a flickering flame dancing from the end. Moments later another torch was discovered and both men stood looking at the blocked entranceway listening to the increasingly loud booming sounds without, as more and more monsters tried to gain access.

  “I wonder how long the door will hold?” Kerian asked. “They do seem rather determined to get to us.”

  “We should be fine.” Octavian replied walking back over to the door mechanism, a frown appearing on his face. “That’s odd.” He muttered, checking first his side and then glancing over to Kerian’s. “There seems to be no means to open the door from this side. How strange. I guess we won’t be leaving this way. The door creaked and shifted with a sudden snapping sound and lifted an inch from the floor, allowing billowing sand to rush in and causing the torches to flicker alarmingly before it smashed back down again. The skeletal warriors were indeed persistent. Kerian’s hands shot out in a vain effort to try and hold the door down and imagined he could feel the vibrations of the stone through his palms.

  “Can we at least wedge the door whilst it is shut?” He asked, suddenly aware of some rough grooves on the inner surface of the door. “I mean; we wouldn’t want to make it easy for them, would we?”

  “I think so, yes!” Octavian replied, stepping forward and slipping a bolt through the mechanism to firmly jam the device, keeping it tightly closed. “However, as you can see there are no handles to the wheel on this side of the door. We are definitely trapped in here.”

  Kerian’s hand felt something sharp and jagged catch his palm as he reassuringly patted the locked door. He pulled his hand away and moved in closer with the torch to identify what it was. A jagged human nail hung there, adhered to the doorway by a dark sticky residue. The horses shifted nervously as a long drawn out moan echoed from out of the darkness behind them.

  “You know it has just occurred to me that we might not be alone in here.” Kerian stated, his face suddenly pale.

  “You don’t say.” Octavian replied, his cocky smile noticeably missing from his face. “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Now hold the book tightly, sense the power within.” Brother Richard stated calmly. “You know that magic users take the energy from gemstones to create their spells, an act that is ultimately destructive, destroying beauty for what is basically short-term gain. We use our steadfast faith in our gods to know instinctively that the magic will be there when we need it to be. This is why we use artefacts such as this book to channel the forces that we need.” He pulled up the sleeves of his pale blue robes and took in the younger kneeling monk beside him, eyes closed, an image of serenity, the book Richard desperately coveted held tightly in his arms.

  “What if the magic isn’t there when I need it?” Marcus asked opening his eyes and yawning before noticing the attention his mentor was showing to him. “What if when I release the power, I cannot
control it?” Hesitation sounded clearly in the young monk’s voice.

  “Faith will guide you.” Richard replied, his brow creasing as he tried to hide his frustration with Marcus’s obvious weakness, behind a false mask. “Am I keeping you up?”

  “No… it’s just that I have been having trouble sleeping recently. My mind is a whirl with all these teachings and I lay awake at night tossing and turning on a bed that has become increasingly uncomfortable of late. It’s as if my mattress has suddenly lost its stuffing and my pillow has become decidedly flat.” Marcus confessed.

  Richard moved to reply then paused. Funnily enough he had been experiencing a similar situation, he had just thought that the reduced movement of the ship was the reason for his insomnia. He stole a quick glance around the open deck of the El Defensor and then back down at the book held in Marcus’s hands. No one was around, this was his chance.

  “Why don’t you let me try the book and show you?” he asked. The younger novice did not hesitate in passing the book over for Richard’s eager hands to hold, making the monk feel like mocking Marcus’s innocence, only for static electric sparks to jump from the cover causing Richard to almost drop it in pain.

  “I’m so sorry.” Marcus apologised, fumbling to catch the large blue leather book. “The book was matched to me back in Catterick. Only Abbot Brialin was able to hold it afterwards. I’m not sure how to undo his magic or I would hand this burden over in a second. You can wrap it in something to stop the shocks…”

  “Yes but then because I am not in direct contact with the book the magic won’t work!” Richard snapped, rubbing his hand to trying to return the circulation to it. His outward anger equally directed within. The damned book did not want him to hold it! Marcus was such a weak soul, with no vision as to the real power wielding the book could bring. Why did it refuse to match with him, someone so much stronger in character than this novice? He wanted this book to regain all he had lost at Stratholme. The book was right there for the taking but it might as well have been on another world for all the good he could do with it.

  “Have you even opened the book?” Brother Richard snapped. “Conversed with the magical knights within?”

  “I was told never to open the book unless asked to.” Marcus replied, nervously rolling a bead on his rosary between his fingers, his body language clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “I am the Bearer of the book, not its master.”

  “Well how do you expect to understand the book; how do you expect to become proficient with its powers?” Richard asked. “Isn’t it about time you took command of your fears for the better of the others, of this crew? You know you need to. They require all the help they can get. What happens if it’s a matter of life and death and you sit there fiddling with your rosary? If you have no faith in your own abilities, you will never get the book to work as it should.” Marcus hung his head in shame, the words delivered by Brother Richard like a lash to him. Richard realised he had maybe pushed too hard; it was time to change tact.

  “I am right here to help you.” He coaxed slyly. “Why don’t you open the book now to check all is well with what it carries?”

  “I can try.” Marcus replied, changing his position to sit cross legged and place the book in his lap. He looked down at the worn blue cover, the design across it showing a series of holy knights and a solitary monk holding aloft a smaller representation of the book in his arms. Double locks prevented the book from opening and Richard’s keen sight noticed there were some faint scratch marks around the actual lock openings, as if someone had tried to open the book in the past. Well he knew they would not have been successful in that undertaking. No one had ever picked a lock on a Bearer’s tome.

  Marcus took a deep breath then pressed his thumbs against the locks, closing his eyes and muttering a small incantation under his breath that Brother Richard, despite leaning closer, failed to hear correctly. The locks clicked softly open and the clasps yawned wide but the young monk paused as his hand moved to the edge of the cover, a slight tremor visible in his fingertips.

  “What are you waiting for?” Brother Richard asked. “Get on with it, have faith in your ability to command what lies within.”

  Marcus steadied himself then flipped open the book to reveal what looked like a beautifully illustrated colour plate that filled the first page. It showed a darkened room, much like a drab prison cell, with damp stone slabs so cunningly illustrated you could almost reach out and touch the moisture with your fingertip. Mossy growth of vivid greens appeared almost luminous beneath the flickering torchlight from sconces attached to the walls. Bunkbeds, some occupied with sleeping forms whilst others had sheets drawn over the heads of those who had clearly fallen in battle were placed about the cell, armour and personal belongings could be seen in the shadows, hidden under the bunks, or perched on small intimate shelves but this was a barracks like no other Marcus had seen illustrated.

  For one thing the illustration was so real! The attention to detail quite incredible. There was even a discarded playing piece from a board game lying on the floor that even as the two monks looked on began to gently rock backwards and forwards in rhythm with the movement of the El Defensor.

  Movement at the far side of the illustrated room caught the novice’s eye, as a knight suddenly appeared from between the line of a solid wall and a row of bunks, only by careful examination was it clear that the room must have continued off into the shadows and was much larger than the reader initially suspected, the illustration a clever optical illusion. The knight himself at first appeared to be a simple figure but as Marcus and Richard looked on the details in his armour and clothes began to sharpen into focus and become lifelike. The warrior suddenly looked up, shading his blue eyes as if impossibly blinded by the sunlight the open book had allowed to be directed into the darkened room.

  “It’s beautiful.” Brother Richard whispered. “I could never have imagined it so.” A cloud passed in front of the sun above their heads, creating a corresponding shadow to pass over the illustration in the book.

  “Bearer Marcus.” The knight addressed him. “Is it time? Are you in need of our service?” Marcus’s mouth was dry, his response a parched squeak of a voice. He recognised this knight from his dealings with him in Stratholme.

  “I don’t need you at this time Bartholomew,” he replied. “I am just checking on your welfare.”

  “Our fare is not well.” The knight sank to one knee and gestured around at the still forms in the bunks about him. “Several of us are too ill to rise from our beds. Our wounds do not heal as they should. It is as if there is no godly power left to aid us, as if our very faith is being tested. Bearer you are a person of faith; in your hands we should be strong, instead this is happening. What have you done to us?”

  “You see what happens when you have no faith?” Marcus jerked his head up from the page as Richard whispered the accusation into his ear.

  “I have faith,” Marcus replied, ashamed at having to defend his beliefs.

  “Yes but your faith is not as strong as mine.” Brother Richard advised. The knight remained silently on his knees, watching the conversation with a dark expression. A second knight walked around the corner and advanced to stand just behind his kneeling companion.

  “Is it time for us to be called?” this fellow warrior asked.

  “I am afraid not Tobias.” Bartholomew replied. “It is as we feared. Brother Marcus remains the Bearer. This is the reason why we are not healing.” The second knight looked up into Marcus’s face, his features now set in an angry frown.

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Tobias threatened, moving towards the front of the illustration, even as his hand reached for the sword at his belt. “Abbot Brialin should never have given you this position of trust. He should never have showed such faith in a man who obviously has so little of his own.”

  “I have faith.” Richard stated from over Marcus’s shoulder.

  “W
hat are you saying?” Marcus turned to Richard, initially forgetting the open book, his face seeking the meaning behind the monk’s leading words. “What do you mean?”

  “He means your time as a Bearer will be up when I finally stand before you.” Tobias threatened from inside the book. “Release me from the book now. Let me put right what you have made so terribly wrong. Let me…”

  “What are you looking at?” Colette asked.

  “Nothing.” Marcus stammered, slamming the book closed and hurriedly clicking the locks back into place. “Nothing at all… I’m sorry, I need to go now. I’ll speak to you later.” He swiftly got to his feet and tucked the blue book under his arm before heading towards his cabin.

  Brother Richard let out an exasperated breath as he watched Marcus descend the companionway, leaving Richard suddenly alone with the young woman who had disrupted their session.

  “Did I interrupt something important?” Colette asked, noting his glowering visage. Brother Richard took in the mage’s petite form, her long flowing blonde hair, soft leather boots and rune patterned robes. She was dragging a rune etched long sword along the deck that was nearly as long as she was tall. Mages were so clumsy and over the top with their magic. If he had the power of the ledger, he would show people like her exactly where true power lay.

  “Nothing important at all.” Richard smiled. “Nothing we will not revisit at a later time when there is less chance of interruption.” He turned away leaving Colette open mouthed at his rudeness. She stood there for a long time, standing by the starboard rail looking out across the water to the dense jungles on the far shore, her mind replaying the events and trying to fathom what she had inadvertently disrupted. Maybe, it would have been better to have simply moved towards the foredeck leaving the two men alone but she had wanted, no needed, some level of kinship with other members of the crew.