The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  “Are you sure this is a safe choice?” Kerian asked, shivering despite the heat.

  “We don’t seem to have much choice.” Octavian replied gesturing behind him where a stumbling figure of gleaming gold burst out of the passageway. “Our friend is not one for giving up.”

  “What do you mean?” Kerian turned to note the monster and then realised it was missing one hand. “By Adden how did he catch up so fast? That’s impossible.”

  “Come on.” Octavian gestured. “The quicker we get through here the better. I just better not make a wrong turn.”

  “What was that?” Kerian turned to ask his guide, but the gypsy was off, digging his heels into his horse, spurring the mount forward. The horses cantered along the pathway, Octavian’s speed hampered by Dorian who brayed loudly in protest and who, in turn, blocked Kerian’s forward gallop. The crypts stretched away into the darkness, far beyond the illumination of the torch. As they ran past each opening Kerian prepared to slash with his sword and urge his horse to move faster, waiting for the inky blackness within the crypts to spawn some unimaginable horror.

  Kerian’s imagination ran free and unfettered. Was that a ghostly hand? A glittering undead eye? His grip tightened on the blade as he risked a look behind him to see how fast his golden one-handed opponent was gaining on them. He looked again in disbelief. The creature had disappeared.

  Now where had it gone?

  The scream came from his left, as a heavily bandaged mummy shambled from its crypt, arms outstretched, the stench of death hanging from it. Kerian turned and swung his sword, feeling the satisfaction of watching the blade slice deep and sending the bandaged head spinning away along the path. He yanked the reins, bringing Toledo under control after its spooking from the undead creature only for another groan to come from the right, his stallion shying away and sending them in the other direction.

  Kerian swung his blade up and brought it down in a chopping motion, splitting the creature’s head like kindling. He turned to check on Octavian, only to find the gypsy was in a similar predicament but struggling to control two mounts to Kerian’s one. He watched as Octavian swung his torch first to one side then the other igniting preserved bandages with a roar of triumph and causing other advancing mummies to back away as he swung the burning brand in their direction.

  Several shambling figures approached from the rear, the stench of death radiating from the creatures in waves. Putrid bandages, stained grey and brown, encased each of the shuffling bodies from head to toe. Bony metatarsals poked from the ends of limbs wrapped in figure-eight strapping, whilst frayed dressings enveloped twisted torsos long deprived of their internal organs, or wrapped heads that no longer contained brains. One of the mummified creatures moved towards Kerian, a step then a long drag as it pulled its leg behind it. Another opened its mouth, parting bandages revealing an opening all dry and dusty, devoid of a tongue. A long moan issued from its mouth as it staggered towards him.

  Octavian was already urging his stallion through the burning mummies, moving from one preserved creature to another, igniting the corpses with his torch as they struggled to escape the cleansing flame. The slowness of the creatures made it easy for the gypsy to dart in and light the bandaged corpses without difficulty. Even so, he found that the jerking paths of the monsters as they struggled with the flames were blocking off his options for escape and he had to turn the horses from the path they were following as the shambling dead relentlessly closed in around him.

  Kerian urged Toledo forwards snapping the reins, trying to coax his horse through the flaming creatures. Toledo snorted in horror, pulling one way and then another its natural fear of fire making it roll its eyes and shake its head. Kerian kept a firm hand on the reins, looking for an opening then pushing his steed through.

  Octavian shouted at Kerian, stepping forwards and plunging his torch into the nearest mummy, even as he gestured wildly in Kerian’s direction. Flames licked hungrily at the corpse’s bandages, turning the creature into a shambling pyre within seconds. Octavian attempted to shout over the groaning undead shuffling from the tombs about them but Kerian could not hear him clearly.

  “What is it.” Kerian shouted, trying desperately to understand what his companion was waving at.

  “Behind you!” Octavian shrieked.

  Kerian turned in the saddle and stared in horror as his golden nemesis lunged for him. He had the image of a golden screaming skull, now lopsided and all the more grotesque because of it, lunging for his face. He tried to parry the lunge, tried to swing up the sword and knock the monster away but it was just too fast and they collided with a crash. Kerian fell from the saddle landing badly and jarring his shoulder. He tried to roll, to get to his feet but the golden terror kept after him, batting him with its remaining hand, striking sparks from his armour and knocking the air from his frame.

  He found himself slammed up against the opening of a tomb as his stallion screamed with terror and set off after Octavian, leaving Kerian deserted. The golden skull kept trying to bite him, forcing Kerian to use his blade as a shield, his actual shield impossible to get free as it was trapped between himself and the crypt wall.

  A groan from behind made Kerian’s eyes go wide. Brittle stick fingers reached over his shoulder, clutching at his armour, teeth snapping near his neck. The golden mummy moved back to swipe at Kerian with its golden hand and the knight saw his chance, ducking the swing, allowing the monster to tear the head from the animated corpse that had been clawing at him.

  As the golden hand swept past, Kerian moved in, taking advantage and thrusting up with his blade. The weapon pierced the mummy’s shoulder where it had been injured earlier and Kerian yanked down hard, tearing the ball of the shoulder joint free and slicing through the dried muscle and tissue like it was paper. The creature’s arm dropped useless at its side and the change in weight distribution pulled the monster down to one side. Kerian dodged to the side and ran out onto the pathway, determined to put as much space as he could between himself and the golden monster which he knew in his heart of hearts was rising up yet again.

  Burning mummies lay everywhere, thick pungent smoke snaking up from their bodies where they struggled to move across the floor. Kerian ran past them, slashing out at any creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. He ran around the corner, noting that some of the undead before him were still in the initial stages of incineration and staggered to a halt.

  Octavian was on his knees, his hair grasped by the largest golden mummy yet, a tall pointed hat seated upon its head exaggerated the behemoth’s height further. Ceremonial robes about its body suggested it was a creature of high rank. The gypsy’s head snapped to one side as the monster swung him about like a child playing with a toy.

  Hundreds of undead creatures shambled and shuffled from the shadows, groaning and moaning in a bizarre sounding dirge. Other golden mummies the same size as the one that had pursued them from the ship moved forward, armed with swords bigger than Kerian could even lift. He took in the surreal vista and felt despair. There was no way he could continue to fight this. He slid the sword back into its scabbard and held his arms up indicating his surrender.

  The mummy turned his way with a rictus grin on its preserved face and although Kerian knew it was impossible, the creature appeared to chuckle. A shuffling form moved up behind the surrendering knight. He turned his face just in time to see a golden clawed hand sweep in towards his forehead and then darkness took him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Miguel Garcia sank down onto the slanting ship’s deck, his breath coming in searing gasps, his head held down in sheer exhaustion. If Malum’s deranged and twisted mind decided to eat the buccaneer right now, Miguel knew that at this moment, his resistance would be so low he would actually embrace the grisly end. He knew, with a sinking heart, that he could not keep up this pace for much longer.

  The buccaneer had eaten practically nothing since they had entered this hellish place, apart from som
e weevil-infested biscuits found in the galley of a holed tall ship, her stays and deck draped in curtains of twisted green creeper and sickly orchid blossom. The ship’s perpetual motion only added to the pirate’s feelings of nausea as the wreck twisted lazily in the slow current of the graveyard. Brackish water, alive with mosquito larvae, left his throat dry and barely quenched his thirst, but he preferred risking parasitic infection than going mad with dehydration. Miguel’s clothes had transformed from their earlier finery, his coat now adorned with stinking slime, his shirt with streaks of sticky oil and stripes of terracotta rust were ingrained into the worn leather of his boots. The dandy of old would never have recognised the gaunt figure Garcia had become.

  The length of heavy chain Miguel had been carrying across the wrecks started to grate, chink and clank, as the links slowly began to slip and tip from the haphazard pile they had made when he fell, the ever-present battle against gravity clearly one-sided as the links gathered momentum down the listing deck. A low growl at the pirate’s ear reminded him that a pair of Malum’s evil Scintarn hounds scrutinized every move he made. He turned to see a lip curled on one of his four legged guards, whilst hackles rose on another, clearly displaying the temperament of the creatures when a prisoner failed to comply with their master’s wishes. With a weary sigh, Miguel stretched out and arrested the chain’s movement.

  “I’m going okay?” he snapped. “Just give me a chance to catch my breath and I will be on my way.”

  The nearest Scintarn hound snapped its jaws inches from Miguel’s ear, making him shy away and stagger back to his feet. He stared sadly down at his boots, now streaked with an extra coat of excreta and grime from the neglected deck and sighed heavily. Would this torture never end? One exhausted footstep followed another, as the heavily laden man leant against the list of the ship, dragging the cumbersome chain behind him. The hounds jostled the buccaneer as he walked, nipping maliciously at his heels, or growling loudly to encourage Miguel to move more quickly or face becoming food for the terrifying watchdogs.

  They reached the edge of the deck and Miguel noted the descending gangway swaying precariously between his current position and a row of wrecks lashed together far below. The derelicts, secured with rope and chain, reinforced with stay and spar, formed a crude rickety bridgework that took the pirate down and away from the graveyard hub and out across the water towards a truly incredible feat of engineering around one of the archways. Miguel took a deep breath and started down the swaying path, fighting to hold onto the chain and keep his balance on the creaking and groaning structure that moved more erratically with every step.

  The current gurgled and bubbled as it flowed between the ships, floating debris nosed up against the wrecked vessels, putting extra strain on the flotilla of wrecks that practically hummed with the tension running through them. Miguel pondered what would happen if the supports should fail, sending him adrift and spiralling out along the main channel to be food for the giant eels that hunted there. As he watched from his vantage point, another wreck was added to the far end of the line as the inner hub of the graveyard continued its slow spiral to oblivion.

  Two floating platforms served as the foundations for scaffolding now stretching up and obscuring the ancient masonry of one particular archway. Somehow, Malum believed that Thomas and the El Defensor lay beyond that particular gateway. He had used Miguel’s hypnotised crew to set about erecting the skeletal framework up each side of the archway, securing the scaffolding to the ancient stonework in such a way that made it look as if they were insulating the stone. Even from here, Miguel could see the small figures of crewmen climbing up and down ladders built within the scaffolding, each one serving to carry sections of chain that were being strung across the archway and fashioned into a huge net that Malum planned to employ when the El Defensor next sailed through.

  A scream echoed across the water as an unidentified crewman, probably weak from exhaustion, fell from the top of the left strut to the archway, his limbs windmilling uselessly as he tried to slow his fall before his body smashed into the floating barge at the base of the structure. Three black hounds leapt towards the body, ripping and tearing huge chunks of the man apart, before running away with their spoils to eat them at their leisure, leaving the remains of the carcass to slip into the muddy water. Almost instantly several jolts vibrated along the bridge, causing Miguel to stop his own journey and catch his balance or risk falling again. The bumping and jostling reduced as one of the giant sea eels completed its swim along the underside of the unsteady flotilla and arrowed across the water to the arch intent on recovering the discarded fleshy remains.

  A warning growl from behind, reminded Miguel that despite this horror, the hounds still expected him to deliver his salvaged chain; he turned to say something to the two hounds, noting the dripping saliva from their jaws and then decided not to waste his wit on them. With a resigned shrug, he continued his weary slog along the undulating route.

  The water continued churning, always in constant motion. Occasionally an explosive crack from behind Miguel signalled the death of a wreck deep within the mass of broken ships which made up the hub of the graveyard. The pirate had initially jumped at the sounds, now it was just another background sound, a characteristic of the ship’s graveyard, like a wave crashing on a rocky beach. He had grown used to the death throes of the tortured vessels grinding themselves apart; they were an erosion of history and a constant reminder of the despair permeating this place. Oh how he would love to see a beach again!

  Miguel finally arrived at the base of the scaffolding and stared up awestruck into the workings of the towering pieces of scavenged stay and mast, boom and rigging. His men moved about it like sluggish, struggling insects in a mighty web. The buccaneer craned his head up to see where the tower ended flush with the apex of the ancient stonework. You could almost step from the skeletal structure out onto the top of the stone archway, free to journey around the entire shipyard if you had the energy to do so.

  The buccaneer gathered the length of chain he was dragging behind him before dropping it onto a pile of similar rusted and algae coated links waiting to be fashioned into massive lengths for the net. Alongside was a table with a set of bolt cutters, pliers and wielding apparatus and a pile of offensive refuse that even the Scintarns stayed away from. He took the opportunity to stare over to the other side of the archway where the second set of scaffolding rose towards the mustard coloured sky. Bright glowing lights flickered, bobbed and weaved amongst the struts indicating Malum’s progress as the terrifying monster clambered up and down the structure like a voracious spider. Clearly, Malum was agitated; his flashing lights became more rapid when he was upset. Miguel did not want to see whom the poor unfortunate was that had caused the monster’s ire to rise.

  A sharp nudge against Miguel’s thigh snapped him out of his thoughts; he looked at the sleek black creature snarling at him, its evil eyes showing a hunger barely disguised, the plates along its back clicking as it pushed against him, large paws padding about the deck in agitation. The message was clear, keep moving or be eaten.

  Resolved there was no way to avoid his fate Miguel went to turn away, then realised the bolt cutters were missing from the table before him. That was strange! Where could they have gone? Before he could solve the mystery the impatient Scintarn nipped at his thigh, causing the pirate to yelp in surprise and move away as the creature desired. Its twin shadow loped over and took up sentry duty alongside its colleague, something grisly hanging from its jaws.

  A wreck spiralled alongside, dazed crew members leaping from its decks onto the bridge to prepare for attaching the ship to the end of the line and extending the walkway as the hub of the graveyard slowly spiralled away. Miguel ignored the crew he once knew, knowing they were completely under the thrall of Malum and it was pointless to try to raise a mutiny of any kind. The walking firework display was simply too strong to tackle! The bridgework of ships bounced and jostled dangerously as the men pr
epared to tie on the latest extension.

  The buccaneer began his treacherous walk back across the sloping decks, every footstep measured and tested in case of an accidental fall that could spill him into the water where the slithering giant eels awaited him. His hand slipped along a rail, gathering a handful of stringy wet seaweed as he went. After initially stinging from the salt content on the vegetation, the emerald seaweed soon cooled his hands from the rough abrasions caused by the chain links. He reached out to grab another handful, tugging it from an aged length of rope. One of the Scintarns growled menacingly and that was the end of Miguel’s rest period.

  “What about my coffee?” he joked feebly, the smile fading on his lips as swiftly as it had appeared.

  The ship ahead bounced roughly up and down signalling to Miguel that something was heading in his direction. He looked and noticed Horatio and Cornelius stomping towards him, a massive length of chain links suspended between them, their forked tongues tasting the air. Oh if only he could rouse his two bodyguards from their trance. If only they would wake up and help him, he would not feel so helpless and alone.

  The deck beneath his feet dropped as they arrived before him, the lizards seemingly oblivious of their master, both intent on simply dropping off their chains and thereby earning praise from Malum. Miguel wished he could just snap these two creatures out of their trance, he just needed a plan; needed some sort of…

  Horatio shoulder charged Miguel as if he were not there, pushing the weakened buccaneer backwards right into one of the Scintarn’s following him. The back of Miguel’s legs hit the snarling hound, he fell over onto the deck, smashing the back of his head and seeing stars as the seaweed still in his hands flew up into the air and wetly slapped across Horatio’s snout. Miguel found himself winded and gasped like a beached fish, trying to suck air into his lungs as the deck beneath him vibrated.