Sinders watched nervously as Socks continued to advance towards it, the cat’s smoky form becoming clearer as the gap between hunter and prey inevitably narrowed. The cat appeared confident in its approach, knowing the avenues for escape for its prey were slim but Sinders, although terrified, was more cunning and shrewd than Socks realised.
Socks scrunched up his body, preparing to drop down the last rung and pounce firmly down onto his meal. Claws flexed, tail flicked from side to side and then, with lightning speed, the cat dropped, his claws extended out in front of him.
Ashe’s pet judged the timing perfectly, jumping up to meet the cat as it came down, beak extended to peck Socks firmly on the nose as the feline’s claws brushed through his feathers, mere millimetres from catching on the bird’s tender flesh. Socks closed his eyes in surprise, then meowed in pain as the bird that had seemed so meek and defenceless ran up his back gripping into the cat’s smoky fur and pinching the skin beneath as it used the hunter as a ladder to race up and land on the rung that had been previously out of reach.
The hunter scrunched up as it hit the bottom rung, the elastic body bending with the force of the pounce and managing to balance perfectly as the cat pivoted with the grace of a trapeze artist to regard his dinner as it raced backwards and forwards on the upper rung looking for a way up.
A white sock whipped up towards the bird, only to meet Sinders’ razor sharp beak pecking down hard onto it, making the cat withdraw and nurse its paw even as it lashed out with the other catching a lone feather and tearing it free.
Sinders squawked in protest and started to climb up a worn piece of hull, bird claws hooking into the wood as it used its beak to pull itself upwards towards the deck high above. Socks was up like a flash, realising that Sinders was in no position to attack if all of its defences were occupied. He leapt up onto the rung and raced to the edge where the bird was climbing, only for his jaws to snap shut on empty air as Sinders managed to drag himself just out of reach.
Socks snarled in frustration and leapt again reaching the higher rung Sinders had just managed to clamber onto. This ledge was wider, with a porthole situated in the centre wall. The cat scrunched up preparing to pounce, tail flicking from side to side with excitement. He pounced just as the porthole opened out towards him, slamming himself into the algae streaked glass and squealing down the outside of it. Socks hissed and spat shaking his head, before sliding under the porthole glass only to find the fledgling had disappeared from the far end of the ledge.
Voices raised from the crew quarters telling someone to close the window they had just opened, made Socks turn about to stretch half of his body through the porthole, emerald feline eyes stinging with the smoke and stench of these people living together. Someone laughed and pointed in the cat’s direction but Socks was not interested in this recognition, he was looking to see where his black and white feathered feast had gone. However, no one inside showed signs of being startled by any bird-like intrusion, they all just lounged about or slept in hammocks whilst waiting their turn at watch.
The porthole slammed into the cat from behind and a mocking caw came from outside. In an instant Socks realised what his sly foe had done. Even as the cat had slid under the porthole Sinders must have jumped over the porthole landing on the side of the ladder rung the cat’s slinky form had just vacated. The bird was behind him now and… Ow! Ow! was pecking his rump as hard as it could.
Socks jerked backwards, almost falling over the side of the ship as the porthole opened again. There was another squawk and a flutter of wings, droplets of water showering down onto Sock’s head and making the cat wrinkle his face in disgust. Where was that damned bird?
Something black and white fluttered above him, dangling from the end of a rope, little spindly feet scrabbling to gain proper purchase on the one thing that could lead the bird up above decks after a successful jump from the rim of the open porthole.
The cat twirled about and lunged upwards, batting the bird with a claw and setting his prey swinging backwards and forwards as in a pendulum motion. Sinders held on grimly desperate to pull itself up beyond the reach of his foe. Little bird claws dug into the hemp rope as it struggled to pull itself up another inch, just as Socks claws swept through the air where it had just been. There was a flash of grey as the cat leapt up another rung, bypassing Sinders’ flailing form and bringing himself to the ledge above, where he decided to sit licking his lips as Sinders continued to struggle up towards him unaware that it was inching towards it’s doom rather than escaping from it.
* * * * * *
“It is a miracle he is still alive.” the apothecary praised as he looked down at the dying man before him. He took in Thomas’s clammy appearance, blood speckled lips, ragged breathing and wretched appearance, together with a dark spider web of veins throbbing just below the surface of his skin and wondered again how this man could even count himself amongst the living.
Thomas groaned as if in great pain, his eyes rolling; sweat soaked sheets pushed down from his torso by the captain’s state of constant agitation. Rowan sat beside him, trying to reassure her lover that everything would be okay, wiping his brow, washing away the blood-stained saliva that dribbled from his mouth with a dedication just short of obsession, her fragility as clear as that of the man she nursed.
Violetta stood back, mopping the sweat from her brow, shaking with exhaustion from using her small saint to channel healing energy into the man who had rescued her from slavery. She knew Thomas’s condition was grave. No matter how much she willed her saint to cure him, however much power she tried to force into Thomas’s form, something dark and evil stubbornly pushed it away again. She could do nothing but watch patiently as the man they had sought for help carried out his examination with a quiet professionalism, despite the chef’s inner wish to push the man aside and continue to invoke the powers of her holy relic in trying to save her captain.
“I don’t understand it. It is impossible from what you have told me but this still looks like Nirschl poisoning. Tell me, he has not been tasting anything exotic in the market, wandered into the jungle and reported being bitten by anything?” The shaking heads around the room confirmed this was not the case. “Then this is damned peculiar.” A knocking at the door stopped the discussion. Everyone turned to see Abilene standing in the doorway, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep.
“There’s a troop of Minotaur at the gangway. They are asking if anyone wishes to join them in a hunt in the jungle today. The Matriarch has requested they offer this rare honour to hunt alongside them to capture creatures for the Labyris competition.”
“Well tell them we refuse.” Rowan snapped from Thomas’s bedside. “No one is going anywhere with those murderers!”
“It is not wise to ignore a request from the queen.” Rauph mumbled, ashamed he even had to say it.
“Well we don’t care what the bloody queen thinks!” Rowan snapped back. “I think your mother has caused more than enough trouble already.”
“We don’t know that for a fact.” Rauph replied, painfully aware he was defending someone against his dearest friends. “We have no proof.”
“What further proof do you need?” Rowan snapped, pointing at Thomas who at that precise moment started to convulse. "Oh please not again. Rauph help me!"
“What’s the cure?” Violetta asked, turning from the tragic scene of Rauph holding the captain down whilst Justina and Rowan rushed to assist him. She turned towards the apothecary, her weary features marked with concern. “I don't know what else I can do. How do we heal this?”
“I believe you can use extract from the crimson slipper orchid.” The medic replied. “Also known as the death’s head.”
“So let’s go get some.” Colette stated, tilting her chair forwards from where she had been leaning near to the globe in the captain’s cabin catching some much-needed sleep. “Which shop stocks it? I’ll round up some of the crew and we shall have it back here for you in no time.
”
“I wish it were that easy.” The apothecary shook his head sadly. “Nature is a funny thing. It always strives to create balance. You can find The Death’s Head only near the lair of a Nirschl. The poison of the creature drips onto the floor and orchid seeds germinate where the acid falls. They thrive in these hostile conditions and nowhere else. Transplantation always fails. The local tribes say the sight of a Death’s Head orchid is a warning from their gods, telling them to steer clear when they see the crimson blooms on the ground and trees.
“So where do we find the nearest Nirschl?” Abeline asked. “Let us know and we shall hunt one down.”
“I think you will find it more difficult than simply going into the jungle and hunting one of the creatures down. The Nirschl are deadly creatures, they are the ultimate predator and their bite is often fatal. Ironically, your Minotaur guides may have all the information you require as to where the nearest Nirschl are. They go deeper into the jungles than most of us. Searching for the bigger and more dangerous creatures to hunt and return for the games. If anyone can lead you to this monster, they can.” The doctor confirmed. “I’m afraid that if you cannot gather a Death’s Head, your captain will never recover.”
“Gather six crew.” Colette ordered Abeline. “Volunteers only: ensure they are fully armed and tell them to, look out for each other, never wander off alone, never turn your backs on the Minotaur or trust any of them.” She paused, gathering her breath.
“Hunt down this Nirschl and bring us back a crimson death’s head orchid.”
* * * * * *
Drummon sniffed the air wrinkling his nose in distaste as he made his way up the gangway onto the El Defensor, pushing his way past several crew who appeared unsure and uncomfortable as to how to handle the clearly unwanted intrusion. He was decked out in hunting garb, camouflage green and brown tunic over his armour, bow over his shoulder, arrows in a quiver at his side and his sword and dagger at his belt. So this was where his brother had been hiding all these years. He ran his hand along the rail, examining his hand afterwards as if he had been wearing white gloves and he had been checking the quality of the housekeeping. The ship was old, that was quite apparent and the lines were strange to him.
The Minotaur looked up at the mast and the furled sails, then checked the lines with his eye, before he began to impatiently pace the main deck, waiting for the group of men his mother had requested come hunting with him. People his brother clearly thought were above his own family. A sly smile spread across Drummon’s lips as he considered the task the Matriarch had set him.
Several thoughts ran through his mind. Hunting was such a dangerous sport. All sorts of accidents could happen. People could fall into traps, the prey could turn on the hunter, people got shot all the time, mistaken for animals in the undergrowth by over-zealous and inexperienced hunters. He touched the red wood bow pre-strung over his shoulder and smiled, imagining the hum of the weapon as he loosed the string and sent a barbed shaft through the throat of one of these humans.
The huge Minotaur turned and leant against the far rail, toying with a wooden stave he found there, as a party of six crewmen began to assemble on the deck before him. An archer, a monk, a dwarf with a crossbow, a youth with the oldest armour and sword the Minotaur had ever seen, the pudgy man who had amazed Drummon with the amount of food he had been able to consume the night before, holding a sword that was bone white and another man who stood apart from them all, darker and more foreboding than the others, flipping a dagger backwards and forwards across the back of his hand.
Kristoph came out on deck, his face shadowed and heavily lined as if he had not slept.
“We are ready.” He remarked.
“Is your captain not coming?” Drummon enquired slyly, tossing the smooth wooden peg from hand to hand and knowing full well the captain could not be joining them today.
“He is indisposed.” Kristoph replied. “You know, captain stuff. Shall we get things started.”
“Indeed.” Drummon replied, laughing inside at the hurt shown in his brother’s features as Kristoph tried to cover for the man he had clearly come to see as a dear friend. Drummon rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms before standing up and holding his arms wide, ushering the six men and his long-lost brother towards the gangway and the troops assembled below, signalling that everyone filed ahead of him so they could head to the shore.
“Excuse me.” An older man who smelt heavily of birds stopped Drummon as he was about to step onto the companionway.
“What do you want?” Drummon snapped, incensed at the impudence of this mere human to address a prince regent in this way, forgetting himself in the moment and letting his role as the perfect host slip to reveal his true evil self.
“I believe that belongs to us?” Austen remarked, swallowing hard but refusing to back down, indicating the wooden stave still held in Drummon’s hand.
“Oh of course.” The Minotaur replied, tossing the peg up in the air and back across the deck, only for it to drop out of sight over the far rail. “Oops, oh how clumsy of me.” Drummon turned to set off down the gangway, laughing to himself at his little petty act. Only to stop in his tracks as a loud yowl filled the air, followed by a raucous squawk. A scruffy bird took to flight, clearly disturbed from its roost by the falling stave, its erratic bobbing path leading it up into the air as if the bird had been drinking heavily the night before.
The Minotaur swiftly lifted his bow, setting a barbed hunting shaft to the string and pulled the weapon smoothly to full draw, sighting on the bird as it bobbed and bounced in the headwind from the lake. Drummon exhaled, concentrating on the creature estimating where it’s flight path would take it then let fly, just as the sun came up over the mountains and flooded the area with light.
He dropped the bow from his line of sight, eager to watch his first kill of the day, his eyes straining against the light to mark the path of his arrow as it closed on the fluttering creature. It was moments like this that pleased Drummon, moments when he could prove his superiority by crushing a weaker foe. Maybe, if he did a good job today, when the time came, his mother would let him be the one who burned this ship and everything that remained of Kristoph’s previous life.
His eyes tracked the black silhouette of his arrow as it shot towards the bird, there was no escape for the creature, it was doomed. This was an excellent omen for the hunting that was yet to come.
The sunlight seared across the lake, the tip of the pyramid gleaming as the luminance of the dawn kissed the summit dazzling the crew and making Drummon squint, his eyes looked down by reflex, to note a surly cat slinking over the edge of the ships rail, its tail down, head also directed towards the departing bird.
Well only one of them could be the victor in the hunt today.
The arrow got closer and closer and then appeared to bounce into something in mid-air just short of the bird. Drummon rubbed his eyes in disbelief as it appeared that two arrows fell from the spot instead of one. How could that be? He rubbed his eyes again realising that the bird was now heading towards the shore, far beyond the range of his bow.
Drummon threaded his bow back over his shoulder and stormed from the ship, stomping his way down the gangway to where the troops and human crew from the El Defensor stood waiting. The crew seemed to be looking anywhere but in the Minotaur’s direction and he failed to notice that the archer of the group appeared to be checking the string of his bow.
“Let’s go.” Drummon snapped. “We have prey waiting to be killed.” Everyone fell in and started towards the path leading into the jungle.
"Good shot!" Mathius remarked under his breath.
"It was a piece of cake." Weyn replied as the arrow reappeared in his quiver. "And so worth it to wipe that smug look from his face!"
Chapter Twenty-One
The mummified citizens of the lost city of Tahl Avan continued to moan from their seats around the amphitheatre as the clanking chain rattled relentlessly over
the pulley high above. Link after link rolled around the cog, lowering the chained captives suspended, closer and closer to their molten, glittering demise as the golden hued high priest looked on maliciously.
Despite the perilous nature of the situation, Kerian’s attention remained transfixed on the one thing he yearned for more than life itself, or at least the tacit promise the object represented. He held his neck at an awkward angle, not daring to take his eyes from the pendant dangling from its golden chain, as the prize slipped agonisingly further and further down Octavian’s neck. His one chance of finding Colette was inches from his nose, yet with his arms pinned, he was powerless to hold it one final time.
“Will you stop struggling?” Kerian snapped. “Because, if you lose my pendant, I promise that you will be so dead there will be nothing left to mourn at your funeral!”
“Do you ever stop moaning?” Octavian shot back, wriggling and shuffling against Kerian’s back as if someone had dropped a poisonous centipede down his trousers. “You are giving me a headache. Why can’t you be more positive? At least I am working on an escape. Oops” The pendant suddenly dropped several centimetres, to catch just behind the lobes of the gypsy’s ears.
“Phew that was close.” Octavian remarked, his cocky smile still present, despite the fact that they and the necklace were slowly inching towards their collective doom.
“Be positive!” Kerian shouted. “By Adden! How am I supposed to be positive whilst we are dangling like this? Am I supposed to be enthusiastic? The mighty Octavian is working on an escape plan huh? Well I feel safer already!” There was a pause. “Exactly what are you working on?”
The Labyris Knight Page 39
