The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

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  Although the banquet hall at the palace was one of open air and light, some said even a delight to the senses in how it imparted a beautiful view of the Taurean city and its surroundings; the main throne room was intentionally designed to be its opposite, a place of darkness, built to intimidate any who entered its space. The walls, hung with dark tapestries, which muted sound and instilled disquiet upon visitors who found they gazed upon scenes of bloodletting and torture, conquest and gladiatorial sport, undertaken by the fiercest of Minotaur, painstakingly embroidered in vivid threads of colour.

  Torches flickered in sconces set around the walls, creating pale islands of sickly yellow upon a wooden herringbone patterned floor, that amplified each footstep upon its surface with an ominous sound. The only natural light came through a stained-glass window set high above the throne in the ceiling, making it appear as if this seat of power sat in a tight beam of light whilst the subjects around it lingered in shadow.

  The throne was set back and raised on a dais, it was an imposing piece of hacked marble that was all hard angles, functional but not attractive in any way and as cold and stern as the rulers who spent time sitting upon its surface. The thought of embellishment, carvings or an elaborate headrest were clearly considered unimportant when faced with the imposing nature of the monsters that ruled Taurean from here.

  Mora sat on the throne, trying to ignore the numbing sensation spreading across her buttocks, listening with half an ear to the rambling skinny Minotaur pacing nervously before her and wishing that she had had the foresight to bring a cushion to sit on. She had several pressing things to attend to but knew it was important to at least show some attention to the creature gushing pleasantries before her. After all, this tournament would allow her to abdicate gracefully once Drummon took his rightful place here, living out her final years pampered on one of the more pleasant islands nearby, her every whim catered for, her every desire met.

  “The labyrinth has been cleared as instructed Matriarch.” The games master reported. “Any human vagrants using it as a home have been rounded up and I am sure you will be delighted with the ideas I have for using them to light up the celebrations. We have assembled the viewing stations along the top walls of the labyrinth and are already selling tickets to the wealthier members of Taurean society. The killing areas are being populated with the jungle creatures supplied by the Prince Regent and may I say there are some excellent specimens that are sure to keep the crowd entertained.”

  Mora shuffled on the throne, making the underweight Minotaur pause in his report. He looked nervously towards his ruler and then, after realising that no displeasure was directed his way cleared his throat and continued his handover.

  “May I say that this celebration looks to be unmatched by any other in living memory. The populous will be talking of this day for years to come.”

  The matriarch looked down over her nose at the snivelling games master and attempted to smile but this slimy creature showing her homage was so far below her station that she decided it was not worth the effort.

  “Are the traps prepared inside the pyramid? There must be no malfunctions, and the ways to bypass them must be exactly as I have specified.” The Matriarch stated. “The people will want our new ruler to be cunning as well as strong. He must show intelligence as well as ruthlessness.”

  “Everything will be as you command Matriarch. If you like I can use some of the vagrants to test the mechanisms? I personally guarantee you shall not be disappointed.”

  “Make sure that I am not.” Mora warned. “Or it will be you who tests the traps… although I would ensure you have your eyes gouged out before you do, after all we want the test to be fair and you already know the answers to the riddles.” The Matriarch finally allowed herself to smile as the games master gulped, his Minotaur eyes rolling in worry.

  Movement from across the room caught Mora’s eye and she stared out into the shadows over to the huge double doors where Aelius stood guard. Drummon burst into the room, his black pelt flecked with sweat stains and grime, his boots trailing thick mud from the jungle across the wooden floor. He had a ridiculous grin on his face which instantly put her on guard. It could only mean one thing. He had done something stupid.

  “You may leave.” Mora gestured with the back of her hand at the games master, not wanting him to be around to witness what was bound to be something she would need to sort out. “You may kiss my ring.”

  The Minotaur moved forwards to offer his allegiance, however the Matriarch had no interest in watching him and was instead trying to imagine what her son had done this time. The games master cleared his throat nervously, drawing Mora’s attention back to the Minotaur.

  “Why have you not left my presence?” she snarled. The games master paled and began to shake.

  “You don’t appear to be wearing your ceremonial ring.” He stammered. The Matriarch looked down at her offered hand and noticed that her official ring was missing from her finger. How had that happened? Her brow creased in concern, making the Minotaur visibly quake in his boots.

  “Just go you fool, before I lose my patience.” Drummon arrived at the throne bubbling with enthusiasm and dropped to his knees to offer his dedication for the shortest length of time before rising enthusiastically back to his feet.

  “What brings my son into my presence this afternoon?” Mora asked, her mind still trying to fathom out where she had lost her jewellery. She knew she had put it on her finger before she left her bedroom and was starting to retrace the day in her mind. “I hear your expedition went well. It appears the games master is thrilled with the exotic specimens you have captured and brought from the jungle.”

  “That’s not all.” Drummon gushed. “I’ve solved our problem regarding Kristoph. He won’t be coming back.” Mora paused in her recollection of her journey through the palace in her mind’s eye. What did he just say?

  “Excuse me? What do you mean he will not be coming back?”

  “Well I gave him directions to the Nirschl’s lair, then I sent three of my crack troops to finish off whatever crew manage to survive, if any.” Drummon beamed, clearly extremely pleased with himself. The Matriarch took a deep breath and raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing the skin just above her right eye and below her curled horn. Mora suddenly felt she could feel a migraine coming on. It was at times like this that she seriously questioned what she had seen in the bull that had fathered her two sons. Clearly the pedigree had not been as pure as the papers had suggested.

  “Drummon you do realise how hard I have been working to build up your standing amongst the people of Taurean, despite the fact they all think of you as a lout who is stupid and does not care anything for them.”

  “Well that’s because I don’t.” Drummon replied. “Hang on a minute, who said I was stupid? I’ll pound them.” His face turned thunderous in a second.

  “Come on tell me who says all of these things?” he roared. “Let me crush them and break their legs.”

  “Yes of course you will.” Mora shook her head, then instantly regretted the action. Her head hurt so much whenever her son was near. An image of the Halfling from the jail cell entered her mind, of him holding her hand.

  “Ashe Wolfsdale.” She whispered. “That damned thieving Halfling!”

  “I shall crush Ashe Wolfsdale.” Drummon announced loudly. “I shall make him rue the day he was born. I will make him suffer so much. Umm, who is Ashe Wolfsdale?” He looked about confused as if expecting this slanderer to be near at hand so the punishment could be instant and devastating.

  “Everyone says you are stupid!” The Matriarch snapped. “Because it happens to be true! You are stupid and thoughtless. You are a brute who worries more about where the next ale is coming from rather than what is going on around you. This is why I have been unable to abdicate earlier because if you were to assume the throne as a right of bloodline the citizens of Taurean would rebel and the Minotaur cou
ld feasibly be overthrown. If only I had birthed a cow rather than an imbecilic bull.” Drummon looked at his mother in horror, shocked by the outburst.

  “Kristoph is needed to give you legitimacy.” The Matriarch continued. “With him here you have a worthy opponent to beat. No one can dispute the fact you are the rightful heir. No one can doubt your right of accession. We need Kristoph alive to make this happen and you have just instructed him to journey into the deadliest area of the jungle. I told you to arrange for an accident to happen to his friends, not to him. We need to isolate him from the support of the crew of the El Defensor and weaken his resolve so that his family are his only confidants before we arrange for his demise at the Labyris tournament. You truly are as stupid as they say.” Drummon felt the words falling on his body like lashes from a barbed whip. He flinched at his mother’s displeasure as the words rained down on him.

  “Take a platoon of troops and go back into the jungle. Find your brother and bring him back here safe and sound. Make up any excuse, throw yourself upon his mercy but I want you to convince him this was all a huge mistake and that no harm was meant to come upon him. Your regency depends on him believing this. You had better pray that he is still alive and well.”

  “Mother I promise I shall try to do better.” Drummon replied head hung low in supplication. “Just tell me where that Ashe Wolfsdale is and I shall start to set things right.” Mora ignored her posturing child and looked up at the stained-glass window above her, noting where the sun appeared to be shining through the glass. Noon was fast approaching.

  “Aelius, come here swiftly.” The Halfling had but moments to live but she did not want to find her ring falling into the wrong hands. The guard ran over as fast as his aged legs would allow.

  “Matriarch what is your bidding?”

  “The Halfling prisoner is about to be executed. I believe I have inadvertently left my ring in his cell. Please be kind enough to retrieve it, so that the royal seal does not fall into the wrong hands.”

  “As you command.” Aelius replied turning sharply and marching back across the hall, signalling to two guards from the shadows to join him. Mora watched the captain of the guard leave the room and thought about the Halfling dangling from the end of a rope. She imagined his little legs kicking out, his neck snapping like dry kindling and his face going blue as the body beneath him failed to draw in enough air through his crushed larynx.

  “What is it with people in this throne room.” The Matriarch stated with an icy undertone. Drummon looked up at her, holding his hands together much like he used to do as a baby calf. “Why are you still here? Get back to the jungle and find your brother!” Drummon physically jumped before turning and marching swiftly for the door, bellowing out for a runner to send word to assemble the troops ready to accompany him in his search. She watched until her son had left the throne room then rubbed at her finger where her missing ring normally rested. The Halfling would be dangling from the rope at any moment. Those little legs kicking about now.

  This time her smile came swiftly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Aradol crashed through the vegetation, slipping and sliding down the slope and out into the clearing, just in time to witness Ives drop face first into the crimson orchid bed. The merchant appeared to twitch as the blooms shook violently around him, then stilled, confirming Aradol’s worst fears that something terrible had befallen his friend. He took his first step towards Ives and immediately sank to mid-calf in the mud, his ornate armour adding extra weight and dragging him down into the engulfing morass.

  “No Ives, no not you!” the young warrior gasped, struggling to fight his way through the noxious mire, blinking back the tears. Aradol offered silent prayers to any gods who would listen, that he would reach his friend in time, despite knowing that the violent jerking of Ives body signified that no matter how hard he tried to push through the mud, it would never be enough. “Oh damn this armour!” Aradol yelled, struggling with his ornate breastplate, before wrenching it free and snapping one of the leather ties in the process. He flung the armour back towards the muddy bank behind him and started to wriggle out of his chainmail vest, leaving him wearing just a rust-stained undershirt.

  “I am coming Ives, I am coming! Hold on!” Aradol turned around and shouted, almost losing his balance in the slick mud. “Commagin, Rauph I need help down here!” He resumed his slog through the mud, turning one way and then the other, wrestling with his gauntlets and bracers and flinging them back towards the dry ground. The discarded armour clanked onto the slope, just in front of Rauph, as the navigator blundered down the slope in response to Aradol’s call.

  The Minotaur was initially annoyed he had needed to leave the battle with the Nirschl behind him and then became confused, as he took in the form of Aradol appearing to go for a swim in the swamp, clad only in his undershirt. Rauph’s soft brown eyes quickly scanned the area ahead of the young warrior and at first noted the sweep of scarlet orchids, before his gaze fell upon the body of Ives lying half-submerged within the flowers.

  Aradol continued to push ahead, calling Ives’ name as he waded through the mud. The merchant’s body jerked again, as if something were attempting to pull it further into the vivid display of blooms, eliciting another cry of anguish from the young man at the hopelessness of his cause.

  Commagin slithered to a stop beside Rauph and groaned aloud at what he observed. The dwarf had witnessed too many corpses in his life not to recognise that Ives had breathed his last. He sadly pushed his glasses back up his nose and took in the area, then rapidly swung the Lady Janet back up against his shoulder, peering along the sights of the weapon, his body instantly alert. The dwarf swept the crossbow from left to right, drawing a bead on everything that moved, his lips mouthing the question no one had yet asked. If Ives was dead, where was the creature that had killed him?

  The swamp lay churned up near the dead merchant, with one clear set of tracks leading back from his corpse towards the floundering figure of Aradol who was ploughing his way through the swamp towards his friend, yet there appeared to be no sign of any other tracks. That meant whatever had killed their shipmate was either airborne, in which case it should have been on top of Ives body right now or circling above, or it was hiding somewhere in the nodding orchid blooms or even below the clinging surface of the swamp. Aradol had stupidly discarded much of his armour to speed his passage through the mud, unaware of the danger he could be heading towards. He needed to warn him!

  Aradol remained totally focused on his desperate slog towards Ives, aware in the back of his mind that Commagin was yelling at him but too immersed in his grief at his friend’s fate to care. Pushing through the swamp was rapidly sapping the young man’s strength. His lungs gasped with each breath, as if inhaling liquid fire, yet he refused to give in and resolutely carried on. He finally drew level with Ives’ leg, noting the pale skin was already starting to turn mottled from lack of circulation, a death’s shadow of bruising forming where the blood was now settling in his corpse without his heart’s beat to pump it.

  The knight reached out, grabbing Ives soiled tunic with his free hand in an attempt to turn him over and release his face from the muck. As he did so, the scarlet orchids shook violently, spewing forth hundreds of miniature darting and snapping baby Nirschl heads, their strikes focused on the warm flesh of a prey that had foolishly wandered too close. The warrior snatched his hand back in horror, the immature hydrae attacks spitting out sticky venom that missed Aradol’s exposed skin by inches, yet still set his arms stinging.

  Aradol’s antique sword swung in, decapitating several small heads and setting the miniature monsters squealing in pain. Other juvenile hydrae darted in from the sides, eager for fresh flesh to feast upon, their open jaws striking out towards the young man, straining for a tantalising bite. The knight tried to backpedal away from the monstrous mass of snakes but the clinging mud stopped him in his tracks, leaving him mired like a fly in a spider’s web. He sud
denly found himself fighting a defensive battle, parrying lunges, darting heads and snapping fangs, his exhausted actions those of a desperate man who faced one choice: Fight… or die.

  Something smashed past Aradol’s head, scything through the nearest orchid blooms, sending bright blood red petals spinning up into the air and barrelling several baby Nirschl over. A roaring Minotaur followed closely behind, charging past the immobilised fighter, pushing him over to one side with such force that Aradol crashed into the mud with a wet splash. Rauph paused only to snatch up the venom streaked metal object he had just used as a makeshift missile before he charged ahead, smashing, slicing and crushing everything within reach.

  Stunned by his heroic friend’s actions, Aradol looked on in awe as the Minotaur laid waste with the makeshift weapon in his hands, filling the air with ever louder distressed sounds of wailing baby Nirschl. Rauph roared in anger, adding his own voice to the discordant choir, daring his foes to face him and receive a reckoning for hurting his friends.

  The Minotaur’s eyes blazed with fury as he slashed and chopped at the creatures squealing in terror within the orchids, his muscles rippling with every strike, his armour and hair hissing and smoking in several places where Nirschl venom had been spat across his torso. Rauph seemed unfazed by the injuries he had suffered and continued on his rampage regardless. He truly looked the hero the tales rumoured him to be.

  This was Kristoph reborn, caring compassionate and terrible to behold, facing overwhelming odds with what looked like a badly dented tea tray.

  Aradol desperately tried to pull himself out of the sticky mud, struggling to stand properly to help defend his fallen friend’s body without falling over but he was simply too exhausted to help. He had fought so hard and now found himself openly weeping at the frustration of futilely battling an emotionless swamp that sapped his strength and used the knight’s crippling grief as its ally. A sturdy hand came down on Aradol’s arm, gripping him firmly before helping to ease him from the swamp’s cloying embrace.