The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  She changed direction, her finger tracing the edge of the table, her eyes dancing across the spidery script. The spell on the page did not offer the answer to her problem but it still grabbed her attention, bringing her to a standstill. She knew she had never read this spell before, had never even known of its existence. Someone slipped past the doorway behind her but Colette was too occupied to notice or she would have seen Brother Richard’s deceitful glance as he passed, a large and cumbersome blue book tucked under his arm.

  Colette’s gaze consumed each word hungrily, her lips silently mouthed the strange words. Time for the young mage stood still as the world moved on around her. Hours passed but Colette found she had no hunger other than her insatiable need to consume the knowledge the arcane text revealed, no thirst to quench other than her desire to absorb the ancient magical secrets illuminated before her.

  “Colette! Colette!” The intimate moment between mage and magic was shattered, Colette found herself gasping as if surfacing from the depths of the ocean upon which they sailed. She looked around in a daze and noticed Abilene leaning through the door, his face flushed with excitement.

  “What is it?” She asked, still gasping as reality rushed in around her.

  “They are back!” He shouted. “Rauph and the others, they are back!”

  * * * * * *

  Octavian felt as if his body was covered in fire ants, scorpions were stinging his arms and there was a marching band playing in his head. His fingers felt tender, the itch on his neck was intense and unrelenting and his mouth felt dry, his teeth sharp. He turned his head from side to side, groaning, feeling the rough texture of the ground blanket between his head and the desert sands.

  “Stay still. I’ve sorted everything out. Just relax, you really hit your head hard. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Was that Kerian? He cracked open an eye that felt swollen and misshapen. The sky above looked bruised, clouds scudding across its surface as if in a hurry to be somewhere. Octavian felt his heart beating faster. It was late, too late. Everything was not going to be okay. He tried to rise up on his elbows, tried to brush the cool cloth bandage from his forehead but he felt so weak, it was so difficult to think clearly. A spasm of pain shot through him making his body arch up off the blanket. Kerian’s hand came down onto his chest trying to hold him down.

  “Look just relax.” Kerian said. “I’ve laid out the blankets, we have a fire going, the horses are safe and secure on one blanket, we are on the other. Nothing under the sand is going to get us.” Octavian tried to croak a response, tried to warn his friend that he needed to be scared of what was above the sand. It was too late, he had no time to get away, he could feel the hunger rising in him.

  The need to hunt, the need to kill.

  “W…What the?” The stammer in Kerian’s voice portrayed the horror in what Octavian knew he was witnessing. The beast was coming to the fore. He had been so careful, always securing the horses and making sure Kerian was settled before he moved far enough away so he was not a danger to his friend when the change came over him.

  Cramped fingernails scratched at the fabric of the blanket, the ends thickening, elongating becoming yellowed talons, his feet stretching out, the boots splitting, his trousers tearing as the monster within transformed him from the gypsy traveller into a hideous terror.

  Octavian opened his eyes again, watching Kerian’s shocked face as the fighter backed across the blanket, trying to give as much space as he could to the transforming nightmare before him. He tried to shout, tried to tell Kerian to run but his mouth was changing shape, the fangs sprouting from his gums, the words of warning coming out as a strangled growl.

  The gypsy’s body spasmed, thick fur sprouting from the backs of his hands in dark brown tufts. He tried to scream, tried to voice the agony coursing through his soul. Octavian jerked violently, flipping over onto his front, his back twisting and reshaping into the wild animal he was becoming. The animal he was cursed to transform into when the moon blessed the world with its luminance and bathed everything in its platinum light.

  Trespassing through Blackthorn forest had left Octavian with a terrible price to be paid, its petrified forests held monsters that fought with tooth and talon, their bite so infectious that they had the power to warp the body and place you under the thrall of a master even more evil than the horrors he controlled. An evil twisted being, ruling from a ruined castle as terrible as it was foreboding. Castle Glowme was where his poor wife and daughter were still held hostage, suffering who knew what at the monster’s hands.

  Octavian wailed his lament to the stars, roaring with anger and frustration at the pale lunar globe suspended in the sky, as its rays gently bathed the blanket and illuminated the awful transformation thereon completed.

  The creature opened its stark blue eyes and turned towards Kerian with a snarl, tail flicking behind it, a long pink tongue running down one gleaming incisor, huge paws pushing the blanket deeply into the sand, before its claws snagged on the material, crushing the smooth surface into rucked peaks that exposed the deadly sands beneath.

  It stared at the man standing at the far end of the blanket, then at the three mounts snorting in terror, trying to pull their reins free from stakes pounded into the sand. There was no gleam of recognition, no association with those with which it had travelled.

  Instead, it saw prey and it was hungry.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Thomas slammed the door of his apartment shut, feeling the heat through the steel-clad door as he sank to the floor exhausted. The humidity was intense; it was as if something was repeatedly pounding his head. His clothing was drenched and sticking to his skin as if he had been swimming. His mind was a concoction of confused images; he had no recollection of his journey home, everything was just a jumbled blur, yet he knew that here of all places, he would be safe.

  He tried to stand on legs of jelly, feeling a terrible weakness coursing through his exhausted frame. His left hand clutched at the small table near the coat stand, only to upend a wooden bowl on its surface, spilling a set of house keys onto the floor where they slowly melted into shiny puddles of liquid metal. Thomas staggered along the hallway, fatigue rolling over him in waves. All he wanted to do was give up, sleep and let whatever illness this was pass him.

  The captain wandered by the open kitchen door, noting the full-sized stuffed Disney tiger that hung upside down from the ceiling where MacMichael had nail gunned it during their last movie night. One of these days he really needed to get it down but right now it was an effort he simply could not sustain. Steadied by the furniture, Thomas lurched across the living room where the television screen was slowly melting. His autographed Raiders of the Lost Ark poster ignited like the opening of the old Bonanza Western TV show.

  The bedroom was cool and dark, a blessing after such heat, a refuge from the searing assault relentlessly pursuing him. Thomas crashed down onto the bed, his body beyond caring as his unorthodox landing knocked his latest Peter Swift mystery novel, Bullets Never Forget from his bedside table. The paperback dropped onto its front, revealing the black and white cheesy photograph of author Philip Blackwood, complete with his bushy moustache and lady-killer smile to the world.

  Thomas tried to make himself comfortable on the bed but something was not right, something nagged him that his sanctuary was not as safe as he had first believed. There was a smell in the room like a spoilt barbecue. He started as something moved beside him, something that crunched as it turned. Thomas shivered as a stick-like arm draped over his shoulder and its owner nestled in close, crackling with every movement of its body.

  “Come back to me Thomas. Come back.” Came the desperate voice at his shoulder. The captain knew he should resist the urge to turn but this whole scenario was like a nightmare he could not awaken from, the decisions already scripted and pre-ordained. He turned towards the husky voice, the stench of burning flesh getting stronger as he rolled.

  “Thoma
s, hear me, we have the cure, Violetta is giving it to you now but you have to fight, you have to come back to us. The El Defensor needs you… I need you.”

  “Rowan, is that you?” He had to be hallucinating! None of this could be real. It was all in his mind! The smell was becoming more intense, like the unmistakeable smell of a body from a fire scene or a particularly bad road traffic accident; it was so strong. An acrid bitter taste rolled across his tongue, making the captain almost retch. Thomas reached out blindly in the darkness, one hand vainly searching for the source of the infusion, to push whatever it was away from his face, to stop it from choking him but there was nothing there. His other hand flailed for the bedside lamp, his body inadvertently brushing closer to the smoky figure lying alongside him.

  “I love you Thomas.”

  The light snapped on and Thomas screamed. Rowan lay beside him on the bed, her body completely charred, the skin blackened and cracked, raw pink flesh showing through horrendous wounds where the meat of her body was sliding from her bones. Her hair was a dull charcoal instead of auburn and curled into tight blackened spirals that crumbled to dust as she turned her head towards him. Her eyes gleamed in the artificial light, strangely the only parts of her horrific visage not consumed by the deadly kiss of the flames.

  “There you are.” She smiled, her teeth stark against a mask of oozing cracked flesh.

  Thomas lashed out horrified, pushing her away, feeling his fingers sink into molten fat and seared tissue. He fell from the bed; his head hitting the floor, making him see stars and threatening to make him vomit with the force of the impact. He crawled as swiftly as his aching head would let him, buoyed by the terror induced panic of what he had seen, scurrying across the carpet on his hands and knees, moaning his terror through clenched lips as he headed for the en-suite bathroom and the gun he knew was hidden there.

  Something slid from the bed behind him and dragged itself across the floor in pursuit, leaving a greasy, blood streaked carbon stain behind it.

  “Thomas! Stop fighting us.”

  Terror maintained an unrelenting grip around the captain’s throat. His head hit the bathroom door, he turned over, scrabbling for the handle, the warm metal yielding to his touch, popping the latch and pushing it open. He retreated across the tiled floor, the opening door rebounding from the wall and catching his shoulder as he slid further into the room. His terrified eyes noted the charred corpse clawing its way across the floor after him and he renewed his efforts to put distance between himself and it.

  His right hand came down on the tiled floor, only to feel the surface transform beneath his touch, reaching out and wrapping around his wrist like a hand. Thomas reacted with a scream, his left hand struggling to free his trapped limb only to feel other tiles moving about his body, clutching at his legs, his ankles, his waist, pinning him to the ground and restricting his ability to move. Something clutched at his head, dragging him down just as he noticed the shape of Rowan’s charred body coming through the doorway after him.

  Thomas reached blindly for the pedestal under the hand basin, knowing there was a matt black Ruger LCR .38 calibre special taped there in case of home invasion. His fingers brushed the grip, his sweat-slick fingers slipping from the weapon as he found himself physically dragged back across the floor. His left hand hit the tiles as he slid away, only for the surface to immediately morph into an impossible claw that completely encapsulated his only free limb.

  The nightmare in the doorway crawled closer, scabbed skin falling away at each movement. She moved closer, one stick-like hand closing on his upper thigh, the other on his left shoulder.

  “Thomas don’t fight it. Let the antidote do its work.” Rowan whispered as her charred skull moved closer. She leaned in, lips cracking as they became a macabre smile. “Just remember I love you.” Rowan leaned in closer to kiss him and Thomas screamed aloud in terror as her smoky skin finally touched his parched lips. He felt the cooked skin rupture as they touched, pus and blood smearing across his own lips. He struggled, pulling to the left and the right, yet the hold on him remained tight. He was helpless, could only look on in horror as the blackened creature before him moved away, her brow furrowing in disappointment at his revulsion.

  “Please.” Thomas pleaded through tears. “Please, just leave me alone.” He kicked out; struggling to escape but the fatigue he had been experiencing stole the energy from his effort. He lay soaked in sweat, unable to fight any longer, completely spent and beaten. His eyes closed on the horrors of the bathroom and the burnt caricature of the woman he loved, hoping that if he held them tightly closed for long enough, he could somehow escape from the horrors now deeply etched into his mind.

  “Open your eyes Thomas.” Violetta’s voice cut across the darkness. “Come on captain it’s time to wake up now.” Thomas clenched his eyes tighter, dreading what he would see if he dared to open them. Someone pushed his eyelids up, revealing flickering torchlight so bright it felt as if it were searing his retinas.

  “No let me go!” he shouted. “Leave me in peace!” he scrunched his eyes shut again, to the chagrin of the person trying to force his eyes open.

  “I don’t think so! Not after what this cure has cost us!” Thomas had a second to consider that the voice he heard was Commagin’s before someone slapped him hard across the cheek then grabbed hold of his earlobe and squeezed hard.

  “Goddamit! Get off me!” Thomas yelled, opening his eyes again to take in the familiar surroundings of his cabin. He noted the people holding him, Commagin, all smeared with dried mud and spotted with blood, Colette, her eyes bright with relief and rimmed with weariness. Violetta looked exhausted, her icon in her hand, a man he had never seen before standing beside her and across the room Rowan, with tear streaked cheeks and a hurt look upon her face.

  “Welcome back Captain.” Commagin sighed in relief. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  * * * * * *

  Kerian pushed back against the animals shifting nervously behind him, determined to place as much space between himself and the monster that Octavian had become. He remembered all too clearly, the warning about the sidewinders and the scorpions Octavian had given him and how dangerous it was to inadvertently step off the blankets onto the desert sands at night.

  He could not believe his eyes, the creature evolving before him bared little resemblance to the gypsy he knew. Kerian held his sword out in front of him and could not help but notice the slight tremor running along the blade, causing the tip to waver ever so slightly.

  The thing before him defied description. It was as if someone had grabbed several exotic animals, mixed them up in a bowl and created the snarling monster standing erect in front of him. Its head was similar in shape to a leopard but with a thick black shaggy pelt marked with camouflage stripes of blue and grey instead of spots, a little like a tiger. Under the lunar light, the markings appeared to shimmer and move with a life of their own. The torso was more difficult to decipher, due to the shredded remains of Octavian’s clothes hanging from its frame, where the monster had literally exploded out of them. It was thick and finely-muscled, with ridges running down its curved spine where the remains of Octavian’s tunic appeared to stretch from the skin as if something were protruding from his body.

  It’s tail was like that of a wolf and the hind legs, upon which the monster currently stood also appeared of that nature, yet thicker, more powerful, ending in claws that remained extended several inches from the paw, their use clearly meant to disembowel and rend prey. The remains of one of Octavian’s boots hung from the right claw and flopped about the blanket as the creature turned towards him.

  The abomination had wide shoulders and long muscular arms that ended in splayed hands. Yellowed talons extended down from thickset fingers that flexed as the transformed gypsy made fists from his hands then opened them wide again, as if he were experiencing an attack of pins and needles. A maw bristled with huge teeth, razor-like incisors and the upper set of canines ex
tending down past the lower jaw.

  Bright blue eyes had replaced Octavian’s brown, the dark irises slit like those of a feline, stared hungrily over towards Kerian as the figure twisted on the blanket in preparation of attack, rucking up the material and revealing areas of treacherous sand beneath. His mind flashed back to the market place in Wellruff when Octavian was being assaulted by the guards and then considered the remains of the people in the alleyway. Was this the fate that awaited himself?

  The beast’s tail flicked from side to side, as if the horror was excited at the prospect of such readily available food. Clear drool dripped from the side of its mouth, making Kerian feel even more unsettled. The monster was clearly visualising Kerian’s grisly demise. Meanwhile the knight’s mind raced trying to think of a way of defeating this thing without harming Octavian. His eyes surveyed the beast, searching for possible weakness and coming up short. With a start, Kerian realised he had seen this monster before, back in the tombs, reflected in the mirrored image of his shield.

  “Octavian?” Kerian began gently, not willing to strike out at the man if he could avoid it. “Are you in there?” The monster snarled in response and dropped down onto its front hands, shoulders hunching up as it stared at Kerian with its mesmerising blue eyes. The bushy tail flicked from side to side, the creature’s rear legs scrunching down preparing to pounce.

  “By Adden, what have I got myself into now?” Kerian whispered to himself, watching the tail sweep from side to side before it came to an ominous halt. The blade in his hand suddenly felt woefully inadequate. “Octavian you have to sto…”

  The creature attacked, jaws opening wide, talons outstretched, propelled forward with incredible power from back legs that launched it like a quarrel from a crossbow. Kerian could not hope to parry such an attack within the limited space he had to manoeuvre, yet he tried his utmost to meet it, hoping somewhere beneath the surface Octavian would be alert enough to snap out of this and metamorphose back into the annoying gypsy he now knew so well.