The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  “Now that’s the Kerian I remember, all warm and fuzzy.” Octavian replied, cracking a strained smile. “I had no idea how much I had missed your eternal optimism. The gypsy shivered, pulling the tattered remains of his clothes about his shoulders and abdomen and inched towards the glowing weapon.

  “Just stay over there.” Kerian warned, his hand lightly resting on the hilt of the magical blade, in preparation to use it again at a moment’s notice. Octavian swallowed hard, his smile fading as his eyes noted the threat Kerian’s tone implied.

  “At least you could offer me some clothes.” Octavian shivered. “I mean you must have some to spare because I distinctly remember you were not wearing that outfit the last time that I saw you.” The desert wind suddenly whipped through the dunes, wailing its haunting lament, making the gypsy tremble intensely. Kerian lifted the flap on the satchel at his side and shook his head before tipping the bag upside down and showing the barren insides to his companion.

  “Sorry, I seem to have left my other set of clothes on my horse, which is…” he clicked his fingers and shrugged his shoulders before rolling his eyes. “Oh yes, across on the blankets, with the food, the firewood and the water. You will just have to suffer like I am.”

  “But…”

  “I prefer to suffer in silence.” Kerian warned.

  “Can I at least share your cloak?” the gypsy pleaded. “After all, I did stop you from putting your hand directly down onto a snake!”

  “Excuse me if I am a little reluctant to get too close to someone who has the propensity to sprout claws, fangs and is clearly in need of a barber.” Kerian replied, still weary of his now strangely serene and mellow companion. Octavian looked up at the full moon as if in deep thought, his lips tinged blue in the nocturnal light. Wisps of cotton cloud stretched to breaking point across the star-spangled sky, as the gypsy’s mind pondered the strange phenomena he was experiencing.

  “I must confess I am a little confused at the moment.” Octavian muttered. “I should still be in my animal state right now, with the moon so full and high in the sky. I never have control at such times and yet here I am sitting in the glow of your sword and I am not inclined to change, no need to run free. My blood is not pounding in my veins and my body is pain free. It is most confusing.”

  “Your bestial side is an interesting quirk to your personality but I can assure you I am in no hurry to see it again any time soon.” Kerian confirmed, his finger tracing an absent-minded circle in the loose grains of sand on the surface of the stone beside him. “I take from this that you have changed before, back in the market place in Wellruff. You killed the guards, you were the wild animal.”

  “They got what they deserved.” Octavian snapped. “You saw what they were doing to me!”

  “I’m not arguing with you.” Kerian stated calmly, his expression thoughtful. “However, if I remember rightly it was not evening when the change occurred. There was no moon in the sky. Are you telling me you can change into that monster at whim?”

  “Yes, I can change in moments of stress, when the beast recognises that I am in danger and wishes to protect me from harm.” Octavian confirmed. “I have no control over the animal’s reactions once I change but after the danger is past, I revert back to my normal self quite quickly. However, my control is not as well defined at times of the full moon. Then the monster has to come out whether I wish it to or not.”

  “This makes no sense. The moon has been full several times on the road. I never saw you change and your wardrobe has never looked quite so threadbare as it does this evening.”

  “I always take the time to undress before I change form. I hide my clothes then collect them again as dawn arrives. How was I to know you were going to leave me lying under the stars to bathe in the full moonlight? I am always so careful, always making sure you were resting and the horses were secured before I metamorphosed and hunted the surrounding areas for food. I always found you snoring soundly when I returned, never realising I was anything but the reluctant guide you had conned into taking this godforsaken trip.” Kerian shrugged his shoulders, smirking at the mention of his subterfuge and then looked up sharply.

  “What do you mean snoring?”

  “Like a hog with sinusitis.” Octavian smiled before continuing. “I have no choice, I have to change, if not I become irrational, easier to provoke, more prone to violent outbursts. Somehow, letting the beast out calms the animal urges within me.”

  “This evening was not calm, anything but!” Kerian snorted. “Your calmness has cost us poor Dorian and possibly more, although we won’t know exactly how much until daylight.”

  Octavian shivered again, hanging his head in shame. A long-eared owl shrieked in triumph as it swooped down to pluck a silver serpent from the dunes. Monstrous wings cut the air, lifting the nocturnal creature away to consume its nocturnal feast, leaving the gypsy wishing he could leave as easily.

  “Damn, I’m so cold.” He tried to steady his chattering teeth.

  “It serves you right for not dressing for the weather conditions.” Kerian joked, shuffling over with the magical sword in hand. He lifted his cloak to drop part of it over his shivering companion’s naked shoulders.

  “Thank you.” Octavian nodded, pulling the cloth close about his body.

  “I said you could share it, not take it all!” Kerian stated, tugging back. “I’m cold too!”

  “Are we snuggling?” The gypsy chuckled, laughing as Kerian pretence to jerk away. “What would my wife think?”

  “I think you should consider that it is still a long way until the dawn.” Kerian replied calmly, as his mind recalled the revelation whispered into his ear by the exotic woman, he now knew was Octavian’s partner. “Also remember that I am the one still holding the sword!”

  Octavian tilted his head and fluttered his eyes.

  “You know if you snuggle well, I might reward you with a love bite!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The small cage descended slowly into the bowels of the ship, the chain controlling the descent paying out in fits and starts as inky darkness closed in around Rowan like the grip of a giant fist. Whilst Commagin tried to lower Rowan as smoothly as he could, the unavoidable jerks as he fed out the chain turned her clockwise, then anti-clockwise, leaving Rowan with the choice of looking up towards the light above, or feeling sick with the constant spinning of the cage. She closed her eyes to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach and then risked looking up through the bars of the cage towards the ever-decreasing circle of light that signified how far she now was from the safety of Thomas’s arms. This sense of isolation was not a feeling Rowan was relishing and yet she knew she would never forgive herself if she failed to see this task through.

  Smells of old grease, discarded dust, untreated damp and sea salt assailed Rowan’s nostrils, as her surroundings morphed into shapeless blobs too difficult to discern. She stepped to the edge of the cage and tried to see below but there was nothing except impenetrable inky blackness. Rowan took a deep breath to try and steady her nerves, her gaze latching onto the only thing that could give her some comfort in this menacing place, noticing to her annoyance, that the storm lantern she held in her fist appeared to be trembling.

  Something skittered loudly away in the darkness, a long pale tail flicking once in the lamplight before plunging into the shadows. Rowan swung the lantern to investigate, only to gasp as she spotted four sets of red eyes balanced above each other, reflecting the light back towards her and creating the illusion the woman was staring into a bizarrely arranged set of vanity mirrors. A thick cobweb strummed like a guitar string as the cage bumped past and the four eyes turned away as one, eight hairy legs scuttling off, eager to investigate what succulent morsel fought to survive, trapped in its sticky web.

  Rowan swallowed hard, choking back her feelings of unease. The rat’s tail was easily five or six times her own current height. The vermin had to be some kind of monster! Rowan s
uddenly realised the danger she was in, shrunk to a perfect rat sized snack! She shuddered and then thought of what a spider bite could do to her in her current predicament. What would have been a simple irritant for a few days, easily treated with steroid cream or a course of antibiotics, would now be instantly fatal!

  She stamped her foot angrily, gritting her teeth and making the cage tremble. Rowan did not want Thomas to feel less of her, to think her weak or not willing to help him and his ship. She was not prepared to disappoint him in any way and fought to keep her fears in check.

  The cage continued to descend as Rowan’s feelings of impotence continued to grow. This situation was getting worse and worse the more she thought about it. They were too far down! How much longer was this descent going to last? What if they ran out of chain, what if something happened to send her plummeting to her doom? What if…

  The cage lightly landed, the chain quickly pooling up on the roof before sliding to the floor and causing clouds of dust to fly up into the air. Rowan pushed on the door glad to see that she was not trapped within the cage and stepped out onto the floor, only to find herself shuffling knee deep through the accumulated dust and debris.

  “I suppose I should say something deep and meaningful?” Rowan muttered to herself. “Something like one small step for woman, a giant leap for womankind.” She tried to focus her thoughts, securing the wrench at her belt as she tugged free the thin chain and safety pin but ironically all she could think of was the fact that the area needed a damn good clean! Anything could be under this dust, she could mis-step, put her foot between the planks of the ship and twist her ankle, or worse yet slip through a crack and plummet to her doom, landing somewhere in the bilges or breaking her body on the ballast stones of the hull.

  Lifting the lantern high, she struggled to make out where the elusive chain and end goal of her unusual quest lay. It had to be lying in a discarded pile on the floor somewhere, yet as Rowan slowly extended her search area away from the cage, she could find no sign of it. This was ridiculous! The chain had to be here. It was not as if it had simply got up and walked away of its own volition!

  Rowan continued cautiously navigating the floor, the thin chain snaking across the ground behind her as she slid first one foot, then the other, across the uneven surface. Dust piled up around her boots, soiling the leather. Well, one thing was for sure. When she got out of this Thomas was going to buy her some new boots and maybe even a nice feminine dress as well. Something slinky, that complemented her figure and felt exciting to wear, unlike the rough, coarse fabrics and hardwearing garb favoured by the fashion-retarded crew of the El Defensor! A smile crossed Rowan’s face and a flush of colour sprang to her cheeks, temporarily lifting the gloom that had settled upon her in this dank place.

  A huge cog wheel, at least from Rowan’s tiny perspective, sat vertically in a hole in the floor. This was clearly where the loop of the chain ceased, where the action of turning the helm above converted the movement of the ancient rudder at the stern of the ship. Rowan lifted her lantern higher, letting the pale light illuminate the cold chain links descending to the floor and engaging with the teeth of the cog, interlocking before running down beneath the deck, passing around the cog and then rising up towards the helm.

  Rowan cursed as her limited view followed the chain as it rose into the darkness; she realised that her goal was not lying loose in a discarded pile upon the floor, like she had been led to expect. Instead it appeared that the end of the chain was hung up somewhere in the darkness above. There was nothing for it, she would just have to climb.

  Threading her left arm through the giant safety pin, Rowan approached the chain and shook her head. Just how far up was she going to have to climb? This thing looked as big as the beanstalk in the fairy tale stories she loved as a child. It looked to be a long way! She gripped the chain and felt the greasy surface sliding beneath her fingers.

  Oh, Thomas was going to owe her far more than a pair of boots and a nice dress when she finished with this. He was going to have to buy her a completely new wardrobe! She jumped up, locking her hands around the link above, before pulling herself up, gripping the cold metal with her thighs as she started the long climb into the shadows. The thin silver chain snaked across the dusty floor behind her, unravelling from where it had landed near the cage and wriggling as if it were alive.

  * * * * * *

  “I just can’t believe this has happened,” wailed a dejected voice. “Of all the bad luck! How could we possibly have had two inns burn down around our ears?”

  “It’s like we rolled a ‘critical miss ‘whilst wielding an enchanted long sword!” came a mournful reply. “The outcome is always messy and you are left with a nagging doubt that something you have become attached to is missing from your life.”

  “The gods are against us,” stated a third voice. “I guess it is our lot in life to suffer.”

  “I’m going to miss the bowls of chilli and the garlic sand prawns, they were to die for.,” added a fourth.

  “I think it’s all relative to time and space,” boomed a fifth. “And we are clearly not in the right time and are never in the right place. Would anyone care for a candied gelatine infant?”

  “Please be quiet, I’m trying to write down the words of a song that just came to me!” said the sixth voice, before its owner reverted to humming a tune that only he could hear.

  Scrave turned his attention from placing one weary foot in front of another and pulled his headscarf more tightly around his face as his ears isolated the discussion from amongst all of the grunts, curses, animal cries, cracking whips, wailing babies and creaking wagons from the caravan train in which he was now hiding. He knew those voices! The Elf carefully began to slow his pace, causing curses and less than flattering comments to rise from the mouths of the people in the caravan walking past him, as they had to change direction to avoid a collision. A scruffy camel plodded past on massive flat feet and deposited a pile of dung directly in Scrave’s path, causing a few insolent laughs from other travellers who felt the offering would have been better if it had landed on the Elf’s head.

  It took several moments of skilful weaving throughout the confusion of the column, before the Elf managed to draw level with the group of despondent travellers and confirm his suspicions. He hunched his shoulders to reduce his height and leaned more heavily on the staff in his left hand, taking small ponderous steps as of a weary old man, whilst he let an unseen smile slide across his face. He was right. It was the young men from the inn, the gaming group.

  One burly youth pushed hard at another, causing him to tumble into the path of a pair of oxen, only for the fallen youth to be snatched back with a handful of tunic by the aforementioned offender who then delighted in informing his shaken colleague that his life had just been saved. These young men seemed so innocent and carefree. Scrave shook his head. He had never been innocent and being carefree soon meant being dead where he came from.

  A disturbance at the back of the caravan tore Scrave from his dark thoughts; voices raised in anger and alarm reached his ears. Moving silently away from the youths, Scrave made his way to the outer edge of the caravan and stared back across the desert sands, his eye tracing the snaking line of traders right back towards the city of Al Mashmaah, where slender minarets gleamed golden in the clear sunlight of the early dawn. One glance was all it took to confirm the Elf’s fears.

  Guards seated upon giant salamander were making their way up the line, their huge amphibian mounts hissing angrily at anyone who dared resist, large tails swishing in frustration or thumping down onto the sand, causing travellers to jump and start away. Irate guards pushed over boxes, emptying carts, causing a general disturbance as they made their way along the line searching for something, or more likely someone. It did not take much imagination to guess who that someone was!

  Scrave cursed his own stupidity, having already debated at length with himself, that leaving in a trade caravan was the most ob
vious and therefore the least wise choice of actions opened to him. Yet here he was, despite his mental protests, feet pounding the sand along with all of these other travellers, destination unimportant as long as it was away from Al Mashmaah and its prying eyes.

  These desperate actions made no sense! He knew that it was dangerous to leave, so why was he here now? The Elf reached up and subconsciously touched his eyepatch, then paused, hand raised, as his mind caught up with his actions and started filling in the blanks. A dawning realisation of horror swept over him, the thoughts sending shivers down his spine as the only possible cause squirmed within his right eye socket. It had all felt so natural at the time, as if Scrave were the one leading the way and making the decisions but now as he thought about it, there could be no other reason why he was in this ludicrous position. The Elf almost believed he could hear whatever it was chuckling at his horrific discovery.

  Shouts and cries of protest became progressively louder as the guards continued to advance. A couple of excitable chickens ran out from the column straight into the path of one loping salamander that simply flicked out a long sticky tongue and drew the creatures, feathers and all back into its maw with a sickening crunch. The guards pulled traders aside, making them stand apart from their families and fellow travellers, whilst they ransacked their belongings, the contents scattered cruelly across the sand.

  Scrave’s initial instinct was to run away, find somewhere to hide but the desert was a barren and desolate place with nowhere for him to run without being exposed as the fugitive that he was. He considered pushing through the crowds, making his way towards the front of the column and then just as swiftly reconsidered, there was an established hierarchy to these trade caravans and if he were to try to push past, towards the more affluent travellers, looking as he did, his discovery would be certain. The thought of his current camouflage betrayed by the very people he was using to hide within gave the Elf an uncomfortable moment to pause and consider his options.