The Labyris Knight

by Adam Derbyshire

  A bright flash of light cut the air over the tradesmen isolated to one side and a stench of strong ozone started to filter through the convoy. A slender figure stepped from the light, followed by a group of heavyset guards. Long silky robes flowed about her form, accentuating curves and offering a brief glimpse of tantalising flesh that would be the dream or death of any man whose gaze lingered too long.

  The Elf took a deep breath in shock and tried to steady himself; how had the sorceress found him so fast? His sudden, unexpected inhalation coincided with a mischievous gust of wind and a handful of blown sand from the desert that lashed Scrave’s face and entered his open mouth, resulting in a coughing spasm he was powerless to stop. Worried stares from the traders and wayfarers around him resulted in merchants starting to ease away from this unexpected risk of contagion.

  Scrave tried to smile, tried to reassure everyone with a waving hand that he was fine but he just ended up coughing more, bringing tears to his eye. He tried to blink rapidly and cover his mouth in a futile attempt to quell the outburst even as he gained another glimpse of the beauty that pursued him at the corner of his eye. The Elf would have recognised those legs anywhere, even with an eye that streamed with tears!

  Justina stepped away from her guards and slinked over to the first hapless trader, shouted something at him that Scrave could not hear, then cast a spell that made the unfortunate man’s head explode in a blossom of gore. His smoking corpse dropped to the sand, the stump of his neck still smoking, as cries of anguish rose from his family back in the main convoy. Unperturbed by this reaction, Justina advanced towards the next in line and repeated her fearsome questioning.

  Having seen enough, Scrave turned away to lose himself back into the crowd only to find to his surprise that during his coughing fit, he had been left standing well apart from the convoy. He looked around in shock, trying to gauge the best direction to head without drawing attention to himself and slowly started to move back, only to hear a loud voice demand that he stopped and identified himself.

  The Elf bowed his head, cursing his poor luck, turning on the spot, as a mounted guard charged up to him on his salamander, the amphibian skidding to a halt in a blast of sand that threatened to set off Scrave’s coughing all over again. He tried to hunch down lower, tried to make himself look pitiful and poor, only to feel his breath catch in his throat as the figure of Justina paused in her interrogation and stared directly at him.

  “State your name and business.” The guard demanded, pointing his lance directly at Scrave’s chest. The Elf pantomimed another cough, theatrically clutching at his robes, before slowly slipping his hand inside to feel the cool metal of the enchanted serpent dagger wrap almost sensuously around his wrist. He checked the tip of the lance, noting the skill of the guard and the fact it barely wavered. The guard’s reach with the weapon was a distinct disadvantage and moving in close would put the Elf dangerously near to the snapping salamander. Scrave licked his lips nervously, his voice still hoarse from the cough and prepared to act.

  “Speak up man.” The guard demanded, alighting from his mount as it pawed impatiently at the ground, its long tail flicking from side to side in excitement, possibly in the hope of having another Elf-sized chicken for lunch. Scrave risked a quick glimpse over the guard’s shoulder and noticed that Justina was now taking slow measured steps towards him. He needed to act now!

  “Oh father, what are you doing out here?” A voice rose from behind him, making the tense Elf jump, as an arm draped across his shoulder and tried to guide him away. “I have told you so many times not to wander off.”

  The surprise was total as Scrave took in the features of the dark-haired youth alongside him and instantly recognised him as the shy lad from the gaming group. In the sunlight, the young man’s acne appeared truly brutal and his swept over hair gleamed with grease but at that precise moment, Scrave could have kissed him.

  “Sorry son.” He mumbled, instantly catching on and taking his role. “I get so confused sometimes. When are we going to reach your sister’s home again? Is it this way?” He waved his staff and appeared unsteady, leaning his weight on the youth and almost making him fall over, before veering off towards the guard and making the man jump back or risk skewering the Elf by accident.

  “Soon father, soon!” the youth stated aloud, snatching at Scrave’s robe and almost jarring the Elf’s hand, complete with dagger, from within its folds. The boy leaned in close and whispered into Scrave’s ear. “You are so right about living in the real world. Just think of the stories I’m going to be able to tell now.”

  “They won’t be much good to you if you are dead.” Scrave shot back, before continuing to stagger dramatically towards the amused faces of the people in the trade caravan.

  “Hang on.” The guard interrupted. “Where are you headed?”

  “He’s with us!” shouted several other voices, diverting the guard’s attention away and further down the column, to where an extremely tall man appeared to be pointing towards someone behind him and out of sight. The guard turned back in irritation only to realise that the addled old man and his carer had somehow moved much faster than expected and had made it back to the caravan and disappeared into the confusion. As they merged into the relative safety of the crowd, the young man breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “Thank you.” Scrave whispered as they parted the people before them.

  “I just hope my friends are okay.” The young man replied, only to be jostled as the other gamers materialised around them from the crowd.

  “By Solomon what did you think you were doing? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

  “Are you insane? Who was that old codger anyway?”

  The youth turned to speak to the Elf only to find that somehow in the excitement he had managed to slip away. He frowned at his friends’ lack of empathy, then set off in pursuit, threading through the crowd, pushing a flea-bitten donkey out of the way and slipping underneath the neck of a large docile camel, leaving his friends yelling pointlessly after him. The edge of the caravan came into sight and the youth pushed through. All the people around him were staring in shock at an unfolding scene that stopped the young man in his tracks. A mounted salamander could be seen charging off across the dunes with the Elf bouncing upon its saddle and a guard was lying on the ground, his body warped, as if he had been sucked dry and left in the merciless desert heat.

  “I have never seen the like.” A trader uttered at his side. “It is the work of devils. Who was that man?” Guards further down the column started shouting alarms the mounted guards on the other side struggled to push their snapping salamanders through the caravan causing confusion and screams of terror from travellers and animals alike.

  “To be honest I don’t even know his name.” came the youth’s thoughtful reply.

  * * * * * *

  The two sword blades crashed together, first high, then low, not with the full strength of a life or death duel but still with enough weight to injure if the weapons struck home.

  “Now faster,” Colette demanded breathlessly, pushing back her hair and stepping back to bring Kerian’s long sword back around to face her opponent. “You are holding back on me.”

  The two blades met again, striking dull tones that echoed across the deck. Colette meeting Aradol’s tame ripostes with lunges, flicks and parries, knocking her opponent’s blade from high to low, left to right, as the two stepped backwards and forwards in their dance.

  Colette slid her sword edge down the length of Aradol’s ancient blade and grinned, blowing air up across her face to make one of her blond curls bounce mischievously against her forehead before winking and blowing a kiss, then attacking again. She tried to get a reaction from Aradol’s solemn face but the young man was clearly preoccupied and failed to respond to her light-hearted gestures. There was nothing for it, she needed to be more spontaneous and catch him out.

  Aradol sighed deeply, his mind trying desperately to f
ocus on the training session and the beautiful woman before him but he kept seeing the image of the grave of his friend on the quiet beach and the placement of the final stones of the cairn by his shipmates. It was so hard to concentrate at times like this. How could he continue as if nothing had happened, as if life was normal once more? It felt like a betrayal to Ives memory. Knowing he would never see his friend’s happy smile, ever…

  “Look out!”

  Colette’s attack came in high, Kerian’s blade slicing through the air, its momentum accelerated by the weight of the weapon as it practically dragged the young mage’s arms down with it.

  Aradol observed the attack with disbelief, caught completely unaware, realising he was wide open and in no position to parry. He started to swing his weapon up to try and deflect some element of the blow, already knowing that he was going to be too late and realising that he should never have taken his eyes off his enthusiastic student. He stared into Colette’s deep blue eyes noting her innocent smile and watched as her whole expression changed to one of horror in a heartbeat. Who would have thought it was going to end like this? The crewman closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.

  The clash of steel on steel jarred Aradol’s eyes open again and he looked up to see another blade had intercepted Colette’s attack and held it bare inches from his skull.

  “Can we please concentrate on keeping my remaining crew alive?” Thomas grunted, his cutlass squealing its protest as the long sword scored down its edge. He pushed up, shoving Kerian’s magical blade aside, out of harm’s way, allowing its tip to crash onto the open deck.

  Colette shrieked, letting go of the hilt and dropping the whole sword to the floor, before she ran forward and grabbed Aradol by the face, twisting him around in her direction.

  “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I never realised how heavy the blade was. If anything had happened to you, I would never have been able to forgive myself.”

  “It is normally common courtesy to warn me when you are going to attack.” Aradol stammered. “I can’t teach you if I am dead!”

  “Not unless you are one with the force.” Thomas quipped. “Be wary young Padawan. If you strike him down, he shall return moodier than ever.” He smiled at his own witty attempt at humour, imagining Aradol glowing with a ghostly luminance not entirely dissimilar to Kerian’s enchanted blade, coaching Colette in the art of swordplay, only to find that neither Aradol nor Colette were even listening, being absorbed with each other. He turned and walked away muttering to himself and considered finding a more responsive audience to perform to.

  There had to be someone to speak to onboard, something to do, anything to take his mind off what was happening at the helm and the repairs going on below decks. Rowan was tough, she was going to be fine but there was a growing feeling of unease Thomas could not shake. Maybe he should go back and ask Commagin to pull Rowan up out of the steerage and back to safety.

  The captain shook his head, no he could not do that to her. Rowan was trying to prove her worth to him and the crew; if he stepped in and took this opportunity from her then she would always resent him for it. He was damned whatever he did and he felt terrible leaving her in a situation he had no control over.

  Taking the ladder down to the main deck, Thomas tried to whistle a tune to himself and appear casual as he quietly patrolled the ship. The El Defensor creaked and groaned gently beneath him, as if she were alive and breathing in and out softly in time with the gentle waves lapping at her hull. The rustle of canvas drew the captain’s gaze upward, to note birds with crescent shaped wings of scarlet and green, darting and scything between the masts and swooping across the sky. Their colours so vibrant and alien against the cornflower blue backdrop that for a moment Thomas could almost believe he was looking at the paintbrush results of an eccentric expressionist painter rather than seeing these magnificent creatures in real life.

  A school of flying fish leapt from the waters of the bay, arcing gracefully before falling back into the depths from which they came, drawing Thomas’s thoughts back over to the looming pyramid set high up on the bluff and the green mantle of jungle it wore. He knew there was a maze beneath the massive monolith but from down here upon deck the details were lost to the eye. Even so, the captain could see the smoke of several fires and hear the sounds of construction originating from the base of the pyramid. Whatever was going on over there the pace had picked up dramatically since he had last considered it.

  He reached the ladder to the forecastle and began to climb staring out towards the long bridge that connected the city of Taurean with the jungle and the pyramid beyond. People in brightly coloured garb ran along its slender length, stringing bunting and flags from the statues and hanging banners from the rail. There was almost a carnival air about the place.

  His ears picked up the sound of quiet whispering as the captain neared the prow of the ship. Not sensing any threat in the sound upon his own ship, he rounded the corner and found Brother Richard sitting cross-legged on the floor, a large dusty book lying open in his lap. The priest appeared lost in thought, staring intently into the pages as if the very secrets of the universe where here for the taking, the man talked to the page before him, clearly mouthing the words aloud as he focused on crafting a small mannequin out of sticks.

  “I used to do that when I was learning to read.” Thomas asked, eager to engage in conversation, “especially with the hard words.”

  Brother Richard tore his gaze from the page as if slapped. His face flushed crimson, his eyes darting about as the actions of someone who clearly had something to hide. Richard gently closed the volume, his faded and stained blue robes covering the tome protectively, his accusatory gaze piercing and angry. He checked to see if the captain had anyone else alongside him, placing the hand with the stick figure out of sight within his robes as he did so.

  “What are you reading?” Thomas continued, edging closer, only to note the frustration rising in the monk sitting before him.

  “It’s private.” Richard replied. “Please would you leave me in peace to undertake my studies?” The captain paused, noting the hostility, not sure why it was being directed at him.

  “That book has to be a best seller if your face is anything to go by.” Thomas replied flashing a disarming smile. “Its fine, I’ll just leave you to go on reading. I just thought you might like a little company, instead of talking to yourself.” He shrugged his shoulders and walked on, noting that Richard was moving his upper body and robes to shield the book and prevent the captain from glimpsing what he was looking at.

  “Maybe you can tear yourself away enough to stop and chat on my next lap.” Thomas smiled. He turned back towards the main deck and started to navigate the harbour side of the ship where the view was no less majestic but now there was an uncomfortable chill to the air.

  The city of Taurean loomed now above him, crowned by the palace containing the matriarch who had tried to have him poisoned. He itched to make Mora see the error of her ways but with the guards and populace so suspicious of him and his crew, the chances of getting anywhere near her with a weapon was as likely as the captain ever seeing the Manhattan skyline again.

  The gangway shook ahead, as someone started to board the ship. Thomas took the opportunity of the distraction to push Brother Richard from his mind and slid down the ladder to meet the person coming up.

  Weyn, looking more battered and bruised than ever was in the lead, his arm bandaged and held in a sling. Mathius came up behind him holding a curled document in his hand.

  “Any luck finding Ashe or Rauph?” Thomas opened.

  “Well we found one of them alright!” Mathius replied in a tone that left Thomas honestly wondering why he had even asked. “Just wait until you see this.”

  Thomas allowed Weyn to squeeze by then watched Mathius unroll the paper and display the illustration upon its surface. The dark font proclaimed a great event but the writing blurred into insignificance to the illustration set
below it.

  “I don’t believe it.” Thomas muttered, as he took in the likeness on the bill. “How in the world did he get himself into that mess?”

  * * * * * *

  “I know him!” Ashe squealed through a mouth of half-chewed cinnamon swirl pastry that he had found just lying around abandoned on a bakery stall. He pointed excitedly at the poster plastered on the wall before him and turned his head to where Sinders sat perched on his left shoulder, looking into the scruffy bird’s deep black beady eye. “And you know him too, that’s Rauph. I wonder what naughty thing he has done to be put up on a poster?”

  The Halfling, covered in grime from head to foot, looked a sorry state for having slept in the gutter beneath a pile of refuse the night before. His four-foot high frame had attempted to return to the El Defensor back in the harbour but every time he did, he had found the way blocked by rather stern looking Minotaur guards who by the sound of their gruff discussions appeared to be searching high and low for a diminutive escaped convict.

  Looking more like a walking vagrant than his usual happy go lucky self, Ashe had tried to push the misery he felt at not being able to return to his friends into something more positive and had took up the chore of finding this terrible prisoner by himself. Although the Halfling had to admit that finding the elusive felon had been more of a challenge than he had expected, especially with all the distractions Taurean had to offer.

  Ashe tapped his foot and scrunched his little face up thinking carefully. He had been on a poster once and it had not been a very nice experience. For one thing, everyone knew what you looked like and in another because of the unkind words scrawled beneath his face everyone had placed their hands in their pockets or over their valuables when he had wandered near. Did this mean Rauph was being kicked out of Taurean? The Halfling moved closer, wrinkling his little nose and mouthing the words of the poster.