by Peter David
I nodded, taking some comfort in the words, but I still could not shake the feeling that we were underestimating the incendiary nature of the situation.
We mounted up shortly thereafter, I once again taking my place by the princess. She did not even so much as afford me a glance. Obviously I no longer mattered to her, if I ever did. She had told me what she thought the way of things was going to be. So of what possible future relevance was I to her?
As we continued our ride through the forest, I found myself consumed with watching the woods around us. Knowing that Tacit was out there now made every shadow seem to come to life. I strained to hear the slightest crack of a twig or displacement of a stone. Even as I did so, I felt a sense of hopelessness. If Tacit was indeed out there—and I had no reason to think not at that point—then he was not one to tip his presence through such a happenstance. Part of me wondered if his claims to having been raised by unicorns had some basis in fact. Even if they did not, his woodsmanship and forestry were second to none, and he was about as likely to reveal his presence through a mishap as I was to sprout wings and fly the rest of the way to Isteria.
I heard something far in the distance then. A faint cawing that sounded like a bird’s call, but there was something about it that seemed peculiar somehow. I looked around but saw no reactions from any of the other knights. They seemed too busy scouring the woods around us, looking for some sign of pursuit or danger.
That’s when the rustling from overhead drew my attention.
I looked up, but the branches were thick with leaves and it was impossible to discern anything. They seemed quite still, though. Perhaps I had imagined it …
… or perhaps not.
I drew back from Entipy a bit so that I was alongside Nestor. His eyebrows knit into a questioning look.
“I heard something. A rustling from overhead.”
“Overhead?” He looked up as I had and then shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. Probably just some sort of animals.”
“Possibly the two-legged kind.”
“No. No, the branches are too thin. Anything of any weight climbs up there, it would come snapping right off. Actually,” and he licked a finger and held it up, “it’s fairly gusty hereabouts. I would imagine it’s even more so up there. So you probably heard nothing more than the wind.”
“All right. If you’re sure.”
Nestor smiled. “Your concerns are natural enough, squire. This is your first major mission. Of course you feel that there are enemies lurking about, hiding everywhere, waiting to spring out at you if you give them the slightest opportunity. That’s good. That’s a good attitude to have. Care and attention to the world around you is what any knight needs to survive. But if you worry too much about too many things, you can drive yourself to such a state as to be virtually useless to others. You’re surrounded by good knights here, strong and true. The princess, although a little … odd … offers no true threat to us, nor does her supposed paramour. Do not work yourself into a frenzy of distress, young Apropos. Such actions will be the death of you.”
That was the last thing he said to me before the arrow thudded into his chest from overhead.
Nestor didn’t even realize at first. He heard the sound and felt the impact against him without fully comprehending the significance. It was only upon his looking at the protruding shaft, still quivering, that he understood precisely what was going on. He opened his mouth, probably to bark some sort of order, but he never even managed to get it out. All he did was slide off the horse, tumbling to the ground with a crash that brought everyone to a dead halt.
“We’re under attack!” I cried out, and even as I shouted the alarm, another arrow descended, slicing straight through the head of my unfortunate horse. The creature was killed instantly and fell over. I had no time to dismount or clear the creature’s corpse before it hit, and as a consequence the animal fell squarely on top of me.
Shouts started coming from everywhere. “Shields!” cried some and “Protect the princess!” called others, and then the air was alive with arrows. Some knights did indeed manage to get their shields up in time, blocking the initial salvos. Others were far less fortunate, and both knights and squires were falling right and left, crying out in anger and confusion, unable to see the face of the enemy that was dispatching them in a manner both cowardly and yet quite efficient.
At first I tried to push Alexandra’s corpse off me, but as several more arrows slammed down into the horse’s unmoving body, I realized I had stumbled upon a rather serendipitous buffer. My sword was strapped to my back and, pinned flat on my back as I was, I was unable to get to it. But my walking staff was lashed to the side of the horse and, reaching over tentatively, I managed to work it loose. I figured I was going to need it if I was to have any hope of levering the beast off me.
I tried to catch sight of what was happening. Sir Umbrage was still standing, holding his buckler high, his sword gripped and ready in his right hand. He had dropped all pretense of the vacuous, easily befuddled knight. There was determination in his face, and he was scanning the branches overhead, trying to catch some sight of the opponent.
Entipy was also there. She looked a bit confused, though, and I wasn’t surprised. She was probably thinking that this sort of mass slaughter wasn’t Tacit’s style. The same thing had occurred to me. I had no idea why Tacit would resort to such a tremendous force of arms when subtlety would do just as easily. Why not wait for nightfall and simply slip away with her into the darkness, particularly when she was so willing and eager to go? Why a frontal assault?
The arrows stopped. The knights, whose number had been cut by close to half, looked around at each other in dread and confusion. Surprisingly—to them, if not to me—it was Umbrage who called out sharply and in a firm voice, “Keep those shields up!”
“Shall we close ranks, sir?” called one of the squires. I could tell from his voice, he was terrified but trying not to show it.
“And serve them up a better target? I think not! Apropos! Take the princess and run for it! We’ll cover your retreat!”
He had not seen my slightly inconvenient position, lodged as I was beneath a dead horse. “That might prove difficult, sir!”
He turned and saw me there, and then the princess decided to switch into royal mode. “I run from no one!” she declared. “I’m in no danger! I’m—”
And that was when the enemy descended en masse.
Chapter 14
You have heard of Harpies, I am quite sure. Those screeching bird-women with claws that can rip you to shreds, and high-pitched, piercing voices that can finish off whatever’s left of you after the talons have done their work.
However, as widely known as the Harpies are, far less known is the fact that Harpies go into heat once every twenty years or so. I can assure you that it is not a pleasant time, for the only thing less attractive than a Harpy trying to kill you is a Harpy trying to make love to you. At least, I can only imagine it, since I have been fortunate enough not to have witnessed such a sight firsthand.
Unsurprisingly, their attempts at cross-breeding often do not work, because what man in his right mind would willingly couple with a Harpy? It may very well be that their frustrated “love lives,” as it were, is the explanation as to why Harpies are perpetually in such a foul mood. For one thing, it is impossible to distinguish the charge of a killer Harpy from the charge of an amorous one, so even brave men would flee at the sight of them. Certainly it was difficult to find men who were remotely in the mood or capable of performing under the rather demanding circumstances.
There was one occasion, though, when a flock of in-heat Harpies descended upon a leper colony. By that time the Harpies’ urge for mating was so overwhelming that they were not exactly choosy. As for the lepers, a number of them were already blind, and certainly—what with being lepers and all—any hopes of sexual congress had long been adjourned. So when they heard women coming in droves, even though they were women crying out in extrem
ely annoying voices, the lepers perceived it only as good fortune and perhaps even a divinely inspired errand of mercy.
Naturally mating with the Harpies resulted in the deaths of the chosen lepers, but at least it provided them with an opportunity that they never thought they would have: They went out with a bang.
The Harpies, in turn, returned to their nesting grounds and finally reproduced after many decades of fruitless attempts. The result, however, was not remotely what they expected. Every single one of the offspring which resulted from the assignation was male. This, of course, was revolting to the uniformly female Harpies. They could not, however, kill the little monstrosities, for the Harpies had very strict rules against slaying one of their own. So they simply abandoned the creatures, leaving them to fend for themselves.
Which they did.
The creatures had only existed as rumors for quite some time. There were fleeting reports of having seen one here or there, but it had been impossible to ascertain whether they genuinely existed or not. What everyone seemed to agree upon, though, was that the little grotesques were as fierce as their mothers, but—unlike the creatures that had spawned them—they had superb voices, almost melodious. Indeed, it was believed their victims were lured in by the sounds of their singing. They even fashioned crude musical instruments which they used for accompaniment.
Because of their outlandish nature, and their masculine bent, they had acquired the name of the Harpers Bizarre. And bizarre they most definitely were.
I knew, because it was these creatures who descended upon us now.
They were a fright to look at as they spiraled from the trees overhead. None of them was much over three feet high, but their diminutive stature was not to be confused with helplessness. From the waist down, they were covered with feathers, and their legs ended not in feet but in talons that I suspected were razor-sharp. They had human chests, arms, and heads, but their hair was wild, their blazing red eyes looked more birdlike than manlike, and they had small wings on their backs. The wings did not seem large enough or powerful enough to enable them to beat the air and go aloft, but they were sufficient to allow gliding. That was how they were coming at us now.
They didn’t appear to notice me at first since I was not exactly easily spotted beneath the horse. Instead they went straight for the knights and squires.
“Close ranks!” Umbrage now shouted, seeing that the arrow barrage had ceased and been replaced by a frontal assault. If he was at all intimidated by the sight we were facing, he didn’t show it. Their blades out, the knights were trying to keep their nervous mounts from bolting as they swung their swords, hacking and slashing at the Harpers.
But the Harpers were too agile, moving like a cross between birds and monkeys. They would flip back, out of harm’s way, ricochet off a tree and come back in at a different angle. Seeing the knights’ vulnerability, the Harpers Bizarre would come to ground and then bounce up, getting at the underbellies of the now terrified horses.
Knights, even knights on horseback, are accustomed to battling foes of a normal height. Because they were under assault by lethal beings who were so short, it made it impossible for the knights to get at them before the Harpers got at the horses. Frantically trying to get away, the horses bucked, stumbled, fell over one another, with the result that all of the gallant armored men were sent tumbling over one another, thrown from horseback and forced to carry on the battle on foot.
But on foot, they had no chance. While they staggered about in their armor, stiff and clumsy in comparison, the Harpers Bizarre moved with speed and alacrity that was frightful to behold.
I heard a melodious screech and looked up. One of the Harpers Bizarre was descending right toward me, his face twisted in a delirious look of joy, his talons fairly quivering with anticipation. He saw I had no sword in my hand, and my staff certainly didn’t appear to present any threat. He plunged straight at me. It was all I could do to steady my nerves, because I was trembling with terror. I had no choice but to wait until he was closer, closer, almost on top of me, and I smelled the ghastly odor of him as he let out a shout of glee in anticipation of the bloodletting.
That was when I popped the blade in the end of my staff.
He struck it dead center, the blade skewering right through his chest. He had a look of utter astonishment on his face. Immortal their mothers might be, but the Harpers Bizarre had human blood in them, and that blood was flowing from its wound and down my staff.
I had never killed anyone in my entire life. I suppose I should have been relieved or depressed or something, anything. But I was too frightened to feel anything except numb.
Then the creature writhed about, spasming wildly. I swung my staff and pitched the Harper away, and it tumbled through the air, still seized by its death throes, before landing some distance away where I could no longer see it.
I heard more cries, and screams, and the sounds of flesh being rended. There had been no female shriek, which made me wonder what Entipy’s status was. But naturally I was far more concerned about my own.
Still clutching my staff, I started to ease my lower body out from under the fallen horse. As I did so, something large and apparently wet thumped to the ground nearby me. I craned my neck around to see what it was and my breath caught in my throat. It was Sir Umbrage. To be more specific, it was his head, covered with blood, one eye gone, apparently having been torn out or even consumed. The other dead eye seemed to be staring right at me in a most accusatory fashion.
My stomach heaved in protest, and it was all I could do not to become sick on the spot. I tore my gaze away, hauled my lame leg out from beneath the horse, and started to do the only reasonable thing given the circumstances: crawl away.
I actually managed to get three whole feet before my escape route was cut off.
A Harper was directly in front of me. He was not in attack mode, however, nor did he seem to be looking at me. Instead he was staring at the bladed end of my staff with the blood on it. I noticed that, unlike the others, he seemed to be wearing some sort of ornamentation on his head, a glittering half-circle that looked vaguely like a crown.
It was then that I heard the princess’s voice. She was shouting, “Let me go, you feathered idiots!” Her protests were being met with raucous and sneering laughter. Hearing her made me realize that I was no longer hearing the voices of the other knights. While trying to keep an eye on the Harper in front of me, I still managed to cast a glance behind me. A quick look was all I needed; the piles of bodies certainly told the story eloquently enough.
The Harper in front of me called out “Briiiing her! Here! Heeeere!” in a tone that indicated he was accustomed to being obeyed. He didn’t simply speak … he seemed instead to “caw” his sentences, as if shouting from a great distance with a voice that was both deep and yet had a certain brittleness to it. Clearly he was the leader of the flock. Then he looked back to me. “My peeeeople. Yooooou kiiiiilled one of my peeeeeople,” he said.
“I did?” I asked, trying to buy time. With a nod of his head, he indicated the bloodied staff. “Oh … this. I have no idea how it got this way.”
“Noooo lie youuuu! Seeeefla the Annoyyyying … yoouuu killl!”
“No, really, I didn’t—”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Cowwaaaard you are, eh? Kiiiiiller … successful kiiiiiller … but coowaaard toooo! Amaaaaaazing!”
Entipy was surrounded by the Harpers, and she was pushed to the ground next to me. There was no fear in her, I had to give her that. She simply looked irritated. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was really that brave, or whether she was just so stupid that it hadn’t occurred to her that we were in mortal danger. “You,” she told the lead Harper, “are in serious trouble.”
This caused raucous laughter to filter through the assembled Harpers Bizarre. Now that I saw them all together, I realized there had to be about fifteen of them. Considering the way they fought, however, and the viciousness with which they could attack, they were cap
able of bringing down opponents numbering far greater than they themselves.
“Aiiiiileron am I. Aiiiileron of the Harpers Bizaaaaarre! Yoooouuu, Priiiincess, in more trouble than meeeeee, I think.”
I couldn’t help but feel that Aileron had a point.
Entipy clearly felt otherwise. “That may be what you think now. But things are going to change. You’ll see. You have no clue what’s coming.”
“Aaaaahhhh … yoooouuu think Taaaacit will come, eh? Taaaacit, eh?” The mention of the name caused much chuckling and snickering among the Harpers Bizarre.
Their reaction and apparent knowledge of Tacit’s involvement clearly had an effect on the princess, but to her credit she covered it well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And turn your face the other way when you speak; you tend to spit.”
This resulted in only more raucous laughter. With the ground and surrounding foliage red with blood, at least it was nice to see that somebody was in a good mood.
“IIIIIII thiiiink you know. Taaaacit One-Eye. Heeeee thiiiiink he stop us. Thiiiink heeee match for Harpers Bizaaaaaarre,” sneered Aileron. “I throoowww him off cliiiiiiff into riiiiiver. Waaashed away. Noooo moooorre Taaaacit.”
“You’re lying!” Entipy said defiantly, and then in a fury, she lunged at Aileron. She didn’t get very far, though, because the Harpers bore her to the ground and essentially sat on her. Struggling beneath their weight, she cried out, “Apropos! You’re supposed to be my bodyguard! Do something! Get them off me!”
This declaration of hers seemed to seize Aileron’s imagination. “Bodyguard? Yoooouuu?” he inquired.
