by GJ Kelly
The Kraal, now loose and with blood in its mouth and flesh in its gullet, tossed back its head, closed its great eye, and gave a single, chilling call, Kraaaaaaaaaaaaahl!
Trees and boughs splintered under the withering fire of Allazar’s second blast, the noises mingling with the explosive cry of the beast. Then the creature, free of its aquamire bonds, twitched its head towards the southernmost group the Jardember had shown it on the road, and began its thundering run towards the northeast.
Gawain charged after it, hurling his arrow at the stunned Gorian blocking his path, the man dead and no longer an obstacle in the time it took Gawain to flip the string back around his wrist. Behind him, Gawain briefly heard the sounds of fighting, but the noise of the Kraal as it crashed through the forest with surprising speed was soon all he could hear. All he could do now was to keep running, to keep pace with the beast. Keep running, and keep thinking.
You must always be prepared to be creative Thank you, Captain Hass of The One Thousand.
It can move surprisingly quickly for its size Thank you, Allazar.
And there are few ways it may be destroyed outright, Thank you again, Allazar, or rather thank you knowledge of elder times.
Ahead, the beast suddenly seemed to disappear in a great plume of white mist, but Gawain saw that it had simply plunged straight into and through a broad stream, the sound of its impact with the water masked by the rumbling thunder of its headlong charge towards the road.
Drowning may be employed. There are no recorded occasions of a Kraal of Tansee possessing the ability to swim. Wonderful, Gawain though, leaping from bank of the stream and trying to maintain his pace as he himself ran through the water. He closed on the beast quickly, but daren’t approach too closely lest it simply halted, turned, and ripped him apart.
But the Kraal didn’t turn, and instead seemed to jink this way and that, slowing a little, as if confused. Closer to the road, the gap between the two groups of living lights its eye could now see unaided by the Jardember and the parGoth were becoming farther apart. Onward it charged, though slower, the noise of its passage louder now as the forest began to thin, more plants and saplings springing from the forest floor in the increasing light.
Gawain could see it clearly now and stepped up his pace, deciding the beast couldn’t possibly hear his approach over the din of its charge. It jinked again, slamming into taller saplings, smashing them to the ground, its body naturally following the jerking swing of its head as it tried to decide which of two targets would give it the most food.
Time and distance were reduced to nothing more than the yards between Gawain and the Kraal, and running, and thinking.
Then, within a few hundred yards of the road, the Kraal came to a lurching, juddering halt, earth and debris flying like the bow-wave of a ship before it. It stood, snorting great blasts of air, its massive head swinging to the left and the right. Whatever diversionary tactics Tyrane had employed seemed to have utterly confused the creature, and Gawain sank to his knees behind a tree no more than fifteen yards behind it.
Be creative! The voice of his old captain chided. Thank you, Captain, what do you want me to do, dig a pit in which to drown it, burn it, or bury it alive? In the absence of white fire or a suitable hole in the ground, my options are rather limited, don’t you think?
Gawain tried to still his thoughts, peering around the tree at the Kraal. Its hunger and impatience would soon make a decision and the road was close now.
It’s an interesting point of view, Captain, Gawain’s own much younger voice echoed in his memory, But how exactly does an officer be creative at the head of a squadron of riders galloping towards an enemy at full charge?
The old and vastly experienced Captain had smiled. You keep your eyes open and your wits about you, look for the weaknesses and exploit them, look for the strengths and avoid them. And do what you think they least want you to do.
Gawain listed his weapons, briefly. Arrows, useless. Shortsword, likewise. Boot knife, ditto. Longsword, probably ditto. Strengths, surprise. Weakness, soft and crunchy, as even the massive Gorian guardsman Aldayan had been. Enemy’s weapons, teeth, horn, size, armour, speed. Strengths, all of the above. Weakness, none… no, not true, Gawain thought. Think! Eyeball the size of a serving plate. And something else. Something he’d seen when he’d first encountered the creature. The same something he’d seen when the Kraal had lifted its head in the clearing to utter its triumphant call after breaking free.
Kraaaaaaaaaaaaahl!
Gawain snatched a glance from cover and saw that something again, until the beast’s deafening cry ended and it lowered its massive head. The Kraal’s limited brain had clearly made a decision, and with a single snorting breath, it lurched forward into another charge, choosing the southernmost lights as its target. Gawain, filled with a sudden grim determination and only the most futile of hopes, sprinted after it.
Nearer the road, the beast didn’t bother trying to avoid the thin and spindly trees that stood between it and the track, and simply crashed through them, clearing its own path. But the debris it left in its wake hampered Gawain, and he had to jink this way and that to avoid the obstacles and debris that whipped around him. Ahead, Gawain thought he caught a glimpse of horses, lots of them, and then his attention was drawn back to the Kraal and the remains of another tree whipping back and around towards him.
At the ditch that ran alongside the road, the Kraal simply kept running, its immense size carrying it over and onto the stony track. But then it dug its massive feet in to the road turning broadside on, sending up another great wave of mud and gravel as it tried desperately to halt its own incredible momentum. Gawain dove forward, coming to rest laying half in the ditch and half out, feeling cold and muddy water soaking his legs. A glance to the left showed the reason for the Kraal’s sudden attempt to halt, and for its earlier confusion: all the horses, including Gwyn, were now galloping north along the Jarn road, most of them riderless. Half a mile further on, perhaps a little more, a large group of people stood in neat rows, watching.
The Kraal’s attempt to halt its eastward motion failed horribly, and after ploughing a huge furrow in the road it slammed into the ditch on the far side, which sent it tumbling and rolling into the woods beyond, felling everything that grew in its path. The destruction was unimaginable, the behemoth leaving a trench in its wake and shattering trees twenty feet into the woods before it came to a halt and began trying to twist and rock itself up onto its feet, snorting violently.
And back up onto its feet it was in short order, aquamire blotches swimming black in the scaly folds of the armoured skin covering its body, swinging its head from side to side. Again, this time in rage and perhaps in discomfort, it closed its eye, lifted its head, and let out its blood-curdling cry. Kraaaaaaaaaaaaahl!
Gawain looked to the north. In the distance, people were mounting the horses and the wagons had been placed across the road, blocking it. It was a futile gesture, Gawain knew, looking at the wreckage of road and woodland around him. But perhaps it might slow the beast enough to allow the people a few more yards head start. Although it did seem to him that their movements were really rather orderly, given the circumstances. From this distance, there was no sign of panic or haste…
The Kraal, however, its head lowered and eye open, gaze fixed upon the bright life-lights ahead, rumbled towards them, striding across the ditch and on to the easier going of the track. Gawain heaved himself out of the ditch and sprinted after it. He would have only one chance, and even that was slim indeed. As he ran, he slipped the longsword in its scabbard from over his shoulder, holding it tightly in his left hand, sprinting hard to catch up with the Kraal. He closed on the beast, positioning himself on its left flank, just to the rear of the stubby hind legs and the blasts of dirt and gravel the three-toed feet were flinging up.
Ahead, perhaps five hundred yards away, he thought he caught sight of a familiar figure standing in one of the wagons, a curved longbow held at the ready, wh
ile behind her the horses, some with two riders, seemed just to stand there, simply watching as the immense and deadly dark-made horror thundered towards them.
Four hundred yards, and breathing hard now but keeping pace with the Kraal, watching the jerky, jolting rise and fall of the great muscular hump behind its head and the ridges and folds of the armoured skin there. The beast’s great eye bulging unseen in the flat forehead facing straight down the road, completely oblivious to the young man now drawing level with its hindquarters.
Three hundred and fifty yards, and the slender elfin seemed incredibly to be drawing the bow. Run, Elayeen! What are you thinking! flashed through Gawain’s mind as he drew alongside the Kraal’s mid-section.
Three hundred yards and sure enough, an elven longshaft flashed into the leaden sky, catching the last rays of sun setting beyond the trees in the west. Only to be trampled underfoot by the thundering Kraal after landing harmlessly in the road.
Two hundred and fifty yards, and Elayeen loosed another shaft, and this one too fell short. Still the riders on their horses seemed intent on simply watching their doom charge towards them.
Two hundred yards, and Gawain saw Elayeen nocking another shaft. But with a sudden surge and his eyes fixed upon the Kraal’s hump, Gawain drew alongside the beast’s shoulders, and then reached out with his right hand, and leapt…
Gawain clutched at the folds of skin on the hump of muscle and bone behind the Kraal’s head, the skin here wrinkled and protruding like the seams of a badly-made boat. To Gawain, it was as simple and as dangerous as mounting a horse on the run in a battlefield, only it was no saddle he had grasped, and it was no horse he straddled.
A hundred and fifty yards and incredibly another elven longshaft flashed briefly before slamming into the Kraal’s long face, just below the black horn. A glance up, and now the riders beyond the wagon were moving, but north, the one direction they must not go. And alone, in the wagon, the frozen face of Eldengaze fixed forward, Elayeen drew another arrow from her quiver.
A sudden feeling of profound loss swept over Gawain and once again, the world seemed to slow. The jerking ride upon the Kraal’s back seemed to undulate smoothly rather jolt, the sound of thunder from the road becoming lower, more constant, and the blur of the trees at the periphery of his vision seemed to come into sharp focus. Ahead, Eldengaze stood poised, bow drawn, broken fingers clearly forgotten, waiting to release the shot.
Gawain wanted Elayeen back, if only for a moment, just long enough to say goodbye.
A hundred yards.
Gawain sighed and leaned forward over the beast’s hump, and clinging to the creature as best a master horseman could with just his legs, slipped two feet of the bright steel of the Sword of Justice from its scabbard.
Eighty yards.
Releasing his grip on the pommel of the longsword, then forming his right hand into a spiteful claw, reaching up into the air, summoning his strength, and plunging it down and back into the awful jellied orb of the Kraal’s eye, bursting it…
Seventy yards.
Grasping fingers clutching the bony rim of the crusted, armoured lid as instinctively the beast tried to close the useless eye, heaving back and up…
Sixty yards.
The Kraal’s head swinging up, and Gawain still with his right hand heaving upward, his left sliding the longsword under beast’s throat…
Fifty yards.
A final heave on the eyelid and Gawain saw the pommel of the sword below and to the right, rising as the beast’s head came up…
Forty yards.
Gawain gripped the pommel of the sword, still half in scabbard, and began heaving back, feeling the steel rasp against the armoured and scaly skin under the Kraal’s jaw…
Thirty yards.
Kraaaa… but the beast’s cry of agony and rage ended abruptly. Its head thrown up, the eyelids closed, the white line of soft, pliable skin Gawain had noted between the armoured plates of head and chest yielded easily to the honed edge of the Sword of Justice; with a strength born of desperation Gawain heaved it up through the bone of the neck and into the enormous muscles heaped upon the immense collar of the Kraal’s shoulders…
Twenty yards.
Sound began to return in a rush and his sense of balance told him that the Kraal had collapsed beneath him. He caught a brief glimpse of Eldengaze still standing alone in the wagon, still aiming the longshaft, and then a great bow-wave of dirt, grit and gravel began to spew up in front of him, and he let go of the sword.
The world tumbled, he closed his eyes, and tried his best to roll into a ball. Something slammed violently between his legs before had time to draw his knees up to his chest, he felt the air blasting from his lungs and hoped that the something hadn’t been the Kraal’s black horn. Then, impact after impact, and he was tumbling violently too.
Five yards. With a sound like rain, the noise of dirt and grit showering on wood. A great pain deep in his bowels and the wind blasted from him. He opened his eyes and for the briefest of moments, he saw Eldengaze, bow relaxed but shaft still nocked, gazing down at him, cold as the crime of a frost-rimed rose in winter. Then he rolled over, gagging for breath, retching and writhing with the agony of a kind only a man can know.
“Longsword!” a distant cry, “Longsword!” nearer this time.
The sound of horses, hooves and boots on gravel, and great waves of pain.
“Longsword! By the Teeth, Longsword!”
The sound of something heavy crunching into the dirt near his head, heavy breathing from at least three men, and then hands gripping his shoulders.
“Longsword! Gawain! By all that’s sacred let my king live!” Allazar’s voice gasped.
Gawain simply succumbed to the waves of pain welling up from deep within him, and was only vaguely aware of being lifted, and carried, and then put down on something a little softer than gravel, though not by much. Hands rubbed at his temples, and he heard a faint chanting. One panicked thought flashed into his mind like a blazing arrow, chickens! And then the pain faded into nothing.
When his senses finally returned, the great billowing clouds of gut-wrenching agony had subsided, and other pains vied for his attention. Knees and elbows stang, hips and a shoulder throbbed, and his shoulder-blades and back ached. Last time he had felt like this had been in training, losing his seat on Gwyn while trying to take a jump followed by a hairpin turn far too quickly. Memory flooded back, his ears began working again, and he flicked his eyes open.
The sky was leaden, dusk had fallen, and flickering shadows spoke of lit torches, which was surely madness on the road. He was about to protest when Allazar’s grimy face swung into view, blotting out the sky.
“Ah. He is awake.”
At once he heard a whispering, and then great cheers, loud and triumphant, a raucous din which, if the torches were madness, was truly insane.
“Are you all mad, wizard?” Gawain gasped. “Douse the flames! Silence that cheering!”
He tried to push himself up on screaming elbows but Allazar’s hand upon his chest pressed him firmly back onto the pile of horse-blankets in the wagon on which he lay.
“Rest, Longsword, and be at peace. The darkness is destroyed, and reinforcements are arrived from Callodon. The eyes of the eldengaze report nothing but the light of life all around, and you live! Rest, and gather your strength. There’s to be rabbit stew for supper, isn’t that wonderful?”
oOo
25. Thirty Yards
It wasn’t bad, Gawain conceded, scraping the last of the stew from the bowl before laying it aside and nestling back against the water butts. Allazar, seated at the end of the wagon scraped his own bowl clean then added his to Gawain’s before handing them both with a contented sigh to a smiling Gorian lady. When she had gone, Gawain eyed the wizard.
“Torches, cheering, reinforcements, and rabbit stew. Either I’m dead and in a cruel yonderlife or you really have gone mad. What happened, Allazar? Last thing I remember was a cruel pain.”
“My lord, Serre wizard,” Tyrane announced, appearing from the gloom at the foot of the wagon. Night had fallen now, and with the meal all but over, torches were being extinguished and people were settling in small groups. The Callodon captain handed a familiar looking bottle to Allazar. Jurian brandy.
“Ah! Excellent, thank you, Captain, I was just explaining to my king the events which occurred in our absence, but perhaps you are better placed to give the briefing.”
“Of course, Serre wizard, though I feel I should point out that the brandy was for his Majesty.”
“Ah.” Allazar eyed the bottle ruefully and passed it to Gawain, who shot the wizard a smug smile before taking a swig and handing it back to the captain.
“Ah.” Allazar sighed again, and the captain relented and handed him the bottle with a smile.
“So,” Gawain sighed, feeling the glow spreading through him. “Explain all, Tyrane. I couldn’t believe what I saw as I ran down the road behind that beast.”
“And we could not believe what we saw running towards us, my lord.” Tyrane shook his head in awe and leaned against the side of the wagon. “But here are the events as we experienced them:
“About five or ten minutes after you and your party turned west into the woods, our Gorian friends were about to begin their first run south along the road when your lady turned to me and announced that something bright was approaching from the southeast. She couldn’t say what, only that it was moving quickly through the woods from the direction of the plains, and that it was bright, not dark.
