by Aaron Bunce
Henri watched two men jump before it. They stomped the ground and swung their weapons, trying to force the monster back. The creature didn’t back down, instead it lifted itself up high on its spiny legs and brandished its two front appendages threateningly in the air.
“Kill it, Dylan, kill it now!” Dugan yelled, as he ripped blindly at the strands of thread.
Dylan lunged forward, but as he did, the creature launched a glob of black goo, hitting Dylan squarely in the face.
“Ah,” he cried out, pawing at the mess on his face, “it burns.”
The other man dove in, stabbing hard at the blurry brown mass, but the creature was too quick and his blade struck only dirt. Realizing his error, the man tried to pull his sword free but the blade stuck, giving a wet squelch as it stuck fast in the sodden earth.
Henri watched in horror as the man stubbornly tried to free the weapon. The creature scurried forward with frightening speed and scrambled up his legs. The young woodsman spun on the spot, swatting and punching, trying to knock it loose.
Dugan tried to help Dylan as he stumbled around blindly, while the scruffy bearded Tibald grabbed the creature by its spiny legs and yanked it free from the other man. The creature thrashed in his hands, and for a moment Tibald didn’t seem to know what to do with it, so he simply threw it to the ground. Unfortunately, it landed on Henri’s legs, which were still wrapped in the sticky webbing.
The creature skittered forward, its hooked feet puncturing his flesh. Henri pulled one of his hands free as the creature clamped its legs around him, clamping down on him with tremendous force. He wrenched on the creature, pulling to dislodge its legs but its spiny skin sliced into his hands.
Henri’s vision cleared, allowing him to see the beast in gruesome detail. Hundreds of small hooked appendages crawled over him, seeking out anything to pull into its waiting mouths. Then the creature plunged down, sending finger sized fangs through his clothes and into his flesh.
Venom burned under his skin and the creature clamped down harder with his legs. Henri felt his strength draining away, his one free hand simply patting the creature’s bony body.
A bird cried out somewhere above him. It's call echoed through the trees, filling the valley and shaking the ground beneath him. Henri watched as an enormous white and gold form broke through the canopy of dry foliage. It swooped down in a shower of leaves, landing with massive black talons upon the bulbous creature. The monster lurched and immediately frenzied, scrabbling against him as the bird’s claws pierced its armored skin.
The eagle spread its enormous wings, each of the white and gold crested appendages longer than Henri was tall. The feathers on the bird’s breast shone and glinted like a radiant coat of polished gems, each one throwing dancing reflections as they were struck by the sunlight. Henri looked up into the bird’s large eye as it looked down at him, and something felt familiar.
Then with another piercing shriek, the bird drove its powerful wings down and shot into the air, the poisonous creature still struggling in its talons. The eagle flapped its wings once more and crashed back through the trees and out of sight. Henri stared up into the trees as the leaves rained down, his hand moving to cover the throbbing punctures in his belly.
“Where is it? Where did…I can’t see it!” Tibald screamed, twirling about, his sword cutting in dangerous.
“It’s…gone,” Henri said weakly.
“Did it run off? Is it in the trees? It’ll drop down on our heads!” one of the men screamed, instantly swinging his hand axe over his head.
Dugan dropped down next to him, tears and snot streaking his face and beard as he struggled to help Henri to sit up.
“The bird, did you see it?” Henri asked the old man.
“Bird, what bird?”
“It was a magnificent bird, Dugan! It grabbed the creature and flew off. Surely you saw it?” Henri breathed, fighting to push out the words.
Dugan shook his head and wiped his face on his sleeve.
“It screeched. It was loud, as loud as the trumpets in Ban Turin…surely you heard it?” Henri asked.
Dugan eyed him wearily, his eyes still puffy and red.
“It’s gone, that is all that matters now,” Dugan added before standing.
Dugan pulled Henri back and propped him up against a tree. He watched the group fall into the creek to wash their faces and eyes. Dugan walked back a few moments later and helped Dylan to sit.
“His eyes…” Henri started to say, but stopped.
Dylan stared blankly into the distance, his eyes poisoned milky-white by the creature’s venom. Dugan nodded darkly and proceeded to break Henri loose from the remaining strands of web.
Henri pulled his shirt up weakly, exposing a series of black puncture marks. His sides and chest were pocked with a hundred lesions from the creature’s barbed legs and feet.
“It was a death fisher,” Dugan said, inspecting Henri. “You’re lucky you weren’t alone, or you would have been dinner.”
“Don’t feel particularly lucky right now,” Henri grunted, clutching to his belly as his body start to seize up.
“They’re venomous beasts that will eat anything. Their poison doesn’t always kill, but it will sap the strength from muscles and clarity from the mind. They set up their webs by the water, or at the edge of forest clearings, and as animals come down to drink they become tangled in the sticky trap. A single bite is all it takes to pacify even the largest prey.
“Feeling pretty small,” Henri gasped, his belly twitching painfully.
“The venom takes your fight, allowing the death fisher to wrap you in a cocoon. Then it would pull you up into its tree, where it would feed upon you at its leisure. That is why they are called death fishers,” Dugan said ominously.
The other men bustled around Henri and Dylan, readying their packs. He watched them glance up into the canopy of the trees, and started to wonder if the eagle had been real, or the death fisher was really gone. Tibald helped Henri off of the ground and helped him down to the creek, where he washed his face and eyes.
It was painful and slow, but with Tibald’s help Henri was able to limp out of the valley. Dugan helped Dylan along, guiding him through the trees ahead of them.
“Shouldn’t have come, what was I thinking? Damn Dugan, damn him,” Tibald mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Henri grunted as he fumbled forward, his arm slung over Tibald’s shoulder.
“Ah, Henri ain’t your fault. You’re just looking for your little ones. I can’t blame you for that. Did I hear you right? A bird grabbed that death fisher?” Tibald asked, changing the subject.
Henri nodded, because his voice failed him. Tibald cast him a sidelong glance, but did not pursue the topic further.
Why was I the only one who could see the golden bird? Surely, they heard it? How could they not? Julian thought, his doubts circling in his mind repeatedly.
It became increasingly difficult for Henri to move, even with Tibald’s help. Moments turned into hours and Henri’s concentration waned. All he wanted to do was lay down and fall asleep. It quickly became an overbearing and suffocating need.
“We’re almost there. Hold on, Henri,” Tibald said, trying to keep him talking and alert.
Henri’s head snapped up, his eyelids feeling impossibly heavy.
“Shouldn’t we stop to…?” Tibald started to ask.
“We’re almost there. We keep going,” Dugan snapped.
Henri looked over to Dylan, who stumbled along blindly next to his father and he understood, but he still wanted to lie down and rest. He reached a point where he wasn’t even sure if he could move his feet forward to take another step. He focused on his feet and lost track of everything else around him. His eyes filled with tears as that simple task became an all-consuming struggle.
“There,” Dugan said, breaking him out of his trance.
The old man pointed straight ahead. Dedpit Burrow didn’t look like any city Henri had ever seen before. A massive, crum
bling tower stood at the city’s heart. Smaller stark white buildings sprawled in all directions, covering the entire hill. A wooden wall had been constructed around the whole of the city, built from the timber of the surrounding forest.
As marvelous as the sight was, with its towering spires and ancient battlements, the moment and wonder were lost on Henri. The simple act of holding his eyelids open was excruciating, not to mention the pain swirling through his body with every heartbeat.
Henri pressed on, every burning step and wheezing breath, until they finally stepped out into the grass before the gated entrance to Dedpit Barrow. A funny ringing had developed in his ears. He couldn’t hear the others when they talked, not even Tibald, whose mouth was right next to his ear.
Dugan was talking with someone, but he could not see their face or hear their words. Time felt funny. Either he was slow, or it was fast. Nothing made sense.
The grass looked soft and spongy at his feet. It looked like a nice spot for him to lie down. Tibald shifted uncomfortably at his side as Henri tried to slide from his grasp. He would lie down, just for a bit. Tibald fought him, and there was a muffled commotion. Henri could only suppose what it was about. He was just so confused…so tired.
He was moving again, although he couldn’t tell if it was his legs carrying him along anymore. Hands pressed in on him, around his waist and under his arms. He was floating!
Henri’s legs rose up and then he was looking at the sky. Faces floated above him. They all looked concerned or anxious, but he didn’t know why. He hoped they weren’t worried about him, he felt fine now.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t feel his face.
Oh well, he thought as his gaze drifted up towards the sky. His focus went fuzzy, and he could only think about how pleasant the puffy wisps of cloud looked as they floated lazily along above him.
They passed beneath a wooden gateway, and there was much commotion about them, many voices. With the effort of standing and walking gone, Henri was losing the battle to keep his eyes open.
They walked beneath a large stone archway, and the last thing Henri saw before his eyes slid shut was a large bird perched atop its peak. It was so close he could almost touch it. The bird was striking in the afternoon sun, its gold and white feathers glimmering brightly.
Part 4
Switching Roles
Chapter 32
Changing of the Guard
At first Dennah thought it was rolling thunder, a ground shaking vibration she felt through her feet and the building next to her.
“Riders…riders are coming!” someone hollered, pointing down the lane right before a group charged into town.
Dennah counted two dozen men on armored steeds, mud and sodden clumps of grass raining down behind them. They were adorned in armor and looked grimy from the road. They stopped and circled their mounts on the muddy roadway before her, their breath hanging like heavy clouds in the damp, cold air.
“You…wagon guard, where is the town elder?” one of the closest men yelled. Dennah startled and looked behind her before she realized that he was talking to her.
She pointed to her right, across the soupy mess of the dirt road, towards Frenin’s home. The man nodded and the group spurred their horses up the lane.
Just imagine, Dennah thought, watching the men make their way up the lane, their horses stamping at the ground importantly. That should have been her.
She rounded the building, following the group slowly. Even covered in grime they looked regal, outfitted in shining scale and polished plate. A door banged shut to her west as Bull tromped out of the White Crowe, several men scurrying to keep up.
The large bald man struggled to finish dressing as he trod heavily through the sticky mud, trying with little dignity to catch up to the Silver Knights.
Dennah sunk back into a shadowy corner, content to watch the moment unfold. In her opinion, the soldiers were a welcome sight in town. She wasn’t sure Bull would feel the same way.
In the time after the second attack, Bull addressed the defense of the town with a zeal she had not seen before. That in part was why she spent so much time roaming the streets after dark, but Banus’ nose might have had something to do with it too. The presence of the Council’s true soldiers, the Knights of the Silver Guard would curtail his limited authority within the town. Dennah couldn’t suppress a smirk.
Since her encounter with Banus’ nose Dennah did everything she could to avoid Banus and his lot. She felt comical too. She would poke her head around corners before walking down alleyways, and was never the first one to walk through a door. She was starting to feel like a sneak of the worst sort. For the most part her efforts worked. Either that, or Banus was intentionally avoiding her as well.
She rubbed her eyes, still fatigued from her patrol the night before and moved to walk out onto the lane, almost bumping into Banus as he walked around the corner.
Banus jumped back when he saw her, cursing like he had just trodden across hot coals. His nose, which was crooked before, now hung off to the side like a swollen, overly-ripe piece of red fruit.
Dennah froze, bracing for whatever he would throw her way. She was scared that she had escalated their conflict beyond any point she could handle herself. Being so close to him made her want to pull her sword, even just to take comfort in its weight. But she could not move. She clenched her jaw and balled her hands up into fists as her knees started to shake.
Banus glared, his eyes burning like beady, blackened coals. He stopped, flinching to swat a fly away from his face, and cried out as he pawed at his swollen and displaced nose. Banus jumped back, falling into Tarkus, who was standing stupidly just a yard away.
“Bah, get off me, fool!” he spat, punching at his larger counterpart.
Dennah stepped back as the smaller man came forward again, but he walked on by without a word. She stood in the mud, still holding her breath as Banus and his mates turned and walked up the lane afterwards. She hissed, letting the pent-up breath release through her teeth, and the tension with it.
She watched Bull trudging up the roadway in pursuit of the Silver Guard detachment, steam rolling off of his head. The sight gave Dennah a brief chuckle while she walked tentatively out into the roadway. She was careful to give Banus a wide berth.
The armored detachment stopped in the road before Frenin’s home. A single man dismounted before knocking loudly on the elder’s door. A few moments later, Frenin appeared, clutching tightly to a thick night robe. But even with the thick garment and a fur-lined hat on his head the old man seemed to shrink in the brisk morning air.
“Are you the town elder?” a man asked from the mounted group.
“I am. My name is Frenin, second son of Behmen, brother of Alfred, and elder like my father before me, to this, the Council’s land of Bardstown,” Frenin replied formally.
“I am Captain Markus Teague. Commander of the 2nd Battalion, Fort Falksgraad,” a man with a deep voice said, moving his horse to the front of the group.
Dennah circled around until she caught sight of the man. Teague sat straight-back atop a massive charger. His armor easily set him apart from the others. Separate crimson capes flowed down his back from either shoulder, and red plume capped his helm.
Dennah wove her way through the crowd that was gathering, working to keep clear of Banus, who stood on the far side of the group.
“I am relieved you came, Captain. Perhaps you and your men can find what preys upon our fair town,” Frenin said, shivering in the cold wind.
“I know little about your problem, beyond what your rider told us. But we will not leave until we have dealt with the one responsible. My cleric here, would like to examine the bodies,” Teague said.
“Of course.” Frenin paused, wringing his hands. “I anticipated as much. I will take you to them straight away. Unless you and your men would care for a warm meal first? Perhaps a drink to warm your bones?”
“Those pleasantr
ies will have to wait. I want to know who or what we are dealing with,” Teague said sharply.
“Wait! We have already captured the one responsible,” Bull yelled out, elbowing his way through the group.
“It was not…” Frenin started to argue, but Bull cut him short.
“Shut up old man! You’re just in the way, let us take care of this,” Bull barked, crimson flushing his cheeks and bald head.
“Hold your tongue…wagon guard. You will show this man the respect that his station dictates,” Teague growled, several of his men jumping down from their horses.
“Sir,” Bull pleaded, his tone subdued. “We have the young man that was there for both attacks. Both times he was the only one who walked away. They were people known to him, known to him well...both times.”
“My dear Captain Teague, I know well the young man in question and I assure you, he is not the one responsible,” Frenin said.
“Then maybe you’re too close to the boy. Too close to see he’s a monster. He burns with red fever. It had to be him…I think he’s possessed,” Bull said loudly.
Teague looked between Frenin and Bull, the harsh tone bleeding out of his voice. “This is hardly the place to discuss such matters, and the wagon guard has a point. Sometimes, it is those you believe you truly know that turn out to be capable of horrible things. Regardless, we will investigate ourselves, and I will draw my own conclusions.”
Frenin retreated within his house, reemerging moments later dressed in warm clothing. Dennah drifted across the street to watch from a distance as soon as soon as the crowd started to break apart.
Teague reined his charger around and rode over to Bull as he trumped away. Dennah couldn’t hear what he said but she could tell instantly that Bull wasn’t happy about it. Then without warning, Bull and Banus turned and started to walk her way. Dennah turned clumsily in the mud, her feet slipping and sliding, and pushed through a small group of women in heavy dresses and aprons.
