IN THE SHADOW OF THE BEAST
By Harlan H. Howard
Smashwords Edition
Published 2013
by Harlan H. Howard
on Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Harlan H. Howard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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CHAPTER 1
Origins
Chandeliers that cast a brilliance throughout the room. Candles that flicker in sconces set into high recesses within stone walls. Shadows that jump and sway with the excitement of a feral thing. Within salubrious and sumptuously decorated banquet chambers the low murmur of conversation played as companion to the shrilling and whinnying of stringed and fluted instruments.
Elegant ladies, their corsets fit to bursting with ample bosoms and refined gentlemen resplendent in their ceremonial war dress stood here and there around the opulent chamber. Some spoke animatedly of their latest material acquisition, others boasted of financial gain or martial prowess, while some told outrageous, bawdy tales much to the shock and amusement of their fellows. Then there were those that stood off to the side, whispering amongst the shadows of things that would not be deemed fit for polite conversation in such rarefied high society.
Doing much of the whispering, Baron Vincenzo Mortaron was an imposing slab of of a man. An unapologetic aristocrat, with blood running through his veins as blue as the depths of an arctic sea, and just as suffocatingly cold. He spoke with a brazen authority, instilled by birthright and well exercised at that. But his over-bearing manner was tempered by a cruel intelligence that glittered maliciously from behind dark eyes.
Mortaron was hunched secretively over the mantle of a fireplace that crackled and spat, deep in conversation with another person. Smaller of frame and brilliantly fair of hair, the other man held not nearly half the physical presence of Mortaron, yet he carried himself with the confidence of one well used to having the ear of powerful men.
‘It is arranged,’ said Mortaron. ‘The Regent has but to speak the vow of betrothal and my sister’s virtue is his to do with as he pleases.’
The other man nodded appreciatively, sipped thoughtfully at a goblet of dark wine in his hand.
‘And your sister would do this willingly?’ he said.
‘Willingly be damned,’ scoffed Mortaron. ‘She will do her duty as her baron commands it.’
The firelight was dancing in his eyes as Mortaron savored his next words. ‘And when it is done, events will gather distantly that will see us do particularly well out of the arrangement.’
The other man raised his glass, a rueful smile upon his face. ‘My masters will be most gratified to learn of this...a toast then; to best laid plans.’
Mortaron raised his own goblet, before knocking back its inky contents in one quick swallow. The Baron was a man notorious for an almost predatory sixth sense, an attribute that had served him well in countless battles. It was that sense that prickled now, causing him to turn in time to see the serving girl that had passed behind himself and his conspirator. She turned away quickly, as if trying to pretend she had not been close enough to overhear their conversation.
‘You,’ called out Mortaron, stopping the girl dead. She turned slowly, timidly standing before him, a tray of silver goblets balanced upon her delicate hand. Large brown eyes looked up fearfully out of a pleasantly oval face, and it satisfied Mortaron to see the discomforting effect his presence had on this young creature. Silly, pretty young things like this one were one of his many indulgences, and Mortaron viewed them with about the same casual regard he might have for a good riding saddle. An object of necessity.
‘You ought not to sneak up on your betters girl,’ Mortaron said. ‘You might hear things that you should be living in blissful ignorance of. A head as pretty as yours would look somehow diminished resting at the bottom of the executioner’s basket.’
The girl, already pale of skin, seemed to turn even whiter at this, and the tray of goblets started ever so slightly to rattle in her hand. ‘Pardon lord, I meant no intrusion,’ she stammered.
She managed to drag her eyes from the floor, raising her gaze until it was met by the soul flensing stare of The Baron Mortaron. His cruel eyes seemed to fix on her, pinning her immobile in place like one might pin a moth to a specimen board. The moment seemed to drag for an eternity, the weight of those ticking seconds bearing crushingly down and then...
‘Beth, you’ve been dawdling again!’ From across the room a senior house maid was floating gracefully toward them, her stern aspect firmly in place as she drew near to the trio around the fire. ‘Pardon my lords,’ she said to the two men, ‘we’re ready to serve supper now if you’d like to make your way to the dining room.’
She didn’t wait for an answer before turning to the trembling serving girl, ‘With me please, Beth,’ as she turned smartly and began to to glide back toward a servants door at the back of the room.
Immensely relieved, the serving girl turned to follow her mistress, hurrying from the sight of The Baron, who did not take his eyes from her until she had closed that servants door behind her.
On the other side, the house mistress moved down a serving line thundering with the cacophony of a kitchen in the middle of a full dinner service. Beth scurried along in the mistress wake, grateful to be away from the scrutiny of The Baron. She wasn’t really sure what she’d overheard in the reception chamber, but would have put a years wage on it being nothing but wickedness.
‘You’re to be more discreet around The Baron, Beth. He’s not a man whose attentions you would wish to draw unnecessarily,’ chided the mistress, who did not even look back as she pressed on through the kitchen.
‘Yes mistress,’ said Beth, her timid voice a barely audible whisper over the growing din.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard a tale or two regarding his lordship’s foul temper,’ continued the mistress. ‘Well it’s all true and then some.’
Reaching the kitchen the mistress pushed through a scrum of serving staff, all of them hurrying here and there, overburdened with trays of sweet meats and glorious savory delights. The heat in the place was immense, and Beth could feel the prickle of a light sweat break out on her skin.
Without breaking stride, the mistress scooped up a silver platter leaden with an assortment of delicacies and dropped it into Beth’s arms, the serving girl missing a step and nearly tripping over her own feet in the process of transfer.
‘Get this up to her ladyship, and make sure she eats something.’
Beth didn’t have time to frame a response, she was already being shooed through yet another doorway and up a steep flight of stairs that would lead eventually to an upper landing. This was the part of the house where Beth’s employers, the family Mortaron dwelt and slept.
‘...and don’t bloody dawdle, Beth!’ called the mistress after her as she left the cacophony of the kitchen behind.
In this part of the house the music and merriment of the party and the noise of the kitchen were but a distant murmur, and Beth found herself enjoying the relative sanctuary in this is
olated part of the residence. Indeed the house could be described as a palace in its own right so large it was.
The aromas rising from the silver platter were intoxicating to Beth, who could only ever dream of what it might be like to dine on so finely prepared a repast. Since coming into the service of the Mortarons, Beth had been exposed, after a decidedly limited fashion, to a wealth of such new marvels. She now served one of the most powerful families in the land of Atos, and considered herself most fortunate to have landed the position. Especially at a time of great celebration. Baron Mortaron’s sister, the Lady Veronique was betrothed to The Regent himself. The first among the rulers of this troubled land, he was a man feared and respected as a great warrior and fair ruler, and this was a union that it was hoped would bring stability to the realm riven with decades of conflict between the noble houses.
The lady herself was a woman held in almost as high regard as her husband to be, and having met her briefly a number of times since her arrival, Beth could easily see why. Veronique was gracious and warm, possessed of a beauty within that matched her radiant beauty without. The polar opposite of her brother The Baron. The word was that the marriage had been engineered by The Baron himself, and that the lady was ill at ease with the reality of her use as a bartering piece. No surprise again that Veronique had decided to shutter herself away on a night when her brother had arranged for celebrations to announce the joyous occasion.
It was while considering the current machinations of the royal elite of the realm, that Beth heard the noise. Something like the low panting of an animal, hard and labored, there and gone again. It was enough to stop her in her tracks, and give her cause to strain to listen for the sound. But it did no come again.
Her destination was the Lady Veronique’s bed chamber at the far end of the long corridor, and deciding that what she’d heard was merely the sounds of an old house settling against the fierce winds of the east, Beth continued on down the corridor.
The smell came upon her slowly. It insinuated its way amongst the odors of the foodstuffs on the tray she was carrying, and although not entirely unpleasant, it had a certain earthy pugnaciousness that would not be denied. There was no doubt that the odd scent was most prevalent in the area immediately before Veronique’s chambers, hanging in the air about her doorway like whisps of cobweb trailing on a light breeze.
Beth reached the door to her lady’s bedchamber, reached out to rap her knuckles lightly upon the old oak facade before being invited to enter as protocol demanded, when the animal panting came again. Harder and more insistent this time, there could be no dismissing it as the the innocent settling of old timbers.
Beth hesitated before knocking, her hand hovering inches from the oak, frozen in place as she listened intently to the hard panting coming from the other side of the door.
The sound was so strange, like nothing she’s heard in all her nineteen years. Yet also unsettlingly familiar. Like the sound of some beast, panting in the heat of the midday sun.
Beth had always been something of a shy girl, even as a child she’d been exceptionally timid, sensitive in a manner that had always so frustrated her old mother. She had never been one to take risks, to step out of line or to act in an inappropriate manner. But on this occasion, something in that animal sound stoked the fires of her curiosity to such a height that she had quite forgotten her timidity.
Abandoning protocol in favor of satiating her curiosity, Beth reached out to take hold of the ornate iron handle bolted into the door, depressed it as quietly as she could manage until the locking plate clicked open and she could slowly push the heavy door wide to learn just what it was that was making that curious sound.
The sight that greeted her took her breath away. A creature from her wildest nightmares, all matted fur and knotted muscle, teeth and claws. It was a wolf in the shape of a man, twice the size of any ordinary workday mortal, and it was hunched atop the prone form the Lady Veronique. Her night dress was torn and shredded where the beast had laid into it with his teeth and claws, leaving Veronique almost nude. The creatures animal breathing coming in hard, short bursts, and Beth now knew without doubt the source of the sound that had so piqued her curiosity.
The odd smell too was overpowering now that the door had been thrown open to allow access to the chamber, the heavy musk of the creature filling the room entirely.
Beth stood there, transfixed by something that was almost beyond her comprehension, as the beast turned its head to look upon this interruption. Beth saw a snout filled with razor teeth that dripped a viscous saliva, and deep set eyes that were as black and fathomless as the endless night sky.
The creature peeled back the dark lips of its snout to better show the rows of vicious fangs, and in that moment all reason left Beth as a flock of birds might suddenly take flight in panic at the approach of some quiet predator.
She screamed so loud and so long that she felt her lungs might burst and her throat would split, the silver tray of fine smelling foodstuffs falling from her hands with a tremendous crashing that echoed throughout the chamber.
The low panting that had been building in the throat of the man beast erupted in a nerve shattering roar, as the thing leapt from the prone Veronique to the cold stone of floor of the chamber.
Slowly, the creature padded toward the screaming serving girl, those razor fangs dripping wetly with the promise of certain death, one taloned hand reaching out to seize and silence her. Closer and closer the creature came, across the large cold chamber.
For Beth, turning to run was not even a glimmer of an option, she found that her fear had weighted her feet to the floor and they would not respond however much she might want them to. Her throat was raw from that perpetual scream, but that was a response as much beyond her control as her immobile limbs now were. The man beast was mere inches from her, the ravenous, murderous intent shining behind its black eyes.
Suddenly he was there, a member of the household guard resplendent in the claret and gold of the family Fellhammer, his short stabbing sword flashing as he roughly pulled the serving girl out of the doorway to get himself between her and the slavering creature. He swung up his weapon to fend off the beast’s advance with tight cuts and thrusts, maintaining a close guard with the blade to ensure that his adversary had little opportunity to press an attack.
Howling in rage, the beast made to slash at the guardsman with its own razor talons, and tried to slide its mouth past the thrusts of the short sword to snap at the face of the guardsman, his expertise with the weapon the only thing keeping him from having his throat torn out in a bloody geyser.
‘Back girl, get back,’ he cried to Beth, who cowered in the hallway behind him,‘Get help!’
Her senses reeling, she turned to run back the way she had come.
The ferocious attack of the beast was almost more than the guardsman could handle, its talons and teeth snapping and flashing at him faster than he could parry the mad blows. Moving to deflect a quick snap of the creatures jaws, he was taken off balance by a superhumanly quick slash of the razor sharp talons that cleaved clean through the hardened leather bodice of his torso amour, brutally rending the flesh below.
Pain lanced through the guardsman, pain so intense it took his breath away. He staggered back, instinctively clutching at the open wound and dropping his guard so that the creature was able to land a bone shattering blow to his chest that sent the guardsman sprawling out of the chamber, where he thudded jarringly off the far wall of the corridor before coming to rest in a pile on the floor.
The beast pounced, that one powerful leap carrying it from the bed chamber to the corridor where the stunned guardsman rose unsteadily to his feet.
It landed with a terrible impact upon his shoulders, driving him to the floor. The beast gripped his prey around the throat before tearing off the guardsman’s helmet with his clawed hand and tossing the useless article away down the corridor where it clattered noisily to a stop amongst the deeper shadows.
T
he man beast looked down at the prone form pinned beneath it, their eyes meeting briefly before the creature threw back its head to dive upon the guardsman’s exposed throat.
From the far end of the corridor, more guardsmen, bustling noisily around the corner, their mouths falling open as they laid eyes upon the monstrosity before them.
Howling angrily, the creature rose from where it knelt, turning suddenly to cast a baleful gaze upon this latest interruption.
And then its eyes fell upon the flintlock. Clasped in the hand of one of the guards, the ornate pistol could pack enough of a punch in its single shot to shatter the skull or pulverize the heart of even a creature as terrifying as the beast.
As the guardsman raised that flintlock, the beast was already turning to pounce again, but this time not in attack. As the trigger was pulled, and the hammer fell to strike the spark that would ignite the gunpowder in the flintlock’s chamber and propel the heavy lead round from the barrel in a flash bang of black smoke, the beast was already mid leap through an ornate window lying midway along the corridor. The glass shattered in a puff of glittering debris as momentum carried the creature into the cold dark of night and out of reach of the household guard.
Out in the darkness of the grounds, beneath the cold stare of a full moon hanging high in the night sky, the beast man loped between tall trees and manicured hedgerows, making quickly for the deeper recesses of the old forest that lay beyond the gardens.
Already, the pursuit had begun, the light from flaming torches bobbing between the trees in the near distance, men’s angry voices carrying on the frigid air.
The beast was no stranger to the darkness. It had spent a lifetime in its embrace, lurking in the shadows as was the way of its troubled kind. The darkness was always its friend and ally, and that was never truer than now. But perhaps even the familiar embrace of night might not be sufficient to see the beast through. It stumbled, tried in vain to catch itself on the low overhanging branches of an old oak, and instead tumbled face first into the hard ground.
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