The Fabled Beast of Elddon

by David Barber

  Chapter 9

  “You bumbling fool,” the knight growled, all of his previous humor gone. “Look what you’ve done. Months of work, a fortune in gold--”

  “And the sweat and tears of innocent people,” Ander said. “Don’t forget about them. How many did you kill, Stroud? How many did you give to the kerram? Do you even know how many lives were destroyed on your quest for glory?”

  “A necessary sacrifice,” Sir Egan snarled.

  “Easy to say if you’re not the one making the sacrifice.”

  The knight roared, lunging forward and swinging his sword in a scything arc. Ander caught the blow on the edge of his blade, but the force of it nearly took the sword out of his hand. He had to admit, Sir Egan was as strong as he looked. Ander fell back, narrowly avoiding the next savage cut. He countered, but the knight easily parried, then drove the point of his blade at Ander’s face. Ander knocked it away, then followed up by driving his fist into the knight’s jaw. Sir Egan’s head snapped back and he staggered but kept his feet. He spat blood on the floor and grinned like a fiend.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, Inenyar.” The use of Ander’s surname was meant as a taunt, but Ander was proud of his name. In the language of his people it meant “lone warrior” and had been given to him by his village as a sign of respect. He had earned that name, but that didn’t mean he had no friends.

  A crate the size of a small ox cart crashed down on Sir Egan’s head, exploding in a shower of broken splinters. Ander’s punch had driven the knight back to the base of the stairs where Tristan waited, bearing the heavy wooden box. Sir Egan crumpled. He went to a knee, then pitched forward, sprawling across the floor, his sword ringing as it fell.

  Tristan came down the steps, his legs trembling. He was pale and the crude bandage on his arm was soaked with blood. His flesh, like Ander’s, was blackened and scorched, his eyes weary.

  “Thanks for that,” Ander said, taking him by the shoulder. “Are you alright?” The question seemed inane and Ander felt stupid for even asking.

  “I feel terrible.” Tristan shook his head and tried to wipe some of the grime from his eyes.

  “We have to get out of here,” Ander said, looking round. As if to emphasize the point, another explosion rocked the cavern. Dirt and broken stone rained down from above, causing both men to duck and scramble away from the middle of the floor. Ander wondered how long it would be before the ceiling collapsed. Despite the massive hole in the wall, the smoke inside the chamber was so thick he could hardly breathe.

  “If only we had wings,” Tristan said, forcing a smile as he looked out at the ruins of Ibridion.

  “Wings,” Ander said. “Hah, we do have wings.” He grabbed Tristan’s good arm and propelled him toward the ladder along the back wall. “Up you go. I’m right behind you.”

  “Where are we going?” Tristan scowled at him as he took hold of the ladder and started up.

  “The beast of Elddon,” Ander said. “It flies! Sir Egan called it a ship, one that sails on air.”

  “But,” Tristan glanced down at him, his eyes showing doubt. “How? How do we fly it?”

  “I don’t know,” Ander said, starting up the ladder behind him. “We’ll just have to figure it out.”

  Up close, the beast looked remarkably life-like, but Ander could see that it was actually a wooden frame covered in the pelts and skin of several different animals. The creature’s legs looked like they might have come from a lion, but were merely padded constructions that hid landing platforms carved in the likeness of enormous paws. The wings were sailcloth, dyed black and fastened to an elaborate framework of rods and pulleys, all of it held together by hundreds of nearly invisible wires. The tail was a long tube, covered in rings of leather, with a spiked mace at the end that seemed to serve no purpose but to frighten.

  The head was the most startling aspect of the creature, an enormous sculpture of molded plaster, meticulously painted and covered in hair, vaguely cat-like but with an eagle’s beak and long curved horns. The jaw was hinged to open and the mouth was filled with rows of dagger-like teeth, triangles of iron that had been hammered into the wood at regular intervals.

  A quick search revealed an opening in the side of the beast’s torso, located just behind the right forepaw. Ander pulled back the pelt that served as a door and looked inside. A gangway, like something you would find on an oar ship or galley, ran up the middle, with a low bench near the front behind an unfathomable collection of wheels and levers.

  “In. Let’s see if we can’t--”

  “Behind you!” Tristan shouted, shoving Ander roughly to one side. Sir Egan’s long sword tore a hole in the beast’s side, narrowly missing Ander. The Northman twisted, grabbing hold of Sir Egan’s arm and trying to force him back.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you!” The knight ground his teeth together, a hint of madness in his eyes. “Both of you.” Sir Egan wrenched his arm free and drove his elbow into the side of Ander’s head. Ander cursed and staggered. The sword swept up and sliced down again, but Ander knocked it aside at the last moment. He thrust at the knight, forcing him to take a step back, the two of them teetering dangerously close to the edge of the shelf.

  “Tristan, get this thing in the air. Do it now!”

  Tristan half crawled, half fell into the belly of beast. His head was still spinning and, even inside the monster, the air was thick and cloying. Outside he could hear the clash of steel, the grunts and curses of the two combatants as they tried spiritedly to kill each other. Keeping his head low, Tristan staggered toward the front of the beast and dropped down onto the bench.

  He looked at the levers and wheels, trying to make sense of them. He turned a couple of the wheels experimentally, but nothing happened. Tristan rubbed his forehead. He had grown up on a farm. He knew how to use a plow and a harrow. He knew how to tie complicated knots and saddle a horse. And he had taught himself the lute in less than a fortnight. Surely he could figure this out. He pulled on one of the levers. Still nothing. Then he took hold of a particularly large handle off to one side and pushed it forward. Somewhere behind him there was an explosion of sound that made him jerk his head around. There was a roaring noise and a sudden burst of flame.

  “Aedon’s mercy, what have I done?” Tristan stared down the length of the monster. In the dark recesses of the beast, a fire was burning, white hot by the look of it, but the flickering light was even and steady, the fire somehow contained. He could see that several huge bags along the interior of the beast’s back, previously unnoticed, were beginning to expand, filling with air. The beast began to rise.

  “Ander!” Tristan shouted.

  Ander traded blows with Sir Egan, steel ringing, both of them snarling like wolves as they tried to force the other off the ledge. Ander felt the beast shift and start to move, rising off the floor. He hammered at the knight, abandoning all pretense at finesse and employing brute force to drive his opponent back. Sir Egan lunged and the two men locked blades. For a moment they were as close as lovers, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed. Ander could smell the knight’s fetid breath. He could almost taste the sweat and blood that ran down Sir Egan’s face. Then, with an effort of straining muscles, Ander threw the knight back. Sir Egan cursed, his feet skidding out from beneath him. He fell, but managed to stay on the ledge. He rolled to one side, underneath the beast’s wing as Ander hewed down at him, narrowly missing.

  Ander spun away, reaching out blindly to grab hold of one of the wires that held the beast together. He was lifted off the floor as the monster started to climb, moving faster, sliding up along the shaft toward the sky above. Ander twisted around, putting his feet against the beast’s side, and climbed awkwardly up onto its back. He turned to see Sir Egan, farther down the length of the beast, as he too scrambled up.

  The beast emerged from a crater in the side of the mountain. There were two large eye holes in front of him, and through these Tristan could see the whole world laid out beneath him, the mountains,
the ruined city, and the broad valley beyond. The sight made his stomach twist into a knot. He didn’t like heights and the thought of what might happen if he pulled the wrong lever or turned the wrong wheel filled him with dread. Men weren’t supposed to fly. They belonged on the ground.

  Tristan steeled himself, taking hold of his courage and swallowing his fear. More than anything he wanted to get away from here, get away from this awful place and find Ryia. He was done with adventures, done with fighting. All he wanted was to go home and live in peace with the woman he loved. And right now there was only one way to do that.

  Tristan tried turning a couple of the wheels, holding his breath as he carefully twisted them around. One extended the beast’s wings and another set them to flapping, making the beast bob up and down. He pulled another lever and was rewarded by a whirring sound that slowly grew in intensity. A series of blades in the beast’s hindquarters began spinning and it began moving forward, slowly at first but rapidly picking up speed.

  There were other smaller levers in a row beneath the eye holes. He pulled one and the beast roared, a deep-throated bellow that echoed off the surrounding mountains. He pulled another lever and the monster’s jaws gaped, spewing fire in a long funnel in front of them.

  In the middle of the floor, between Tristan’s legs, was what looked like an axe handle. He took hold of it and soon discovered that by moving it one way or the other, he could make the beast turn. He could make it dip or climb higher in the sky. He pressed the handle forward and the beast lunged, sweeping down the side of the mountain, away from the ruins of Ibridion and out across the valley. Elddon lay ahead of him and Tristan made for it with all the speed he could muster.

  Ander braced his legs, the cold morning air tossing his long hair around his head and raising gooseflesh along his arms. Standing on the beast’s back was like trying to stand on the deck of a ship during a storm or, perhaps more accurately, the back of a running horse. The leathery skin beneath his feet was vaguely reptilian and covered in thin metal discs, like scale mail, making it extremely treacherous.

  By this point, Sir Egan had managed to stagger up the monster’s back and now charged forward, heedless of their precarious perch. Ander waited, crouching, and lunging forward at the last moment to meet the knight, the two grunting with the impact, their blades grating against each other. The beast was moving faster, wings beating, and the huge body bouncing around beneath them.

  Ander swung his sword, but he was off balance, barely able to stand, much less fight. Sir Egan could do little better. The two of them stumbled about, both of them reeling and whirling their arms, occasionally falling, then lurching back to their feet.

  Ander took a clumsy swipe at the knight, missing by a hair’s breadth as Sir Egan fought to keep his feet. Sir Egan retaliated, slicing his blade across Ander’s ribs, but his chain mail saved him. Still, the force of the blow staggered Ander and he had to take a step back to maintain his balance. The knight was shouting at him, a stream of vitriol that Ander could not hear, the wind carrying the words away before they could reach his ears.

  It was nearly dawn as Loth and Ryia emerged from the gates of Ibridion, leading the weary prisoners out of the darkness and into the open air. There were more than twenty of them, mostly men, but a few women and children as well, including the three boys whom Loth had come in search of. Every one of them looked as if they had been through a terrible ordeal, but the cool morning breeze seemed to invigorate them. After weeks or months chained in the bowels of the earth, they were getting their first taste of freedom, and the sensation was sweet.

  During their mad dash through the ruined city, they had encountered only a handful of kerram, and those few appeared to be fleeing rather than defending. At one point, an explosion had rocked the mountain to its foundations. Ryia’s face had grown pale at the sound, and Loth couldn’t help but wonder if Ander and Tristan were not at the center of it. He wondered if he would see them again or if they were buried under a mountain of rubble. But he said nothing to Ryia, nor she to him. Just now they had other concerns.

  As they made their way across the courtyard away from the city, the first golden rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, lightening the hearts of everyone it touched. Then a burst of red flame streaked across the sky and they all looked up to see the beast rising above them. Some of the villagers cowered while others ran for the safety of the rocks. Loth stood rooted to the spot, staring up, his hands instinctively reaching for his bow. He could see two figures clinging to the monster’s back, two men dueling with swords, or so it seemed, but then the beast dipped its head and plunged down the side of the mountain, moving in the direction of Elddon.

  “We have to warn them,” Ryia said, clutching at his arm. The girl had not moved.

  “Perhaps,” Loth said, watching the monster’s flight. Its movements were erratic, as if wounded or in pain. The wings flapped spasmodically and it weaved like a drunkard, careening across the sky in an irregular fashion. It did not appear so fearsome as when first he had encountered it.

  “Let’s get to the horses,” Loth said, turning toward the place among the rocks where they had left their mounts tethered. The horses looked wild eyed and shied away at their approach. No doubt the beast’s appearance had unnerved them as well.

  “You should go,” Loth said, turning to Ryia. “Take one of the horses--“

  “No,” Ryia shook her head. “It should be you. I am a fair rider at best. You should be the one.”

  “Come with me,” Loth urged, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “No, Ryia said again, “you will travel faster alone. I will stay with them, keep them safe. It is a long road to Elddon.”

  “But--” Loth protested.

  “We know the way,” said one of the men, moving toward them. He had the look of a soldier, and there were several others like him, strong lads, though thin. Their limbs were wasted by months of abuse and lack of food, but their eyes remained bright. There was strength and defiance in the set of their shoulders and each carried swords taken from the kerram. Several other men among the villagers held weapons of one sort or another.

  “Very well,” Loth said. He kneeled before the three blond boys. “Your mother sent me to find you and bring you out of that terrible place. I will return as swiftly as I can. In the meantime, these brave men will protect you and see you safely home.”

  “Aye, that we will,” said one of the soldiers.

  “Go,” said another man.

  Loth nodded. He climbed onto the back of a sorrel mare. “Stay together and keep each other safe. I predict that this play is nearing its end.” With that, he dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and sped away across the broken landscape, leaving the ancient city behind.

  In the village of Elddon a cock crowed, signaling the beginning of a new day. It was not yet full light, but some residents were already abroad, pouring out feed and carrying buckets of water for livestock, and tending to other morning chores. Those who were out of doors heard a sound like thunder and, looking to the north, saw the beast as it angled down out of the mountains on a direct path toward Elddon. All at once, they began to shout, running along the street, banging on doors, and waking their neighbors.

  In the castle, a bell began to ring as a sleepy watchman, still reeling from the events of the night before--the escape of three prisoners no less--spotted the beast coming toward them. In the barracks of the west tower men fell out of their beds, scrambling to don hauberks and boots, reaching for swords and pikes.

  In the castle keep Baron Leofrick was still abed, but he rose at the sound of the bell and went to the window, leaning against the sill and looking out into the morning. He could see nothing from his vantage point, but heard the shouting of the guards in the courtyard below. The beast, they all said. The beast was coming.

  He too began shouting, calling for servants, demanding that they dress him and bring him his sword. Where in all this madness was Sir Egan, he wondered, but he had
no time to think about it. The beast was returning to Elddon and his kingdom was in peril.

  Ander and Sir Egan continued to hack at each other, but their blows were awkward and ineffectual. Ander staggered back, lurched to one side, barely catching himself before he toppled off the side of the flying monster as it twisted and turned, roaring through the air. He had fought many battles in his short life, but never one like this. It was hazardous terrain, with wooden struts and mechanical joints moving up and down, the beating of the monster’s wings, the wind howling, and the alternately spongy, sometimes slick, surface underfoot.

  Sir Egan was having an equally difficult time, reeling on his feet, falling into a half crouch, then pitching forward, trying to swing his long sword one moment, then stab with it the next. He finally fell onto his knees crawling forward. Ander had worked his way toward the front of the beast, slipping past the wings and the myriad wires strung hither and thither along its back. Sir Egan, having closed the distance, suddenly bounded to his feet, swinging his sword in a glittering arc. Ander fell, narrowly avoiding the scything attack, and landed on his back. Sir Egan pounced, gripping the sword in both hands and driving it straight down, aiming for the bare spot where the kerram’s staff had melted Ander’s chain mail.

  Ander twisted, just enough to avoid the point of the sword. Instead of piercing his flesh the blade drove straight down into the beast, tearing through the animal hide and into one of the huge air bags beneath. There was a sudden eruption of air and a sound like a thunderclap. The beast pitched, half rolling onto its side, veering steeply. Ander felt himself heaved upward but prone as he was he was able to hang on to one of the wires. Even so, he was thrown about and the wire dug painfully into his fingers.