“Don’t you see? If they had some of the plants in this book on the ship, perhaps they also had some of the animals,” Gastoen’s voice was on edge, frustrated that he was not getting through to Veytman. Before he could press the point and try to remove the look of confusion in Veytman’s eyes, the door of the meeting hall again opened.
“The daemon!” wailed the grizzled, toothless face of Una, the wife of Enghel. The woman closed upon Veytman, beating on the hetman’s chest and wailing hysterically. “A sea daemon, as big as a house! It rose out of the fog and killed my husband!”
Every man in the room except Gastoen, Karel and the unconscious Bernard broke into laughter. One of the men grabbed Una and pulled her off of Veytman.
“Enghel should not have told you about that,” laughed Emil. “You see enough monsters in your cups without him providing you with more.”
“I shall have to see if all of the rum is accounted for,” joked Veytman, draining his mug.
“I tell you, a sea daemon killed my husband!” the woman shrieked again in protest. A fresh round of laughter broke out.
“As big as a house?” mocked Emil. “I remember the time you said there was a wolf living in your boathouse and all we found was a marmot! This daemon of yours is probably just a big ship’s rat and Enghel is sitting in his home right now with a bitten finger!”
Una began a fresh tirade of shrieks and curses causing Veytman to look across the room at Emil.
“Better go and have a look at it, just to shut her up,” the hetman declared. Emil stomped across the room and gathered up a wicker lobster trap. He marched toward the door but paused on the threshold to stab a finger at the sobbing woman.
“When I catch this damn thing, whatever it turns out to be, I am going to make you eat it, you wailing harpy,” the man warned. With that, he was lost to the growing shadows in the lane outside.
It was about fifteen minutes later when the door of the meeting hall opened again. The pale, drained figure that entered bore little resemblance to the jovial, half-drunk Emil they had last seen. The ship wrecker dragged the lobster trap across the room, dropping it midway. A stunned silence gripped everyone in the room, even Una, as the apparition crossed to the elaborate weapons rack that rested against one wall. Looted from the countless ships that had smashed upon the reef and rocks, the armoury of Wulfhafen was a haphazard, but impressive affair. As Emil strode to the weapons, the others in the room could see the huge, gaping wound in the man’s back, as though the flesh had been peeled away, leaving the wet muscles to glisten nakedly.
“We’re going to need bigger traps,” he stammered before staggering for a moment, then falling to the floor.
That life had remained in Emil for so long that he had been able to walk as far as the meetinghouse had been a testament to the hardened shipwrecker’s brutal vitality.
“Sound the alarm!” ordered Veytman, the hetman being the first to shake himself from his shock. The command brought a fresh wail of terror from Una, but one of the men hurried to set the alarm bell ringing. Veytman scrambled over to the weapons rack so recently visited by Emil and began handing some of the carefully hoarded armaments to those men in the room. Even the choice armaments, like the heavy Bretonnian broadsword and the finely crafted battle axe that one visitor to Wulfhafen had sworn was dwarf-made were doled out. Now seemed to be no time to hoard the more elegant weapons.
“What good are these against a daemon?” protested a wide-eyed fisherman as he was handed a spiked mace.
“It is no daemon!” declared Gastoen, pushing his way to the front of the group. Already men were rushing into the meeting hall, summoned by the alarm bell. Gastoen raised his voice for the benefit of the men who had just arrived. “It is some strange beast from whatever foreign shore that ship visited!” Gastoen repeated, trying to calm the superstitious dread slinking into the mob.
“Alright,” Veytman snarled. “Everyone arm themselves, every third man get a torch, and let us see what manner of beast has chosen to die in Wulfhafen!”
The mob was strangely silent, for all of its numbers, as every able bodied man in Wulfhafen crept through the darkened lane, creeping like a band of thieves toward the all too near row of boathouses and fishing shacks. The fog hung thick about the village, clogging the streets with a misty grey shroud that the torches could pierce only partially. The men kept close to one another and even Veytman could not bring himself to enforce his earlier command that the men break up into teams of five. The sound of the surf striking the beach grew louder as the men pressed on, ignoring the fearful visages that peered at them from behind the windows of the huts they passed.
At last they reached the site where the long row of boathouses and shacks had once stood. The ramshackle structures were in a shambles, looking for all the world like victims of a hurricane. But no gale had blown upon Wulfhafen, for the fog lay thick and unmoving all about them. A strange sense of dread fell upon the armed mob. Veytman and a few of the braver villagers crept towards the nearest of the shacks, staring with horror at the gaping wounds torn into the wood, bespeaking tremendous strength and lengthy claws. In hushed tones, the men discussed the ruin, concluding that whatever had dealt such damage was no such creature as they had ever heard of. Once again, Gastoen said that it was some weird creature captured by the crew of the lost ship.
As the talk continued, more and more men stalked forward, deciding that if Veytman and the others could linger for so long amidst the devastation, then it must be relatively safe. The men spread out, slightly, examining the destroyed boathouse next to the shack. One of the men at once came running back, his hand smeared red with blood.
“It must be from Enghel or Emil,” Gastoen gasped. He rallied several men to his side and ran towards the boathouse. Veytman was quick to follow the older man’s lead, bringing the bulk of the mob with him.
A ghastly sight greeted Gastoen’s group as they rounded the corner of the partially collapsed boathouse. Looming out of the fog, only a few feet away, was an immense shape of scaly grey and black flesh. The man to Gastoen’s right let out a cry of horror as he saw the massive scaly back and tail revealed in the flickering torchlight. The creature turned around slowly, facing the crowd just as Veytman and his followers rounded the corner.
It was huge, easily twice the size of a man. Because it had been hunched the beast’s head not been visible over the boathouse, Now it rose to its full height, towering over the structure. Indeed, Una had not exaggerated when she said the monster was as big as a house. In shape it was roughly like a man, though only roughly. Its entire body was covered in grey scales, which faded to white as they came to its belly. Stripes of black, thicker scales criss-crossed its back and shoulders. The head was also scaled, a brutish snout protruding from a thick skull. Dangling from the monster’s powerful jaws was the body of Enghel, his head completely within the creature’s mouth. Yellow, snake-like eyes gazed indifferently at the mob while thick, muscular arms swayed indolently from the monster’s broad shoulders. The reptilian horror worked its lower jaw and the skull of Enghel cracked like a walnut, the loud snap echoing into the night.
The sight of the fiend so casually feeding on one of their own snapped some of the men out of their horrified daze. One bold fisherman lunged at the monster with a boat hook, the makeshift polearm sinking into the thick flesh of the monster’s shoulder. Another lashed at the creature with a broadsword taken from the armoury, cringing back in fright as the weapon impacted harmlessly against the thick scaly flesh of the brute’s leg.
The monster was slow to react. At first it just stared stupidly into the night. Then its lower jaw opened, letting Enghel’s body drop to the ground. A thin, purple tongue whipped out of the scaly mouth, flickering in the air for a moment before withdrawing. Then, the seemingly lethargic beast became a blur of carnage.
A huge clawed hand dropped down upon the man who had so ineffectually struck at the creature’s leg, the blow crushing the man’s collar bone and battering hi
m into a heap of broken bones, a twisted pile of meat recognisable as human only by the screams it still cried. The brute spun about, his powerful tail slamming into the villager with the boathook, knocking him some fifty feet away. The man landed in a crumpled pile on the beach, his head lying at an unnatural angle on its snapped neck. The beast paused, focusing its beady eyes upon the main body of Wulfhafen’s defenders. It opened its jaws and from deep within its massive form came a grunt-like bellow that had several men dropping their weapons to shield their ears from the sound.
Before the mob could react, the monster was in their midst, lashing out with its powerful claws and snapping jaws. Swords and axes struck again and again at the brutish reptilian abomination, more often than not failing to sink into the tough leathery hide. The few wounds that did draw blood from the beast seemed to go unnoticed, as the monster continued to deal death and mutilation to his would-be killers. In that same amount of time, the monster had killed or maimed over a dozen men, their dead or broken bodies lying strewn across the beach.
Veytman swiped at the huge beast with his elegant blade. The finest sword in the entire village impacted against the scaly flesh, sinking deep into the reptile’s thigh. The brute turned, swiping at Veytman. The hetman dodged the crude attack, but the combination of his manoeuvre and the monster’s assault snapped the steel blade. Veytman stared in horror at the broken sword, and the three inches of steel sticking out from the beast’s leg, the creature seemingly oblivious to the injury.
It did not take long for the struggle to become a rout. Nor did it seem that the monster was content to allow its attackers to escape. Bellowing its awful roar once again, the huge scaly giant lumbered after the fleeing men, pursuing them into the village. Despite its bulk, the beast was unbelievably fast. Only the fact that it caught some of the slowest early on and stopped to reduce them to mangled piles of meat gave any of the villagers a chance to reach the supposed safety of Wulfhafen’s buildings. The feeble structures did nothing to stop the reptile’s rampage, however. As the grotesque creature entered the narrow lane, it turned to face the first of the mud and wood huts. The beast’s tongue flickered from its mouth, tasting the air, sensing the people cowering inside. The beast bellowed again, battering the wall of the hut with its immense bulk. Two hits were enough to collapse the wall and bring the thatch roof crashing down upon the inmates of the building. The monster paused for a moment, staring stupidly at the destruction it had caused. Then its eyes detected the squirming forms struggling to emerge from the ruins. The beast descended upon the rubble and screams again filled the night.
Gastoen and Karel remained with Veytman throughout the terrified retreat, following their hetman into the more solidly constructed common house. The woman Una gave a cry of alarm as the enraged men entered the meeting hall. A withering glare from Veytman silenced the half-soused biddy.
“It is a daemon!” sobbed Gastoen. “It has come to punish us for our evil ways!” Veytman ignored the incoherent ramblings and made his way to the stack of tiny kegs piled beside the now empty weapons rack. The hetman lifted one of the kegs removing its stopper. Normally employed to light the evil beacon fires, Veytman now had a very different purpose in mind for Wulfhafen’s supply of lantern oil.
“Beast or daemon, I am going to send that thing back to hell!” Veytman growled.
“You cannot kill it! It has been sent by Manann to punish this town for preying upon the sea! No one can defy the judgement of the gods!” Gastoen broke into a trill of mad cackling, his mind crumbling under the years of guilt that now fuelled his terror.
“Karel,” Veytman snapped, ignoring the boy’s mad father. “Help me with this! Grab that torch and follow me! Tonight we will see what kind of man you are!”
Karel withdrew his arms from his father’s shoulders and raced to remove the torch the hetman had indicated from its wall sconce. The two men hurried toward the door, determined to put an end to the sounds of death and destruction rising from the street outside, vowing to find the monster preying upon their village and destroy it.
They did not need to find the beast, however. The beast found them.
The front door of the meeting house burst inwards, as if a fully laden wagon had crashed into it. Splintered wood flew in all directions, the shrapnel opening a gash in Karel’s cheek. The great grey and black hulk lowered its head and slithered through the gaping hole in the wall. Once inside, the hissing beast rose to its full height, seemingly oblivious to the dozens of wounds bleeding all over its body. The head of the dwarf axe was buried deep in the creature’s back, and still it showed no sign of injury. The monstrous brute let its head oscillate from side to side, surveying the room with its reptilian eyes, tasting the air with its slender purple tongue. Then the mighty beast roared, the tremendous sound deafening within the close confines of the room.
The effect was immediate. Una shrieked again, scrambling for the rear door of the meeting hall, disappearing through the portal with a speed and agility that should have been impossible for a woman of her age and health. Roused from his pain-filled slumber, Bernard focused his remaining eye upon the hideous reptile. At once, the man was crawling across the floor, hurrying after the departed Una. The creature made to pursue the fleeing wretch, but a much closer victim gave the enraged brute pause.
Karel could not hear what his father was saying, his ears still ringing with the monster’s mighty roar. Gastoen had run forward as the beast broke into the meeting hall and had fallen to his knees before the hulking brute. To Karel, it appeared that the man was actually praying to the huge reptile, a look of insane rapture on Gastoen’s wizened face. The creature looked down at the figure bowed down before its knees. The great brute brought one of its enormous clawed fists crashing down into Gastoen’s head, the force of the blow making the man’s skull and neck sink between his shoulders. Barely ten feet away, Karel watched as his father expired, as his world was rent asunder. The man he had loved, respected and admired was no more. The man he had looked up to all his life had been taken from him in one instant of madness and carnage.
Karel gave voice to an almost inhuman cry of rage and loss and charged the huge beast, the knife his mother had pressed upon him gripped firmly in his hand. The knife impacted harmlessly against the reptile’s leg. With an almost dismissive gesture, the hulking brute swatted Karel with the back of its hand, sending the boy flying across the hall. He landed against the far wall, the wind knocked from his lungs. The boy dropped to the floor, groaning the mixture of anguish and agony that wracked his form.
Veytman yelled in fury and ran at the huge monster. The hetman hurled the keg of oil at the beast with his left hand. The object flew lethargically across the room, missing its intended target and breaking apart against the wall behind the creature. The failure of the missile to strike its target did nothing to stop Veytman’s attack. The man lashed out at the huge beast with the torch he held, thrusting the flame upward into the monster’s face.
The creature hissed angrily, flinching away from the flame. Veytman cackled triumphantly, pressing his attack. But he grew too bold, too certain of the beast’s fear. The reptile bellowed again and lashed out with a massive clawed hand. The claws tore through Veytman’s stomach, ripping his intestines from his body. A river of blood fountained out of Veytman’s butchered flesh, sickly yellow stomach matter staining the crimson cataract. Veytman fell to his knees, blood filling his mouth. The last sight his dying eyes focused upon was that of his own innards dangling from the creature’s claws.
As Veytman died, the torch fell from his nerveless fingers, rolling across the floor to meet the spilt oil. Even as the lizardman stomped toward Karel, the flammable liquid caught fire, turning the entire wall into a fiery blaze. The monster turned away from the youth, staring with fear at the blaze behind it, croaking its own terror.
Karel had only moments to act, seconds to overcome the fear gripping his frame, the pain wracking his body. It was a moment to transform a boy into a man. Karel
turned towards the rest of the supply of Wulfhafen’s oil, smashing the stoppers from the kegs with the end of the knife still clutched in his hand, pitching the ruptured contents to the ground. The incendiary liquid splashed across the floor, rushing to meet the flames on the other side of the room. The creature turned, perhaps sensing what the boy had done, or perhaps merely looking for another way to leave the building. Whatever its purpose, Karel did not wait to find out. Hurling the torch at the pool of oil gathered about the reptile’s feet, the young man leapt through the rear door of the common house.
The oil ignited at once, transforming the meeting hall into an inferno. The monster tried to flee from the flames all around it, its primitive brain taking long minutes to realise that its own flesh was on fire. The lizardman’s bellows of agony rose from the blaze as the fire seared its scaly flesh.
Outside, the survivors of Wulfhafen emerged from the shelter of their homes; gathering about their burning common house, watching the consuming flames lick into the night sky. The huge beast trapped inside was a long time in dying, its anguished cries ringing into the night for nearly a quarter of an hour. The crowd remained through it all, silent and stunned. There was no sense of triumph in the people of Wulfhafen as the flames consumed the horror that had descended upon their tiny village. Survivors they may be; victors they were not.
Karel gathered the last of his possessions together and kissed his mother one final time. The morning sun had barely peaked above the horizon; the first birds were only just emerging from their nocturnal sanctuaries. Karel shouldered his pack and made to leave the only home he had ever known. He could almost see Gastoen again, sitting at the table, his weathered, cracked hands resting in a cool bowl of fresh water, trying to soothe the pain from his tortuous labours on the sea. He could almost see his father making ready to join the ship wreckers, with all the guilt and shame that had shrouded the evil things he had done to support those he loved. Karel could now understand the strange and frightened looks his father had sometimes favoured him with. It had been the closest Gastoen had ever come to voicing his truest fear, the fear that his son would become himself one day, that the dark practice of Wulfhafen would live on through his own blood.
Tales of the Old World Page 85
