by Matt Phelan
The knights took their positions. Mel found a spot near Magdalena.
Bors whistled a low tune as he tossed his ax casually into the air, catching it by the handle and tossing it up again. Up and down. Up and down.
The mist crawled closer and closer.
Bors stopped whistling and caught his ax.
All was silent and still.
And then it began.
Magdalena and the Rabid Rapscallion
Hector and the Fingers of Fear
Bors and the Boarish Beast
Erec and the Eel of Misery
Mel and the Oozing ’Orror
The night was nearly over, and the monsters, sensing the dawn, had begun to retreat.
Erec chased a nasty-looking goblin through the village, finally cornering it by a wall and slaying it.
A candle burned in one of the homes nearby. The door was wide open.
“Greer,” breathed Erec.
He approached warily. There was not a sound from inside. Sword ready, Erec slipped in. He rounded the corner that led to Greer’s bedchamber.
Greer was lying in bed, asleep. And a rail-thin, pale figure with a bald high-domed head, pointed ears, and wide eyes was leaning over her. Its lips parted, exposing two long, sharp fangs.
With a ratlike squeak, the fiend bit Greer on the neck.
“Oi!” shouted Erec.
Strangely Greer did not wake, but the creature looked up, a trail of blood dribbling down its chin.
Erec lunged, but the monster held up one hand, its long, spidery fingers outstretched. An invisible force threw Erec back. He hit the wall and collapsed to the floor.
Erec rose, but the creature smiled and raised its hand once more, pinning Erec against the wall. It raised its hand higher and Erec lifted off the ground.
The fiend hissed at him, waving its hand to the left and dragging Erec in the same direction. Erec was powerless.
He scraped along the wall until he reached a mirror that hung there. The creature halted. It tilted its head.
Erec followed its gaze to the mirror. There was no reflection, which seemed to baffle the creature as much as it did Erec.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Erec pushed off the wall with all his might and broke the spell, landing squarely on the monster.
It squealed as they scuffled. Erec got a few good punches in. He grabbed the creature by the collar and—
Poof!
The fiend was gone. A bat fluttered in its place for a moment before darting out the door.
Greer moaned softly as she woke. When she saw Erec, she sat up with a start.
“What are you doing here?!”
“There was a . . . It—it was biting your neck!” stammered Erec.
Greer reached up to feel the two little bite marks on her neck. She drew her hand away and stared at the blood on her fingertips.
“What—” she began.
The bat zipped back into the room, returned to its original shape, and took a bite of Erec’s neck.
“AH! Get off me!”
Erec shoved it. He took a swing and poof the fiend was a bat. Then poof back to fiend for another nibble of Erec. Erec punched. Poof. Bat.
The bat fluttered behind Erec and changed once again.
BAM!
Greer whacked the monster on the head with her iron pan, sending it tumbling out the door.
Erec was after it in an instant. The fiend scrambled to its feet, backing away.
The mist was thinning. A single beam from the rising sun broke through and struck the fiend on the shoulder.
“EEEP!” it cried, hopping out of the beam, shoulder smoldering.
Erec and the creature stood still for a moment, contemplating this new development.
Erec stepped forward and nudged the fiend into the beam of light again.
“ERP!” it cried, and jumped out.
Erec prodded it back in.
The mist cleared, the sunbeam widened, and . . .
WHOOSH!
The fiend disintegrated into a small pile of dust.
“Hmm,” said Erec, kicking the dust with idle curiosity.
The mist dissipated completely, and the early morning sun shone a golden orange.
Erec turned back to Greer, who stood speechless in the doorway, holding her neck.
Erec nodded.
“Ma’am.”
And he strode off to find the others.
He found them all in the stables, collapsed with exhaustion.
Erec fell face-first into a pile of hay.
“I hate this place,” he said.
Chapter Nine
A Strange Little Lad
Mordred set a small cauldron on the fire he had built in the center of a ring of tall stones, each with carvings in an ancient language.
He stirred his potion, adding bits of herbs and less-innocent ingredients from a small pouch.
The liquid grew thick, purplish in color, and slightly luminescent.
He felt very proud of himself.
Mel walked past the ring of stones, stifling a yawn.
“Hello, Mel!” said Mordred, standing. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Mel sighed and walked over.
“You have not been eaten by a monster yet?” asked Mordred.
“Apparently not,” said Mel.
“Can you describe one to me? A monster? I am oh, so curious.”
Mel narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you stick around tonight and see for yourself?”
“Mother would not like that.”
“Of course not,” said Mel. She wandered over to a standing stone, tracing the runes with her finger.
“Those are monuments to the Ancient Ones. My ancestors. Orkney is a source of great magic and power.”
“But what do they do?” asked Mel. “This ring of stones here?”
Mordred paused.
“I do not know exactly.”
“Hmm,” said Mel.
“One can channel the magic if one knows how. Would you care to look into my cauldron?”
“No.”
“But . . . it is . . . quite beautiful.”
“No, thank you.”
“It smells like flowers.”
“Is that so? I must be off, Mordred.”
Mel returned to the road.
Mordred stood, incensed.
“Look into my cauldron!”
“Get bent.”
Mordred lowered his voice.
“You will regret how you spoke to me, peasant. I am destined for greatness, for legend. They will one day sing heroic songs that proclaim my name.”
“Doubtful with a name like that,” said Mel. “Mordred. More dread. Not very heroic.”
Mordred looked suddenly crestfallen.
“Mother calls me her little Dreadful.”
“You are a weird child, Mordred,” said Mel as she walked on down the lane.
Mordred stewed. He stared at his cauldron. All that work. All those preparations. Mother would have been so impressed with her little Dreadful.
“Oh, hello there!” Sir Hector ambled up to the ring of stones. “Mordred, isn’t it? I was just doing a bit of sightseeing before tonight’s nightmarish activities.”
Mordred perked up.
“Can you describe a monster for me?”
“Oh. Well . . . none of them are very pleasant.”
“Anything would do. Please, sir knight.”
Hector considered.
“The first night I met a chap who looked human but then wasn’t so much.”
“Go on!”
“He sprouted fur and fangs and went all arrgh on me. It was as if he were a wolf.”
“Were a wolf?”
“Were a wolf.”
“Were a wolf,” said Mordred with relish. “How did you vanquish it? Did you run it through with your sword?”
“I tried,” said Hector, “but I missed, actually. Then while swinging around for another go, I bonked it rather hard on the head with the
hilt. It went down, and that was that.”
“Fascinating!” said Mordred. “Was there silver in the hilt?”
“A bit,” said Hector.
“Extraordinary.”
“Fairly common, actually,” said Hector.
Mordred was lost in his thoughts for a moment.
Hector wandered up to the cauldron.
“What do you have here?” he asked.
Mordred focused on Hector. A thin, reptilian smile unfurled across his pale face.
“Have a look.”
Hector leaned over the cauldron. A purple mist spilled out and engulfed him. There was no time to call for help.
Chapter Ten
Bi-clops!
“Where’s Hector?” asked Erec, as the knights and Mel gathered in the square before sundown.
“Probably doing something daft like sightseeing,” said Bors.
Hours later . . .
“Where’s Hector?!”
The night’s onslaught had been worse than the previous nights; fiercer, with more monsters than ever. First came a small horde of sword-wielding skeletons. Those were joined by winged harpies screeching and swooping down with fiendish claws. The knights’ swords and Mel’s arrows beat them back, but with great effort.
Mel faced off with a giant wooden man, which gave her particular trouble since each arrow seemed to only tickle it. Bors and his ax finished that job.
More came: strange creatures like bears with rhino heads, skulls that ran on little hands, and some that defy description. The night raged on and the heroes fought with all their might, but Hector’s absence was sorely felt.
“Hector! We need you! Now!”
The Black Knight and Mel battled a monster with deadly tentacles that hid itself deep in the mist, striking with the speed of a viper.
Bors and Erec were ambushed by a giant brute that tossed them against the wall of a hut before they could even get a look at it.
Winded, they slowly rallied their strength.
The sound of enormous feet crunched toward them.
They froze, eyes on the dark mist. A monster emerged from the gloom. It was huge, terrifying, fierce, and—
“Wait,” said Erec. “Is that a wee mustache?”
The monster before them had an ugly, brutish face with a single eye in the forehead. It had a second head next to the first, also with a single eye in the forehead. This face, while still quite ugly, sported a small mustache that one might consider dashing or perhaps even rakish.
“Hector?” asked Erec.
The two-headed cyclops paused. The mustached head changed its angry expression to one of puzzlement. The other head remained rather monstrous and angry. The creature rapped the mustached head with its own hand.
The mustached head turned to the other head and they began to argue in a strange tongue.
Mel and Magdalena joined the group and stood staring at the bi-clops.
“What in blazes is going on?” asked Bors.
“I think . . . I think that’s Hector. On the left,” said Erec.
Mel gasped.
The mustached head looked back to the group, its eye wide as if trying to communicate. The angry head bared its teeth at the other head and roared. Then the two-headed cyclops ran off into the mist.
Chapter Eleven
And Then There Were Four
Bors slowly rose to his feet, his eyes set on the direction the bi-clops took. He scowled and stomped after it.
“What are you doing, Bors?” called Erec.
Bors turned but did not stop.
“Doing my job. Killing monsters.” He vanished into the darkness.
Two gorilla-sized ogres launched an attack, knocking over Erec and Magdalena. They were up again in a flash, swords swinging.
Mel paused for moment, then tore off into the mist after Bors.
The dawn came soon after. The mist receded. Erec and Magdalena sat on a stone wall. For a long while, neither spoke. They were exhausted, haunted, and worried.
“This will not relent,” said Magdalena quietly. “You realize that.”
“Yes,” answered Erec. “And it has gotten a whole lot worse.”
Magdalena stared up the coast at the castle above them.
“There is only one person who can stop this. And only one person who can stop her.”
Magdalena stood. She put her sword in its scabbard.
“I’m going with you,” said Erec.
“No, Sir Erec. You find the others. This is something I must do alone.”
She faced Erec.
“I have not told you everything about myself. About these isles. I believe Morgause expects me to come to her. But she will not like the outcome of the meeting. She believes I am . . .”
A dark look crossed Magdalena’s face. Her weariness was not just from the night’s battles. It was something deeper, something in her eyes, in her stillness. She was there and elsewhere at the same time.
Erec observed the Black Knight silently for a moment.
“Listen . . . Mags . . .”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Right. Just trying something new. Nickname.”
“It’s awful.”
“I understand.”
“I will punch you.”
“Got it.”
Magdalena nodded to Erec. Erec nodded back.
She left without another word. Erec sat on the wall and watched her go.
Chapter Twelve
Good Hearts
Mel followed Bors across the moors. It was difficult to stay hidden in the flat, treeless terrain once the sun rose. But Mel made good use of rocks and the odd wall. It helped that Bors marched on with furious determination and focus, pausing only occasionally to check a trace or footprint.
He stopped when he reached a craggy outpost some two hundred feet above the thundering surf. Bors took a few cautious steps.
Mel crawled up a rock to get a better view.
The bi-clops—the thing that Sir Hector was now a part of—rested by the opening of a cave.
Mel watched Bors. Bors watched the bi-clops. He was stock-still. And then he drew his sword and strode toward the creature.
Mel leaped up on the stone and drew an arrow.
“Sir Bors!” she yelled.
Bors paused and glanced back at Mel. He narrowed his eyes. Then he drove his sword into the ground.
Without further notice of Mel, Bors approached the bi-clops. The nasty head appeared to be asleep. The Hector head looked at Bors with one sad eye.
Bors sat beside it and put his hand gently on its shoulder.
“Hector, old fellow,” Bors said softly, “what have they done to you?”
Mel eased the tension on her bow. She had completely misjudged the situation. She replaced the arrow in the quiver and walked over to Bors and the bi-clops.
“Don’t worry, Hector,” continued Bors. “I’ll get you out of this somehow. And then we’ll make them pay, eh? What do you say?”
The Hector-clops smiled weakly.
Mel stayed a few feet away.
“I heard you a long ways back, Mel,” Bors said.
“I thought . . . ,” Mel began quietly.
Bors turned.
“Hector’s my friend,” he said simply.
They sat in silence, except for the roar of the ocean and the snore of the sleeping monstrous side of the bi-clops.
“Hang on, now. One at a time, please.”
Erec held his hands up. He was surrounded by villagers. They were not happy.
“Monsters have eaten five of my sheep!”
“They trampled my veg garden!”
“One took our Clive,” shouted an old lady. “’Course, I never liked him . . . ,”
“If you please, have patience,” said Erec. “We will rid you of these monsters.”
“When?!”
“WHEN?!”
It rose t
o a chant.
“You knights need to get out!” yelled an old man with one tooth.
“But we’re protecting you,” said Erec reasonably.
“Protecting us?” scoffed a young lass. “They’re after you. They only come to the village because you’re here. If you leave, they will follow.”
Everyone quieted down.
“That actually makes sense,” admitted Erec. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”
“We have!” shouted the villagers.
“Right. Okay. We will take the battle elsewhere,” said Erec.
The crowd dispersed with a few last angry looks and muttered words.
Erec took a deep breath. He wandered down the village road. Alone. Where were his companions? What kind of leader was he?
“Sir Erec.” Greer stood outside of her home. “I apologize about that.”
“They have a point,” said Erec.
“Can I show you something?” asked Greer.
She led him into her hovel and over to her shelf of figurines.
“There. On the end,” said Greer.
Erec leaned in to get a closer look. There were two new clay figures: one, a skinny wretch with pointy teeth and then, in an action pose, a brave knight.
“Is that me?” asked Erec.
“I’m sorry,” said Greer.
“Don’t be. This is outstanding work.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
A dagger pressed against Erec’s throat. Gorp was behind him. Gareth slid from behind a curtain. His sword was drawn and pointed at Greer’s back.
“Oh,” said Erec, placing the figure back gently.
“They threatened harm to the family next door if I didn’t help them,” said Greer.
“I understand,” said Erec.
“I understand now as well,” Greer said.
She turned and spat in Gareth’s face.
“You have betrayed your people, Son of Orkney! You call yourself a knight. You are as bad as the monsters!”
Gareth wiped his face slowly. He glared at Greer but then looked away.
“Go, Gorp. Take him,” he barked.
“It’s that evil queen,” said Bors. “She can turn him back.”
