"There it is over yonder," Sir Ywain says.
You strain to look past the early-morning mist. You see the crenellated towers of a distant city by the water. A name comes to your lips.
"No, not Camelot," the knight says. "Craneport."
* * *
You're both riding this time. The saddle isn't made for you and the saddle leathers are still a bit short, but Sir Ywain thinks you need all the practice you can get on the big black destrier. It's yours now, after all.
A moment's work with a staff has won you a horse, a suit of armour, and an assortment of adventuring equipment. Also three gold pieces, ten silver pieces, and fourteen copper pieces. Sir Almeric is still alive and still wears the armour, but the custom is clear: you defeated him in combat, so his stuff now belongs to you.
You're not sure if you like it. Sir Almeric DEFINITELY doesn't like it and wouldn't stop cursing you. You had to gag him, one more indignity to add to the insult of being tied and thrown over his own steed. Riding in front of him, it's hard to concentrate on your newfound horsemanship.
Given a modern road and a modern vehicle you'd probably be in the city in time to punch in for work. But this is medieval times, or close enough, and you'll be lucky to get there by noon.
The surrounding countryside isn't much different from what you've been passing through. Cities don't sprawl so much here. The farmers stop to watch you go. You're riding with a Blessed Squire, so there's no need to keep your hood up. The sun is warm upon your back. The air is full of morning scents. You feel rested. You feel good.
A scream cuts through the air.
"What in the Lady's name?" Sir Ywain says, and spurs forward. It's all you can do to keep up. You hurry toward the next farm, and as you approach a boy stumbles from behind the barn.
"Run, Watkyn. Run!"
The boy scrambles to his feet. He scampers away. Something swipes the side of the barn and takes a chunk out of it. Splinters fly after the boy.
Something roars. Your first impression is of a shaved bear. It's certainly shaped like one. But what you took for a hairless pelt is actually --
Is actually --
It's wrapped in human skin. Several human skins. Each was removed in one piece, like the rabbit pelt from the other day. Someone has stitched the skins into a baggy suit and slipped a bear inside it.
You can't move. The creature isn't entirely hairless. It has patches of black, brown, and blonde hair. Under the patches are eye-holes and mouth holes. Most are stitched shut, but some have popped open to reveal the weeping meat underneath. The meat is red and gray. The stench is abominable.
Sir Ywain doesn't hesitate, but draws his sword and gallops toward it.
"Cut me free," Sir Almeric says.
You ask him why the hell you would do that.
"He doesn't stand a chance," the rogue knight says. "But together we might be able to give these peasants time to get clear. Cut me free!"
* * *
You don't know if it's really a good idea, but you hop out of the saddle and cut Sir Almeric's legs free. The knife is in your hands without thinking -- it's remarkably how quickly you've gotten used to wearing a knife. But it's just another tool in this place.
"Now my hands," the knight says. "Hurry!"
You run around the front of the animal (not the back, that's important) and cut Sir Almeric's hands free.
"Thanks, cat!" he said, and rode swiftly away.
AWAY from the fight.
You curse under your breath, but there's nothing you can do. And Sir Ywain and the farmers still need your help.
You start running. There's a hatchet in your belt and a pitchfork in the grass. You draw one and grab the other. You don't have the slightest idea of how to use them but they feel good in your hands.
Sir Ywain's riding circles around the bear-thing. He holds his blade high and slashes every time he passes close by. He has just a bit more reach than the monster but it can take a hit and he can't risk one. In the background, the peasants are fleeing.
You can't use either of your weapons with both hands full, so you throw the hatchet as hard as you can. It hits the bear-thing in the shoulder and stays there. It roars and looks at you, its tiny eyes full of hate.
You feel a great cramping in your guts. Your tail wants to go between your legs. But you lift the pitchfork in both hands and stand your ground.
* * *
The thing bellows and shuffles toward you, a rolling hulk of muscle and bone. You jab with the pitchfork, backpedaling as you do so, but it's surprisingly quick and it bowls you over.
"Walter! Get up!" Sir Ywain says. He slashes it across the hump of its back just when it was about to disembowel you. The beast turns to give chase.
You roll to your feet and lift the pitchfork. Again you thrust out, this time putting your full weight behind it. The tines are sharp and pierce the creature's skin, but it's like running into a wall. You pull the pitchwork loose with a grunt and dodge a swinging paw that could've taken your head off. You jab at it again. Sir Ywain comes in for another cut. The bear's makeshift skin is torn and hanging open, but it's not bleeding and it's not weakening. How the hell do you kill it?
You must've said it out loud because Sir Ywain answers you. "We can't. But need to keep it busy while the farmers rally together."
It's easier said than done. The bear charges again. You aim for its eyes and only gouge its cheek. You leap out of the way and the mounted knight slashes it along the ribs. You lunge, aiming for the head, but the monster bites down on the pitchfork. It tears the weapon out of your hands with a twitch of its neck.
You stumble back, and then you're stumbling for real, having tripped over the gutted remains of a sheep. The bear rears over you. It raises its paws to slam them down on you with all its weight.
A shadow passes over your face. It looks like a tree limb, freshly shorn of its branches, hackedinto the shape of a spear.
Sir Almeric is screaming as he drives the lance home. He's holding it in both hands, with one hand in front of him and another behind him. The point of the stake has gone low into the bear's side, slamming it away. You scramble out from under it.
"Hyaaa!" Sir Almeric says. He twists and works the lance into the creature's ribs, driving it towards the heart.
You hear shouting behind you and see a mob running toward you with more pitchforks and torches. You think about running away, but one look at Sir Ywain and he shakes his head. "They're here for the monster, and not for you."
The bear has gone limp. It's not breathing, but you're not sure it was breathing in the first place. The important thing is that it's stopped attacking.
The farmers stream past you. They're carrying bundles of brush, which they pile against the beast. Someone touches a torch to it and it begins to burn.
"You have to burn the undead, or they come back to life," Sir Ywain says. "Nice work back there, Sir Almeric."
The rogue knight is rubbing his wrists. "The cat-man trusted me to help. I helped."
"It will speak well for your character at the trial."
Sir Ywain laughs. "You think I'm coming back to the city with you, old man? I'm leaving and there's nothing you can do."
"Well, I won't try to catch you this time. Cider's tired."
"You're BOTH tired," Sir Almeric says, and rides away laughing.
The Blessed Squire sighs. "Believe it or not, but he was once a credit to my order."
* * *
The farmers insist on feeding you and Sir Ywain. They're much friendlier than you expected, probably they live close to the city and see a lot more chimeras. Also probably because you saved a lot of lives.
They're also waiting for the bear to burn down till it's nothing but ash and brittle bones.
You ask Sir Ywain where it came from.
"Necromancers," he says. "Rogue mages of the worst sort. It amuses them to practice their skills by building these monstrosities. It's one reason the locals hate anything that stinks of magic."
You ask him if this happens a lot. He shrugs. "Often enough that people know what to do."
The people also offer to bed you down for the night, but you're both in a hurry to get to the city and away from the smoking mound of horror. It takes the last of the daylight, but you finally see the city gates, the port, and the treadwheel cranes that give the city its name.
"Craneport," Sir Ywain says. "Not the biggest place in the kingdom, but busy enough, and the home city of the Blessed Squires."
Comments (0)
See all