The Fabled Beast of Elddon (9 page)

“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.

The
force of the exploding air sack threw Sir Egan. He landed on his back, losing
his sword as he slid down along the beast’s side. At the last moment he was
able to grab hold of one of the struts that anchored the wing to the beast’s
body. He wrapped his arm around it, scrabbling with his other hand to catch
hold of one of the wires.

Ander
got to his knees, clinging to a length of wire. He sheathed his sword and,
moving cautiously, slid himself forward to within a few feet of the struggling
knight.

“Take
my hand,” he roared, his voice little more than a whisper over the howling
wind. “Don’t be a fool!”

“I’d
sooner cut off my own fingers,” Sir Egan snarled, “than accept anything from
you, Northman.”

Ander
reached for him, but Sir Egan refused to take his outstretched hand. The knight
tried to pull himself up, using the strut to lift his body. The strut cracked,
and then with a tortured sound, broke free. Sir Egan let out a cry of fury as
he was torn from the monster’s back, disappearing into space. The broken wing continued
to beat for a few seconds, snapping wires and dislocating lengths of wood, then
it stilled altogether. The beast listed hard to one side and began losing
altitude.

Ander
crawled along the beast to the opening in its side, then heaved himself in,
twisting his ankle painfully as he landed. He shook himself, feeling battered
and bruised. He tested the ankle and was satisfied that nothing was broken. Then
he started forward to where Tristan was frantically pulling on levers and
turning wheels, all to no avail.

“That
fool of a knight managed to cripple this thing,” Ander growled, appearing
beside his friend.

“I’m
well aware,” Tristan said, his face tight with strain, his skin pale as milk. “It’s
falling and there’s nothing I can do.”

“The
lake!” Ander shouted. “See if you can’t maneuver this cursed monstrosity over
the lake.”

“I’ll
try,” Tristan said, “But no promises.”

Tristan
leaned on the handle, gripping it with both hands and the beast rolled over on
its side, angling toward the ground. Through the eye holes, Ander could see
trees and grass below them, then the castle looming large and growing nearer.
The shredded air bag, pierced by Sir Egan’s sword, had fallen into the fire,
and the flames, previously contained, began climbing up along the beast’s side.
Dark smoke poured out through the hole in the beast’s side. The monster groaned
and Ander could hear the snapping wires and straining wood. The thing was
coming apart and would not hold for much longer. They sailed past the castle
keep, trailing fire and smoke, barely missing the top of the curtain wall. Then
they were beyond the hill and the surface of the lake rushed up to meet them.

The
beast slammed into the water with a shuddering impact. Ander was thrown against
a wooden crossbar that cracked beneath him. He fell back, dazed. Water rushed
in through the eye holes and through widening tears in the beast’s hide, flooding
the interior of the monster as it was sucked down into the lake. Ander wrenched
the hauberk over his head, discarding it, then splashed forward to where
Tristan lay motionless. As the water rose up over Ander’s head, he reached out,
grabbing hold of Tristan’s tunic and yanking him back. He wrapped one massive arm
around the youth’s neck and shoulder and fought his way to the hatch. He pushed
through it, then swam for all he was worth, still gripping Tristan tightly to
him.

The
beast let out a final tortured moan as the dark mass sank, disappearing from
view altogether. Ander broke the surface of the lake, sucking in great lungfuls
of air. The lake was shrouded in morning mist and there was a haze of smoke drifting
off the water. The sun had risen above the horizon and the golden light of
morning spread across the valley floor. Ander rolled onto his back, holding
Tristan’s head as he struck out for the shore. When he at last felt mud beneath
his boots, he turned, lifting Tristan and half-carried, half-dragged him from
the lake. There Ander fell and lay like a stunned ox, breathing heavily and
gazing up at the sky.

Tristan
made a choking sound and rolled onto his side, vomiting water and coughing
ferociously. Ander patted him on the back but was otherwise too tired to move. It
had been a miserable couple of days and one of the longest nights he could
remember. Unfortunately, they were not out of the soup just yet. There would be
soldiers coming and Ander was not at all certain what kind of mood they’d be in.
He rolled over, shaking himself like a wet dog and climbed tiredly to his feet.
He took Tristan by the arm and helped him stand.

“You
alright?” he asked.

“I
think so,” Tristan said, spitting and wiping water from his eyes. “What
happened to the beast?”

“It
sank and nearly took us with it.”

“Good
riddance,” Tristan said, eyeing the water with distaste.

They
started up the slope, away from the edge of the lake. They had only gone a
short distance when they were met by a noisy delegation of villagers, all of
whom appeared to be talking and shouting at once. Ander tensed, thinking they
were about to be attacked, but realized that the men and women coming to meet
them were not hurling insults but congratulations. They were cheering and there
were smiles on their faces. All at once, Ander found himself surrounded, with
people slapping him on the back and reaching out to shake his hand.

“Well
done, my boy, well done!” said a blue-eyed merchant with an enormous mustache. “You’ve
slain the fabled beast of Elddon. I never thought I would see this day.”

“We
have a champion among men in our midst,” a plump woman with rosy cheeks planted
a kiss on his cheek.

Ander
reeled, not certain which way to turn or whom he should address, but confused
as he was, he had the seed of an idea growing in his mind. This was an
opportunity that would not come again and he meant to exploit it.

“Good
people!” Ander shouted, raising his arms and gesturing for quiet. “I thank you
for your praise, but it was not I who slew the beast of Elddon. I am only the
lesser companion to the real hero of this tale.”

At
that moment, Baron Leofrick himself appeared at the top of the rise, mounted on
a beautiful white horse. With him came half a dozen of his household guard and
a handful of very harried-looking servants who had been forced to run down the
hill to keep up. The baron was clad in crisp white linen, a pale green doublet,
and a heavy wine-colored cloak, trimmed in gold. At his waist he wore a long
sword with a massive gem in the pommel. He looked down on the proceedings with a
mixture of astonishment and curiosity.

“I
saw with mine own eyes,” a farmer insisted, waving his arms as he spoke. “I saw
the beast plunge into the water, saw its back break upon the waves, as did many
of us. If not you, then who--”

“It
was this man here,” Ander said, turning and presenting Tristan with an
outstretched hand. “It was Tristan an Elddon who grappled with the beast, and who
was finally able to bring it down. I was but a spectator to the deed, clinging
to the monster’s back with no thought but for myself.”

“What?”
Tristan began. “I did not--”

“You
slew the fabled beast of Elddon,” Ander announced, raising his voice so that
everyone near him could hear. “Modesty is the defining trait of any such hero. But
I tell you that Tristan, and he alone, is responsible for the monster’s destruction.
He is the savior of your village and deserves all of your thanks and praise.”

Now
the crowd moved past Ander, surrounding Tristan as they continued their
celebration, regaling the youth with compliments and accolades for his heroic
deed. The sound of hoof beats on the road drew Ander’s attention and he turned
to see a sorrel mare, lathered in sweat and blowing foam, as it came to a halt
a stone’s throw away from where they all stood. The elluen, blood stained and
covered in dust, his long, white gold hair tangled and wild, leapt from the
saddle, looking frantically about. When he saw Ander, he was momentarily taken
aback and stood transfixed, gazing from Ander to Tristan and back again.