The Fabled Beast of Elddon (8 page)

The
box reached the hole in the ceiling, traveling through another thirty feet of
rock before it finally emerged into a chamber above. As the elevator was drawn
up the last few feet and finally shuddered to a stop, Tristan and Ander were
confronted by a large group of kerram. Some were similarly dressed and armed liked
the ones below, but the majority of these kerram were of a different sort. They
appeared older, with dark, intelligent eyes, and wisps of white fur around
their muzzles. They were clad in clean robes of a desert tan color and many had
belts around their waists containing a variety of tools and instruments. Standing
with them, in the center of the pack, his irrepressible half-smile fixed on his
lips, was Sir Egan Stroud. Despite the smirk, the weariness in the knight’s gray
eyes and his disheveled appearance told of the long, sleepless night.

“I
knew I should have hanged you at once,” Sir Egan said. “I might have saved
myself a great deal of inconvenience and effort.” He turned to the nearest
guard. “Bring them out.”

Several
guards pushed forward and grabbed Tristan and Ander, dragging them out of the
box and relieving them of their weapons. The two men found themselves in a
cavern, one the kerram had enlarged to accommodate their industry and many devices.
The chamber was filled with tables and benches, the walls lined with shelves
and cabinets, all laden with boxes, bottles, bags, and chests, containing any
number of herbs, metals, powders, and other materials, some faintly glowing in
the dim light. There were books and scrolls strewn about on the tables, and
kerram crouched over these, reading, writing, drawing, conversing in low,
chittering voices. A group of kerram stood at one of the long benches, working
feverishly. Here the raw ore from the mines was processed, crushed and sifted,
mixed with other substances, and then placed into casks and bags. Other kerram
sat at tables or stood at benches, building strange-looking weapons of
intricate design, including staffs like the one Ryia had taken from her
captors. Weapons were stockpiled in carts and bins, in various unused corners
and along the walls wherever space was available. The room appeared crowded and
close.

On
his left, Ander could see a short staircase that descended to a lower level
where barrels stood in rows along one wall, along with other sundry crates and
boxes. A ladder climbed up along the back wall to a stone shelf above, with a
system of pulleys and ropes dangling from the beam overhead. The stone shelf
was broad and level, thirty feet wide at least. Above it was an opening in the
rock, a hole in the mountain that appeared to lead to the outside world. Through
it Ander could see stars and the first faint glimmer of morning.

Occupying
much of the space on that shelf was the beast of Elddon. The monstrous thing
crouched there, wings furled, its massive head turned away and its long body
stretched out on the stone like a favored pet stretched out on a rug. The beast
may have been asleep for all Ander could tell, or it might have been dead. There
was no movement to it, not even the slow rise and fall of its shoulders as it
breathed. Ander had seen numerous animals at rest, the way they twitched and
wriggled in their dreams, but this beast showed no sign that it lived. Perhaps the
beast of Elddon did not have to breathe. Perhaps it did not dream. Even so, it
appeared unnaturally still to Ander’s eyes.

“The
fabled beast of Elddon,” Sir Egan said, tracking Ander’s gaze.

“Is
it dead?” Ander asked.

“No,”
Sir Egan said, laughing. “It never lived. Well, not this one at any rate. There
may have been a beast at one time, the great monster that all the stories tell
of. But this beast is no creature of flesh and blood. It is simply a machine, a
ship, if you will, that sails on wind instead of water. A useful tool if one
wishes to inspire fear among the common folk.”

“But
why?” Tristan said. “What is the point of all this?”

“For
the gold, of course.” Sir Egan rubbed his jaw, giving them an appraising look. “Baron
Leofrick is a short-sighted old fool and notoriously tight with his coin. Despite
my insistence, he could not see the need for more soldiers and equipment.”

“So,
you convinced him there was a monster in Elddon,” Ander said, “one that could
only be sated by gold and silver.”

“Not
I,” Sir Egan said, his visage one of innocence. “It was the people of Elddon
who cried out for succor. And the priests who remembered the old stories, the
tales of tributes and virgin sacrifices.”

“With
a little help, I’m sure.” Ander glared at the knight, his fingers aching to
crush his throat. “But to what purpose? Why the charade?”

“The
people love me far more than they do Leofrick,” Sir Egan said with a flourish
of his hand, “but I have no claim to the rule of Elddon. Still, he is an old
man and a miser. Leofrick would allow Elddon to become a vassal of Linheath
without the slightest bit of resistance.”

“And
you think you can do better?” Tristan snarled, his contempt for the knight
plain upon his face.

“I
know I could,” Sir Egan’s voice grew cold. “And with the kerram’s help, I will.
These weapons will help me defeat Linheath. With only a handful of men, I can
subdue an army. There are items here that can take down a castle wall without
rams or men to wield them. This is the future of war and I have it in my hands.”

Ander
watched as one of the kerram filled a small clay pot with crushed glow rock,
mixed with some other substance, then fit a cork with a bit of fuse sticking
out of it over the opening. The kerram added this bauble to a stack of others
in a crate beside the bench he was working at.

“Baron
Leofrick will sadly be killed by an assassin from Linheath, whereupon his
council will ask me to take his place. My first act as the new baron of Elddon will
be to declare war and destroy the Linheathians once and for all. I will take
back those lands that once belonged to us, and restore Elddon to its former
glory.”

“What
about Ryia?” Tristan asked. “She has nothing to do with this. Why did you send
her to Ibridion as a sacrifice to the beast?”

“Ah,
that,” Sir Egan mused. “I must confess to having something of a weakness for
the girl. I’ve watched her for some time, but she is slippery as an eel and has
managed to repeatedly avoid my snares. I have tried to make her love me. I have
given her gifts and favors, but all she talks of is you.” A shadow of anger passed
over the knight’s face. “I urged her to forget you, but Ryia is stubborn, and insisted
that you would return one day.”

“And
here I am.”

“Yes,
so you are. When you joined the border guard, I thought us rid of you for good.
I should have handled things myself, like I did with her father. He was
meddlesome too, but I will soon correct that mistake. You will never see the
outside of this cave. You and your Northman friend will be just two more
victims of our fabled beast.”

“Ryia
knows what you are,” Tristan snarled, his voice tinged with imminent threat. “She
knows what you have done. She will never love you, never accept you. She knows
you are a villain.”

“Ryia
doesn’t have to accept me,” Sir Egan said. “With you gone, there will be no one
to protect her and no one to stand in my way. She will be mine, one way or
another, whether she will it or no.”

Tristan
tore his arm free from the guard holding him, and launched himself at the
knight. Sir Egan struck him across the jaw, knocking Tristan to the floor. He stood
over him then, his fists clenched and his face lined with fury.

“Insolent
pup!” Sir Egan shouted. “I have put up with your childish efforts to play the
hero for long enough. I will kill you right here and now.” He drew a dagger
from his belt, holding it up in the torchlight so that the blade gleamed red. “And
you can do nothing to stop me.”

All
eyes were on Sir Egan as he raised the knife. Ander’s first thought was to
throw himself at the knight, get his body between Stroud and Tristan, but then
another idea occurred to him. Ander snatched a torch from one of the slack-jawed
guards and with an almost casual gesture, he flung it, up over the heads of the
kerram engineers and into the crate beside the bench, the one filled with
little clay pots.

There
was a pregnant pause, a moment that seemed to last for an hour, as all heads
turned in the direction of the crate. Sir Egan’s head snapped around, young
Tristan forgotten, and he locked eyes with Ander, the knight’s open mouth
showing horror and disbelief.

One
of the kerram guards, braver than his fellows, hurled himself forward, grabbing
for the torch while the engineers squealed in panic, knocking over stools and
benches, abandoning tools, and running for an arched opening at the far end of
the cave, the only visible exit.

The
kerram guard got hold of the torch, but not quickly enough. There was a sizzling
sound and then the world disappeared in a wave of fire and white noise. The
concussion from the blast hurled Ander through space. One moment he was standing,
surrounded by foes, and the next he was flying through the air. He was
suspended, as if in a dream, then he struck the stone floor, hard, his ears
ringing, his lungs full of smoke. He coughed, shaking his head, as he rolled
over and tried to lift himself off the floor. His skin was black with soot and
the hair along his forearms had been singed off. There were patches of red on
the backs of his hands and a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He staggered to
his feet, looking around him. There were bodies everywhere and parts of bodies,
detached arms and legs strewn here and there like the cast-off toys of a
reckless child. The violence of the explosion had reduced one side of the cavern
to rubble and the cold morning air wafted in through the breech where there had
been a wall of solid rock. Ander found that he was looking out across the
mountains, across the city of Ibridion, to the south, toward Elddon. The arched
opening through which some of the kerram had fled was gone, as if it had never
been, and what remained of the workshop was in flames. The fire appeared to be
spreading, climbing up along the beams to the rafters above.

Ander
stumbled forward, trying to see through the smoke. Where was Tristan? He had
been right beside him, but now Ander couldn’t see him anywhere. But he did see
his sword. It lay on the stone at the base of the stairs next to a severed arm.
Ander reached down and picked it up, feeling better with the weight of it in
his hand. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He could see no means
of escape, no egress from the burning cauldron the cave had been reduced to. He
realized that he was on the lower level, some distance from where he had
stepped out of the box. Behind him was the ladder that climbed up to the stone
shelf where the beast sat, undisturbed by the tumult.

A
sound, like a knife against bone, made Ander turn. A shadow emerged from the
swirling smoke at the top of the stairs, a tall form silhouetted by the orange
glow of the flames. And then Sir Egan Stroud appeared, dragging his sword along
the floor. The side of the knight’s face was raw and bleeding. His hair was
tangled and his eyes wild. He too was covered in ash and portions of his cloak
and tabard appeared to have been badly burned. Seeing Ander, the knight bared
his teeth and started toward him, raising his long sword.

“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.