The Lightless Labyrinth - Excerpt 13

XIV

"A few days of hell for a lifetime of heaven?" said the barbarian.  "How long have you been practicing that line?"

"This is Krago," the thief sighed.  "My friend, apparently."

"A northman," said Sir Garath.  "The wars are still fresh in the minds of our people. I’m surprised to see one such as you in the capital."

"Alas," said Krago with a shrug of his beefy shoulders, and a jerk of his thumb in Artis’ direction.  "I go where he goes."

"It’s true," said Artis.  "I really can’t get rid of him."

The mercenary captain fixed the barbarian with a shrewd stare.  "I lost a lot o’ good men up north.  There’ll be some bad blood if he comes along."

"Your grudge is with King Aelgar," said Krago.  "And despite my regal bearing and noble demeanour, I am not him."

The captain raised his slab of a hand in a calming gesture.  "Never fear, I hold no grudges.  I can’t say the same for me men, though."

"You will keep them in check," said the knight.  "Your gold depends upon it."

The captain nodded his head, and leaned back in his chair.  The knight continued.

"What brings a northman to the Lightless Labyrinth?"

"As I said before, I go where he goes.  If you take Artis, you take me.  Though, to be honest, you’ll find me much more useful than him."

"No other reasons?" said the knight sceptically.

"Absolutely none," said Krago with a smile.

XV

His arms burned.  Sweat stung his eyes.  Blood ran slick on the ground beneath his feet.  Still Jonn fought on, side-by side with Sir Garath, with the stone platform at his back.  The priest was behind them, holding his arm where it had been gashed by a jagged piece of bone wielded by one of the beast-men.  Despite the wound he stood resolute, staff planted firmly on the ground, his forehead glistening.  The light shed by the staff never wavered.

A beast-man lunged forward, and Jonn smashed the rim of his shield into the creature's open jaw.  Another came at him from the front.  He caught the blow aimed at him with his sword, and the beast-man reared back with a bloody hand.  Sir Garath fought on cautiously against two more opponents, defending against every blow and waiting for an opening.  He was no magnificent fighter, but he was methodical, and effective.

Jonn held his position.  He felt more at ease with the knight beside him, and the light of the priest’s staff at his back.  This was more like the fighting that he knew; he had but to defend, to stand his ground with Sir Garath while the better warriors like Myrio, Saskar and Krago fought on their flanks.  They were better armed than the beast-men, and more disciplined.  It was only a matter of time.

He saw a flash in the corner of his eye, just before a rock thundered into his temple.  His vision went black, and when it cleared again he was on the ground with a beast-man on top of him, fangs snapping at his throat.  His shield was between his own body and the creature’s, but he was unable to force the beast-man’s weight from him.  He brought his other arm up, but his hand was empty, his sword out of reach.  He pushed at the slavering face, pushed the jaws away from him with all his strength.

He couldn’t see Sir Garath, could barely even spare a glance to find anyone.  The staff-light flickered crazily, sometimes dim, then suddenly bright.  He struggled with the beast-man, and as he did he saw another lope past on all fours, scrambling up the side of the platform.

He tried to sound a warning, but all that came from his throat was a cracked, wordless cry.  He could see the crazed, bloodshot eyes of the beast-man through his warding fingers.  There was more than animal lust in those eyes, more than hunger and rage.  They blazed with malevolence, with a pure hate like nothing he had seen before.  The yellow fangs inched closer, dripping saliva onto his neck.

He strained his shield arm, feeling around on his belt.  The creature’s bulk had it pinned, but he was able to shift it a few inches, until his fingers closed on the hilt of his dagger.  He tugged, but was unable to shift his arm enough to wrench it free.

The yawning jaw brushed his skin.  With a grimace, he forced his finger into the creature’s eye, and it jerked up with a shriek.  He drew forth his knife, plunged it into the beast-man’s belly, then whirled around to the platform.

Artis was there, still crouched beside the bowl, his arm buried in the mound of skulls.  Behind him loomed the beast-man, eyes bright, jaws wide, a heavy rock clutched in its hand.  The thief’s head turned, and his face drained of colour, but he did not remove his arm from the bowl.  The beast-man raised the stone above its head.

Jonn cried out and tried to pull himself onto the platform, but something wrenched at his leg.  The beast-man on the floor, lying in a pool of its own blood, had caught him by the ankle.  Jonn could feel the claws through his boot as they pierced his skin, but he could not pull away.  He ignored the beast-man grasping his ankle, faced the one on the platform, and let fly with his dagger.

The beast-man ignored the dagger as it grazed his shoulder, and brought the stone down towards the thief’s head.

And then a long spear burst through its chest and out of its back.  The stone fell from its grip and onto the floor.  Jonn looked across the room, and saw the barbarian standing there, a wide grin splitting his red beard.

"I saved your life again!" he yelled.  "How many is that you owe me?"

Artis pulled his hand free and rubbed the top of his head.  "By my count, twenty-six," he said.  "You cut that one very fine!"

"Should I let you die next time, then?" said Krago, hefting his battleaxe again.  "No, my friend.  No chance of that."