by
Peter Welmerink
Part Three: Death Beasts
An eerie howl sounded outside the coach house. It was followed by another, and then another. Something clambered and clawed up atop the roof, running the entire length from front to end.
“Shadow beasts, like the ones that assailed us on our trip here,” Eirik said pulling his sword from its sheath at his hip. An ice blue crystal in the weapon's pommel twinkling, the magical blade of Frostfire glow a dull blue and the air fogged up along its edges, streaming upward like tiny phantoms.
The rear doors of the coach house, bolted as they were by a large plank of wood, strained inwards. The wood unable to hold from the great force upon it split with a loud crack. The double doors flew open and large black forms stepped into the light within the building. Fangy teeth gnashed. Horrid eyes of deathly intent focused upon the small group standing within.
“It seems the monsters that caress the night no longer fear the light,” Eirik said as he set his feet and gripped Frostfire with two hands.
The forms of black death roared and raced forward.
Dekin, small and closest to the initial onslaught, was simply bowled over by the great rush of black forms. The beasts looked a makeshift of different animals all sinisterly warped into one. There was a giant bear-thing, long black hairy limbs of a bear but with a lean body, with the head of an oversized jackal and tail of a black-maned lion. Another beast, charging in behind the bear-thing, had the overall appearance of a great ape but on its ebon back coursed the reverse patterns of a zebra including its posterior ending in a stumpy coarse-haired tail. All the invading monstrocities bore the markings and appearance of creatures perversed by foul magicks or created from the black womb of such.
The bear-thing drew down upon Eirik and lashed out almost before a blocking blade could be raised. Talons rang across the ensorcelled blade of Frostfire with such force it felt as if Eirik had taken a blow direct to his swordarm. He let the downward swipe carry the blade, and when the hairy arm of the creature met the end of its stroke, Eirik whipped the blade back skyward and brought it back down with a swift chop. The sword edge passed through the arm like it had cut through air, but as Eirik leaned to the side to avoid being knocked over by the beast (who still moved with forward momentum), the smote arm hit the straw and sand-strewn floor of the coach house spewing a fount of stygian ichor.
“Zzay bleed,” Sharissha said as a great leathery wing knocked one of the innhands aside the instant before a baboon-faced monster barreled into the poor man. The man hit the wall of the inner building face-first, with a grin from Sharissha, but the move saved him from a worse fate.
The baboon-faced Nightstalker roared at its missed attempt and stopped instantaneously when the she-demon's other stroking wing swung downward. The beast dodged the stroking flap and reared up to knock its new quandary from her airborne stance.
“But do zzay burn?” the busty flame-haired demoness taunted, then opened her own fangy maw far wider than humanly possible. Her chest rose, bosoms looking to swell from her tawdry outfit, as she inhaled. She seemed to cough and a fiery exhalation dowsed the ebon monster in red-orange flame. Her opponent, entirely consumed, howled and swatted at itself, rushing for the nearest exit. Bits of fur and flesh dripped in its wake as it smashed through the front entry of the coach house. The unholy fire did not set ablaze the wood and straw it landed upon but simply snuffed out in a whiff of acrid yellow smoke.
The bear-creature, missing an arm, did not diminish its attack even with its loss. Stunned but for a moment, the beast reared around and came towards Eirik again. Another Nightstalker bore down on him as he caught sight of his recent opponent coming up from behind. Both creatures bore more speed than he could handle or duel against. Eirik dropped to a knee then simply scrambled to one side as both creatures passed close by, too close, all snapping fang and tearing claw and blood-chilling roar.
More beasts entered to the far end of the coach house. Dekin fought in vain trying to land a blow; the Nightstalkers moving in such a flurry the diminutive kobold always struck a breath behind where a monster had just been. Sharissha and the one conscious innhand now fought the two who had bypassed Eirik; the demoness not using her Hellfire being so close to her partners.
We will be overwhelmed soon , Eirik thought. He clasped a silver pendant at his neck. The pendant was of two silvery skulls, as monstrous in image as the beasts encircling them now. A small black crystal set in the pendant between the skulls.
“Seja lancado, criatura dois-encabecado de destino,” Eirik said beneath the din of battle, grasping the pendant so tight it nearly broke flesh.
The new band of creatures launched themselves into the air, aiming directly for the valiantly fighting heroes…
…And then were frozen, so it seemed, in mid-air. Stopped dead in their aerial flight. Each beast yelped or snarled or howled in their shock and anger at being withheld from their quandary. They all looked squeezed together in one furry bundle, like a child with an armload of fluffy kittens.
“What would you like done with these beings, Master Wolfsbane.” A giant skeletal form stood behind the struggling creatures, bleached bone arms wrapped about the writhing bodies. There were two heads to the undead Ettin, a large box-shaped skull looking more a pock-marked white boulder than a brain-case, and a smaller skull, looking more human-shaped but too large for any ordinary man or woman. Both skulls bore glowing red orbs where eyes should be. And the words emitted came from unmoving jawbones, the voices sounding ethereal, close but far away as if in some hideous vacuum...or plane where the dead tried to communicate with the living.
Eirik looked to the larger head, Lang, who had initially spoken, and opened his mouth to reply when a tremendous gust of wind entered through the smashed-in front doorway of the coach house. Except for Sharissha, everyone was caught up in the freak airstorm and lifted airborne. The undead Ettin let loose of the Nightstalkers and all rolled and tumbled uncontrollably above the floor. With a jerk, the group was drawn from the building out into the dark night. As Eirik flew out into the evening he caught sight of a big man standing outside the coach house doors…the big man being the mysterious innkeep, Karl Strange.
“I am sorry to be so rude in entrance, but my ire is up with these creatures attacking my friends and property,” Karl Strange said, his arms raised above his head with hands splayed wide open.
Another windy wisp rushed through the airborne troop, separating the Nightstalkers from the others. Eirik, Dekin, the two-headed skeletal Ettin and the innhands were gently brought back to earth.
“Away, vile ones,” Karl said flicking the fingers of his right hand. With a panicked shriek from all, the night-terrors sailed away over the tree tops high overhead. They disappeared from sight but the next moment, baleful howls and heavy crashes filled the darkness beyond, then in a heartbeat all was silent save for the labored breathing of the remaining fighters.
“Retorne a onde veio,” Eirik said as he gripped the silver pendant about his neck. He sheathed Frostfire as he spoke the arcane words to dismiss the Ettin. The icy blue crystal set in the blade's pommel dimmed. The undead Ettin, Lang and Fink, disappeared in an eye blink. The flesh under his eye patch itched and he lifted the lid a trifle to appease himself.
The Eye of True-Seeing momentarily gazed upon Karl Strange, and though they were hidden in his now-enclosed palms, Eirik saw the outlines of two small crystals. Though their magick had been spent, in the big man's hands, they still burned like stars.
“I apologize for that abrupt display,” Karl said eyeing the others as they gained their feet. “When the ruckus was heard in the inn, I came right away. My anger boils over at the sight of those dire creatures.”
Eirik swept a white strand of hair from his face and set to dusting his trousers off from dust and straw. “I was glad you came really. I wasn't sure if we could handle these things again, and they came with friends this time.”
Sharissha appeared from the broken coach house doors. Her red hair was a-tangle and she flexed her great leathery wings then folded them tightly against her, so tight that they seemed to melt into the folds of her outfit as if she wore a somewhat tattered-looking red-brown cloak.
“How is devil-woman not swept out like the rest of us?” Dekin squeaked as he gained his feet and checked himself. His tiny spear lay a few feet away and he trotted over to pick it up.
Folding her arms under her bosoms, she seemed to flaunt them as she said in a serious tone though with a teasing smirk, “I am much too…heavy…to be borne away like that.”
Eirik cleared his throat and brought the conversation and attention back to himself and Karl Strange.
“I am sorry about the damage to the coach house. I shall get to fixing it right away if you have hammer and nail,” he said as more men showed up behind Karl, swords drawn and looking for further danger.
“Nay. You have saved the lives of my innhands, and seen enough action in one day. I think you and your companions have earned a nights stay indoors, inside,” Karl said reaching out and placing a large hand on Eirik's shoulder. The younger man winced feeling a bruise there.
Eirik looked to the diminutive kobold and the demoness. Surely they had no other folk quite like them within the safe embrace of the Black Dragon Inn.
“Worry not about your comrades. You enter at my side and all the folk within will know you as friend,” Karl said as he glanced over his shoulder towards the black woods. “Mayhap we can share a mug of ale and you can tell me more about yourself and your companions, and what led you hear.”
Eirik hoped the big man had a few kegs behind the bar and no issues with a conversation that would surely last until dawn if his story was to be heard. He felt though suddenly weary and hoped the fine host would let his full tale be learned on the morrow. A single mug of ale, a bit of food, and a hot bath and clean linen against his flesh sounded very enticing to his battle and banter-drained self.
End
Portrait of Eirik Wolfsbane
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