The Beast of Maug Maurai, Part One: The Culling (11 page)

The maple glided downstream once
more, but Murrogar knew that no river current could outpace the monstrosity
behind them. He closed his eyes and listened to the rush of the river. He let
the clamor of it fade in his mind and searched for other sounds. Sir Wyann’s
bevor clicked against his breastplate. The Duke whispered sternly to Ulrean.
Lady Genaeve sobbed quietly and interminably. The last healthy spearman, a man
named Draek Ralee,
thunked
his dagger into the maple tree again and
again, trying to gain purchase. But Murrogar heard nothing among the trees. No
hedges rustled. No leaves crackled.

Ahead, along the riverbanks,
Murrogar’s eyes could just make out the silhouettes of fallen, half-submerged
trees and dangling vines. Some of the standing trees leaned and curled over the
river, their branches reaching like grotesque arms desperate for sunlight. The
thick roots of these trees twisted and coiled like serpents along the banks.

Somewhere in the darkness a branch
snapped.

Murrogar squinted and searched past
the sinuous trees and hawthorn, past the giant ferns with their sword-fingered
fronds, and the tangled briars with their hook-dagger thorns. He caught sight
of something, but it was not the Beast. Two luminous green eyes watching the
travelers. Murrogar watched them back.

As the log sailed past that emerald
stare, something in the forest sounded a faint, rasping cry. Like a muffled,
broken sob. And a chorus of those cries rose up from both sides of the
riverbank. A patter of barks and subdued whooping. More eyes appeared. Dozens
of them. The travelers hunched close against the log and peered at one bank
then the next. Then there was silence.

The dying Eridian spearman raised his
head off the maple trunk and his eyes glimmered green in the darkness. The
Eridian didn’t scream this time. He opened his mouth and croaked one word:
“Pezijo.”

Murrogar asked Sir Wyann to
translate. No one could see Sir Wyann’s expression in the shadow of his
bascinet, but they could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “It means… well, I
think it means
porridge
.” He looked at the Eridian. “Maybe he’s hungry.”

The Eridian began screaming again.
Murrogar decided to silence him for good but then the other spearman, Draek
Ralee, started screaming too. Murrogar looked from one wailing spearman to the
next until the water erupted near Draek Ralee and the Beast was upon them once
again. Its monstrous head lunged from under the river. It held Draek’s leg in a
thicket of enormous teeth. The spearman howled and held tightly to his anchored
dagger as the monster hauled backward.

Black Murrogar’s sword was still
strapped to the log. The old hero drew it from the sheath with the smoothness
of a lifetime trade and slipped along the maple toward Draek Ralee. The
spearman sobbed and fought to maintain his hold on the log. The Beast paddled
backward and heaved and tossed its head side to side. The log slowed as the
massive creature fought against the current. Murrogar ducked under the trunk.
He swung at the Beast when he surfaced, but he was off balance in the water and
the sword did nothing but splash water. He swung again but the dagger that
Draek clutched pulled free from the maple. Murrogar’s blade fell short as the
Beast yanked the soldier away. The old hero kicked toward the Beast and made one
last desperate swing, this time at Draek’s throat, but the log and the monster
separated too quickly and Murrogar’s blade gashed the man’s head instead then
clanged off the soldier’s kettlehelm.

Murrogar had a last look at Draek
Ralee’s face. The man’s eyes were full moons. His hands swatting at the water.
Then Draek’s head went under and he and the beast disappeared into the
Typtaenai.

Murrogar swam back to the log,
hearing the screams of the other spearman, the Eridian. Sir Wyann slammed a
fist against the log and swore.
“
Damn the world
. Pezijo
doesn’t
mean porridge. It means, danger.”

Black Murrogar looked Thantos in the
eyes and nodded toward the Eridian. Thantos, a dagger between his teeth, made
his way toward the screaming spearman. Sir Wyann didn’t try to stop him.
Somewhere upriver the Beast huffed and Murrogar heard it dragging Draek Ralee
into the forest.

And as the Eridian’s screams ended,
Draek’s cries began anew.

--
Blythwynn’s Melody, The
Illumination, Book I, Paragraph 12

Hammer woke the squad before dawn and
had them geared and mounted as the first shafts of Lojen’s Gaze lit the skies.
They had spent the night in Kithrey again, at the castle barracks. Except for
Sir Jastyn and Maribrae who had slept in a tavern in the town proper.

The knight and songmaiden arrived
back at the castle a half-bell later than Grae had asked them to, Sir Jastyn
spouting apologies for his tardiness. Grae didn’t look at them as the squad set
out toward Kithrey’s Maurian Gate. West, toward the Kithrey Trail and the
village of Maeris and the forest of Maug Maurai. The iron shoes of their horses
clopped against the cobbled stones as they rode.

They were a sight as they left the
castle: Ten black-clad and brooding Laraytian Standards; a knight in white
cloak and breastplate; a songmaiden in skirts and corset, legs dangling to one
side of her pony. They navigated to the gate, crabbed past the vendors and the
hordes of merchants and travelers filing into the city for the fair. A thousand
odors crashed together at that gate. Cider and smoking lamb. Garlic and lye. Flower
wreaths and scented oils. The smells of Kithrey at Festival.

When they were free of the crowds
they rode swiftly toward the forest, curling north along the Kithrey Trail.
They rode upon the grass of the moors to avoid the pilgrimage of carts and pack
animals headed to the Festival of Garrelane, a festival named after a man
dismembered for refusing to turn against his liege lord. A martyr made an
immortal by the Holy Receiver of Light one hundred and thirty years ago. A man
who had joined the rest of the immortals in the night sky, his lantern lighting
the skies for Blythwynn.

Less than a half-bell into their
journey, when the fields swelled into low hills, they were flagged down by a
sun-darkened warrior on a spotted charger. He wore a rusted chainmail hauberk
and two shortswords on his hips. Odd swords. Slightly curved and thick, the
scabbards burnished with images of ivy and oxen and lilies. A blackened sallet
helmet hung from his saddle. A thick braid of black horsehair had been affixed
to it. The braid ran the length of the helm -- from just above the eye slit to the
sloping rear edge -- and dangled from the back in a two foot tail. The man
crabbed his horse toward the brig, strands of black hair falling across his
eyes.

“You Brig Barragns?” The man’s voice
was thick with an Eridian accent. Grae picked up the minty scent of chuffa
root, an Annecian leaf popular with Eridians. It was said to heighten
alertness, but those who chewed it were always spitting. The Eridian warrior
eyed the assortment of travelers around Grae with the hint of a smirk and spit.
Grae nodded.

“Follow me.” The warrior wheeled his
horse toward a canvas tent down an embankment, not far from the road. Grae and
Hammer followed and dismounted near the tent. A thin young man ducked out of
the pavilion wearing a white shirt with a high collar that hugged his throat.
He had a handsome, aristocratic face, pale, with delicate lips.           

“Brig Barragns?” he asked.

“Aye,” said Grae. “What’s this all
about, then? How did you know I would pass through here?” The boy was obviously
nobility, but Grae was in no mood for nobility.

“Thank Blythwynn. We’ve been here for
a day and night. I thought I had missed you. My mistress, The Erudite Lady
Wyel, heard that you were venturing into Maug Maurai. Is it true? Are you
hunting the Beast?”

“My apologies,” said Grae, his voice
thick with irony. “To think that I failed to share my orders with The Erudite
Lady Wyel. Whoever she may be.”

The boy’s jaw tightened. He took a
breath, then spoke in sharp tones. “How dreadfully rude of me. I have failed to
introduce myself. I am Aeren Threncannon. Lord Aeren Threncannon. My father is
the Count of Invaurnoth. I am the--”

Grae wasn’t listening. He stared at
the mounted warrior next to the young man. The man was thick chested and
scarred and held himself with poise. In his years of service Grae had learned
to read a man’s posture and physique. This was a true warrior. “Who’s this?” he
asked interrupting the young man.

“That?” Lord Aeren frowned and waved
his hand dismissively. “That’s a mercenary I hired for protection on the road.
Lokk Lurius. I had to ride here from the Blythallow of Durryn Phask where I
live and work. There are bandits on the road, especially around festival time.”

Grae inspected the Eridian. Fingers
calloused and dry from daily exercise with swords. Dagger worn horizontally on
his belt for a quick draw during close combat. Slashed leather bracers that had
stopped a dozen strikes. Eyes inspecting and noting every detail.

Yes, this is a warrior
.

“My mistress, The Lady Wyel Metharyn,
has received word that you are entering Maug Maurai to slay the Beast,” said
Lord Aeren. “She has sent me to document your journey.”

Grae looked back at the young
nobleman. “We already have a songmaiden.”

“I’m not sure you understand my
meaning,” said Lord Aeren. “My lady concentrates her studies on animals and
beasts.” He withdrew a folded letter with the Moon and Stars seal of Durryn
Phask and handed it to Grae, who had tired of letters and seals. He opened it
and read quickly.

     Dearest Brig,

May the Lady of Forgiveness carry you
and your men throughout this quest. It is a most disquieting assignment, but I
am certain that you shall prevail.

I pray that my assistant has found
you and your men in good health and better spirits. My name is Wyel Metharyn,
and I am a Lady of Erudition at Durryn Phask. I have spent the last twenty
years studying and cataloging animals and beasts of every sort. If you will
allow a moment of immodesty, I am likely the supreme authority in Laraytia on
this subject.

Please excuse this supreme
impertinence, but I have an unusual favor to ask of you. My boy, Aeren
Threncannon, is an apt pupil and servant. He has agreed to represent me on your
quest, documenting every aspect of the monster for our bestiary. I realize this
is quite a mountain to ask of you, but please consider it well. The entire
kingdom could benefit from the information that he gathers.

I send my blessings and good wishes
on your journey. Know that I will spend an hour of each night praying for you
and your men until I hear of your safe return from the forest.

Your devout servant,

 -W

“I appreciate the importance of her
request,” said Grae. “But no.”

“Brig, please,” said Lord Aeren.
“Listen to me for a moment. I can be a valuable addition to your squad.”

“Valuable?” said Grae. “Hammer, this
man will be valuable to us.”

“Fills me brim with joy, brig sir,”
Hammer replied.

“Thank Lojen,” said Grae. “Are you
better with spear or sword? Truth or silence, I could use another spearman.
Fetch your armor and we’ll leave immediately.”

Lord Aeren stared at a patch of
heather on the embankment, waiting out the insult.

“What?” asked Grae. “Not coming? He
doesn’t seem to be coming, Hammer.”

“Oh, the anguish,” said Hammer,
chewing on a husk of bread.

“You’re right, of course,” said Lord
Aeren. “I have never been strong at arms. And I have no armor. My values are
those that a common soldier might not understand.” He whirled and stomped into
his pavilion.

Grae gave Hammer a half-smile.
“Pushed it too far?”

“Bah. A touch, per’aps, but it
weren’t as if ‘e didn’t ‘ave it coming. No is no.”

Lord Aeren dashed out of the tent
holding a leather-bound manual in his hands. He opened it and flipped to a page
marked by silk ribbons. He read loudly:

    
Loro Haulyn: Acreman.
Survivor;

     …And the thing appeared afore
us, black as a dog’s nose. It had many eyes and an horrible spiked tail. The
body was full with green lumens and it had a mouth like a fiery green cave. It
were the Beast of Maug Maurai and it killed all me mates.’”

“That’s completely fabricated,” said
Grae. “No one survives the Beast.”

“Truly?” Asked Aeren. “Then what
about this one:

    
‘Yarin Halcome. Bell Founder.
Survivor;

     We could smell it before we saw
it. The creature smells as if it died already. As if it has been rotting for
days. Jalek went to see what it was. Sometimes two boar will have at one
another and both’ll die and will lie stinking for days. He uses their tusks on
his knives, so he was hopeful. We heard him scream like I ain’t never heard no
one scream. I didn’t think people could make that sort of noise. He kept making
it behind us while we ran. Shame eternal to me for running. I know I should ‘a
stayed and fought. But I didn’t want to make those noises. I didn’t want to
scream like Jalek. Then the creature howled, and I started thinking Jalek’s
noises weren’t so bad a’tal. Kurren running next to me dropped dead when he
heard the creature scream. He died right there, and I kept on running. Lojen
forgive, I kept on running.’

“There’s more in here,” said Lord
Aeren. “There are also descriptions of the creature, known patterns of its
killings and a list of its known victims.”

“You’re saying there are people who
have seen the Beast and lived? I don’t believe that.”

“Honestly, Brig,” said Aeren. “Which
is harder to believe? That I, a servant of Blythwynn, would lie to you, or that
there are people who have seen the Beast and lived? Do you truly think that no
one has ever escaped it? Is it a shadow? An evil wind from which none can run?
The Beast lives and bleeds, as do all other creatures of this world. Please say
that you don’t traffic in these tales of evil gods and foul curses.”

It was a canny point. Powerful enough
to silence Grae. The brig had indeed listened to the tales. Local legends were
the only source of information that he had. Of course there were survivors. How
else would they know for certain that it was a beast?  A chilling thought
surfaced in Grae’s mind.

How could the Duke not know about the
survivors?

 
If there were survivors, if the Erudite Ladies knew
about the survivors, how could the Duke not know
?

Of course the Duke knows
, said a bitter voice in his head.
But
they want you to fail. There is only one reason for sending you into Maug
Maurai, and it has nothing to do with the creature that lives there.

Lord Aeren studied him with hopeful,
guarded eyes. Grae cleared his throat. “It would be a great favor if you would
allow us to read those descriptions.” He paused, then added, “My lord.”

Lord Aeren was gracious enough to
hide his smile. “Of course, Brig,” he replied. “But I know you are in a great
hurry. We should read these on our way. Or perhaps by the fire tonight.”

That was how it would be. Grae found
himself in the position of needing the young noble more than the noble needed
him. Lord Aeren eased the sting of it by handing over command of Lokk Lurius to
Grae.

“If you’re going to fight a beast,”
said the nobleman, “then there’s no better man to have than Lokk Lurius. He’s
paid for another week, and he’s all yours. Lokk, from now on, you will obey
Brig Barragns. You are no longer required to protect me.”

Grae studied the warrior. Lokk Lurius
returned the favor. “Both of you will have to follow my orders if you come,”
said Grae.

“Of course,” said Lord Aeren. “We are
at your command.”

The look on the Eridian’s face didn’t
convince Grae, but he was excited to have the warrior in the squad. “Hammer,
did we bring scuffle swords?”

“Got two bent ones,” Hammer replied.

“Lokk Lurius,” said Grae. “Have a
spar with Rundle Graen there. I’d like to see how you fight.”

Lokk Lurius studied the bearded and
scarred Rundle Graen, then shook his head. “I don’t spar.”

“What do you mean you don’t spar?”
snapped Hammer. “How are you supposed to get better?”

“Better?”

“Yes, better,” shouted Hammer. “Like
butter, ‘cept more lethal. You understand Galadane? Take this scuff and ‘ave at
it or you’ll be a whole lot worse, I promise.”

“I don’t spar,” Lurius repeated.

“I don’t recall asking you if you
liked to spar, stout,” said Grae. “I ordered you to spar.”

Lurius shrugged. “I don’t like
pretending to kill.”

There was an awkward pause, then
Beldrun Shanks piped up. “I’ll fight ‘im.”

Lokk Lurius barked at him: “Keep the
tongue in your mouth, troll.”