Chapter 77

All’s Fair

Watching the earth drop away beneath me is unsettling in the extreme. I shriek, half in joy, half in terror, and clutch at the thin and insubstantial neck bones of the flying lizard skeleton before me. We rise vertically and there is precious little for me to hold. It feels extremely dangerous. If I move too much to left or right I will fall… and then all that will be left of me will be a Maud shaped smear on the snowy land below.

I scream with laughter, as the wind buffets my body. Currents of air stream through my hair. I am seated at the top of what I assume would be the creature's shoulders, where the bone is slightly thicker, before it branches out into a barrel- shaped rib cage. Its head hangs low, the wind pierced by the blunt, elongated snout. I have to duck to stop myself being ripped off its back by the sheer force of our passage.

The monster seems as happy as I am. Sapphire fire gleams in its sockets; the bones hum with concentration. How long since it last gazed upon the world? Absentmindedly, I pat the smooth ivory in front of me. Will it outfly a lindwurm? A dragon? That remains to be seen. But it is fast, and I can brood later. Already the possibilities are dancing before my eyes.

For long trips I will need to craft some kind of padded saddle. Never have I been more grateful for the flesh on my backside, but it is only a slight improvement from the hardness of bone on bone.

Far below, Dunbarra Keep drops away, a toy, its people ant-like. The speed we are travelling at is stupendous. Within moments the castle is but a distant crag, and its inhabitants no longer visible.

Dawn spills over the horizon as we fly, chasing the shadows away. The forest is flooded with golden light. I can see all the way to the king’s road over the gently rolling sea of frosted firs. Something flashes silver.

I frown.

Is that a glint of armour? There, between the trees? Halfway to Lowecroft bridge?

Urging the flying lizard that way, I whoop with delight and pull my axe from my belt. This gesture is not as easy to execute in the sky as it is with my feet firmly planted on the ground and I nearly drop my weapon in my excitement. Fortunately I catch the handle just in time.

I lose sight of the silver as we approach. The road snakes away to left and right, a white ribbon overhung by darker branches. I search. Perhaps I was mistaken? But no - there, silver beneath the boughs, the morning sun catches light. A group of knights, pennons snapping in the breeze, tramping their way through my forest!

I urge the monster forwards and it obeys instantly, mouth lolling open in enjoyment. They will never see me coming, atop my bony steed! Actually it seems they do see me coming but they are so transfixed by the glory of the sight they are struck insensate. Horses rear, and men scream, fighting for control.

The terrible lizard swoops low, wings scraping the treetops.

I angle my axe, lean back and strike the head from the nearest knight.

Slightly, just slightly, I overestimate the force needed, what with the velocity of flight added to my innate strength. The head flies high, a vision in streaming, scarlet ribbons. It bounces along the road before landing with a dull splat.

The rest of the knights are swept from their horses by the passage of the lizard’s wings. They tumble to the ground, yelling. The horses rear. A frantic knight manages to fire his crossbow. The bolt flies wild, whizzing harmlessly through the skinless wings as we pass overhead. Two horses gallop into the forest kicking their hooves wildly.

I cling to my ride with my knees, smiling and whooping and waving my axe. The enormous flying skeleton swerves around. We enter into a steep dive.

The knights scatter, trying to flee, falling over each other in their undisciplined haste. Not that there is much they can do. It is not really a fight. It is more like a game, for me at least, like smashing clay pots on a wall with a slingshot and pebbles. The only difference is my pots are full of entrails and scampering about making squealing noises, all of which makes them slightly harder to hit from the air.

It is a fun challenge, and my aim improves with repetition.

The giant flying lizard is enjoying this outing just as much as I am, I’m sure of it. On the third pass, she grabs a man in her maw (I have decided it is a she), chomping vicious rows of teeth into his belly. They dent the armour, but do not pierce, much to her abject disgust. Robbed of the kill, she zooms high with the struggling knight still in her mouth. Our eyes meet briefly. His are wide and terror filled. Then she drops him from the clouds.

We both watch in silence as he plummets.

Needless to say, he does not survive the experience, his remains impaled on a spiked branch. I butcher the rest with impunity until only one knight remains.

His face is pale, his brow lined with sweat.

He turns on his heel and flees into the forest, a move cannier than he probably realises. Searching for him beneath the canopy is difficult. The terrible lizard and I skim the branches but cannot reach him, no matter how much I poke and curse. His terrified upturned face flashes at me, pale between dark boughs. How annoying. I know what Jenkins feels like when he has a mouse just out of reach behind the cupboard.

The knight is breathing heavily, I can hear him. He is slowed by the weight of all that metal. Still, I cannot reach him without leaving my seat. I could throw something at him, I suppose? But I don’t have anything handy. Hmm… I need to consider aerial combat options. A whip? A spear? Arrows? Smashing people’s faces in with my axe is satisfying but difficult to do from a distance. I like the idea of exploding potions. Something to consider. Something to discuss with Thom and the alchemists.

But how to deal with this pest? I glare at the running man, who flees, huffing and tripping through the woods below. What to do? Returning to the King’s Road, I survey the bodies of his fallen brethren. They lay scattered about, the pennons bloodied and trampled, the snow blooming crimson beneath them.

A simple solution, then. I raise the fallen and send them lumbering after their still living brother. Laughing, I return to the skies, his screams ringing in my ears.

It is surprising that the knights did not hurl fireballs after me. That might have made the encounter invigorating. But then, I had assumed they were paladins and now I don’t think they were. Not those poorly trained louts. The insignias as well were unknown to me. Just men in armour then, but to whom did they belong? Did I make a terrible mistake and endanger the fragile truce I have with the clerics.

Nah.

They were uninvited. Trespassers should know better by now.

But enough of this, it is time to search for Janvier’s phylactery.

I must make my final preparations. The terrible lizard and I head back to my castle. While I am searching for Janvier’s soul container, I will instruct Roland to continue the excavation below the castle. Perhaps they can find more flying monsters for me. My vision blurs briefly as I consider a flying battalion of witches and wights, all mounted in the skies.

Dunbarra Keep soon appears between the trees.

A trip that would take me hours on foot, has passed in a matter of minutes. This is going to make my travels so much easier! With a wide grin, I instruct the flying monster to land in the castle courtyard and a small crowd assembles to watch our descent.

It is good to have my feet back on the ground. For a moment, I feel a little strange, like I will topple over. I sway briefly. The forest reminding me that this is where I belong. The feeling of living loam rushing back to remind me of its existence. The feeling soon passes. Really, the last day has been a whirlwind of sensations.

I would like to retire to a dark closet, but alas. I have sieges to plan and king to depose.

It seems the terrible lizard has enjoyed our trip a little too much. The watchers scatter as the flying monster takes a lazy snap at them. Now she has had a taste of flesh. Before I can stop her the monster has grabbed one of the closest people in her tapering, elongated jaws, and is chomping down hard.

Fortunately it is a draugr.

“No!” I say sharply, “drop him!”

The skeleton opens her maw, and the squealing man falls to the ground and scrabbles away whimpering.

“I’ll sew that up later!” I yell after him.

I need to think of a name for her. I can’t continue to refer to her as a creature, or a monster. She is too glorious. While I am staring up at her fondly, Roland appears at my elbow.

“I think, Mistress,” he says, “that we will need to find suitable accommodation for your latest… er pet.”

“Yes, you are probably right,” I say. “Perhaps one of the turrets? The northern one is not yet finished is it? You can just leave that hole in the wall. It should be safe and sound up there. I will tell her not to eat anyone without permission, but it's probably best if everyone gives her some space. Oh and I’m going to need something to use as a saddle.``

Roland nods, his brow furrowed, as usual.

“And Roland?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“I’ll be taking Elizabeth with me on a trip soon,” I say. “So you can prepare a more suitable space while we are gone.”

“Elizabeth?” Roland asks.

“Yes,” I say, patting the giant skeleton. Her giant, elongated maw lolls open, as if in amusement. “I have decided to name her Elizabeth.”

“I see. Very good, ma’am. How long do you expect to be gone?”

“I don’t know, but likely a week or more? Maybe longer.”

I can see Roland is curious as to my destination but he does not ask, like the good man he is.

Leaving Roland to herd Elizabeth into a safe place, I leave to make my final preparations. For a second time in as many days, I bid farewell to Jenkins and my mother and make sure everyone in the keep has instructions and tasks to complete.

Will Janvier feel the destruction of his soul?

I have no idea. It is always best to prepare for the worst and I want to choose the field of battle rather than having it brought to me.

But I am still worried that I will be unable to locate his highnesses’ phylactery. While going on a rampage and slaughtering everything, smashing everything he holds dear is enticing… cathartic even, practically it is unlikely to yield results. After all, if soul containers were easy to find, the paladins would have found mine long ago. Janvier would have found mine.

I consult the grimoire to no avail.

The multitude of mouths pout at me.

“It’s a secret!” It declares.

“We can’t make a bargain?” I coax. The grimoire demands the head of everyone in Downing Forrest. I tell it no, a little abruptly, and am interrupted by a cacophony of wails.

The noise becomes unbearable, and the stones begin to shake.

I back away, more than a little anxiously and beat a hasty retreat. I really do not want to experience a truly angry grimoire.

My last option for magical assistance is my throwing bones. I walk, and consider. Yes, the throwing bones might work, especially if I can find an object of significance to Janvier. A bone, an object. After all, the Wavewalker has a vested interest in his destruction. Good. Yes. It is a plan at least.

I make sure to pack my kit, along with ample crystals and sewing materials. I will take with me a handful of my little undead spies, Elding, Tora and the tentacle beastie. Stealth is important. I’m not going to march in with an army. No, no. He mustn’t see me coming. Not just yet anyway. But if all of us can fly I think this has potential, and the memory thieves might come in very handy.

After tying some black velvet ribbons to Elizabeth’s exposed bones, I deem we are ready to depart. My crystals are packed, my thread and needles. The little undead birds will travel in another bag on my back, and the tentacle monster makes itself a nest near her tailbone.

The ravens are strong enough to fly alongside.

We are ready.

Waving farewell we set off into the morning, heading due north.