Forging of a Knight: Rise of the Slavekeepers

Chapter 2

A low rustling brought the knights to a stop. They could hear breathing, strident and labored, emanating from the mouth of the cave. It grew louder as they started anew. Jesepha pulled free her sword, as well as a shorter bladed knife. Euric removed his own blade, testing its weight for battle. Rutt followed Ulthag closely, keeping to his back as best he could, eventually bumping him and causing Ulthag to push him away unceremoniously.

They stepped through the butchered remains that stewed and steamed, all the while mindful of the dreaded breathing that grew ever louder. The cave face grew larger as bones crackled beneath their feet.

“We are knights of Turinthia and no evil can stand before us!” growled Ulthag, gasping for breath.

Shadows seemed to move within the nest-cave.

“We are knights of Turinthia and no evil can stand before us!” Ulthag cried out again.

“Shouldn’t he be a bit more silent?” asked Euric.

“It doesn’t matter now. The creature has picked up our scent,” Bartholomew replied.

“How can you tell?” Euric asked.

“The darkness folds into itself. It’s getting ready,” Bartholomew said.

Ulthag stood near the very mouth of the cave. With Shining Sword raised in shaking, mailed hand, he bellowed his challenge.

“We are knights of Turinthia and no evil can stand before us!” he yelled with all the force he could muster.

The knights held their breath, waiting for a reply. Silence followed. Save for the dripping rivulets of water above the rocky shelf, no sound could be heard. Suddenly, a great rumbling began.

“Show yourself, vile creature!” Ulthag demanded.

The rumbling increased.

“We stand here like pigeons before the bowman!” Euric declared, swaying on his feet.

Ulthag continued to challenge the cave. “We fear you not! You have fed well on human flesh! Know you this, we are the knights of Turinthia, and your payment is at hand! Show yourself!”

What responded next was a shriek of many. Voices of pain and misery bellowed forth with a blast of hot air that nearly threw the knights off their feet. Globs of ooze spat forth. Ulthag stood firm. Qualtan and Bartholomew soon joined him in his stance, as Rutt slowly backpedalled. Jesepha and Euric moved up from the rear.

Ulthag, emboldened by their complement, raised his sword.

“Fell beast, by order of the knights of the Bearded Lion, I command you to…”

It happened quickly: the thumping of heavy feet, the clicking of sharp teeth, and the swiping of a sharpened tail. What spilled forth from that tomb was abject horror, blasphemous sin. The thing appeared to be a dragon, or what were the remains of a dragon. Wings of skin torn and shredded beat rapidly, like some great noisome fly. Its toes were clawed with rotted talons colored black. Its swollen eyes were rolled back and sunken, looking more like yellowed bags of putrid liquid readying to burst. Teeth of the largest size, chipped and broken, shown through a lipless smile; a black tongue looking more like a sated leech lolled to one side, dripping yellow bile. The great beast was neither alive nor dead, but suspended in some existence between both. What struck the knights with deep fear and despair were not its toothsome weapons, but its skin. What long ago would have been a sparkling coat of glittering armor was now an ever-moving sea of twisted grey tendrils, like sinewy maggots, which held the beast in place. They were like things alive, stretching and straining, squirming and squirting, continually dripping the black ooze the warriors had become all too familiar with.