A Joust of Knights

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kendrick braced himself as the sharp claws of the tree clinger swooped down for his face with dizzying speed. The creature had leapt from the twisted tree so quickly, lunging down at him before Kendrick even had a chance to respond. Its claws were as long as its body, sharp and razor thin, and the beast, resembling a large sloth, with a hairy body, yellow beady eyes and sharp fangs, was out for blood. Clearly it had trapped many unsuspecting travelers under this tree before.

Kendrick knew that in a moment he would be decapitated, and his final thought, before it reached him, was what a shame it would be to die here, in the middle of nowhere, far from Gwendolyn and everyone he knew and loved.

As Kendrick braced himself there came a sudden clang of metal, and Kendrick saw Brandt, standing beside him, blocking the claws of the creature with his sword. At the same moment Atme stepped forward and plunged his sword straight through the creature’s heart.

It let out an awful shriek and coughed up a yellow substance onto Kendrick as it collapsed down to the desert floor, dead.

Suddenly, the sky became filled with the awful screeches of these things. They sounded like a chorus of monkeys as they dove from the tree, their long claws sweeping through the air, dozens of them descending for the group of men.

Kendrick, grateful to Brandt and Atme for saving his life, broke into action, determined to repay the favor. He watched one of the beasts leap, claws extended, for Brandt’s back, and he shoved Brandt aside, stepped forward, and threw his sword. It hurled end over end through the air before piercing the creature in the chest. It collapsed to the ground right before it reached Brandt, dead.

Kendrick spotted another beast out of the corner of his eye, coming for Atme, and he spun, drew his other short sword and slashed it midair, chopping off its head before it could sink its fangs into the back of his friend’s neck.

A shriek filled the air and Kendrick wheeled to see one of the Silver cry out as a creature clung to his back and dug its teeth into the back of his shoulder. Kendrick rushed forward and used the hilt of his sort to butt it in its face, knocking it off—then he spun around and slashed another one as it sliced its claws at a Silver’s face.

All around him his men followed his lead, breaking into action. They slashed at the creatures, fighting them one at a time as they all dove down. They felled them, but they also took cuts and bites in the process. The creatures were just too fast to fend off. The battle was bloody; for every creature they killed, one of his men took a dreadful cut. Those who were thickly armored wisely used it to their advantage, raising gauntlets and shields to block the blows.

Kendrick swung around with his gauntlet and smashed a creature before it reached him; he then raised his shield, swung it in a wide arc, and smashed three more in the air. For a moment he felt optimistic—but then he looked up and saw a seemingly endless supply of these creatures still falling from the twisted tree. They had stumbled right into a nest of these things, and clearly, these creatures were not used to letting visitors go without paying a deadly price. He knew something had to be done. His men were taking too many cuts, and at this rate, they would become too weakened to win.

Kendrick thought quickly, and he remembered his long flail in his saddle, the one he reserved for tournaments; it had an extra-long chain, fifteen feet, with three studded metal balls at the end. It was a deadly weapon, one he wielded rarely in battle, as there was a danger it could get tangled. But in a situation like this, it was exactly what he needed.

Kendrick snatched it, its long chain rattling as he swung it high overhead, spinning around and ready to inflict damage. But no sooner had he raised it when he felt a searing pain on the back of his shoulder and heard a screech in his ear. He felt the weight of one of these creatures landing on him, clinging to his back, sinking its fangs into his shoulder, its hot breath in his ear. He tried to grab it, but could not reach it.

Kendrick screamed out in agony, dropping to his knees, when just as quickly, his agony was relieved. Squealing, the creature went flying off him. Kendrick looked up to see Koldo, holding a sword, the creature impaled in it, dead.

Kendrick, grateful to him, wasted no time. He stood at full height and swung his flail in a wide arc, aiming high so as not to hit his own people. The three studded balls whistled as they swung through the air and impacted with several creatures; it tore them open with a splat, its razor-sharp spikes piercing their flesh. The creatures dropped from the air and fell to the ground, one of them killed right before it could land on Koldo’s back.

Kendrick turned and swung his flail in wider and wider circles, again and again, rushing into the thick of men and knocking the creatures from the sky. Their screeches filled the air as he felled them one at a time, in each direction, falling like flies.

Soon, a pile of carcasses lay at his feet.

Kendrick looked out at the battlefield and saw Naten crying out, dropping his sword. Two creatures were on him, one biting his wrist and another his neck. A third lunged for his face. Kendrick knew that in another second, he’d be dead.

For a moment Kendrick hesitated, recalling how poorly Naten had treated him. But then he shook off his hesitation—his code of honor compelled him to save him, no matter how he had behaved. Kendrick would fight to the death for anyone he fought with, whether they deserved it or not.

Kendrick rushed forward to save Naten’s life, swinging with all his might; his aim was true, and he managed to smash the creatures off of him, one at a time, with each swing. Realizing he wouldn’t kill them all in time, Kendrick switched hands with his flail, drew his short spear with his free hand and threw it. It soared through the air and pierced the creature aiming for Naten’s face, saving him just in time.

A great screeching filled the skies and all the creatures, in one coordinated action, began to retreat, lifting up into the sky, back into the twisted tree, like crows, clustering high in the branches. They made odd chirping strange noises as they all sat there, looking down on Kendrick and his flail, filled with hesitation.

A stillness fell over the battlefield, as Kendrick’s men took stock and nursed their wounds, groaning from the bites and scratches. No one had escaped unscathed.

As Kendrick looked over at the men of the Ridge, he observed something different in their eyes this time: respect. These men of the Ridge, once so wary of him, now looked at him differently. He had earned their respect.

All except for one.

Naten just stared back coldly, then turned his back and walked away. It was a strange gratitude, Kendrick thought, for saving his life.

Koldo and Ludvig came up beside him.

“You fought bravely,” Koldo said. “You men of the Ring have proved your worth.”

“You saved our men’s lives on this day,” Ludvig chimed in.

“Not quite,” countered a dark voice.

Kendrick turned to see Naten standing there, frowning down at a corpse.

“He did not save his,” he added.

Kendrick spotted a dead soldier, a man of the Ridge he did not recognize, lying there, his armor bloody, his eyes open, staring at the sky, covered in one too many scratches and bites.

“We shall bury him with all honors,” Kendrick said, saddened by the loss.

Naten glared at him.

“We don’t bury our dead, stranger,” Naten snapped. “Not in the Ridge. We bring each and every one back for holy burning inside the Ridge. And do not forget: he would not be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Kendrick, taken aback by his coldness, watched as the other soldiers picked up the corpse and draped him sideways over a horse. The chirping of the creatures was reaching a new crescendo, and Kendrick looked up at them; they glared down menacingly.

“The sweepers are all attached,” Koldo announced. “It’s time to turn back.”

As they all mounted their horses, one of Naten’s men looked back up over his shoulder at the shaking tree.

“Tree Clingers,” he said gravely, shaking his head. “A bad omen. Our mission is cursed.”

“Nothing is cursed,” Ludvig snapped.

“It is cursed, my lord,” he said. “This was supposed to be a routine mission, to cover the trail. Now here we are, all of us wounded, one of us dead. You know as well as I do, we will never make it back to the Ridge again.”

As Kendrick sat on his horse looking into the setting suns, back toward the Ridge, somewhere out there on the horizon, he began to feel it too; a creeping sense of premonition was settling in, a sense of pending doom, of a simple mission going vastly awry. He could feel it, sitting like a pit in his stomach.

And somehow, he, too, felt that they would never make it back again.