Here be Monsters

CHAPTER 6

Quicksilver spun in her saddle as though to catch whatever followed them by surprise. This time Allouette darted a quick glance backward too, but saw only blackness with the faint glimmering of stone walls at either side.

“It stops when we stop,” Quicksilver reported.

“Ride on,” Cordelia said, face hard.

They started forward again, and behind them, the brushing sound began once more—and the clanking of chains was clearly audible now. Faint it was indeed, but all three could hear it.

“Stalking is all well and good—as long as I am the stalker,” Quicksilver said between her teeth. She pulled up, spinning in her saddle—and the sound, of course, also halted. “Whoever you are, avaunt and begone! Know that I am redoubtable in my own right and will as soon run you through as look upon you!”

“Therefore will it not be seen,” Allouette said, her voice trembling. “What monster is this that comes upon us?” She turned to Cordelia. “You, who were reared by a wizard and a witch and have hobnobbed with elves and brownies all your life—can you not say what follows us?”

“I have heard of a presence like this, that makes sounds but is seen not,” Cordelia said, her voice shaking. “ ’Tis called a barguest.”

Allouette’s breath hissed in, and Quicksilver drew her sword. “What harm is in it?”

Cordelia said, “None in itself—but it is a forecaster of death.”

“Then let it forecast someone else’s!” Quicksilver scowled into the darkness behind her and cried, “Avaunt thee, barguest! Get thee gone!”

“Hold, I pray!” Allouette said in alarm. “It gives us no hurt.”

“No hurt!” Quicksilver rounded on her. “How can it forecast death and do no harm? Nay, I can forecast death, too—with this omen here.” She hefted her sword. “If the spirit predicts our dying, it can only be because it causes death!”

“Not so,” Allouette protested. “It has something of the precognitive gift, that is all. We need only pay it no heed.”

“No heed!” Quicksilver cried. “Perhaps you can walk a nighttime road and truly ignore those sounds of chains, of padding feet and furry sides brushing against stone—but I cannot!”

“It will be unnerving,” Cordelia agreed and turned to call to the darkness behind them, “Show yourself, whatever you are! Shame upon you for so frightening three weak young women—and know that we are not so weak as we might seem, for two of us can turn you completely to jelly! Appear or be gone!”

Her concentration was so intense that it rocked Allouette and even made Quicksilver’s head snap back as though she’d been slapped—so they should not have been surprised when the darkness seemed to coalesce into a huge wooly black dog the size of a calf with eyes like saucers, with triple irises—a pupil inside a white ring, inside a blue ring which was inside a red ring. Those eyes glowed balefully at the three women as its lips writhed up in a snarl, revealing sharply pointed teeth that glowed in the night.

“Do not dare to challenge me!” Quicksilver snapped, brandishing her sword. “We’ll have none of your dealing here! All three of us shall live many a year yet, and if you dare to contradict me, barguest, I shall prove it upon your body! Go on, get away, get you gone—or I shall loose my friends to tear you apart, nay, to make war between the cells of your body, so that your whole substance falls apart and oozes down into a puddle in the roadway, a heap of gelatinous quivering fungus that shall never again stalk poor travelers at night, let alone foretell the death of any being!”

Cordelia and Allouette stared at her, appalled. Her face was distorted with anger, bright red, her bosom heaving and her whole body trembling with the intensity of her rage as she stared furiously into the darkness.

The night was very quiet. Even the crickets seemed stunned to silence by Quicksilver’s anger.

Then, almost furtively, the sounds began again—the brushing, the jingling of chains, the padding of huge feet—but moving away.

Cordelia and Allouette turned to stare into the darkness in shock.

The sounds faded and were gone. Quicksilver relaxed, sheathing her sword with a single nod of her head. “It knows better than to strive against Cold Iron in the hands of one determined.”

Cordelia let out a long, shuddering breath. “I would not have believed it if I had not seen it—but I think, bold chieftain, that it was the sheer intensity of your anger that affrighted the beast. Certainly I felt you battering at my mind like a ram, and I was not even your target!”

“It knew I spoke no more than I was willing to do—or that you were,” Quicksilver said evenly. “Oh, it was a fine game when it could pace behind us unseen and fill us with terror, but there is no pleasure in it when the prey becomes the hunter!”

“So it was only necessary to show resolution after all,” Cordelia said, smiling.

“True resolution,” Quicksilver insisted. “I was quite ready to set upon it with my sword, no matter the sharpness of those glowing teeth—and I trust you were just as willing to turn it back into the lump of fungus from which it was made!”

“Be sure of it.” Cordelia shook her head as she turned to ride on. “I wish that all threats could be banished so easily.”

“Most need a bit more persuading.” Quicksilver kicked her mount into a walk beside Cordelia’s. “Life has taught me that I must always be ready to fight. I can only rejoice that, with your brother, it is rarely necessary.”

So they rode off into the night, discussing the young men they pursued—but Allouette rode behind them in silence, unable to rid herself of a nagging dread. If the barguest only predicted death, after all, banishing it would not prevent that death. She felt a chill that reminded her of her own mortality and hoped that the deadly forecast was not for herself or her companions, but only for their enemies.

Several hours later, they rode bleary-eyed and nodding into a clearing. Cordelia looked up at the stars and sighed. “The constellations have turned toward midnight, ladies. The men must be considerably farther ahead than we thought.”

“They could be only a hundred yards from us,” Quicksilver grumbled, “and we would never know it in the gloom under these trees.”

“What other night-walkers might lurk among the leaves not even fifty feet away?” Allouette asked with a shudder.

“Well said.” Cordelia dismounted and began to untie her tent and bedroll. “One haunting is enough for the night. By your leave, damsels, I’d rather sleep till dawn than wander.” She paused to look up at her companions. “That’s not to say, of course, that I shall not take first watch.”

“No, I claim that privilege,” Allouette said instantly. “I have learned Gregory’s way of meditating in a trance that keeps him aware of the world about him, but gives as much rest as sleep. I shall take the first three hours.”

Cordelia and Quicksilver exchanged a glance that quite clearly asked if they dared trust their former enemy to guard their slumber. Then, reluctantly, Quicksilver nodded, though her hand rested on her dagger-hilt as she turned toward her future kinswoman. “Thank you for the kind offer. I will accept it, for truthfully, I know not if I could keep my eyes open for even one more hour. Nay, do you take the watch with my thanks, lady.”

“And mine,” Cordelia seconded. Then she hauled the tent off her horse’s rump. Before she started to set it up, though, she unsaddled and unbridled her horse and tied it to a tree on a long rein. She stroked the mare’s neck, saying, “Do you graze now, my lovely, and sleep when you are filled.” She knew she really should curry the poor thing but was too weary. With leaden limbs, she turned to help Allouette pitch the tent while Quicksilver laid the fire. “How far ahead are the men, think you?”

“An inch is as good a guess as a mile,” Quicksilver said, exasperated. “Since they shield their thoughts, there is no way of telling.”

Allouette pondered their reason for shielding and trembled with a shiver that was not due to the night’s chill.

As sunset gave way to twilight and the men pitched camp, Alain asked, “Can you not cease shielding my thoughts now, Gregory? It must be wearying for you, and neither you nor Geoffrey has had any hint of a mind-reading monster near to us.”

“It takes little more effort for me to blanket all three of us, than myself alone,” Gregory said, “but perhaps you have the right of it. We certainly have had no hint of pook, hobgoblin, or spirk.” He turned to Geoffrey. “What say you, brother?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Why not chance it? If our thoughts bring forth monsters that lurk in ambush, so much the better; I had rather face them openly than wonder whether or not they await us.”

Gregory nodded and let down his shields. Then he knelt, staring at the teepee of kindling and sticks, speeding up the vibrations of the molecules until a tendril of smoke arose. Seconds later, small flames began to lick through the gaps between sticks, and Gregory relaxed.

“Company,” Geoffrey snapped.

Gregory and Alain looked up, startled to see a man lurking in the shadows at the edge of their clearing—but a most strange man indeed. He wore a green tunic and brown hose, like any forest dweller—but his hips tapered down on both sides into a single leg, massive and powerful.

Gregory rose slowly, tensed for fight or flight, even as he heard his companions’ swords rasp loose from their scabbards.

“I think we had best shield our thoughts after all,” Geoffrey said.

“My ward is in place already,” Gregory told him, “and covers Alain’s mind too.”

The prince frowned at the apparition. “Who are you, and wherefore come you here?”

The stranger opened his mouth, but instead of words, he gave vent to a woeful wailing cry. It seemed to pierce right through the men’s heads; they clapped their hands over their ears.

“Avaunt thee!” Gregory cried. “Get thee hence!”

He reinforced the command with a mental stab. The creature’s shriek soared up the scale, hovering for a moment on the edge of the human hearing range and piercing even through their hands, waking pain from ear to ear. Then the pitch shot even higher and the men could hear nothing, even though its mouth was open—but in the distant woods, wolves began to howl.

“Cease, I bade thee!” Gregory snapped, eyes narrowing as his face reddened.

The strange creature winced with the pain of Gregory’s mental stab and did close his mouth this time. Geoffrey and Alain advanced from opposite sides, blades on guard. The creature took the sensible course and turned to hop away into the recesses of the forest shadows.

Gregory stood, chest heaving, glaring after the apparition. As Geoffrey and Alain turned back to him, staring, he said, “We must be vigilant tonight. That monster will come back and will bring with him the wolves he has called.”

“We shall meet them with the steel they deserve.” But Alain was staring at Gregory as though he were himself something strange and weird. “Never before this night have I seen you angry, Gregory—and now twice in twelve hours!”

“Never before have I felt so pure a wave of malice as that creature wafted toward me,” Gregory returned. “It thought to paralyze us with its wail and kill us easily.” He glanced at Alain, abashed, then glanced away. “Forgive me, but I do grow wroth when I see an esper use its gifts for such fell purpose, upon those who cannot resist.”

“Unluckily for him, he now found those who could resist,” Alain said, “and luckily for me, I traveled with them. What would have happened if I had sojourned in this wood without your protection?”

“Why, it would have slain you,” Geoffrey said. “I have read what Gregory did—that the creature kills for the malicious pleasure of the deed.” He turned to his younger brother. “Nay, I pray it does come back—to meet our blades!”

“What was the hideous thing?” Alain asked.

“Ask the scholar.” Geoffrey seemed nettled by having to pass the question. “Such creatures are rare enough that I have never seen one, let alone heard them spoken of.”

“ ’Tis called a Biasd Bheulach, Alain, and if we see it again, it will doubtless assume another guise,” Gregory said.

Geoffrey looked up with a wolfish grin. “What guise does it favor?”

“It may appear as a beast of any kind, prowling about our campsite,” Gregory told him, “though it favors the form of a greyhound more than any other. Its most dangerous appearance, though, is that of a very ordinary mortal man.”

“Because the traveler does not know its danger until it pierces his ears with its screech?” Geoffrey nodded grimly. “That would be most dangerous, yes—and most deceitful.”

“Surely it will not bother us again,” Alain protested, “now that it knows we can hurt it worse than it us, and knows we are wise to its ways.”

“It does not know that last,” Geoffrey said, “does it, brother?”

“It does not,” Gregory confirmed, “and therefore will it test us more, most likely with its friends of tooth and claw—so I shall be true to my name as a most wary sentry. The first watch is mine.”

Geoffrey shrugged. “If you wish, brother—though for some reason, I suspect I shall not sleep much this night.”

None of them did, though the Biasd Bheulach did wait until they had eaten and lain down before it began its torments. No sooner had Alain and Geoffrey closed their eyes than a horrid whooping and shrieking sounded from the woods some distance away.

Alain sat bolt upright, hand on his sword. “What mayhem does it bring!”

“Naught,” Geoffrey said, still lying on his side—but tense as a bridge cable. “It but seeks to frighten us.”

“It has succeeded, then.” Alain stared off into the forest with wide eyes. “Can you not make it stop, Gregory?”

Gregory, deep in his sentry’s trance, sighed, “Should I?”

“Well asked,” Geoffrey said. “As long as we hear its sounds, we know where it is.”

Alain shuddered. “To have to listen to that all night long!”

Deep in the wood, a scream split the night, like that of a man pierced through with a sword.

“Did you truly think to sleep?” Geoffrey asked. “If so, I can arrange it—a soothing spell that shall yield a floating feeling to remove you from cares and lull you to sleep.”

Alain actually considered the question for a few minutes before he shook his head. “A prince who would lead armies must keep a clear head at all times, most especially when danger threatens—and be able to ignore his weariness.”

“Well answered.” Geoffrey nodded. “I think I shall follow you in war.”

A piercing cry echoed through the forest.

“Its sound is behind us!” Alain spun, trying to track the noise. “How can it move so quickly?”

“By being near and walking around us in a circle,” Gregory breathed in a voice like the wind. “Hearken to its progress—it moves widdershins.”

Alain turned slowly, following the source of the sound. It did indeed move from west to north to east.

“Is that its true place?”

“It could indeed be illusion,” Geoffrey acknowledged. “Its shrieks make the whole forest ring, so you may be tracking an echo as easily as the Biasd Bheulach itself.”

“How shall we know, then, from which direction it will attack?”

The piercing cries cut off.

“Blessed peace!” Alain sighed.

“Malicious, rather.” Geoffrey’s sword was halfway out of its scabbard in an instant. “When something that seeks to frighten us ceases to sound, beware attack!”

Something whined in the shadows.

“What comes?” Now it was Alain’s sword that whisked free.

“A dog!” Geoffrey said with delight. “I should know that calling anywhere!” He sheathed his sword and knelt, holding out a hand and calling, “Come, poor thing! Be not afraid!”

The dog, if dog it were, whimpered in the shadows but stayed hidden.

“It fears people!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “How has it been mistreated?” He pulled a stick of dried beef from his pouch, broke off a piece, and held it out. “Come, fellow! Come taste! Nay, none here will hurt you—unless you should seek to bite the hand that feeds.” He laughed softly, then called again, “Come!”

Into the firelight slunk the most mangy, decrepit old greyhound they had ever seen.

“There, now!” Geoffrey coaxed. “Come taste! It may be you will ward us from that which shrieks in the night, eh?”

“It may be it will not!” Alain cried. “Do you not remember what Gregory said even now, Geoffrey? The Biasd Bheulach goes oft in the form of a greyhound!”

Geoffrey knelt stunned, staring in surprise—and in the instant of his amazement, the greyhound swelled to the size of a horse, its muzzle thickening into that of a mastiff and gaping wide, reaching for Geoffrey’s head, huge enough to engulf it entire.

“Aroint thee!” Alain cried and leaped forward, sword thrusting upward past Geoffrey’s head into that huge and putrid maw. He could tell by the sudden resistance that he had lanced flesh. The huge head reared up, slamming Alain back as the monster let loose a shriek that would have done credit to a steam engine.

By that time, Geoffrey had his sword out, face dark with fury. “Traitor! False friend! Would you take the form of man’s greatest ally, then? Have at thee!” He leaped in to thrust at the dog’s chest.

With a howl, the monster leaped backward, but the sword nicked flesh just before its huge paw sent Geoffrey flying. It screamed again—but even as it screamed, it made one more try at taking a bite out of Geoffrey. He rolled aside, though, and the huge jaws clashed shut only inches from his head. Then Geoffrey scrambled to his feet and leaped back in to thrust his sword into its nose.

The giant hound gave a most pitiful howl that would have drowned out the thunder itself as it whirled and fled back into the forest, leaving all three men with their hands clapped over their ears—and if it had turned back then, it would have been a proper race between the companions grabbing up their swords from the earth, and the Biasd Bheulach’s teeth. Not knowing its opportunity, though, it only raced farther and farther away, its howls fading in the night until other canine voices answered it.

Gregory tensed. “Others. . . could they be other Biasd Bheulachs?”

“If they were, he would have brought them with him already,” Geoffrey said. He plunged his sword into the earth, yanked it out, and plunged it in again. “Clean your blade, Alain. There is no telling what manner of blood that creature possesses, or what it will do to our steel.”

“Which certainly caused it pain enough.” Alain stabbed the earth, too, then looked up at Gregory. “Will it come back, think you?”

“It will try again to cozen us,” the scholar said, gaze abstracted once more. “Lose no sleep over it, though—it may be long ere it comes again.”

“Sleep! As though my eyes could close!” Alain said, his voice shaky. “Nay, let us brew a cup or two, Geoffrey. I shall need its soothing heat and a bit of talk ere I can sleep again.”

Geoffrey blew up the fire and sat down, holding his hands out to its warmth—but with his sword across his knees. “Only think what a fine story this will make to tell your grandchildren, Alain.”

“Let us see to the children first,” Alain said drily, sitting across from Geoffrey. “Nay, let us be sure of their mother before that.”

Geoffrey frowned. “How now? Do you think you cannot trust my sister?”

“Trust her, yes,” Alain said. “Be sure that she is so thoroughly mine that I never need to court her again? No.”

“Well, of course.” Geoffrey looked down at the flames. “A man can never take a woman for granted—even if it is she herself who has done the granting, for she might decide to take herself back at any time.”

That easily, the conversation fell to discussing the finer points of their respective fiancées, which was soothing indeed—and led to swapping tales of their childhoods, so it was only a half-hour or so before Geoffrey stretched and said, “I could begin to think of sleep now.”

“Think of food instead,” pleaded a reedy voice from the darkness.

Alain tensed. Geoffrey leaped to his feet.

A wizened old man hobbled into the circle of firelight, one hand tucked inside his tunic, leaning heavily upon a cane and imploring them, “Think of the poor and the hungry, kind noblemen. Pity the humble!”

Geoffrey frowned. “How come you seeking alms at midnight?”

“Why, I cannot sleep for the pangs of hunger in my belly.” The old fellow tottered, pleading, “Only a bit of bread!”

“Aye, of course!” Alain leaped to brace him up—just as Gregory’s voice wafted to him. “Beware, Alain! He is the Biasd Bheulach in its most dangerous guise!”

The old man whirled with a snarl, the hidden hand whipping out of his tunic to reveal a single six-inch claw that plunged toward Alain’s ribs.

Reflex took over and Alain whirled aside, left arm coming up to block the blow—and the huge claw slashed through cloth and skin. Blood flowed, staining the sleeve even as Geoffrey lunged. His sword pierced the old man’s arm—old no longer, for he swelled even as he turned, mouth wide in a screech that pierced their brains—then suddenly stopped, though his jaws still stretched wide. His beard and hair were dark again, his body muscular, arm wrenching away from the blade and his huge claw slashing at Geoffrey.

Alain shouted even as he drew and lunged. His sword pierced the monster’s shoulder; its mouth went even wider in agony, presumably emitting a shriek that went unheard. Then it turned away, crashing back into the woods. Only a few steps, and its screech tore through their heads again.

Prince and knight fell to their knees, dropping their swords and clapping their hands over their ears. When the screech had faded with distance, they uncovered tentatively, then lowered their hands with a sigh. Geoffrey asked, “You damped its voice with a counter-wave, did you not?”

“Even so,” Gregory said with a voice like the breeze in the leaves. “The tone would have beaten upon your eardrums if his shrieking had not canceled it.”

Alain frowned. “I must be associating with wizards too often. I almost understood that.”

“You are quite able to understand wave mechanics,” Geoffrey assured him, “but the study will not of itself lend you magic.”

“Nonetheless,” Gregory’s voice breathed from his trance, “there is much you can do with it.”

“You may teach it to me another time,” Alain said in a strained voice. He turned, showing Gregory the bloody sleeve. “For now, wizard, I would appreciate your skill in medicine.”

Gregory’s eyes slowly widened. His hands trembled as his pulse rate began to increase and all his body’s systems to accelerate. At last he stood up, came to Alain’s side, and glared down at the wound.

“What does he, Geoffrey?” Alain asked through gritted teeth.

“He searches your blood for poisons,” Geoffrey answered.

Alain gasped with pain.

“That is the flesh beginning to knit itself together.” Geoffrey smiled. “He must have found that the wound is clean—that, or countered the poisons.”

“There was only one,” Gregory said, “like to a snake’s venom. I broke the carbon chains apart, though, and rendered the substance harmless.” He released Alain’s arm. “There will be a small scar for some days. Shall I mend the sleeve, too?”

Alain stared down at the angry red welt on his skin. “No, thank you, Gregory. I think mending my hide will do.”

“Then sit by the fire and speak of soothing things.” Geoffrey suited the action to the word, then looked up in irritation. “Can that fellow not make less noise?”

“He has lost the fight, my friend,” Alain said, smiling as he sat, “the fight, and his prey as well. Let us allow him the solace of venting his wrath upon the air.”

“The air, aye. My ear, perhaps not.” Geoffrey winced at a particularly loud howl. “The water boils. Shall you take that tea you wanted?”

“More than ever. What is the herb?”

“Chamomile, if we are to have any hope of sleep.” Geoffrey poured powder into two cups, then added boiling water.

“Dare we sleep?” Alain asked, frowning. “Might not the Biasd Bheulach come upon us again?”

“It will not attack.” Gregory resumed his seat, folding his legs. “It seeks easy game, not three men guarding one another’s backs and ready to fight. If it can lure one of us off, though, it will.”

“I am not about to leave the camp with that racket going on!”

“Then sleep,” Geoffrey advised, “or at the least, lie down and think of pleasant things.”

A horrendous scream made the tree trunks ring. Alain shuddered. “What thought could be so pleasant as to shield me from that pandemonium?”

“Cordelia,” Geoffrey said succinctly.

Alain sat still for a moment, head cocked to one side. Then he sipped his tea and nodded. “I shall essay it.”

Whether or not they really slept was debatable—but the two men did indeed lie down, though they tossed and turned from time to time, while Gregory brooded over the campsite like an enigmatic statue in his trance.

As the sky paled with the approach of dawn, the Biasd Bheulach’s screams lessened until, with the first ray of sunlight, they ceased. Alain sat up, somewhat pale and definitely rumpled, but stoically silent. It was Geoffrey who pushed himself to his knees, groaning, “I feel as though I had not slept a wink!”

“Most likely you did not,” Alain sympathized. He turned to their sentry. “Join the waking world again, Gregory.”

Minutes passed; only people used to Gregory’s trances would have noticed the flutter of the eyelids, the twitching fingers, the deepening breaths. Since Alain and Geoffrey did, it wasn’t quite so much of a surprise when he lifted his head and said, “Let us break our fast.”

“I shall brew herbs.” Geoffrey knelt to toss kindling on the coals and blow them to flame under the camp kettle. Alain took out journeybread and salt beef.

Over breakfast, they discussed the events of the night. They all agreed the Biasd Bheulach’s screeches had taken on a definite note of frustration shortly before dawn and that the scream of terror that had brought Geoffrey and Alain upright, hands on their hilts, had indeed been its last real try at discomfiting them. So agreed, they drowned the campfire, buried the coals, saddled their horses, and set off along the forest trail.

“Are such spirits as these usually so persistent, Gregory?” Alain asked.

“They are,” the scholar replied. “In truth, they are known to haunt a place until they have slain someone. Only then do they move on to seek new prey.”

Alain shook his head, scowling. “Does that mean . . . since its cries have ceased . . .”

“Oh, no,” Gregory assured him. “ ’Tis only seen or heard at night. No, dawn sends it to hide.” He was silent a minute or two, then said, “Mind you, that does not mean it did not slay anyone last night—but there is no particular reason to believe that it did.”

“No, other than a hundred shrieks that could have been the death cry of any creature, human or animal!” Geoffrey said. “Still, I do not think it slew a hundred in one night.”

“Have there always been so many murderous spirits in this land?” Alain asked.

“Not dwelling so closely together.” Gregory frowned. “Indeed, this is a most unusual concentration.”

“I would suspect enemy action,” Geoffrey said, “but we have no reason to think there is an enemy nearby.”

“Other than a most strange mist that leaves ogres behind when it lifts, no,” Alain said. “I cannot help thinking that a bit unusual.”

“What do you suspect?” Geoffrey challenged him. “Someone like Ari the music-rock maker, only considerably more sinister?”

Alain turned to stare at him. “What a horrible notion! And how well it fits!”

Geoffrey returned the stare, taken aback. Then he frowned and started to say something—when Gregory let out a keening cry of distress.

They spun in their saddles to stare at him, but he was pointing ahead and to the side of the trail.