VIII. The sun burnt mercilessly down on Sevrin as she stood atop of a high sand dune overlooking the site where Delane allegedly detected activity regarding the Door.
She put out a hand to cover her eyes as she surveyed the area, the hot wind whipping her hair and her skirts about.
“Anything there, girlie?” Sir Valcrist shouted to her from the base of the mound. He and the rest of the Sword of Valor were looking for clues in the arid region far northwest from the desert city regarding the next deluge of mysterious dark-dwellers that have previously assaulted Payon, a nearby city.
“Ow!” yelped the knight as the wind suddenly whipped sand on his face, stinging his eyes with sand. Sir Valcrist immediately tried to rub the grains of sand from his eyes.
The erstwhile attack on Payon have prompted the King of Morroc to request help from Prontera, despite of him having some slight misgivings with King Tristram. In response to the Morrocan king’s concern, as well as his personal interest to stop the dark infestation from spreading and reaching Prontera, King Tristram ordered the Schwarzwald Defense Elements to send their reserve company, the Sword of Valor, to investigate possible sightings in the Sograt area.
And they were now there, toiling in the harsh heat of the sun searching for telltale clues for another opening that would herald the invasion of another horde of dark monsters that came from the Doors. They didn’t have any other appropriate term for the black holes that served as causeways between the netherworld and Rune-Midgard.
From where she stood, on the top of the great mound of sand, Sevrin could make out a telltale shape of some strange, runic marking etched on the fine yellow sea several paces ahead of them. Sevrin shook her head and looked at it again, trying to make sure it was not a mirage.
As far as she could tell, it was not.
Just seeing it made Sevrin’s hairs on the back of her neck stand. There was clearly something wrong. The winds whipped in a direction contrary to the lines of the runic marking--which roughly made a door.
“There is one, up ahead to our north,” Sevrin called out to her company crowded by the base of the mound, waiting for her to report any sighting. The rest of the Sword of Valor immediately straightened up from their at-ease positions and stood to attention.
“It’s like what the Sword of Guidance found in the aftermath of the Payon siege,” Sevrin observed. “Four corners. A Door.”
Sir Valcrist joined Sevrin on the peak and surveyed the area Sevrin pointed out to him. “A weird thingie, alright,” he murmured as his eyes darted from side to side, looking for any other clues. He then put his heavy hand on his side and drew his claymore.
“Sword of Valor! Carry out the inspection,” Sir Valcrist ordered sharply as he descended and approached the sand patch in question. “And be snappy about it! We’ll want our hands free for the Day of the Dead festival tomorrow.”
“Yes, Commander!”
He paused from his stride and turned to Sevrin. “You, Astergarden.”
Sevrin gave a small moue of displeasure, knowing what Sir Valcrist would say to her. “What is it, Commander?”
“You stay right behind here,” he told her, patting the top of her head as if talking to a child. “You’re to be the lookout. That’s your duty.”
Exasperated, Sevrin took a deep breath. “Commander,” Sevrin started, “this area has high visibility,” she gestured her arm to show the vastness of the deathly dry desert and how alone they were to prove her point. “There is obviously no need for a lookout, as you call it.
“Are you molly-coddling me?” Sevrin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I assure you, there is no need for that.”
Valcrist lifted his palms, giving up. “Alright, let the lady have her wish,” he shrugged then, and moved forward. “On one condition, you’re to stay behind me,” he continued as they trudged towards the place where the rest of the company had gone ahead and waited for them.
“Fine,” muttered Sevrin as she unsheathed her bastard sword, turning it in such angles that it glittered dangerously under the heat of the sun.
The pregnant silence was suddenly torn as they heard a piercing shriek coming from up ahead. Sevrin and Valcrist both tensed, then ran towards the Door to meet the others, sand flying out behind them as they sprinted.
“Oh…oh god….” whispered Emerester, the youngest among the Sword of Valor. Dropping his blade with a dull thud his hands flew to his mouth, and he was slowly turning green.
The others were deathly pale, and their faces were damp with cold sweat.
It seemed that Delane had pulled out something suspicious sticking out in the sand; it turned out to be a badly mangled corpse, rotting, its abundant decaying flesh loosely clinging to the red bones. A foul stench permeated the air. Emerester could hold his breakfast in and threw up.
Valcrist grimaced at the sight. “Holy,” he said, then followed with a selection of a few choice curses. “Calm down--we’ll need our heads now more than ever.” He walked over to the grotesque figure and prodded it with the tip of his claymore. “Must have been here for ten days at least,” he said, eyes watering due to the stench. “The Door must have been active since.” He shook his head, and nodded in respect to the dead.
“Search for more clues. Dig!”
They have dug out five decaying bodies--some with dismembered limbs and others festered with Chon-Chon maggots--when they felt the violent and deafening rumble.
Sand flew out all over them, and even made shallow waves.
“What the--?!” Valcrist cried out as he stumbled to his knees. “All of you! Get down!” All seven of the Sword of Valor quickly complied--they had no choice; all of them lost their balance.
With an irrepressible instinct Sevrin on her hands and knees turned towards where the Door lay, paying full attention to the ill-omened sketch of a doorway.
Her vigilance was paid off as she saw the sands within the perimeter of the doorway shift as a whirlpool of sand formed right in the middle. Alarmed, Sevrin gathered her sword and skirts and scampered off to a farther distance as quickly as she could.
The others, with the sand they were standing on steadily being engulfed in the eye of the dry whirlpool, were slowly being pulled into the abyss. The younger ones were almost sobbing as they tried to get away from the hole.
All of them barely escaped when two huge horns surfaced from the eye of the sandy whirlpool. Sir Valcrist immediately barked orders to the Sword of Valor to draw their swords and ready themselves.
A strange huge four-legged creature emerged from the sands with menacing grace. With a loud roar it shook the sand out of its scaly form. Its huge red eyes, set on its bulging head like bloodied headlights, were fixed upon them; the razor-sharp fanged jaws spat out blood, guts and flesh as it growled menacingly.
Sevrin’s eyes were glued to its mouth, covered with blood and pieces of meat.
Meat. It is both strange and revolting how humans are turned into mere meat after a few seconds of agony, Sevrin thought, and irritably pushed the morbid thread from her mind as she struggled to focus her energies in the midst of the chaos.
“Our duty may lie solely within Prontera, but we have been assigned to help protect Morroc,” Valcrist said in steady tones as he lifted his claymore over his shoulder. “Stand up and face the new era, men--and women--for we, The Sword of Valor, are going to own the other company's pretty asses, you hear? And yes, you get your chance too, Alric!” His eyes shone with a promise of victory. “Prove yourselves!”
The one known as Alric gulped and held out his blade in front of him, hands trembling. He was not born to do this. He would rather stay behind, in the kitchen, conquering and defeating Pecopecos, Lunatics, and even Porings for their final destination in their stomachs. He was ready, but not for this. He gulped again.
The monster stepped forward, pausing to grab at one of the dead bodies and ripped off an arm, chewing upon it. The Sword of Valor could hear the sickening crunch of bone as they held their positions, waiting for further instructions from Sir Valcrist.
“I can bear no more desecration of the dead, and before the Feast of the Dead no less,” seethed Valcrist. “Sword of Valor! Now!”
With a roar Valcrist led the attack, swinging his claymore over his head and with his full force coupled with the weight of his two-hand sword brought it down and hacked at the creature’s forelimbs. The scales, however, prevented him from doing much damage.
“Damn it.…” He was about to lift his claymore again when the monster knocked him aside. Clutching his stomach, Valcrist keeled over in pain, blood oozing from a huge gash on his abdomen.
The claws can cut through armor, Sevrin realized in horror. “Commander!” Without any further delay she rushed to his side, all the while shouting to the others to regroup. “All of you, go back to Morroc!” she shouted, her bastard sword poised to kill. “The Sword of Valor’s orders were only to fulfill reconnaissance duties. Retreat!”
Valcrist was slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
“But Sevrin! We can’t leave--”
“If this thing manages to eat all of us it will do in Morroc too! Go and alert the Morrocan Army!”
“We refuse to leave!” Emerester said, though still pale. “I’m not part of the Sword of Valor if I turn coward.”
Sevrin tsk-ed. “Well then, so be it,” she muttered, turning her attention to the monster licking its haunches. “Alric! Turn back to Morroc. Take the commander with you!”
The trembling cook’s relief was clearly obvious. He gave Sevrin a hasty salute and scuttled off, half-dragging and half-pulling Sir Valcrist, hauled him onto one of the pecopecos and made a mad dash for the desert city.
Sevrin made a quick mental calculation of the circumstances.
There were nine Sword of Valor swordsmen right at the moment.
One vicious monster summoned out of the darkness.
Eight among the Sword of Valor present had no experience in fighting a deadly monster. Even the Sword of Guidance, a senior company, suffered five deaths in the infestation of Payon, and they were good.
And she was the only one who could even hope to bring the monster to its knees.
There was no other choice.
In one swift motion Sevrin lunged at the monster, taking care that her movements would not be impeded by the weight of her heavy two-hand blade. She aimed at an obvious weak spot, the neck, but the monster seemed to be privy of her attacks and swiped at her, but she quickly side-stepped and was able to inflict a large wound at the beast’s shoulder.
Its howls were soul chilling.
Encouraged by Sevrin’s successful attack the others were prompted to charge in as well. Astalanth, one of the more promising young upstarts among the Schwarzwald Defense Elements poised to perform the Bash technique aimed at the monster’s head, no less.
“This is for Sir Valcrist!” Astalanth bent backwards, his sword-arm reached out into the skies and with a sonic-piercing force smashed at the creature’s head.
The monster was momentarily stunned, giving a chance for the others to have a go at it.
Within minutes, the monster was down on its knees. Sevrin, with the most quiet she can muster for the moment stood still, the tip of her blade buried in the sand.
After a few short moments, the blade gleamed with an odd light and suddenly she ran towards the monster, the point of the bastard blade making a fiery trail in the desert, and as she neared the infernal creature she swung the blade up high, bringing it down upon the scale-less part of its head, between the eyes, with a blinding flash.
The monster’s head split open, its brains and blood spilling out.
Sevrin turned to her mates, who were miraculously unharmed save for a few scratches and bruises, and, for the first time after a long period, smiled.
