La Damoiselle Arthur 17 (Patreon)

Chapter 17 (37 days)

Once more, Arthur and Lancelot rode through the narrow, twisting canyon path, only now they spurred their horses on, hoofs clattering. The baying of the barghest grew louder and louder still. Glancing back, Lancelot caught glimpses of their fell shapes, moving like shadows along the path, while still more leapt along the top of the cut in the mountain. The glance nearly cost him, as he had carelessly tugged the reins in the direction he’d glanced, and nearly drawn his horse into crashing into a sharp turn in the path. Alarmed by his horse’s neigh, he turned back just in time to avoid the collision.

“On! On!” Arthur shouted, as he saw ahead of him a split in the path, one going up and to the left, the other down and to the right. He tried to remember anything from the map, but could not recall the proper path. He started left and up, but at the last second yanked the reigns right and plunged down, down, further down.

The barghest had closed the distance on Lancelot and now snapped at the legs of his horse. He drew his sword, preparing to bat them away, following Arthur, barely noting their descent. Lancelot’s steed, brave as any, began to panic at the harrying from the barghest.

Ahead, Arthur looked up to see the monsters above, racing ahead, preparing to leap down and cut them off, pin them in from both sides. He cursed himself for failing to bring a bow. He could do nothing to stop them, but he drew his short sword and let it flash in the moonlight. “Do you wish to die?” He howled.

Lancelot could not strike at the beasts harrying his horse, nor could he turn. He could only ride , spurring his terrified horse on even as he struggled to retain control.

Looking ahead, Arthur saw the path vanish into darkness. The path seemed to vanish into the side of the mountain. A tunnel! But then he saw them, a half dozen or more of the foul beasts, gathering on a ledge above the tunnel entrance, fangs bared, mouths drooling. They prepared to pounce. Once more, Arthur had to make a choice. If he plunged ahead, even if he got past the monsters, Lancelot would be left surrounded. Even so great a knight would be torn to shreds. No. They would make their stand together!

But, even as he prepared to pull in the reins, to fight for his life, an arrow whizzed through the night, plunging into the neck of one of the barghest above the cave entrance, sending it plunging to it’s death with whimper.

Then, another and another and another! Three more fell, and the remaining beasts panicked, scattering from the exposure on the ledge. Arthur spurred ahead, plunging into the tunnel, his heart rising at his sudden good fortune. He offered up a quick prayer of thanks to his God.

The danger was not over. The tunnel soon echoed with the howling voices of the beasts, the thundering of the horses’ hooves. Arthur saw the flickering of torchlight ahead, as he got closer he saw torches atop totems, and the tunnel opened up into a large, wide cavern, dripping with stalactites. “Oh, no,” he thought, pulling on the reins, his horse rising up on its back legs.  He could not see an exit, though the back of the cave was lost in darkness and some sort of mist. Now. the beasts would surround them. The race was over, he decided, leaping from his horse.

Lancelot came thundering into the cavern, pulled up as well, looking around, assassin the situation.

Arthur gave his horse a slap, sending it running off, clear of the space he expected to be the sight of the great and possibly final battle. Lancelot, seeing what Arthur planned, dismounted as well. “We make our stand?”

“We do,” Arthur said.

They could see the glowing eyes of the pack leader at the mouth of the cave, his haggard teeth.  Behind him, the pack howled in fury, their voices echoing around the cave, which smelled of moss and damp.

“If it ends here,” Lancelot said, “I could hope to find my end with a finer– King.”

“I could not ask for a finer knight at my side, and if this is to be our end, let’s make it one for the ages!”

They waited. The barghest starred.

“Why do they wait?”

“Toying with us, I suspect,” Lancelot said.

The pack leader crept forward, placing one paw into the cavern, and then he raised his nose to the air and sniffed. Then, he put his nose to the ground and sniffed again. Head low, he backed away. The pack howled. He howled back. And then, quiet. Soundlessly, the pack turned and retreated.

“I do not feel good about this,” Arthur said, looking back toward the darkness and mist at the back of the cavern.

“What did the beast smell that cowed him so?” Lancelot said, following Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur sniffed the air, but smelled only the moss, the tang of the mist, which seemed to be spreading toward them.

Then, they heard the sound of– laughter. Like the laughter of a child.

“Who’s there?” Arthur shouted. “Show yourself!”

More laughter.

The mist now began to surround them, clouding their vision. There was a hissing sound, like serpents, and Arthur could not help but look down, unnerved by the thought of slithering snakes, poison fanged and deadly.

“Perhaps we should retrace our steps?” Lancelot said. He sensed magic, and he did not care to do battle with things which did not respond to the cut of a blade.

“Barghest…. Barghest… barghests await…” the voice taunted. “Choose your death, choose your fate.”

No doubt, Arthur thought, the pack did await them. Whatever they feared, it started and ended at the mouth of this cavern. Now completely surrounded by the mist, he decided to step forward, to plunge ahead. If only I had Excalibur, he thought, if only Merlin had come!

“Stay close,” Lancelot said, following Arthur, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur could not help but feel a blush of feminine gratitude for his protector. “Show yourself!” He shouted. “What manner of fiend are you?”

“Descendant of Cain!” The creature hissed, the voice seeming to come from every direction now. “Sister to the monstrous hell-bride, herself, felled by mighty Beowulf!”

Arthur glanced at Lancelot. Could it be true? Such a creature of legend would be a fearsome foe. He continued to move forward hissing and jumping back as he felt something slither against his ankle.

Lancelot leaned down and whispered in Arthur’s ear. “Let me lead. The danger is too great.” He started to step around Arthur, but Arthur barred him with a slender arm.

“No. I will face this creature, and not cower like a girl.”

“Closer,” the Cave Hag called. “Closer.”

“I do not fear you!” Arthur shouted, striding forward with purpose.

“You should.”

A blast of wind, and the mist cleared. Arthur could now see the Daughter of Cain– she had the body of a woman, sheathed in gleaming armor, but she did not have legs. Instead a mass of tentacles spread out, writhing and twisting, their scales flashing in the flickering torchlight. She was huge, at least 10 feet tall, and in her eyes glowed an unholy light. Behind her, a great mass of treasure gleamed– gold and silver, and all manner of weapons– great swords and shields, helmets, spears and bows. Along the back of the cave hung the mummified heads of her victims.

“Lord, protect us!” Arthur whispered.

“Your God cannot save you now!” The Cave Hag howled, and all her tentacles lashed out at once. Remembering what Lancelot had taught him, Arthur dodged and darted, using his small size and quickness to dodge the attack.

Lancelot lashed with his sword at the tentacles, sparks flying as steel met scale. The blade failed, as the hard scales deflected it easily. One of the great tentacles wrapped around his midsection, and he found himself lifted off his feet.

“Lance!” Arthur shouted, ducking under one grasping limb, then rolling over another. He swung his own blades, likewise drawing no wound.

The grievous Cave Hag brought Lancelot toward her, and he neared her mouth spread, growing wider, wider, razor sharp fangs revealed. “Another head to add to my trophies!”

Lancelot gathered all his strength and swung his mighty sword in a great arc, the blade aimed at the creature’s neck. The cavern rang with the war song of hardened steel and Lancelot’s arm shook and grew numb from the impact.

The Cave Hag only laughed as one of her arms seized Lancelot’s sword hand and bent it back, sending needles of pain shooting through his shoulder. “No iron nor steel l can harm me Not bronze nor any mortal metal forged!!” The Hag sang out, once more bringing Lancelot toward her gleaming maw. “A gift from the dark lord of the shadow elves!”

Leaping. Dodging, Arthur heard her words, and tossed his swords aside. He saw Lancelot crushed within the monster’s grasp, moving closer and closer to the now grotesque face of their enemy. No. I must not allow this to happen. But what could he do against such ancient evil?

He scanned the room. Yes! Once more using his small size and quickness, he leapt to the creature’s horde and seized hold of a great crossbow. It was almost too heavy for him, but straining, using all his strength, he raised it and raised it until it pointed toward the creature’s head. His tiny arms shook, and strain as he might, he could not raise it any higher. Seeing the foul beast about to snap Lancelot’s head off, he shouted “Prepare to die, you unclean beast!”

The Cave Hag, who’d been about to bite off Lancelot’s head, turned and looked at Arthur, her tentacles growing calm. “You little fool,” she said. “Did you not hear me? Go ahead. Shoot me. I took that crossbow from the dead hands of Hrothgar, whose head hangs now in my hall.”

Lancelot watched, struggling to free himself. He could feel the hot, disgusting breath of the Cave Hag on his face. Arthur, Arthur, he thought. I have failed you.

“Pride,” Arthur said, goeth before the fall!” Now, using the weight of the crossbow, he allowed himself to drop back, the sights of the crossbow rising above the head of the beast.

“Fool girl,” The Cave Hag said with a laugh.

Arthur fired. The bolt flew true, crashing into the base of a great stalactite.

“You missed!”

Arthur, dropping the crossbow, rolled to his knees and came up grinning. “Did I?”

The Cave Hag’s face twisted in confusion, and then she looked up just in time to see the point of the stalactite right before it plunged into her face. She collapsed, instantly dead. Lancelot dropped to the hard, stone cave floor, landing with a shriek of steel.

Arthur rushed to the fallen creature to make sure it had died, and there could be no doubt. It’s head shattered, impaled by the great stone. Turning his attention to Lancelot, he ran to the knight’s side. “Are you okay?” He asked. Arthur’s leaping and dodging had left him gasping for breath, and his chest heaved.

Crashing down to the cave floor had left Lancelot stunned, his vision blurred. “I need a moment,” he said. “My head.”

“Lift your head,” Arthur said.

“It hurts, I…”

“Lift your head!” Arthur insisted, his tone like a mother scolding a child.

Lancelot lifted his head. As Arthur suspected, the hair on the back of Lancelot’s head was matted with blood. “”You’re bleeding.”

Lancelot started to rise, and Arthur pushed him back down. “Stay still. You might make the injury worse.”

“You just told me to raise my head,” Lancelot said, feeling mildly annoyed.

“That was before. Now, lay still.”

“Make up your mind, already,” Lancelot said, laying back down.

“I’m going to get something to bind the wound.” Arthur found a scrap of linen, and retrieved his tonics from his horse, who had refused to go anywhere near the creature, instead lingering near the mouth of the tunnel. Soon, Arthur once more found himself kneeling at his friend’s side, wrapping a bandage around Lancelot’s head, fretting for the health of his wounded friend.

“That should do. Now, sit and rest. Drink.” He handed Lancelot a waterskin.

“Very well,” Lancelot said, still woozy. He drank deeply.

Arthur, meanwhile, had gone to the treasure horde. It was truly a fortune worthy of a King, and yet he sought something much more humble, which he found in the form of a knight’s tabard, emblazoned with the image of a boar. Arthur’s shirt had been further torn, and it was now showing much too much of his round, maiden’s chest. He pulled the tabard over his head, the garment, which typically came to a knight’s knees, dropped to Arthur’s ankles.  Sighing, he cinched the belt, pulling it loosely around his waist.

Lancelot watched, amused. The tabard looked like a dress on Arthur’s small frame, and he looked quite adorable as he now searched among the creature’s treasure. It was a relief that he was now more modestly dressed. Lancelot had caught another glimpse of Arthur’s milky white breasts, and even stunned and bruised and battered, it had once more ignited his smoldering passions.

“The Lord smiles upon us,” Arthur said, now at the far back of the cave.

“I don’t suppose you found a unicorn back there?” Lancelot said.

“Ha! Your humor returns. No unicorn, I am afraid. But, there is another way out.”

“Very good news, indeed.”

Arthur returned to searching through the treasure, seemingly looking for something specific and not just browsing. He picked up a few things, shaking his head before tossing them aside.

Lancelot tried to stand, but his head swam and he sank back down. “What are you looking for?” Lancelot said.

“A gift for Guinevere,” Arthur said. “She would positively kill me if I didn’t bring her something pretty.”

“True,” Lancelot said. The comment summoned an image in his mind. He, standing behind Arthur, laying a glittering necklace around Arthur’s slender neck. Arthur, who in this vision wore a gossamer gown, lifted his long, flowing hair, and Lancelot fixed the clasp. Arthur turned, gazing up with wide, happy eyes, a pretty smile on his face. “It’s lovely,” he said, his fingers gently running along the chain.

“You’re lovely,” Lancelot answered in his fantasy, before pulling Arthur to him, kissing him, a long, lingering kiss that…

“This is perfect, don’t you think?” Arthur called.

Lancelot snapped out of his reverie to see Arthur holding up a delicate gold chain. It seemed the very necklace he’d been imagining. It disturbed Lancelot, the coincidence, if it was a coincidence. He almost told Arthur to put it on and let him see how it looked, but he held back the words. “Guinever will love it. I am sure.”