The Horseman
Orgroth grabbed two battleaxes from the weapon stand as Ognara raced from the smithy. She locked eyes with Jyo. “Bar the doors and protect your daughter. The door will hold.”
She crouched before Ortog and gripped his hands. “You keep these two safe. Got it?”
“Yes, mother!” Ortog glanced around. “With what?”
“Your courage is enough, but don’t be shy about blending in if you feel like you need to. Do you remember how to do it?”
Ortog nodded.
She hugged him close and sprang away, grabbing a claymore on the way to Orgroth’s side. They raced outside, and Jyo pulled the doors closed. Ortog showed him how to set the bar.
Jyo took a deep breath, set the shaft across its braces, and his nose curled as he caught a whiff of something vile. “That scent…” He muttered, “I’ve read of that scent.” He retrieved an old handwritten, leather-bound field journal from within his cloak. Frantically, he flipped through its pages.
The putrid smell of rotting seaweed, salt, and decay filled the air, and Orgroth’s eyes watered. He and Ognara charged toward the screams. Unconscious or worse, visitors and townsfolk lay scattered before the enormous monstrosity that was the source of the stench: a man’s skinless torso protruded from the spine of a powerful horse’s skinless body, set behind a frenzied horse’s head, like a rider whose legs had been driven down into the beast’s flanks. Viscera pulsed, and black blood surged through yellow veins. It lunged at a terrified flower vendor with arms like gnarled tree branches.
Orgroth attacked. His blow knocked the beast off its aim, and black blood oozed. With a powerful shoulder swing, Ognara’s claymore cut clean through its right foreleg, and the beast stumbled.
With a sinister laugh, its wounded forearm staunched. It reared back and seated its severed leg against its stump. Orgroth and Ognara watched in horror as inky fluid flowed over the dismembered limb, and yellow sinew stitched the leg in place.
They stepped back.
Orgroth pointed at the flower vendor, who was frozen in fear. “Someone, get her to safety!”
“I’ve got her!” Banderwal tugged on her arms, but she didn’t budge. He grumbled, “I’m not apologizing for this,” and pulled her to the ground. Grunting as he heaved, Banderwal dragged the flower vendor away.
“What kind of beast heals like that?” Ognara growled.
“I don’t know,” Orgroth breathed. He scanned his surroundings. To his left, an old water tower stood beside the bell tower, and on the other side of the beast stood the castle keep. Between the monster and the city’s west wall lay a trail of rubble and wounded. Scores of guardsmen raced for the square, and the company of mercenaries formed a broad perimeter around the monster.
Healed completely, the beast settled upon its muscular legs.
Mercenary archers nocked arrows and took aim, but their commander, seated atop his horse, raised his hand. “Hold your fire.” With confusion, a bowman looked at his commander. The officer sneered, “In a moment, there will be two fewer orcs to worry about.”
The archer narrowed his eyes at his commander and muttered under his breath. He took aim at the beast, anyway.
Orgroth gritted his teeth and raised his battleaxes.
Ognara held the claymore level with her jaw.
The smithy door’s iron bar struck the floor as Jyo ran out. From a nearby corner, he peered across the market square. “Orgroth, Ognara, stow your weapons! You will not overcome this beast with your axe head or blade! Not yet, anyway.”
Ognara shot him a furious glare. “I implied, quite clearly, that you were to watch the children!”
Jyo nodded. “And if I’d listened to you, we’d all soon be dead—the children, too!” He glanced to his left. “Let the men-at-arms hold the monster at bay!” He lifted his journal and gestured frantically. “Come, come! Please!”
Orgroth and Ognara exchanged doubtful looks and fell back.
With a derisive snort, the mercenary commander led his warriors into battle. The beast’s arms struck the first of the swordsmen, sending them flying across the square. It brought its hooves down on others, and the sickening crunch of bones filled the air.
Orgroth and Ognara sprinted to Jyo’s side. “Speak,” she barked.
Jyo opened the book and jammed his finger against an illustration that resembled the monster. The entry’s title read, “Kulaveigh,” and he hissed, “Do not speak its name!” He passed her the journal. “Unless it’s trapped, any weapon made by man cannot kill the beast.”
Orgroth and Ognara scanned the journal entry.
She smiled wryly and patted the leather guard at the base of her blade, wrapped in place just above the cross guard. “Good thing I made this, then.”
With a raised brow, Jyo rebutted, “I meant the species, not the gender.”
“Then, it’s a good thing we’re orcs.”
“Think broader.” Jyo made a sweeping gesture. “Like how foxes and wolves aren’t dogs, but all three are canines.”
“How do we trap it?” Orgroth asked.
“The beast can’t cross fresh water.”
Ognara looked across the market square. “The water tower.”
“Banderwal’s corral is sunken, if ever so slightly,” Orgroth said. He hopped up, gripped the edge of the nearest rooftop overhang, and hauled himself up to stand. “The carts and market stalls.” With a determined look, he set his fingers against the sides of his mouth and whistled loudly, shrilly. “Banderwal, gather our friends!” He glared at the rampaging kulaveigh. “We’ve got work to do.”
Banderwal rallied a crowd of orcs, elves, goblins, and dwarves, and they listened to Orgroth’s plan.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Maybe we can lift it together,” said Ortog. He held one end of the iron shaft cupped in his hands. “Can you help?”
Ellanie shook her head. “Someone could just come in from the stables!”
“Follow me.” He let the bar clatter to the floor and hurried into the smithy. “I know lots of great hiding places!”
“Okay, but maybe you’re right about the door. It could slow someone down if they try to get in through the front.”
Ortog’s shoulders slumped. “Make up your mind!”
“Let’s bar the door first.” She nodded. “Then we’ll hide. What did your mom mean about blending in?”
“It’s something we orcs and goblins can do.” He closed his eyes. Muscles rippled beneath his green skin as pigment cells fanned out in a quiet mosaic, visibly merging him into the doorway’s textures and shadow.
Ellanie gasped.
He exhaled, opened his eyes, and his skin returned to the same shade of green as before. “Like that.”
“That’s amazing!” She realized she was staring. “I’m going to hide behind you.”
“Good idea. Now, let’s block the door!”
They stooped down, grabbed opposite sides of the bar, and Ortog heaved with all his might. Ellanie, however, stood there. She gazed at her hands; she swore she saw sparks or motes floating and flashing inside the beam. “It’s iron.”
“And it’s heavy,” Ortog grunted.
“No, I mean…” She glanced toward the doors. “The only way to kill the thing that’s out there is with pure iron.” She lowered her end to the floor. “We need to tell them!”
Ortog set down his end. “Let’s bring them nails.” He leaned over the bin. “And a hammer. Grab the biggest ones you can find!”
Ellanie reached in and grabbed a heavy mooring spike. Again, she saw motes and sparks where she touched iron. “What’s going on?” she whispered. “Do you see that?”
“See what?” Ortog shoved a handful of nails into a leather pouch and tied it to his waist. He grabbed a mallet with both hands and dragged it along the floor to the front of the shop.
♦ ♦ ♦
As Banderwal led his chestnut pony to safety, a young elf woman sprinted for the water tower, followed by Orgroth and his team. Along the way, they shoved carts and stands to one side of the path, then shoved others to the opposite side, following the natural slope of the earth under the cobblestones. When the carts were in place, they toppled them and shoved them together, forming crude embankments that led to Banderwal’s corral.
“Liriel, wait for my signal!” Orgroth boomed.
The elf woman reached the water tower. “I’m in place!” She gripped the handles of the gate valve and watched Orgroth as he joined Ognara at the edge of the market square.
A dozen mercenary blades bit into the kulaveigh’s flanks, but every wound healed immediately. Dozens of arrow shafts protruded from the beast’s flesh.
“We need to lure it into the corral,” Orgroth stated. “Any ideas?”
Ognara smiled slyly. She glanced sideways at Orgroth. “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Kulaveigh!” She bolted into Banderwal’s corral and raised her claymore defensively.
The beast roared like a lion, reared back, and its eyes glowed red with fury.
Orgroth shook his head. “You’re right. I hate it.” He brandished his axes, ran over, and stood at Ognara’s side.
The kulaveigh knocked aside a dozen guardsmen and mercenaries as it charged toward the pen, headed straight for Ognara.
Orgroth bellowed. “Liriel, now!”
She heaved against the valve, and water rushed from the tower, along the crude channel that Orgroth and his team had fashioned.
At the far side of the corral, Ognara climbed the fence’s wooden beams. The kulaveigh galloped into the pen as fresh water flowed over the edge. Ognara sprang from the fence and hewed through the top of the beast’s human head. With a spray of blackest ink, half its skull tumbled away, and Orgroth hacked through the creature’s elbows. The arms splashed down at the heart of the corral, and water rose to fill the depression.
Orgroth and Ognara vaulted over the fence to stand on the other side of it. “The skull was empty,” she gasped.
The kulaveigh’s human head regrew.
It leaned to one side and reattached one of its arm. It leaned to the other side and reattached the other.
“At least it’s trapped.” Ognara stared at Jyo. “We should be able to kill it now, right?”
“That’s correct!”
“How?”
Jyo read and re-read his field journal. “I’m… I’m not sure.”
Orgroth jumped as Ortog stumbled to his side; he let the mallet fall from his grip. “Here,” he gasped, and he dropped the bag of nails at his father’s feet. “You’ll need these.”
“Get back inside the smithy,” he growled.
“Right now, young man,” Ognara barked.
“No, you need to listen to us,” Ellanie shouted, but Jyo raced over and scooped her up before she could get close to the pen. “Listen!” Frantically, she lobbed the spike close to Orgroth and Ognara. “You can only kill it with iron!”
The kulaveigh stood still within a shallow pool of fresh water.
“She may be right,” Ognara suggested, and she pointed at the arrow shafts. “It’s neither removed the arrows nor recovered from their wounds.”
“And the arrowheads are iron.” Orgroth added, and he picked up the spike. Ognara gripped the mallet. “How are we doing this?”
Ognara felt the weight of the mallet in her hand and gauged the distance to the kulaveigh. “You set the drift, and I’ll punch the hole. Top of the horse’s skull on three. One…” She hunched down, readying herself to leap, and Orgroth fixed his attention on his target. “Two…”
“Mindless orcs,” sneered the mercenary commander, startling Orgroth and Ognara as he closed on horseback. “To slay a beast like this, just stab it through the heart.” He hopped off his steed and lashed it to the corral fence. “Like this.” The commander raised his longsword and cast aside his damaged shield. His boots splashed as he crossed the now-overflowing pen and pressed his blade against the kulaveigh’s oily, beating heart. “Die, monster,” he spat, and he plunged the blade deep.
Its heart stopped.
Its human head hung low over its torso.
“That’s how it’s done.”
With one hand, the kulaveigh pulled free the commander’s longsword and ripped his arm off in the same motion. With the other hand, it crushed the commander’s neck.
His ruined body fell at the monster’s hooves.
“Husband, throw it now!” boomed Ognara, and she sprang over the fence with her mallet held high. Orgroth lobbed the spike into the air. At its apex, the point loomed just above the horse’s head, and Ognara brought the mallet down with all her might.
She drove the spike into the beast’s skull and landed with a splash.
The kulaveigh gurgled and hissed its final breath. Its mass fell away from its bones in clumps, piles of rotted fish and seaweed. A burning coal tumbled from its heart, swiftly boiling away as fresh water consumed it.
Nightmarish, skeletal remains blackened and turned to charcoal that collapsed into the waterlogged corral.
Liriel closed the gate valve.
A cheer rang out. Orcs, elves, goblins, dwarves, and humans exchanged hugs and handshakes. For a moment, there were no divides, only grateful survivors as they gathered the dead and triaged the wounded. Apothecaries and physicians cared for the injured. Loved ones wailed and wept for those they lost.
Arangyle, Earl of Braewood, called an end to festivities for that day and the next. He paid for room and board at the inns, for every visitor. He led a somber vigil and declared Harvest Tide would resume on Wednesday.
Castle guardsmen led Jyo and Ellanie away, beyond the gates of the keep.
Ognara, Orgroth, and Ortog returned to Three Links Smithy. Strangers, townsfolk, and friends cheered them all as heroes.
♦ ♦ ♦
The sun neared the ocean’s horizon. Ognara added a small bucket of coal to the hearth, secured its iron spark guard, and quenched the forge. Orgroth dragged in half-empty barrels of nails and screws from outside the entryway and closed the shop.
Ortog lugged an armful of tools into the stables. “Can we stay at the same inn as Ellanie tonight? I like her. She’s my best friend.”
His parents exchanged looks. Orgroth quietly cleared his throat. “I thought Sanderwog was your best friend.”
“He was.” Ortog climbed a stepstool and set assorted punches, chisels, and tongs within a wooden chest affixed to the back of the cart. “But he said he’s getting too old for me. I think he’s jealous because we’re almost the same size, and he’s ten, and I’m only four.”
“You’re not rubbing that in his face, are you?” Ognara asked. “Goblins are naturally smaller, and some of them are sensitive about that.”
“No.” Ortog climbed down. “I just do this, sometimes.” He set his hand atop his head and moved it forward in a straight line. “And he gets angry.”
“Because you’re checking your height against his.”
“Just to see if I’m taller yet.” He crossed into the smithy and grabbed his two favorite drifts. “But Ellanie’s a lot taller than me.” Ortog beamed. “So, can we?”
“We don’t know what inn she’s staying at,” Orgroth answered. “Anyway, our home is much nicer, and your bed will always be more comfortable than any bed at an inn.”
“She said she’s staying at the Tradesman’s Lodge.”
“I don’t think her father is expecting company.”
“Can we ask him?”
“No.” Orgroth’s gaze was distant, solemn. “Sorry.”
A town guard sergeant knocked loudly on the stable doorway. The other members of his squad stood around him. Orgroth sighed, and Ognara glared at him. Awkwardly, the sergeant cleared his throat. “It’s, uh… It’s time.”
“Only humans are allowed inside the city walls after sunset,” added a young recruit.
“We know,” Ognara growled.
“They know,” barked the sergeant, and he glared at his squaddie.
Orgroth explained, “It took a little longer to finish up, what with the sudden need for nails and screws. I hope you guys can understand.”
“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” said the sergeant. “Especially not after, you know… what you both did today.”
“How about guarding us on our way to the north gate?” Ognara spat. “The nobles are already blaming us for the appearance of that monster. You can tell your friends you were escorting us out.”
“It’s not, uh… We can’t do that. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
Orgroth set his battleaxes under the driver’s bench, atop Ognara’s claymore. “We’ll be fine for tonight.” He hitched the mare as Ortog and Ognara boarded the cart. He led them out of the stables, and with reins in hand, took his place on the bench as they joined the procession of orcs, elves, goblins, and dwarves as they all headed out of the city. The sun vanished, giving way to twilight, and with the blacksmiths’ exit, the town guards locked the north gate.