Bladeshire 16

By David C. Daoust

A putrid smell filled the air, Chantilles noticed it but moments before Khadory plummeted into the creature’s den, it had not yet registered in her mind. She stood wide eyed, flaming torch in hand– ready to help, yet with no way to actually achieve the action. Abe, however, began to growl. If she was not so preoccupied with the boy falling dangerously into the hole before her, she may have noticed the mastiff’s attention was no longer on the deep kiln.

“Khadory?” she called down as she circled the hole, she searched for a better angle to see what was going on below. Nothing but silence answered her.

“I promised to toss the torch down to him,” Chantilles stated to the tiny figure on her shoulder. “Yet, now… Is he even conscious? I may burn him!” Possibly light him on fire, she thought this bit to herself.

The ladder was gone; there was no way down.

Excitedly, the Spriggan suggested, “The rope! There was one in that barrel… in the shed,” Then, with a sniff, he asked, “You smell something?”

Abe’s growl shifted to a lower sound, a dangerous sound. The smell finally came to the forefront of her mind. She held her nose in disgust…

The high-pitched squeal, followed by a series of low grunts, called her attention away from the inquisitive little being on her shoulder and the deep black hole, onto the oversized hog that just hobbled out of the brush.

Abe burst into a barking fit as soon as it revealed itself.

A sight that sent Chantilles mind whirling with fear. The girl recognized the hog immediately… not just because she was familiar with Old Hindal’s troublesome pig, but because the animal was recently slaughtered.

This pig was a few shades too pale to be alive. Its skin waxy, with a blueish tint, belly ripped open, a hollow cavity within. Though really, the burning red eyes are what told her it was a monstrous thing– a horrifying thing, long before she noticed the rest. The cold chill raced over her skin; the fear seemed to collect into a lump in her gut. A lump that just sat there as her knees went weak. Chantilles did not know what to do.

“Light’s Edge,” Chut said from deep within the curtain of her loosely bound hair, pretty much hiding behind her neck at this point, “that’s unexpected.”

The zombie hog was eyeing her, scraffling at the ground.

Abe charged in heavy, barked closer; a false charge trying to scare it away. Even the dog did not want to touch the thing.

The hog held its ground. Ignored the mastiff, completely.

Chantilles still held the torch in one hand. She held the flaming stick in front of her in the hopes that it may repel the vile beast. This action made her think of the cross around her neck. The priest told her a show of faith could ward off such vile creatures. She grabbed at the holy symbol with her other hand, whipped it quickly over her head. Passing her long braid through the leather loop, she accidently knocked Chut clear off her shoulder.

The Spriggan fell to the ground with a grunt. He was up and around pretty quick; he looked like he would be okay.

Chantilles, momentarily distressed, was too distracted to apologize. She set her attention back on the undead hog.

Abe’s bark was endless, threatening to attack if it came any closer. The mastiff moved back and forth, feigning false attacks even as he continued barking at the unwelcome fiend.

Redoubling her efforts, Chantilles switched stances, she held the cross before her, solidly, with the flaming torch held like a club, threateningly. She pressed forward.

The sight of the cross sent the hog into a fit. It squealed as though in pain, but charged, full-on, at her anyway. This was not what she expected.

Abe had no choice but react, forced the pig to crash into him bodily. The heavy undead swine blasted past the mastiff. The dog was forced up and away, though swung back around to attack the hog’s hindquarters. His massive strength pulled the swine back, jaws clamped at rotting meat, until it ripped away a huge section of rump as the hog continued forward anyway. Maggots erupted from the rotting flesh. The dog spat it out and leapt at the hog fully, forcing it to fall skidding to the ground.

Chantilles ran forward and pressed the cross into the hog’s flesh. It sizzled and fried, sent the hog into a frantic spasm that forced the dog off. A hoof smashed into the dog’s side. Abe yelped in pain, though answered quickly with another bite. Abe’s strong jaw tore at the rotting neck. Maggots flew, not all in one piece, as the guard dog tore into the pallor, waxy skin of the undead hog.

Chantilles looked for a way to beat the thing with her torch, without risking harm to Abe, even as the two foes fought.  With a squeal like no other, the hog suddenly pushed itself forward, raised itself up and forced the hound back—throwing the dog at Chantilles legs.

The girl lost her balance, stumbled back. The cross flung far from her reach, torch still in hand, she dropped back into the deep black hole…