Bladeshire 2

By David C. Daoust

The raucous barking continued as the mastiff charged out of Redcap Creep. A bark that seemed to echo into the distance as the frantic dog, freed from its impending doom, got as far from the sucking wetlands as fast as it possibly could. The young girl, Chantilles, could hear the old dog even as she raced back into the swamp to find Braidon. She called out with worry when she realized he had not followed, convinced she was a fool to leave him. She found the boy sprawled forward; the slurping mud having brought him almost all the way under. He was surely on the brink. She did what she could to grab ahold of him… it all seemed hopeless. The girl, witnessing a nightmare, did what she could to try and keep a grip as the mud threatened to entomb him.

Braidon struggled against the sucking swamp water. The back of his oversized helm, pressed, forced the eye-slits out of place. All he could see was the inside of the helmet as the mud pulled him further under. Its leather strap dug into his jaw as the mud continued to cake around him. Hands buried in slopping mud– he could just barely feel Chantilles’ presence as she scrambled to get a grip on him.

Braidon felt something shift beneath him; something moved.

Far below the water’s edge, a long sleek eel, native to the area, finally abandoned its den. A den which was slowly collapsing thanks to, first the mastiff that had compromised the earth above, then the boy that got caught up trying to rescue it. A Giant Swamp Eel which spent its days tunneling through the mud, leaving massive cavities in its wake… massive sink holes. One of many such creatures that lived in the wetlands. Truly, neither of the children should be anywhere near the Creep.

The massive slimy body, four foot wide and eighteen feet long, slithered through the swamp water, vanished within its muddy depths. Lucky for the children it was disturbed from slumber, rather than awakened by hunger. The eel abandoned its collapsing home, which left the slurping mud an even bigger pocket to fill.

Braidon did not see any of this, but he felt it. Abruptly, he was sucked in all the faster; he felt the panicked girls’ hands slide away. He slipped from her grasp, pulled into the mud- at long last swallowed, just as he had feared.

Mouth clamped shut, unable to breath.

The cold, thick darkness engulphed him.

Pressed tight.

Something reached in and grabbed him.

A massive, clawed hand gripped him at his shoulder, with one great heave– ripped him up out of the mud to dangle in the air.

Cold mud dripped from him in gobs, Braidon hung helplessly. Hastily he scraped the muck from his face and eyes. Helm righted, vision clear; he stared at the muzzle of a dog, fierce eyes above, and a wild mane of dark fur.

It was a dog-man, a Kyoba.

Its head was huge, three times the size of a man’s. Its chest full and round, covered in the same black fur. It stood on two beastlike legs, though hunched. It wore unusual pants; wide upper legs that tapered down, wrapped tight, on the lower leg. A leather belt… possibly a baldric, Braidon could not see what hung from it. A large decorative plate covered its left shoulder, like a shield– maybe a pauldron.

Braidon recalled stories from when he was very young: The Kyoba lived in the wetlands, said to be feral. More like a beast than man, though unnatural in form; to call them either was false. They were considered monsters. He had never actually seen one before now, yet Braidon found an immediate familiarity he could not place.

The Kyoba dropped the boy to the ground with distaste, maybe disgust. As though he was too small to be useful. As in, he was not good for the payment required for its attention. Braidon could tell all this by its mannerisms alone. The boy scrambled to his feet, found the creature considerably taller. Its furry arm, covered in mud, was the only thing that matched the small human. Eyes wide, heart racing; he did not trust it.

Courageously, Braidon readied himself, crouched for action– ready to lunge in any direction. He scanned the area, found Chantilles unharmed. A second dark furred Kyoba held her back. Once the boy’s attention was upon them, she was released as well. Clearly, it was only holding her out of the way as the other reached into the mire to save him. He included the second Kyoba in his evasion plans, even as it studied him like a bug.

Faster than the boy could see the first Kyoba’s thin blade came up under his chin. Braidon’s planned lunge never even happened. Luckily, the blade did not cut flesh. Instead, sliced through the leather strap that held the kettle helm so tightly to his head. It took the helm and pushed the boy back to the ground.

Fluidly, it returned the blade to its sheath, over a short club-like tail, the pair of crossed single-edged knives were sheathed within a decorative fold at the small of its back.

In truth, it almost felt good when the helm was lifted away; it did not fit him to begin with and became even more uncomfortable as the time passed– Braidon had had it on most of the day. Yet, his stomach sank with the loss of the helm… Snatched from him. Stolen! How could he ever get it back?

The creature did not look at him again. Pointedly ignored, it only studied the metallic sheen of the helm as it scraped mud from its surface. With this action Braidon noted its four fingers and opposable thumb, almost like a man, yet each digit ended in a wicked claw. The furry black thumb was the only part of the creature that Braiden could agree was ‘human-like.’ The creature stood hunched over legs that bent more like that of a dog; it had a stifle and hock where a human had a knee and ankle, all balanced over large, padded paws that held its weight on two legs. The hunched creature, despite this, moved with ease.

Pleased with the helm, the dog-man’s attention shifted to the surrounding environment. It emitted a series of low cackles from deep within its chest. Many more such sounds could be heard from the surrounding swamp– all in answer to the first.

What the children could not know was that the call decreed the human children ‘free to go,’ and all its pack answered their understanding.

The call, that chatter, was all so familiar, that to his surprise, Braidon instinctively tried to answer with a call of his own. The boy felt the attempt within his chest and throat. His was silent, he did not have the right anatomy for such noises. He grimaced with his inability to achieve it.

The second Kyoba, however, reacted to the boy’s attempt to answer. For the first time, it looked at him as more than just an insect.

Braidon had its attention, its eyes narrowed as it studied the boy… How he knew it was female was as big a mystery as how he knew she recognized something about him. He understood without her speaking a word. He had a connection with these Kyoba, one he could not explain. One he never heard any other speak of.

Braidon grimaced as his helm was shoved in a sack before the dog-man dropped down onto all fours. It leapt up onto the gnarly roots that arched over the sloping mud. It caught itself with its hands and loped further off. The Kyoba moved as easily on all fours as it did on two.

The female was quick to follow as they jetted off into the swamp. They proved capable of jumping from one root mound of a gnarly eruption to another– some fifteen feet apart, easily.

Dog-like whoops and cackles sounded from the brush as the Kyoba pack evacuated the area. None to be witnessed by Braidon’s eye; even Chantilles would forever wonder exactly how many there were.

The two children sat, covered in mud, bewildered at the experience, yet safe. Paid in full, though they did not know it. In truth, they did not owe anything to anyone for their lives.

That is, except Bladeshire Abbey– the ancient ‘Helm of Sir Brutius,’ a holy artifact meant to be on display within the foyer, now belonged to a Dog-man.

The weight of which sat in Braidon’s stomach like a stone.