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Back to Empire on the HPe3000 Home Page
The sun was high in the sky and shined brightly down into the tunnel entrance. As they opened the front gate it cut through the darkness like a knife. The dust twisting in the still air caught by the yellow-white beams.
"Wooeh!" Ted let out a thankful, wordless cry of relief.
Emiel slammed the gate. It melded back into the hillside, undetectable once more. "Let's have a closer look at that wound." Emiel said to Ragnar.
"That beast's claw went in deep." the northman gasped.
"I see." Emiel pulled back a shredded piece of cloth from Ragnar's leg. Three deep gashes ran down from hip to knee. The deepest laid open Ragnar's upper thigh. A flap of skin came free with a wash of blood, then with each beat of Ragnar's heart a fresh, red coat flowed out. Emiel tsk'd and drew a small metal case from a pocket in his belt. The next to last, green healing tube of potion. He saw no other way to stop the loss of blood. "This will hurt." he said.
"Wait." Ragnar reached to his belt and pulled the leather strap that guarded the sharp edge of his axe. He placed it back between his teeth, bit down and mumbled out, "mmm'edy."
Emiel gave him a nod then pushed the wound's edges open wide. Ragnar made no sound but clenched his jaw and bit down. A small fountain of blood shot up, an artery cut for sure. With a careful hand Emiel poured a good third of the vial's healing contents into the wound, then let it close.
Ragnar gave a deep sigh, his body, tense and stiff, now relaxed.
"Here, drink this." Emiel said and handed over the magic potion.
Ragnar spit out the leather strap, then greedily drank the potion down. He put a finger inside the vial, swirled it around to get at every drop. "Ahhhh!" he said contentedly.
"Mikhel." Emiel faced his cringing friend. "You have not answered me. My wife. What was her fate?"
"Not here, no, no, not here." he looked around, snapping his head from side to side.
"Answer me clear." Emiel demanded. He grabbed at Mikhel's arm. The skittish man dodged and back away.
"Not Here!" he yelled, "Not Here!" and then he turned and ran.
Ragnar sat smiling, but gave a frown at the sight of his torn trouser leg. He'd placed his back against the hill's steep slope where the hidden entrance lay. A tremor ran through his back, then rudely a shove pushed him forward. The front gate began to open. Something was coming out.
"Hey Guys!" He cried loud, then slammed his shoulder against the gate.
The door snapped back with a crunch and a bony, grey-fleshed foot fell to the ground, cut off at ankle height against the gate's doorframe.
Emiel skidded to a halt. He'd set off in pursuit of Mikhel as he ran in terror down the valley path, but at Ragnar's cry Emiel cursed and let Mikhel run on. From where he stood he could see Ragnar's body shake as something rammed the gate from the inside.
"Ted!" Emiel yelled.
Ted was just a few steps from the door, but he did not lend a hand. Instead he backed away as Ragnar called to him for help.
"Ted, put your shoulder to that door!" Emiel yelled again.
Ted shook his head no, but his body obeyed the command. He screamed and threw himself against the gate and lent his strength to Ragnar's.
"They don't want to give up, it seems." laughed Ragnar. "Looks like we have the upper han..."
The door was smashed aside. Ragnar flew back and Ted tumbled down, rolled head over heels and fell into the stream.
A cloven foot stepped over the lip of the doorframe from the darkened passage into the valley light. Dark haired, grey fleshed, the leg was that of both man and beast. It wore a silvermetal kilt bound with a wide belt, clasped with a plate-sized buckle of dark steel. Above the belt, a chain shirt hung tightly over a barrel chest. The desiccated face of a bull glared at them with glowing eyes. Its steel covered horns winked in the sun, untarnished after countless years. A minotaur.
Emiel did not stop his charge. Too late to help keep the gateway closed, he pressed on and with his golden sword slashed at a bony, half-human knee above the bull-hoofed foot. His blade absorbed the late morning light and a emitted a hazy radiance that coursed across its edge. The glow moved on up his arm, and as he swung, he began to glow himself. Soon a golden aura surrounded him.
The blade struck low as the minotaur stepped forward. Its edge cut dried flesh and gouged cross bone, painful to any living man or beast, but this undead monster felt it not at all.
The minotaur's fist lashed out and grazed Emiel. He ducked and slashed again and struck its arm as the minotaur was drawing back. The razor edge trimmed two fingers from its hairy hand.
Ragnar had rolled and lost his axe. He took a precious moment to scramble across the scrub and weedy ground, then grab at the haft and run to fight beside his friend, Emiel.
* * *
(To Be Continued)