Title: Seed of Darkness
Rating: T
Summary: A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies.
Disclaimer: No one's paying me for this. I don't own the characters. Please don't sue me. I'm broke so you wouldn't get much.
chapter 3: Threats
This can't be good news.
That thought was foremost in Jack's mind as he followed his friend's stiff backside down the labyrinth of corridors that led to the Knight's Hall. He shuffled a few steps behind Elmont, and though he knew it was cowardly of him, he hoped that the seasoned Guard Captain would provide temporary cover from the brunt of whatever attack that was going to be launched at him once he stepped past those doors. They were thick doors, too. Solid oak wood, with the filigreed crest of the Guardians carved into the polished grain, but they weren't preventing the raised voices inside from being unheard. One voice in particular made him cringe. He'd endured that voice flinging raspy yells and curses in his general direction since he was six years old, and judging by the earbleedingly-high pitch it was currently raised to, his Uncle was in a flaming hot, crankiness-fueled rage.
"Bit temperamental is he, your Uncle?" Elmont asked mildly.
Jack nodded. A few strands of messy brown hair fell into his face and he brushed them aside, wished fervently that he'd had time to comb through the unruly mop. "Has all the charm and tact of an angry giant."
Elmont's lips curved up in a tight smile. "Well, you know how to handle giants, my friend." He stepped aside, sweeping an arm toward the door gaily. "In you go."
He would've objected, using the admittedly flimsy excuse about protocol dictating that the highest-ranking individual always enters first, if the double-doors hadn't been flung open at that precise moment and a skinny, red-faced farmer hadn't staggered out. His curly white hair floated like pale vapor around his head, framing his hawk-nosed, craggy face. One gnarled hand was clenched into a fist while the other pulled at the collar of his rumpled white shirt. Steel-gray eyes blinked for about half-a-second before latching onto Jack like a fishing spear.
"JACK! CURSE YOU, BOY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW!"
Even Elmont winced. A passing maid nearly dropped the chamberpot she was carrying. Jack took a deep breath as he cautiously approached the old man, holding his arms out in front of himself in an effort to look as innocent as possible. "Calm down, Uncle! What's happened?"
"THIS!" The farmer turned his head slightly, and Jack sucked in a breath of smoke-laden air as he got a look at the right side of his Uncle's face. The wrinkled skin was black with soot and red blisters were swelling up like fat grapes. Patches of cloud-fluffy hair looked singed, some had even been burned away, revealing tender, inflamed skin underneath. A few tiny wisps were all that remained of one eyebrow. Sliding back a few steps to take it all in, Jack noticed many fraying holes and tears on his Uncle's workclothes, a few of which still smoked slightly.
Jack found his tongue didn't want to work properly and so was grateful when Elmont spoke for him. 'Good Lord, man, what happened to you? And how is it Jack's fault?"
The old man stabbed one crooked, bony finger in his nephew's face, so close that if Jack were standing a step closer, he'd been poked in the eye. "Wasn't it bad enough when your foolishness destroyed my house and brought the giants down on us.? Now you have to bring DRAGONS into it, too?"
'Dragons?" Jack's brain did a mental double-take as the word sank in.
"Dragons." His Uncle nodded. "Destroyed my farm and probably made off with all my livestock, too."
"Dragons aren't real," said Elmont. He was giving the angry peasant the same sort of appraising look he might give an agitated, mentally-unsound beggar in the marketplace.
"Then can you please name any other sort of nasty-tempered, fire-breathin' beast that would swoop down upon a man's livelihood and burn it to cinders?" Elmont's stare took on the tight-jawed, cold-eyed sharpness of a trained warrior, and Uncle visibly wilted, his shoulders slumping and head ducking meekly. "Tis true, I swear."
A sound of approaching footsteps, then King Brahmwell stood silhouetted within the entrance to the Knight's Hall, the heavy doors held open for him by two Guardsmen."Then tell us everything." His tone was mild and kind as he laid a hand on Uncle's shoulder, but Jack read thrumming tension in the stiff way he carried himself. He hides it well, though. Uncle's lucky he hasn't gotten himself thrown out by now.
"Your Highness, I-" The old man's voice had finally dropped to a saner volume as he faced the King, to everyone's relief.
"Come inside and sit down, Tiberius." Still keeping one hand firmly on the old man's shoulder, Brahmwell steered him toward the open doors and the Round Table within. "Whatever this is, it is not Jack's fault. He has been within my palace all afternoon, so if he were up to some mischief involving dragons I surely would've known about it." Once the king finished ushering his unruly subject inside, Jack and Elmont followed, Jack looking considerably less dejected from having received Brahmwell's vote of confidence. Elmont spared a glance at his friend, quirking an eyebrow as if to say Dragons? Really?
The Knight's Hall was an oval room with high windows, letting in weak evening light and cool air. There was no elegant carpeting to hide the naked, rough-hewn stone, which was constantly swept clean of muddy bootprints, leaves, and any other grime that men who spent their days riding on horseback or practicing their swordplay might track in. As much as he tried to hide it, Jack always took a few seconds to gawk at the vast assortment of weapons mounted on the gray stone walls like solemn decorations, some still tarnished along their cutting edges with rusty-red stains. Swords, spears, axes, shields, every single piece of shining steel once having belonged to a knight whose deeds had long since drifted into the twisted shadowland between fact and legend. The center of the room was taken up by the Round Table, a single piece of pure black stone carved with spiraling symbols that were said to have been made by the Good Neighbors, the secret people of the Greenwood who were supposed to have hunted and sang and fought in Albion long before the first of Brahmwell's kin touched its soil.
Such things made Jack nervous.
"Sit. All of you." Brahmwell's robes swished as he took his seat, a blend of gold and white finery that contrasted with the two lean, sculpted silver lions adorning the back of his chair, facing each other with their glinting teeth bared and manes whipped up like liquid metal froth. Jack took his place next to Elmont, keeping his hands well away from the looping scrawl of eldritch writing on the Table's edge. Through the windows, the last rays of the sun were vanishing behind thick clouds, their ragged edges outlined in blazing scarlet.
"Speak your piece, Tiberius," said the king, steepling his hands as he regarded Uncle levelly.
"I was out tending to my cattle." The old man met the king's eyes briefly, then glanced at Jack. "I'd just finished feeding and watering them. I started heading back to my house, and then this green, scaly thing drops out of the sky and lands on the roof." The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed nervously. "I just stared at it like a fool. It sniffed at the air like a giant dog. Then it opened its mouth and this great blast of flame came straight at me. I threw myself to one side just in time to escape the worst of it. Most of my poor cows didn't." He paused for a moment to touch one of the blisters on his cheek, then jerked his hand away, grimacing. "Weren't nothing I could do except run. I looked back once to see my home burnin' merrily to the ground and the monster crawlin' like a lizard on all fours, hunting. Wasn't after me, Thank God, else I doubt I'd be among the living now."
"No one else has come to us complaining of dragon attacks," Elmont grumbled.
"Maybe because they're all dead!" Uncle shouted, his voice taking on its normal grouchy-old-guy tone, which told Jack the old codger was brewing himself up a fresh cup of steaming fury.
"Enough." King Brahmwell's unblinking gaze fastened on Uncle, who ducked his head. Seconds ticked by in which the king regarded everyone at the Table, and Jack's entire body felt frozen to his seat. The look the king directed at him was grave, unsmiling, and silently communicated We may be in for it again, lad. Be ready. "Elmont, at dawn tomorrow take some men with you and go investigate this man's claims. I presume you'll want to go too, Jack, since this involves your Uncle?"
"Of course, Your Highness!"
"Then, until dawn, gentlemen." The king stood, prompting everyone else to rise with him. A curt nod and they were dismissed, all except for Uncle, who stood with his head bowed and hands in his pockets, for all the kingdom like a boy caught trying to pickpocket a monk's almsbowl. Now that he'd used up all his energy to scream and rant he ceased to be a gaunt, yelling, white-haired recluse and melted down into just a tired, beaten down farmer who'd just lost his home for the second time. Jack wanted to go to him, but feared offering sympathy would be tantamont to throwing himself into a hungry giant's hand. He looks like a blacksmith attacked by his own forge.
Evidently, Brahmwell thought so too, as he laid a hand on Uncle's shoulder. "Tiberius, we will find a place for you to stay for the night. And for God's sake, ask one of the healers to treat your wounds. They look painful. And, with all due respect, I sincerely do hope you are either deranged or a liar. Fighting off giants was hard enough. Heaven help us if dragons are next!"
{O}
Dawn dragged itself like a pale curtain over the forests and fields of Albion. Billowy white and gray cumulus clouds piled on top of each other, their dense masses drifting through blue space like chunks of slate. Almost as soon as the first speck of light touched the horizon, Elmont collected a yawning, crusty- eyed Jack from his room at the palace, along with a small army of twenty armed Guardians from the barracks - who took to their predawn quest with plenty of muttered cursing - and mounted them all on horseback. An early-morning breeze, still carrying a hint of the previous night's frost, buffeted Jack's hair and face as he rode alongside Elmont, whipping through his coat so that it flapped around him like a thrush's wings. Birds twittered among the swaying branches of pine, spruce, and poplar trees growing in clumps at the edges of the Greenwood, their natural, friendly little chirps helping to calm the nagging worry buzzing through Jack's brain like a persistent little fly.
He stared intently over the ivory mane of his horse, contemplating the rolling green field spread out like a hunter's cloak before him. The last time he'd been out this way, he'd been galloping like a fiend from hell, trying to stay ahead of an army of marauding giants while warning as many people as he could about the danger. It was hard for him to keep from glancing over his shoulder every few minutes.
"So, what do you think, Jack? Is your Uncle completely starkers?" Jack was so lost in painfully-vivid memories he hadn't even noticed Elmont rein his black charger alongside his flank, bringing them almost shoulder-to-shoulder. "Personally, I think the man's one herring shy of a full net."
Jack's horse nickered softly, tossing its shaggy head. The farmboy sighed. "He's not the type to make up stories. 'That's my job,' he'd always say."
"And if by some astounding chance he's telling the truth, are you prepared to fight?"
"I'm one of you, aren't I? Of course I'll fight." But I don't know how I can win. Everything Jack had ever read about dragons said they were nearly indestructible, with hard scales impenetrable to arrows, teeth as sharp as swords, and an ability to scorch everything around them with flame. His stomach felt heavier the closer they got to Uncle's farm, as though he'd eaten iron balls instead of bread for breakfast.
Jack's spirits lifted slightly at seeing the old windmill again. Some repairs had been made since the giants nearly destroyed it. The blades were up and spinning again, operating the machinery that ground the latest batch of harvested wheat into flour. Gusts today would likely be strong enough to power it for hours. In the distance, the jagged points of the Giant's Teeth loomed; mist-shrouded, gray mountains glowered down upon the land like disapproving ancestors. Jack nape tingled at the sight. The irony of their name was not lost on him.
"Easy now, lads. The old man's farm is right over the next hill. We may be entering hostile territory." Elmont's command snapped Jack back into the present, and he gripped the reins of his horse tighter. He peered straight ahead as they crested the hill, tall grass rising up to meet them, then falling away to reveal the scene below. Jack gaped.
Trails of black smoke still rose from what was left of the thatched roof, most of it having collapsed into rugged piles. The acrid smell of burnt wood stung his nose even as his irritated eyes began to tear up. Jack kept his horse alongside Elmont as they approached. Small fires still clung to bits and pieces of shattered timber, forcing the horses to carefully choose their steps as they drew closer. Jack's horse snorted and whinnied softly, its ears pricked forward and nostrils flared as though it smelled something bad. He stroked its mane, rubbed the velvet tuft of one ear, and spared a glance up at the sky.
Slices of clear blue opening for short seconds between amorphous swells of chalky white, shifting and reforming like cracked glaze. Putting a hand up to shield his eyes, Jack held his breath, scanning.
"Jack! Come here!" Elmont's shout, tight and controlled. Jack tugged at the reins, urging his reluctant mount toward where Elmont sat astride his horse, beckoning, a cluster of Guardians already gathering around him. They seemed to be staring at a patch of ground, and when Jack got closer he could see why. Pools of blood saturated the churned-up earth, hunks of grass, soil, and animal dung all mixed into a damp, reddish-brown quagmire. Twin trails of spilled red ran in drips nd smears back to the splintered remains of a white picket fence; formerly an animal pen, now charred-black in places. The smell of smoke and burned meat was thick in the air, and Jack had to croon reassurances into his horse's twitching ear in an attempt to settle its nervous prancing. The other Guardians were having similar trouble with their own mounts, and Elmont looked stone-faced and grim.
"Well, there it is," the knight said. He scanned the assembled crowd, eyes lingering for a moment on Jack, then flicking away. "Something happened here, but no evidence to prove the culprits were anything other than simple raiders."
A Guardian with shoulder-length brown hair shook his head. "Raiders wouldn't slaughter the animals like this."
Elmont snapped, "Maybe they caught them on a bad day. Who knows?"
They lapsed into a heated debate about the habits of raiders and how they acquired their ill-gotten goods and what they did with them afterwards and how this whole expedition had nothing to go on but the word of a cranky old man who, a few argued, most likely got drunk and torched the place himself. Others insisted it had to be some kind of animal attack, maybe wolves or bears, but such creatures wouldn't have been capable of burning everything to the ground so that led them right back to the same explanation, which was no explanation at all. The wash of raised male voices quickly turned into a buzz in Jack's ears and he sidled his horse away from the stamping and arguing, feeling uneasy and restless. He rolled his shoulders, once, twice, trying to ease out some of the tension. Stretching his neck, he let his head tip backwards, casting his eyes to the mixture of blue sky and clouds above.
Just in time to mark its path as a dark shape flicked through a gap of blue between two dove-gray clouds.
'Um, Elmont?" Jack's heart began beating like a frightened sparrow in his chest. "I think..."
A large, misshapen mass of red and white splatted to the ground just a few feet away from the farmboy. The impact was hard enough to send wet little droplets flying in all directions, landing on the faces and uniforms of the circle of Guardians. All argument cut off mid-sentence as though a whip had been cracked across their noses and they turned as one to stare at the sad, mutilated thing that had once been a cow. The horns were still there, which made it recognizably bovine in nature, but the rest of it was chewed-up and glistening wet, with huge chunks of it missing and the muscles exposed. the bones looked thin and melted away, as if they'd been steeping in acid.
From somewhere in the stunned crowd a tremulous voice said,"Ewww."
And then all hell broke loose.
Author's Note: While writing this, I got tired of referring to Jack's Uncle as just "Uncle" or "old man." So I decided to give the guy a name. "Tiberius" sounds kind of grouchy but with some of its dignity left, so I thought it suited him. I wanted him to come off just as much of a jerk as he did in the movie, but with his second home newly obliterated he kind of has a reason to be that way.
I don't beg for reviews but it would be nice to get some feedback. I'll keep going regardless. This story is my obsession.