Chapter 3: Kill it! Kill it with Fire!
When he reached the city, he found the gates already barred. He cried for the gatemen, but no one answered. Looking to the sky, Leon ascertained that it could be no later than eight in the evening and to his knowledge there was no reason the gates should be locked up this early. He waited a moment before pelting the gate with a round of heavy fisted knocks. Leon silently thanked the heavens for his hands. Still he received no answer. The torches were lit—someone was standing by.
"Gatemen, this is Sir Leon—knight of Camelot," he hated pulling rank, but if the times called for it, "Gatemen!"
"Sir Leon?" came a cockney voice. The helmeted head of a gateman appeared briefly on the parapet before disappearing again. A moment later the portcullis lifted and the gates creaked open. Leon was greeted by a quartet of guards whose individual heights descended humorously from man to man.
"Sir Leon," spoke the shortest man, "there's been an attack! A guard was sent to retrieve you, your presence is required immediately."
Leon dug his heels into the ground to keep from jumping for joy, all thoughts of his forest adventure long forgotten.
"An attack you say," he began with a steady voice. "Where am I to go?" he asked already edging in the direction of the castle.
"Go straight to the castle," said the tallest one.
"Take the horse," said the second shortest man.
"Godspeed," said the last.
Leon mounted the horse like the knight he was, chuckled briefly at the at the height disparity amongst the strange guards, and rode hard for the castle. His mind was a veritable stew of ideas and conjured shapes. What matter of man or beast could be terrorizing Camelot today? It must be large and fearsome. They were always large and fearsome. Plus, the inhabitants of Camelot were attacked with such frequency that most had taken on iron-skins and could no longer be easily moved to fear. Yet he'd seen with his own eyes how the gates were drawn shut and the portcullis locked. Clearly, this would be a fearsome beast. Leon's heart thumped with excitement.
He wondered if he should return to the armory for additional arms. Then again he really hadn't the slightest clue what kind of crazed, one hundred year old sorcerer, or naked mole rat like creature he'd face. Sometimes it seemed that all it took was a quick wave of a torch. If Leon had learned anything during his time as a knight it was that: in a fight with a monster, the man holding the fire won. Even if the flame didn't buy a complete victory, it always seemed to buy time for an unpredictable, coincidental, and impressively well-timed solution. It was almost like magic. Leon laughed knowingly—the only magic ever present in Camelot was hell-bent on destroying it. "Magic," he laughed again.
When he reached the castle, he found it locked up tighter than Sir Lancelot's sense of humor. Today though, Leon's name seemed to carry special weight, for as soon as he announced himself, the castle's gates too swung open.
"Oh thank heavens!" said Sir Cranford rushing toward him. His gauntlets clanged as they met the mail of Leon's shoulders. Around them, the courtyard bore the deserted aftermath of what had surely been Camelot's attacker. Barrels were strewn about in various states of wholeness. Grain, bits of what had been a cabbage cart, cloth, and parts of various other day-to-day objects littered the cobblestone. Leon spotted a few burnt out torches.
"So they'd already tried the fire," Leon thought.
"Leon!" thundered a voice from behind him. Leon turned to find the rugged countenance of another familiar knight.
"Gwaine! Exactly what—"
"Someone fetch this man some armor," Gwaine interrupted. Leon looked at his chest a little confused: he was already wearing mail. Gwaine placed one hand on Leon's back and the other on Sir Cranford's. "Let's move to shelter shall we gentlemen," he said and gave the two a nudge. Safely under the lip of an overhang Leon began his questioning anew.
"Gwaine, what-"
"Glad you brought a sword," Gwaine said tapping Leon's sword with his own. "You'll be needing that."
"I imagine so, now what exactly are we fighting?" Just then a ghastly screech ripped through the air. It sounded something like a pair of dueling cats, or an angry baby, or a goat after you've snuck up on it covered in furs and growling because it was knight training and the other knights bet you wouldn't do it.
"That," said Gwaine motioning his sword to the sky.
As the beast flew into view, Leon couldn't help but be reminded of a creature Arthur had once invented whilst lying to his father. This beast was a macabre nightmare. Its thick body was wrapped in a rough, furless, gray hide. A large fin-like horn jutted from the center of its head. Two beady, black globes stared out from either side of the horn. Its two front legs bore feet like those of a rooster—sharp talons opened and closed daring anyone to approach it. Its posterior end sported not legs, but a tail like that off a giant beaver. To finish off this hodgepodge disaster of a thing were two, great, leathery wings—like those of a bat. Leon's jaw hung slack.
"Right, so, we've already tried fire," Gwaine said. Leon only managed to gurgle in reply.