Chapter 8 – Rats and Wolves

Geth glowered, then glanced back at his gang of thieves for strength. Aside from himself, there were ten other members of the Plague Rats, ranging in size and armament, but all just as physically imposing, if not more so, than the man wearing a suit of armor before them. “You want to make this hard for us?” Geth said, gritting his teeth as he did so. “Fine, then. Boys, show him why the people of Varin fear the Plague Rats.”

Three of the thugs circled Sir Kyr. Two of them carried knives, while the third clutched a large sword clumsily in his right hand, dragging the blade along the cobblestones behind him. The knight swung his helmet, looking back and forth, then proceeded to laugh heartily.

“This is truly the best you can do?” he said, chuckling as he did so. “Do you really think those tiny knives are going to stand a chance against my plate armor? You’d have to be phenomenally lucky to get in a hit through the hinges or between the plates.” He gestured to the third thug. “And I can tell that you’ve never trained with a sword a day in your life.” He carelessly slid his own swords back into their scabbards. “I won’t need these to deal with the likes of you.”

The first thug, enraged, charged forward, slashing at Sir Kyr’s helmet with his knife. Sir Kyr bent backwards slightly, the knife thrust passing harmlessly by him. He bolted back upright, and as the thug stumbled and tried to keep his balance, Sir Kyr struck him in the back with a gauntleted fist, slamming him to the street below, which the Plague Rat struck with a pained cry. The second thug took this opportunity to try and stab Sir Kyr from behind, but somehow sensing the coming blow, he effortlessly sidestepped the blade, then grabbed his attacker by the neck. The second thug futilely batted at the arm holding him, trying to free himself. Sir Kyr lifted him into the air as if he weighed nothing, as the remaining Plague Rats watched on, awed.

“I could crush your neck right now,” Sir Kyr said matter-of-factly.

With his attention focused solely on the second of his opponents, the first took the opportunity to scramble away from Sir Kyn and get back to his feet, breathing heavily, face pale and coated in sweat. The third thug, meanwhile, lifted his sword above his head and brought it clumsily down on Sir Kyr, striking his helmet with a metallic clang that rang out through the street. It dented the side slightly, but otherwise seemed to have no effect. Sir Kyr slowly turned to look at his assailant, holding the second thug aloft all the while. Without a word, he hurled the man he held at the Plague Rat holding the sword, sending them both tumbling over backwards in a confused heap to the street. Before they could recover, Sir Kyn dashed towards where they had fallen with superhuman speed. Raising his metal shot foot, Sir Kyn brought it down on the second thug’s back with all his strength. They all, Plague Rats and twins alike, heard the sickening cracking sound that resulted and saw the spurt of blood that Sir Kyn’s victim coughed up before dying. The third Plague Rat, blubbering in sheer terror, tried to reach for where his weapon had fallen, but Sir Kyr stepped on his hand and remorselessly ground it beneath his heel until he had successfully broken every bone. His target screamed in a mixture of horror and agony, writhing on the cobblestone street.

“I promised that I would protect these children,” Sir Kyr said softly. “And you would threaten their lives, threaten my oath. Now you see the consequences.”

“Hey!”

Sir Kyr stood up with remarkable alacrity and spun towards the speaker. The first thug, still trembling, stood in the doorway to the coach house, the knife in his hand pressed against the edge of Zaphyr’s throat. Both twins, caught in the act of trying to sneak away, stood there unmoving, their eyes wide and full of fear. Zaphyr struggled slightly, trying to pull free, and scratched her neck against the knife’s edge as she did so. “Hold still, you idiot,” the thug holding her grunted, “unless you want to cut your own throat.” Zaphyr ceased resisting.

“You have just made your greatest and final mistake,” Sir Kyr said without emotion.

“I’d say the same to you, buddy,” Geth said, sneering, as he and the rest of his companions moved to stand between the knight and his captured wards. “We’ve got the children, now. You may be tough, but even you can’t fight all nine of us at once, and we could slit both their throats before you reached them.”

Sir Kyr didn’t bother responding to that, instead reaching into his belt and pulling out a small purse, which jingled musically as he held it. “My remaining golden crowns,” he told them. “A small fortune. Take the, and give me the children, and we can all depart today happy.”

Geth laughed nastily at that. “Think you’re so smart, huh? Well, the Master has promised us a far larger fortune to kill these kids, something which makes that little bag look like a beggar’s scraps. Still, I’m not one to turn down an easy mark. I think I have a simple plan worked out here. We’ll kill the children, then we’ll kill you, and we then take both. Easy enough, right, boys?”

Sir Kyr growled, a feral and remorseless sound. Geth blanched, then looked to the largest of his associates, a burly man with a perpetual scowl on his face clutching an enormous sledgehammer in his hands.

“Mirk, if he moves, I want you to crush him,” Geth said. Mirk grunted an affirmative response.

Zaphyr, while pretending to remain panicked about the knife pressed to her throat, whispered to Zull, “When I give the signal, run.”

“What’s the signal?” he asked.

In response, a spurt of blood erupted from the scratch in Zaphyr’s neck, perfectly aimed to strike the thug holding her in the eyes, blinding him momentarily. Crying out in surprise as he tried to wipe his eyes clean, he dropped his knife. Zull kicked it out into the center of the cobblestone street then, taking Zaphyr by the hand, sprinted down towards the gate leading out of the city and into the bustling crowd. “I learned that trick from you,” Zaphyr said in response to her sibling’s relieved grin.

Geth snarled and, pointing in their direction, shouted, “Capture them! They aren’t escaping from us that easily again!” The Plague Rats started to pursue them, before halting at the sound of a calm voice behind them saying, “You have forgotten about one thing, gentleman: me.”

The Plague Rats turned back to Sir Kyr, who had drawn his swords once more. “Kill him quickly,” Geth said quietly, and all the Plague Rats, including the knife-wielding thug who had finished wiping the blood from his eyes, advanced upon and circled their lone opponent.

For a moment, the battle reached an impasse. The length and deadly skill of Sir Kyr’s blades prevented any of the Plague Rats from approaching close enough to strike him with their own weapons, but whenever he would try to stab towards one of them, they would dance back out of reach. The Plague Rats stood in a rough semicircle around Sir Kyr, who remained as unflappable as ever, in stark contrast to Geth, who was shaking, although with fear or rage none could tell.

“I’m getting tired of this, and those children are getting further away every moment,” Geth snapped. “Mirk!”

The colossus of a man, who had holstered his sledgehammer, stepped into the range of Sir Kyr’s twin blades, which the knight brought in from either side as if to cut the man in two. Mirk surprised the knight, however, by catching each blade in his own hands, ignoring the jagged slashes they cut across his palms. Sir Kyr struggled, trying to complete his weapon’s arcs, but the giant man held his blades fast. While he was pinned, the other Plague Rats moved in eagerly, hacking and slashing at Sir Kyr from every angle with everything from mere fists to planks of wood with nails or pieces of broken glass embedded in them.

As the blows rained down, denting and scratching his armor still further, Sir Kyr suddenly released his blades and, diving forward, struck Mirk in the stomach with his gauntleted fist. Despite the force of his blow, Mirk remained unflappable, not budging an inch. Dropping Sir Kyr’s blades as well, Mirk drew his sledgehammer with his now blood-caked palm and, lifting it above his head, brought it down towards Sir Kyr. The agile knight dodged to the side of the blow and right into the path of another of the thugs, who struck him across the face. While it did not hurt him, the blow nevertheless sent him stumbling backwards towards another pair of grinning criminals, who, carrying lengths of rope stolen from the docks, wrapped it around Sir Kyr’s neck. Even as he jerked frantically to try and break free, they only pulled the loops tighter, preventing his escape.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Mirk grunted to himself as he brought his sledgehammer above his head then slammed it down again, striking Sir Kyr squarely in his helmet’s protracted mouth with a thunderous crash. The blow crushed the entire front of the mask into a mangled mass of metal. The Plague Rats all heard the high-pitched whine of stressed metal, then a snap, as the bolt holding the helmet in place came loose. It hang loosely around Sir Kyr’s head, who, after receiving the blow, stood there limply, panting heavily.

“Remove it,” Geth ordered. “I want to be able to see the look on his face as we disembowel him.”

Grinning, the two thugs who had the length of chain wrapped around Sir Kyr’s throat did as ordered, pulling the helmet off their captive’s head. As they did so, they stood there, struck dumb for a moment, before the helmet dropped from their fingers limply.

“Impossible,” Geth said weakly.

Beneath his helmet, Sir Kyr possessed the head of an enormous gray wolf, covered with countless scars. Two beady, intelligent yellow eyes gleamed in his head, watching with amusement and contempt Geth’s utter terror. Sir Kyr pulled back his lips, revealing two rows of bloodied fangs, one of which had been knocked loose by the blow to his face. He spat, and the tooth landed at Mirk’s feet, whose scowl deepened even further.

“Abomination!” Geth spat at Sir Kyr.

Sir Kyr responded by tensing his muscles, then, with one swift jerk, snapping the ropes wound around his neck, freeing himself. He whirled around and, ripping off his gauntlets, revealed that beneath them his hands were covered in gray fur and ended in vicious, inhuman claws. Before the two thugs who had been holding him a moment ago could react, he slashed both of their throats, killing them before they could draw another breath. He then turned towards Mirk, who advanced ploddingly towards him, unphased by his opponent’s monstrous appearance. He swung his sledgehammer at Sir Kyr’s snout, but the wolf knight dodged to the side, then sprung, howling, towards the brute. Mirk’s eyes widened in surprise, but he could not move away in time before Sir Kyr’s mouth closed around his throat and his fangs latched into the exposed flesh.

Grunting in pain, Mirk grabbed either side of Sir Kyr’s jaw, trying to pull it open, but despite his best efforts he could not force the wolf knight free. A berserker fury had come upon Sir Kyr, and his strength was nearly doubled compared to before. Mirk began striking the side of Sir Kyr’s head repeatedly, desperate to dislodge his attacker from his throat, but in the end, it was pointless. With a deep growl Sir Kyr pulled the chunk of flesh still clutched in his jaws free, and a jet of blood gushed from Mirk’s neck as he gagged and swiftly choked to death. The giant of a man fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud boom as Sir Kyr stood over him, using his long, crimson tongue to lick the remainders of Mirk’s blood from his snout and hands. Having finished this task, he faced Geth once more, along with his five remaining Plague Rats.

“I like to go for the neck,” Sir Kyr said, his tone as nonchalant as ever. This made his voice seem even more disturbing, coming as it did from his animal face and mouth. “It’s the most vulnerable part of the body. I hope you now realize how doomed you are? I’ll take your quaking silence as a yes.”

Geth uttered a wordless shriek as he and his followers turned to flee from the blood caked apparition before them. Even as they fled, Sir Kyr slowly walked over, picked up one of his swords from where it had fallen, and, hefted it for a second. After doing so, he hurled it towards Geth’s retreating back, watching as the sword cut through the fleeing leader of the Plague Rats, cleanly bisecting him. Geth’s corpse collapsed in two pieces upon the heels of his comrades. The remaining Plague Rats halted then, terrified and unsure what to do without a leader.

Sir Kyr dropped down onto both hands and feet and galloped towards the surviving Plague Rats, who frantically tried to keep him at bay with whatever weapons they still had. Their attacks were less than useless against him, however, and in a frenzied whirlwind of claws, blood, and fur, he tore through them, methodically dismembering each of the Plague Rats until at last only Sir Kyn still stood. He perched atop a pile of corpses, panting heavily, the fur on his wolf’s head slick with gore. He spat again, dislodging another lose fang from his mouth, and slowly ran the back of one of his clawed hands across his face, grimacing as he did so. He stood there for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to remember something vital. His amber eyes lit with an inner light as he said aloud, “Ah! So that’s what it was.”

He turned slowly and faced the criminal who had been carrying the sword improperly whose hand he had shattered. The thug still lay huddled on the cobblestones where he had fallen, watching Sir Kyr, breathing lightly, face ashen.

“You’re still conscious?” Sir Kyr said aloud, baring his fangs once more, causing the thug to flinch back in surprise and terror. “Hmm. You have a greater tolerance for pain than I would have at first suspected.”

The thug propped himself up on one elbow, then said, “If you’re going to kill me, monster, then get it over with, and don’t toy with me.”

Sir Kyr blinked his wolf’s eyes once. “I don’t intend to kill you,” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “No, I need you to do something for me.”

The thug gulped nervously but managed to maintain his composure, waiting expectantly.

“Yes,” Sir Kyr continued. “You see, I know that someone, this ‘Master,’ hired you poor fools to try and kill these children. What I don’t know is who, how, or most importantly, why. My guess would be that you don’t know those things either, but you would at least know how to pass a message along to this ‘Master’ of yours. And that is why I need you.” He pointed the tip of his sword at the thug’s face. “Tell your Master that it does not matter who he sends to try and slay these children. They are under my protection, and every foe shall meet the same fates as your former companions.” Sir Kyr held his sword aloft, the blade still sticky and dripping with blood. In the early afternoon light which shone behind him, it looked like the twisted, flayed limb of some strange creature, spattered in gore. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” the former Plague Rat said meekly, trying and failing to bow to Sir Kyr from his crouched position as he did so.

“Very good,” Sir Kyr said, and, after retrieving his other sword and broken helmet, turned his back on the trembling thug and walked away towards the city gates.

As he approached the crowd thronging around the gate, Sir Kyr could hear with his ever-sharp ears the growing muttering and stifled gasps amidst the mass as more and more people noticed his presence. He looked like something out of a madman’s nightmare, a wolf wearing human armor, caked in half-dried blood, a sword in each hand, staggering along under the weight of his exhaustion and injuries. The crowd dissipated around him instantly, allowing Sir Kyr to stumble along towards the gate. The strength which had come to him in his rage had departed entirely, leaving him barely able to stand. And yet, somehow, he managed to not just stand but walk on towards the gate, bearing the terrified eyes of the surrounding populace, and hearing over and over again, whispered on countless lips, the same vile word.

“Abomination.”

Reaching the gate, Sir Kyr halted and turned to face the crowd. His mere gaze was enough to make them flinch, although their own fear paradoxically pinned them in place, preventing them from fleeing. “I know what you call me, though none of you are brave enough to say it aloud,” Sir Kyr said in a guttural snarl of a voice that made the crowd shrink back still further. “And what of it? Do you think I care for your opinion? Do you think I care if a couple of mewling fish folk in a backwater town like this call me a monster?” He threw back his wolf’s head and laughed. “The most amusing part is, you’re right. I am an abomination.” He lowered his head and, in a somewhat softer voice, said, “You have nothing to fear from me. I will leave Varin, and never return. Of that, you have my word.”

Without further comment, Sir Kyr turned and walked away, leaving the throng to watch with growing relief as he drew further and further away from their city.

Sir Kyr walked a short distance down the dirt road leading away from Varin, until reaching a small grove of trees, in which he saw the twins, resting for a bit before continuing their journey. Upon seeing him, they froze, mouths open.

“S-sir Kyr?” Zaphyr said incredulously. “Is that…you?”

He nodded wearily. “It is.”

“You were a hemomantic abomination the entire time,” Zull said in an awed whisper. “I didn’t know they were even capable of thought.”

Sir Kyr turned upon him an angered glare, but composing himself instantly, said, “Yes, boy, I am what you and the good folk of Varin so aptly call an ‘abomination,’ and I am, in fact, capable of thought. Some people even share that qualify, in fact.”

“I’m sorry,” Zull added hastily. “I didn’t realize…”

“Spare me a worthless apology,” Sir Kyr said, dismissing Zull’s words with a wave of his hand.

“But if you are a…well, a wolf person, how did you get that way? Abomination-er-hemomantic lifeforms like yourself must be made by someone, after all,” Zaphyr asked curiously.

Sir Kyr sighed. “That, my dear, is a long and painful story.”

Zaphyr crossed her legs and sat down amidst the roots of a particularly large oak tree. Zull leaned against the tree, watching Sir Kyr curiously. Zaphyr patted the ground besides her. “We have nothing better to do, and a long journey ahead of us. Besides, you look weary.” she said. “Sit down and tell us. Maybe we can help.”

Groaning softly to himself, Sir Kyr sat down and did as she had asked.