The Dead Man's tale

There was only one tent, broad and deep with four stakes on each side. Simeon’s mind told him that this was a quarters for the living.

No one stopped him. Other than a few random growls no one paid him any attention at all. Simeon pulled back the opening and found the inside brightly lit by a pair of iron braziers. A line of weathered carpet led to an ornately carved wooden casket. Shields and tapestries covered the walls. A hideously formed wood carving of a man knelt by the box, frozen in the image of penitent prayer. Simeon had passed between the burning coals and come within a few strides of his goal when the kneeling totem first opened its eyes.

The sound it made was like air through a cave. What had looked like misshapen driftwood from a distant revealed itself as exposed muscle, dried and hardened. It was dressed only in a jerkin of gray cloth and a belt that held the scabbard of a long, curved blade. It raised an arm that had been burned black from the elbow down. It was pointing to the entrance. Simeon did not move. A guttural rumble and the arm shot out again. This time Simeon turned.

And when his side was to the entrance his drew his weapon. A whooshing of cleaved air ended in a sharp crack. The blade was imbedded in the top of the creature’s nose; one eye had been cut in half, another now protruded slightly where the tip of the blade threatened to push it from its socket.

Simeon tugged on the sword. He brought a second hand to the hilt and pulled. Nothing. The sound changed in quality. It grew high and barbed, completely covering whatever noise the scimitar made as it was loosed. The sword flicked upward, an innocuous movement that ended in a ferocious clang. Simeon was on the ground. His weapon was free. The beast was standing. It passed a sword from hand to hand that had been coated with some sort of sticky black oil. Simeon felt no fear. Felt nothing. He stood.

The monster swung at the end of its range. Simeon withdrew and tapped at it as it passed. It came again and again. Just before the fourth motion he entered. It caught him just below the ribcage. Mail clinked against the metal, high on the blade. Simeon knew by the sound, like a freshly killed deer being stripped, that the cut was deep. And the beast was driving the blade to the center of Simeon’s body by sheer strength. Simeon slid up the length of the scimitar. A little closer. He brought his free hand down to resist a blade that was now digging into bone. A little closer.

Then he struck. His own sword rose above his head and dropped, splashing into the bulging eye. The creature drew back. It brought a hand to its desiccated face. It was blind. Its head turned one way, then another. It craned as if to listen, but did not turn when Simeon came up from behind.

With a running start he slashed at the leg. The monster swung back at an assailant that was already well beyond its range. Another running start, another swipe and leg was severed at the knee. The monster fell on its face. The scimitar clattered to the ground.

The scimitar was a heavy piece of steel and it required only a single cut to remove the other leg. The sorcerer’s guard/creature howled to the milling things outside, but they never came to its aid.