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Our first place Middle School category winner was written by Stone Hill Middle School student Ronan Stone of Ashburn, Virginia. |
Norway 876 A.D.
Death had visited the coast. From the carnage of the unhinged gates of the ruined hall, smoke from the battered hearth fire billowed out into the moonless night, mingling with the stench of the dead that lay amongst it. Over the piles of corpses and overturned benches in the ruined building, a grotesque shape hunched over the body a well clad man, sinking dirtied yellow fangs deeper into its prey, savoring the taste of the unusual meat. A clatter of hooves and the sound of horns across the night wind caused the creature to look up. As the sounds grew nearer and the cries of men became distinguishable, the creature rose, locking a pair of gnarled clawed hands around the body and started to shuffle in a crablike manner across the hall. Out onto the wave pounded coast it strode, away from the bright torches of men, into the night, to feast in its own terrible halls. So it was that the Bane of the Shores left behind the wails of anguish of a newly returned hunting party, moving further from the bloodied hall of Aelthean Highprow, chieftain, warrior, and now father to a newly murdered son.
One year later…
Ulric the Dane crouched in the hall, his roving eyes sweeping over the rent and scored hall tables, formulating their use in his plan. A tap on his mailed shoulder caused him to turn. Standing before him was another man clad in a mail coat with two battle worn swords slung across his broad shoulders, looking at Ulric with clear grey eyes that resembled the Danish warrior’s own. Rising, he asked his companion “Is everything ready?”
Quickly Ulric’s brother, Hrolf, made his report.
“The fire is well lit, and the men are ready. All we have to do now is to wait for it.” Ulric nodded and issued a further order.
“Get those tables turned on their sides, they’ll make good barricades.” Hrolf acknowledged his brother’s order and strode off, making the necessary adjustments to the large tables. Ulric watched his brother for awhile as he gave orders to the assortment of battle hardened mercenaries that he and his brother commanded jointly. Then he departed, striding around the well lit hall and noting everything in the once magnificent structure. It was apparent to see the deep rents and tears in the timbers as well as torn and battered wall hangings. It must have been a place of jaw dropping beauty, Ulric thought, but not anymore. His reverie was broken by the approach of a tall, gray bearded man whose wrinkled face was a mask of tragedy. The long thin scar that ran from his right ear to jaw line contracted as he spoke,
“Well? Can you rid my people of this creature? You and your band certainly have been paid their weight in gold!”
Ulric nodded and replied,
“You do well to trust us Lord Highprow. For if anyone can rid you of this nameless horror, ‘tis us. ” Shaking his head Aelthean Highprow stalked off muttering under his breath, until Ulric’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“My Lord,” he called, “it would be best to move your people to the cellars. If the creature comes, they would be safer there.” Turning to face him, the grizzled chieftain nodded his approval and then continued walking.
The fire burned lower as the night hours grew. Waiting on either side of the reinforced gate, Ulric’s men crouched, each clad in a mail jerkin and a battered war-helm, fingering their weapons in sweat drenched palms. Whispering to Hrolf beside him, Ulric said,
“Get Bjorn to take a look around. I’ve got a feeling that the creature isn’t coming tonight!”
Nodding his head, Hrolf motioned to a man on the other side of the door. Then gesturing at the gate, Hrolf put a hand over his eyes and looked around the pitch black hall. The man understood and slid noiselessly to a crack in the gate. Peering out into the gloom, the man scanned the ground outside the hall. After a few seconds time, he returned to his former position shaking his head. Ulric let out a deep sigh and settled back; it was going to be a long night.
A pale moon shone in the sky as the creature lurched forward, blood gained from a fresh kill dribbling from its misshaped lips. It had seen the bright light of the hall fire, and had responded by dropping the body of a sea bird and heading towards the hall. It had been many a long day since the iron-men had lit a fire, and so it assumed that food in bountiful quantities was to be had. Shuffling off into the scrublands in its odd walk the beast contemplated its next feast, bloody images running through a warped mind. It was a night for killing.
Ulric’s limbs ached after the prolonged standing in the hall. The fire was all but non-existent, having almost burned down to ashes after having not been fed for a while. Gripping his immense double headed axe, Drakebreath, in numb hands, Ulric readjusted himself and mentally berated himself, not for the first time in the past years, for getting caught up in this whole life of war and battle, when he could be doing something useful, like farming or working as a blacksmith. He was about to begin further admonishing himself when he suddenly caught sight of his brother placing a hand to his lips and motioning at the timbers of the gate. Understanding Ulric grasped Drakebreath more securely in his hands, and inched forward, knowing his brother had spotted something. Placing an eye gently up against the gate he glimpsed a large shadow moving slowly across the sands, a low growl of anticipation escaping from its throat. Easing back into his former position, Ulric nudged Hrolf and whispered almost noiselessly to him. After a few minutes Hrolf raised his head and mouthed the words ‘get ready’ to the men on the other side of the door. They understood and raised blades and spears, sweat beading down their brows, as they took up positions behind the overturned tables.
Minutes passed and nothing was heard outside the hall. Finally an unearthly snarl was emanated from the door. A few seconds later the door caved in taking with it a twisted contorted shape. As it hit the floor, Ulric’s score of mercenaries surrounded it, weapons bristling about it. The monster moved fast, shooting out two enourmous legs like pistons and caught two men who were jabbing at it from behind a table. Their screams mingled with the roars of fury from the monster as it started flinging mercenaries left and right, hurling them shrieking into the rickety wall.
Hefting the mighty haft of Drakebreath in his hands, Ulric flung himself at the creature bellowing his battle cry,
“Eeiiahyeee, death’s on the wind!”
Swinging his axe at the dark foe, the Danish warrior caught the monster in the leg, causing it to scream in pain. Ducking the whirling arms of the fiend, Hrolf joined his brother, his twin blades flashing like flame as he hacked at the unprotected side of the dark shadowy shape. Bellowing with rage, the creature backed away from the two brothers, towards the ruined gate, only to find the spear blade of another warrior waiting for it. As the mercenary thrust with his spear, the creature, with a speed that belied its size, dodged the probing blade and tossed itself at the man. Letting out one final horrific scream, the man was enveloped by the massive bulk of his opponent. Every man in the hall winced at the sound of the mercenary’s spine snapping like a twig.
Barring its foul teeth at the shocked warriors, the creature lumbered off into the dark night, grunting with exertion from its wounds. Following in its wake were a mass of blood covered tracks, mingling with the sands of the shore. Paralyzed by shock at what had just happened, the mercenaries stood motionless, faces dumb and weapons hanging loosely in numb hands as their minds strove to believe the sights they had witnessed.
Ulric was the first to recover his composure. Muttering curses he glared at the fast receding shadow of the beast, and then he turned back to his men. They stood gazing witlessly at the creature’s carnage as their Danish leader walked towards his brother. Leaning close to Hrolf he whispered almost noiselessly,
“Follow it.”
Hrolf grimaced, but nodded in unspoken acknowledgement, and then motioning for two of men, Eric and Scaife to follow him, Hrolf left the hall, moving at a steady gait as his trackers ran in his wake. Ulric watched the trio slowly faded into the night, their mail hauberks glinting in the moonlight. Turning, he walked into the dark hall, his mind lingering on one burning desire, to kill the creature.
As dawn touched the hall with bright rosy palms, the morning sun shone on the burning funeral pyre on the sands, watching in silence as two men stoked up the flames, causing it to crackle. Standing where the gates once did, Aelthean Highprow and Ulric the Dane argued violently, the tension in their voices was clearly heard by all those within earshot.
“Hah! Rid the my people of this menace, I knew it from the day I saw you that you had about as much chance of doing that, as much as sprouting wings flying, Aye, no chance at all!”
“My lord,” Ulric strove to keep his voice civil, “half of my companions were slain last night defending your hall. And you somehow think that I didn’t do everything I could to slay that monster?”
The enraged chieftain’s face became a horrid mask of rage as he released a fresh tirade of wrath at the man in front of him,
“Yes, I do, O master Dane, I do! And do you wish to hear what I have to say to you? My son was taken from me, my land is ruled by a creature of Niflehiem, and you have the insolence to say that your failure last night was somehow justified by the loss of your men! Well I am ordering you to get out of here, to anywhere that you wish, but not to here, not on my lands! Keep all the gold I have given you, but do not come here again. You will not be welcome!”
Ulric’s reply was calm and well controlled, although the unreleased wrath that he was holding back was apparent on his face,
“Very well if that is how you wish it Lord Highprow, we shall leave your hall and depart, but I must tell you one thing, I will not leave these shores until I hold the head of that beast’s in my hands, aye, and I intend to bring that to you.”
Without a backward glance, Ulric motioned for his eight remaining men to follow him. Shouldering shields and grasping spears, the small group slowly receded from the sight of Aelthean Highprow, until they were a mere speck on the horizon. Turning, the chieftain of the shores strode into his halls, his mind on many matters.
Water dripped from the stalagmites that surround the creature’s abode. It moaned and whined as it felt the deep wounds on its body, fingering them with its blunt, grey claws. Beside it lay the skeleton of a long dead man, bugs clambering through the eyeless sockets and the grinning mouth of the skull. The whimpers of pain echoed through the bone and cobweb infested domain of the beast, drowning out all other sounds.
A mid-noon sun beat down upon the forms of Hrolf and his two companions, as the jogged doggedly on, sometimes crouching over blood stained tracks or halting for a brief rest. Cresting a sand dune, one of the men, Scaife, stopped and stretched his back, as those following him caught up. Preparing to run further, the mercenary tripped on a protruding bush, sending him toppling head over heel, down the tall dune. His descent stopped at the foot of the dune. His elbow struck something buried by the sands. Feeling around with his hands, he noticed that it was hard and metallic, digging sand from around the object and wiping away bush fragments from it, his eyes widened at the sight that he beheld. Before his very eyes lay a bloodstained mail coat, its forged rings shining dully in the sunlight with deep rivulets in the shape of enormous claws across its breast, as he lifted it into his hands. Turning his eye he caught sight of deep footprints that staggered off towards a dark mustering mass of cliffs. Rising, Scaife called to his companions, his bellowing voice catching their ears. They had found sign of their prey.
It was night by the time Hrolf and his two trackers found Ulric’s band. The mercenaries had camped in a nook between two dunes, and now sat around a small campfire, eating a soup of chopped vegetables and fish. Striding slowly into the encampment the trackers flopped onto the ground, resting wearied limbs as they hungrily devoured the bowls of soup before them. Rising from his position by the fire, Ulric walked to where Hrolf was gobbling down the broth, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. As his brother looked up Ulric uttered one word, “Well?”
Removing the bowl from his mouth, Hrolf licked his lips and reported his findings, “We followed its tracks into the heath lands. There’s a whole lot of high cliffs around their and the tracks went straight up them.”
“Up, you say?”
“Aye, so they did. Well, to cut a long story short, I sent Eric to clamber up them. I say, did y’ know what a terrific climber our Eric is?”
Ulric’s face seethed impatience as he spoke, “No I didn’t an’ I don’t care to! Now tell me, what did he find?”
Yawning cavernously, Hrolf concluded his story, saying, “Aaaah! Now here’s for the best part. That thing climbed up a good two ship’s length onto those cliffs, right up to where this enormous ledge is located. Naturally, without any good ropes, poor Eric was hard pressed getting up there. Well when he did he found a whole lot of those long rocks that stick of out of the roof stalagmites or stalactites, whatever their called. Anyhow, he decided to pop off down to us, with that lovely bit of information, and as we knew where the thing was hiding, we hoofed it back here as fast as we could.”
With that Hrolf stretched himself flat across the sands, and in a few moments, was slumbering like a child.
Ulric stood for a while digesting this new piece of information, racking his brain on what to do next. Finally he settled upon what he deemed was an efficient, if risky plan. The sun was beginning to rise in the east when he roused the camp.
“Up on your hunkers, you’ve got a whole days work ahead of you!” he bellowed.
“Come on, I was sleeping well back there for a minute, right in the middle of a magnificent feast, all those great big horns of mead and that great delicious spread! Ah, I tell you mates, I thought I was in Valhalla for a moment!” one mercenary grumbled.
Ulric silenced him with an enormous roar, “Well you might very well be if you don’t move! Come on now, were heading due east! Eric, Scaife, get to the front of the band, you’re going to be acting as guides for the moment, taking us to those cliffs you and me brother found not too long ago. Right, let’s move!”
The sun beat down mercilessly as the small band moved east, Ulric and Hrolf, weapons strapped to their backs, following behind Eric and Scaife. To their rear, the eight muttered under the loads of weapons and armor they wore over their bodies. Cresting a dune top, Scaife pointed towards a dark mass in the distance, “There! Those are the cliffs, straight-ahead!”
Rushing forward Ulric patted Scaife on the back, “Good! We should be there by nightfall!”
True to Ulric’s prediction the company reached the mass of cliffs by the time the sun set in the west. Faced by the massive expanse, Hrolf and Ulric stood heads stretched back as they searched furtively for any sign of the ledge that Eric had climbed the day before. Finally Ulric’s keen eyes detected it, barely visible by the rock face.
Turning to face the band of weary mercenaries, he spoke encouragingly to them.
“Right, I know that you have got some mighty great concerns about all this mess that I myself have personally got you into. Now all of you don’t have to come. All of you won’t have to climb that cliff with me. But I fully intend to go up there and give that creature a few whacks with my axe. Aye and I’m going to bring its rotten head to that disgrace of a chieftain back there in the hall. All those who want to follow me, come stand right over here. ”
Stepping to his brother’s side, Hrolf’s fingers danced across the hilts of the swords across his back, speaking as he did, “I’m with you brother, aye, I believe I speak for all of us. We’re going up there with you, and if we don’t out of this alive, may we all drink in Valhalla tonight!”
Mummers of agreement ran through the mercenaries, and many heads nodded amongst them. Soon every man of them was standing at Ulric’s side, their fierce eyes glinting in the moonlight as they sheathed weapons. Reaching for a handhold Drakebreath slung across his shoulders, Ulric started his ascent, placing his foot on a secure rock and pushing himself upwards. Behind him Hrolf and the mercenaries followed. So they began the dangerous climb to the den of the beast.
The creature had heard the noises of men outside and had risen from its troubled slumbers, eyes alight with anticipation. A whole feast was laid before the beast. There was no going to their wooden house tonight. No they were coming to it. Flexing its powerful claws, the monster stepped back into the shadows of its abode, becoming completely silent, as it listened. The sounds of the iron-men drew nearer and the beast’s heart leapt with delight.
Grasping the rough rocks of the ledge in his hands, Hrolf swung himself onto the ledge, gasping as he lay for a brief moment. Then rising, he looked downwards at the ground, his head swimming at the sight of the dizzying drop. Then stepping backwards he drew one of his swords and held it with both hands, his eyes darting across the shadows of the cave entrance, scanning for any sign of the creature. Starting at a sound behind him, Hrolf turned and gripped the sword tightly as he sought the source of the noise. His answer came in the form of his brother’s head appearing over the edge. Sighing in relief, Hrolf held the sword in his right hand, extending his left to Ulric. Accepting the protruding hand, Ulric hauled himself up, grunting with exertion as he did. When he finally was standing firmly at the edge he gestured towards the cave entrance. Hrolf shook his head in response, motioning to the ledge’s edge. Ulric silently agreed and signaled for his brother to follow him.
Soon every single man was standing with both feet on the wide ledge. Grasping the haft of Drakebreath in his hands, Ulric nodded towards the cave and then strode forward. Following him Hrolf, shield in one hand and sword in other, and the mercenaries followed him, eyes scanning the darkness. So it was that they entered the domain of the beast.
The creature caught sight of the shining coats of mail that gleamed in the darkness, and let forth a low growl of pleasure. Its luminous eyes observed the tall man at their head motioning to his band. Silently the beast watched as the men slid off in pairs circling off in different directions. Like a night shadow, the monster followed one pair, its dirtied fangs spread into a blood chilling smile. Death was close at hand.
Ulric was the first to hear Scaife’s screams and called for Hrolf to follow him. Racing through the cavern’s winding tunnels towards the direction from which the screams had come from the brothers ran with all speed, weapons drawn and at the ready. They soon stumbled upon a horrific scene. Sprawled on the stones of a small cave was the bloodied body of Scaife. Of his companion, there was naught to be seen. Rushing to the body Hrolf bent over it, examining the bloody claw marks that had torn through his body. Rising he shook his and spoke a single word, “Dead!”
In another part of the massive expanse of the cave, Bjorn, a stocky fair haired man who carried a tightly strung yew bow, and his companion, a tall dark man named Cnut, walked cautiously through the eerie darkness. Cnut suddenly tripped over a mound of circular objects, giving a short yelp of surprise as he fell. Running to him, Bjorn helped his friend to his feet. As Cnut stood, Bjorn caught sight of what had tripped him. Inching forward he picked it up and stared at it through the gloom for a moment. Then suddenly he recoiled in horror and hurled it from him, staggering back as it clattered to halt amongst many similarly shaped things. As Cnut’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he let out a small whimper of fear at the sight before him. Lying in a heap, the skulls of dead men lay amongst piles of crushed human bone. Staggering back a few steps, Cnut shut his eyes, trying to block out the terrifying memory. He screamed in horror as he walked straight into the terrible embrace of an enormous shadow, whose great dark hands engulfed him. Cnut’s final scream of terror caused Bjorn to turn, his mouth dry with fear as he stared in disbelief at the twisted body of Cnut that hung before his eyes. A thick and heavy hand smashed his head against the cavern wall, ending his life instantly. Bending over him the creature deposited the other body it held beside Bjorn’s corpse. Then rising, it shuffled off, concocting plans for its next kill.
How long it had been since they had entered the cave Hrolf did not know, but in brief succession the band of mercenaries had been slowly picked off, each killed in a grotesque and horrifying manner. Now he and Ulric were hopelessly lost, searching for the final pair of men whose bodies they had not discovered. Resting by a rock He listened as Ulric muttered dark curses half to himself half to Hrolf.
Any further talking was cut off by an ear-splitting scream which echoed in the dark tunnel. Rising, Hrolf dashed after Ulric who had grabbed his axe and was powerfully sprinting ahead of him, hefting Drakebreath in both hands. Turning a sharp and rocky bend Ulric was lost from Hrolf’s sight. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Hrolf rounded the bend, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Ahead of him, the sound of battle echoed all over the tunnel, piercing its forbidding gloom. Something roared as Hrolf sprinted through the exit of the winding tunnel and entered a cavern. It was twice as large as any others that littered the home of the monstrous beast. It was illuminated by an eerie pool that reflected the metal of his mail tunic. Dripping from the cave’s roof small beads of water dripped, causing ripples on the seemingly perfect face of the pool causing the light on the cave walls to flicker. Standing at the wide entrance to the cavern, Hrolf’s heart sank at the sight of the crumpled figure by the right wall of the enormous cave; in a bloodied hand it loosely held the wooden haft a great Danish battle axe. Hrolf screamed, his voicing causing a terrifying apparition to look up from the two other corpses that lay beside his brother’s, snarling with pleasure at the sight of a new meal.
It was a throwback of some barbaric age, its dark body grotesquely twisted with a malformed abdomen. All over it enormous grey fur stood up like spears, framing a savage man-like face with burning red bloodshot eyes set above the bridge of a flattened nose and a cavernous mouth filled with dirtied yellow blood spattered teeth that stood out amongst from the rest of the creature’s horrifying face. Long thick limbs, resembling solid oak trunks stuck out from the torso of the hunched form, thick blunt claws extending from them. Suddenly, Hrolf felt himself grasped by an unearthly hatred for this monster, the murderer of his brother and the devourer of his companions. Hefting his twin battle swords, and waving each like staff of a crazed drum major, he sprinted at the massive bulk of the monster, screaming like a madman. The beast met his charge, its bloody fangs breaking into a terrible grin, snarling in delight at the prospect of another addition to its feast. Man and beast collided midway through the cavern.
Hrolf was thrown back, and his helmeted head struck a cavern wall. Through a haze of stars he saw the monstrous creature coming at him, its arms flailing wildly. Reflexively raising his swords, Hrolf’s hands vibrated as the heavy claws struck the blades snapping them as if they were weak twigs. Staring at the broken blades was Hrolf’s only mistake. The monster clouted his mailed chest, sending him flying from it and into the body of his brother. The creature approached, eyes alight, as it flexed its powerful blunt claws. All the while bellows of triumph tore from its mighty throat, causing Hrolf’s ears to ring.
Hrolf spat blood from between his teeth, and crawled away from the horrific beast, his right arm afire with pain, and his head aching as if hammers had pounded it into piecemeal. The monster approached. Hrolf’s brain racked as he peered around for a weapon. Something struck the right side of his back, something sharp. Turning his neck Hrolf saw that it was the long axe haft of Drakebreath. Negotiating his left hand to his right side was no easy matter, and many a time the shaft slipped from his grasp. All the while the creature moved, the shuffling in its odd manner, jaws wide and eyes burning furiously. It was coming.
Finally, Hrolf’s hand caught hold on the axe haft firmly. Exerting all his remaining energy, he stood, gripping the heavy weight of Drakebreath in his left hand. The monster stopped, looking intently at the Danish warrior before it, holding the battle axe that had belonged to his brother, then snarling in victory, it closed in for the kill.
Hrolf roared as the beast came, “Come on! Kill me! Kill me y’ bloody Dragur , Come on kill me if you dare! ”
Eyes radiating with battle-lust, Hrolf hacked at his advancing adversary. Dodging the swinging axe-blade, the creature struck with its blunt claws, catching him a blow to his shoulder. Ignoring the pain that seared through his arm, Hrolf swung Drakebreath catching his foe a blow to the leg. It let out a slight shriek of pain, but continued its attack, pounding relentlessly at the final mercenary. Avoiding some of the blows, but receiving others, Hrolf gritted his teeth, and fought gamely on, landing several more blows on the enormous monster.
The beast had wounds in a dozen places, and was missing several claws, while Hrolf’s numbered well over that figure. The raking claws had taken their toll, and his movements were slow and pained. Through sweat drenched eyelids he saw the creature advancing, its snarls mixed with cries of pain. Hrolf knew that it would kill him if he didn’t act. His desperate thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm buffeting him in the stomach causing him to collapse to the ground. Standing over him it snarled triumphantly. Lifting both clawed hands above its head, the beast brought them crashing down.
Hrolf rolled; still grasping Drakebreath in his sweat drenched palms, he rose onto his knees and swung at the exposed back of the creature. It screeched as he struck again and again and again. Crumpling to the floor, the monster wailed and moaned, its body throbbing with the red hot sensation of pain. Struggling to his feet, Hrolf rained down blows upon the creature until, finally the cries stopped. The once formidable beast shuddered one last time, and then the bloodshot eyes finally clouded over. Hrolf shank to the floor, staring at his enemy, prodding it with the axe haft and kicking it with his foot, yet it did not move. Hrolf let out a deep sigh; the Bane of the Shores was well and truly dead.
The dawn sun shone upon the face of Hrolf as he clambered down the rocky cliff face, his wounds hurting like fire as his feet finally touched the sands. Picking up the heavy blood soaked sack he had dropped from the cliff face, he started off towards the hall of Aelthean Highprow, Drakebreath slung over his shoulders, the heavy sack hanging from his clenched hand as he walked. The cloudless sky watched as the lone figure of the mercenary slowly limped across the sand covered shores and became lost from view.
Something moved in the cave. It crawled over the bone strewn stones of the expansive system of caverns, making small mewling noises. Its small but thick hands touched the brittle fur of the dead creature. Huddling beside it, the beast pleaded for the corpse to rise and render it food. The small creature huddled close to headless body, its small cries lost amongst the shrieking winds that whistled through the caves. It was cold in the cavern, and something moved…
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