Chapter 5
“Dodge!,” Sir Morwich shouted, and the hunting party parted, barely making it out of the way in time for the rampaging necropotamuses to charge through. “Don’t let them get to our artillery!,” he ordered, and led his battalion in following the beasts. Soon enough, the enraged animals turned around to do battle, and the luknights clashed with them head on.
“Nnaa!,” A luknight curtly shouted as the beast’s teeth pierced his shield. He was shaken, but his training was good. He used the time to wedge his jawbreaker mace into the necropotamus’s mouth, giving a wedge for Sala’s ranged luknights to strike with their peppermint crossbow bolts. “Now, the mouth!,” he shouted to them, and it only took a few seconds for a flurry of red and white to pierce the beast’s throat, palate, and skull, sealing the beast’s fate with a few painful coughs of blood. Nearby, more luknights were taking down the second, using Crushrope to strap the beast down and immobilize it. It’s mouth was still dangerous, but the rest of it was safe enough for a spear luknight to vault onto its back and sever the spinal cord with her dagger and her own weight.
“Two down, nanora,” Sam thought, turning to face the other beasts. Their crushroping was less successful, but Sala, reliable for her quick thinking, signalled for molasses bombs. The lightest-armored luknights sped their way close to the smaller of the two living beasts, and threw balls of sticky brown goo at its feet, keeping it still just long enough for a broadsword luknight to pierce its brain from under. Sam shook his head. “Successful, but reckless, nnaaa…,” he thought, “He’ll get himself-”
Sam didn’t have time to think about his prediction, as the last remaining beast, the largest and most ferocious of the bunch snapped free of its crushrope and began rushing toward its recently fallen ally. The broadsword luknight was struggling to free himself under the weight of the necropotamous corpse, and could see his death approaching, the rampaging monster grabbing him up in his jaw, and biting down before, for a reason Sam nor Sala could see, spitting the poor naito out. Sala turned beside her; it was Morta holding her crossbow, who had landed a direct hit on the necropotamous’s eye. “Their sight is naturally poor,” she said, surprisingly coldly, “But they have many nerves there, still. It hurts like hell.”
Sala stared for a second, then snapped out of it, having a sudden idea on how to finish the behemoth off. She reached into her pocket and loaded something into her own crossbow. “These were only meant for demonstration,” she said, hitting the beasts other eye while it was stunned, “But needs must, nnnaaaaaaaaa!”
Sala shot a regular bolt directly at that same eye, striking the miniature Red Vine she had put there seconds earlier, causing a bloody explosion across that entire side of the beast’s face. The monster twitched, writhed, and fell over dead. Just as she had thought, the expansion of the Red Vine shattered parts of the beast’s skull, and its own bone shrapnel was used to shred the brain and kill it. Sala fell over, exhausted and overwhelmed that she had pulled it off. She didn’t like doing things she wasn’t sure of.
Sam, Rosso, and Rochu rushed over to the wounded luknight. “Oh, Himesama…,” he muttered, “Please, let me see my family again, nanora, my Vivi just once more, my sweet princess.”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” a medic Luknight told them, “but the wound is almost entirely out of the flesh, nanora. If we can keep Sir Sprink alive through the night, he’ll probably be fighting in a Monhun again in two years’ time-nora. But until tomorrow, we can move him.”
The medic applied disinfectant sugars to Sir Sprink’s wound, causing a cry of agony that made Sir Morwich wince, then grit his teeth. “Caramel squad, we will set up camp here, until Sir Sprink is ready to be sent to Memento. The rest of you are Lady Sala’s until we rejoin. Do we have any objections, nanora?”
“No Sir, nanora!,” the melee knights shouted in unison.
Shishov took a stick and prodded the fire. “These Luknights are an eccentric bunch, no? All this pageantry and candied tricks, but only the brass has even the faintest idea about gunpowder.”
Usam looked over at the knights caring for Sir Sprink, and Sam keeping watch in solitude. “It’s a very strange culture, peko. Back home, a lot of folks are suspicious, peko, but still, my mama always insisted on importing their sugar for her carrot cakes.” He turned back at Shishov. “It’s nice to see they care for their own, though.”
Shishov took a drag of his cigarette. “Told my boys to go ahead with the rest tonight, I didn’t want them to see this.”
“See what?”
“Sir Sprink. Live or die, can’t have the boys with that kind of image in their heads. They’ll hesitate.”
Sprink screamed out in agony, as he had several times before that night. A medical Luknight, exhausted, took off his helm, wiped his brow and sat down next to fire.
“It’s not looking good,” he said, “It seemed well for a while, but that necropotamous must have some really nasty teeth, naaa. Somehow, it got infected. We’re sending him back to Memento’s hospital in the hopes he may recover enough to return home, nanora.”
“Aye,” Shishov said, snuffing out his cigarette, then taking a swig from his flask, “Are these ‘monhuns’ typically this rough?”
“Not before the main event, no,” Sir Morwich spoke up from behind Shishov, then took a seat, “Nnaaa… This is the part of the job I dislike. Death, especially outside of the Himelands… It’s not a good fate for such a loyal naito, nanora.”
“Aye,” Shishov said, “But do not speak so soon, candied friend. I’ve been in worse spots and gotten out.”
Underneath his helmet, Sam smiled. “I’ll drink to that, nanora.”