Chapter 6: Baysil, Cleric and Slayer of Monsters

"Have you, then, no better weapons than clubs and spears? This creature will not fall to such puny weapons."

"Clubs, there are," Re'oon shook his head sadly. "Spears, with points of flint or bone. That enough for fish, for deer or young wild cow. For better, must have strong, sharp metal. Woman of Bas'l have two sword, but Bas'l have only club. Why?"

"I am a Cleric, and my weapons must not cleave flesh to spill blood. Thus it is ordained by the Deities of Orris-Kayn." Baysil shook his head, then winced slightly. The beer he'd drunk the night before had been stronger than it had seemed. He wondered how much Kletta had drunk. Perhaps that was why she'd been so cool to him. She was a pleasant enough child, most of the time, but like most women, not capable of thinking things through clearly. Or else she was distracted by the sights and sounds of Door'm, and the chance to talk with other women. She would be happy enough to be with him once the monster was dead, and they were on their way toward Pordigran, the MostHolyCity.

"This one say again, how Bas'l kill river-thing?" Lasam looked down at him, frowning. "Visitors make promises, say help place, name of Door'm."

"The river-monster will die. This I have promised." Baysil rested his hand on the handle of his mace. "But I promised to aid you, not to kill it with no other help. I must plan, must decide what is to be done and who is to do each thing. We must seek out this creature's weaknesses, and turn them to our advantage."

"One named Bas'l talk much," Lasam grunted. "This one not a fool, not a child. We talk again when plans all made."

Re'oon shrugged as his chief walked away. "That one not much for talk. What Bas'l want to know?"

They both started slightly at a loud splash and the sound of roiled water, and turned away to walk back farther from the edge of the river. The day was growing hot, now that the sun was out from behind the clouds, and they sought the shade of a stand of trees where they could sit and talk undisturbed. The shaman was a ready fund of information about the village and its people, giving him the facts he needed clearly and without bias. Between them, a plan slowly took form.

The day dawned warm and clear, a light breeze from down-river stirring the water's surface where the ripples from the falls barely reached. By noon they were ready, the villagers gathered by the edge of the water, the men nervously clutching their crude weapons. Baysil stood at ease by Lasam's side, his armor mended and his mace ready to his hand. Farther back, Kletta stood among the village women.

"Draw the monster out." Baysil's voice was not loud, but it carried clearly in the silence. The body of a half-grown pig, still leaking blood from its gashed throat, was thrown into the water on the end of a stout rope. Strong arms pulled it back in, threw it out again. On the third try there was a flurry of disturbed water. The rope drew taut, then slackened. Amid shouts, the rope was pulled in again.

"That's bringing the devil!" Baysil raised his mace. "Don't attack, lead it away from the water!"

The villagers scattered away from the river-monster's sinuous length as it thrashed its way up the beach, water pouring from its gill-slits. The women shrieked with excitement as it followed the men through the village, and children pelted it with sticks and pebbles in spite of the men's shouts at them to stop.

"River-monster hungry," Re'oon laughed. "Fish all gone. Up over falls, caught, or eaten."

Baysil nodded agreement as he jogged after the creature. "Almost there," he laughed. "Keep it moving!"

In the middle of a small field marked off by low stone fences, the chase ended. The body of the pig, no longer pulled along by the rope, disappeared in a single gulp. Seeing no easy prey within easy reach, the monster writhed about to slither toward the river. Before it could move far, strong nets, anchored to deep-driven stakes, enshrouded it. From all sides men rushed to jab at it with their crude spears and belabor it with clubs, Baysil among the foremost.

"Bring ropes," he shouted, smashing at the slimy head with its tiny, deep-set eyes. The gaping mouth snapped at the nets, dagger-sharp teeth ripping and tearing at the strands that held it. Shouts of anger and cries of pain arose as time after time the thrashing body scattered the villagers. To Baysil, the strangest part of the fight was the eerie silence of their foe. There was no panting breath, no grunts or hisses or howls, only the thrashing of the eel-like body and clashing of teeth as it tried to reach its tormentors.

Encumbered by the nets, the monster couldn't manage to slither over the low fences. Frightened at last, it tried to find the gateway, raising its body in frenzied movements as it sought the safety of the river. Ropes snapped and nets burst asunder as it convulsed, and Baysil was thrown aside by a blow of its fringed tail. Before he could regain his feet, the river-monster was free! Leaving a trail of slimy blood, it slithered over the low fence and was gone, scattering the watching women and children as it passed, pursued by yelling villagers waving clubs and spears.

"Nice try, anyway." Kletta helped him to his feet. "What'll you do next?"

"Klond's cubical kidney-stones, I don't know!" He removed his helmet and wiped his brow with an unsteady hand. He looked around dazedly. "Anybody hurt?"

"Six or twelve, I suppose. Take it easy! Their women are tending to them. You can't do anything for them until you can see straight."

"Yeah, I haven't felt this shook up since the time my drill instructor knocked me out of the practice ring with one of those padded mauls they use for training novices."

Assured that the casualties were being taken care of, and that nobody was badly hurt, he followed the path of destruction carved through the village by the fleeing monster. Here a hut had been caved in, there a fence torn out by the river-monster's passage, and more of the fish-drying racks were in ruins. The bloody trail ended at the river, where a full half of the village's men milled about anxiously. Glancing at the lowering sun, he was amazed to see that the day was almost over. Either he'd been out longer than he thought, or the fight had lasted all afternoon.

"What you do now?" Chief Lasam boomed out the question accusingly. "River-thing not dead! Now no more fish come, it be hungry. Come up into fields at night for cows and pigs. Come into huts for people. How you stop it?"

"We need stronger nets, sharper spears," he answered, but the angry chief brushed his words aside. "Not waste more nets! Not have sharper spears! Need other way to kill river-thing. You promise, now you find way!"