Griff’s blade cut a deep gouge into the bear’s forelimb, adding to a growing collection of wounds. He dodged a swipe from its claws, lunging in to stab into its underbelly before it could recover. Then, he darted backwards again, just before it brought both paws down into an earth shaking stomp right where he had been.

In the distance, he heard the panicked yelling of his apprentice. Then a set of wings fell from the sky over him, and Griff clenched his jaw. He took a swing with his greatsword at the beast’s neck, slashing through fur, skin and fat, but the wound hardly bled. The beast was simply too large, its vitals too deeply protected.

Just a little bit closer, he thought, dark eyes burning.

The bear reared back on its hind legs, towering over him, its head above even the top of the wall.

“Grrooaaah!”

Just a bit more.

The lumbering beast dove at him, and he ran straight towards it. Underneath its chest, ignoring the shaking of earth and the spattering of mud from where it struck the ground, running towards its belly. He thrust his blade straight up, then with all his strength and the momentum of his sprint, ripped it forwards.

“Rrraaa!” He screamed as he split open the beast’s belly. Foul innards spilled out, the spray of sickly violet blood drenching him, and the beast roared back in pain.

Closer, closer.

He dipped between its hind legs, slashing at its heel in the same motion as the beast attempted to crush him. It rose back to its feet, blood and mud staining its rent open stomach, and rage in its glowing eyes. He held its gaze, narrowing his own eyes as he listened carefully for what he knew was coming.

Behind him came the sound of shifting gravel, and he lunged to the side.

The direwolf missed by a hair, but his sword did not. He plunged it into the great wolf’s jaw, missing a killing blow to the throat by inches.

“Arrrooaaa!” The wolf howled in pain.

Griff drew back his blade, raising it to strike against the wolf’s neck again, but was forced to dive to the side as the bear’s claws struck towards him. He rolled through the mud, sliding back to his feet with a snarl.

Two sets of glowing eyes, one violet and one orange, glared back at him. Though, the wolf’s left eye was held shut, the same one his crossbow had wounded in the church.

Overhead, the wyvern flew by, circling the keep until it landed, claws digging into the stone, on the outer wall of the tower.

“Griff!”

Reyland looked up to see his apprentice, standing atop the wall over the gate.

“The oil! There’s still some left!”

The oil pot was damaged, leaning to one side heavily, the fire under it now but smoldering embers.. But if Reyland was right…

He nodded towards his apprentice, hefted his sword once again, and charged.

From atop the wall, Reyland watched as Griff charged headlong back into battle. He swallowed his fears, putting his trust in the man he’d been following, and turned his attention back to the oil pot.

It still bubbled and spat, the great iron container holding its heat long after the fires beneath had been quenched by the rain. He took a shaky breath, hoping that his plan would work.

“The hell’re you up to?” Maeve said, coming to stand beside him.

“Can you keep ‘em off us? I need time for this to work.”

“Just what’re you plotting, though?”

Her eyes widened, and Reyland grunted in pain as she dove into his chest, forcing them both to the ground. A volley of quills passed over their heads, striking soldier and beast alike atop the wall.

“You… you okay?” Reyland asked nervously.

“...Aye.”

“Mind the ribs?”

“My apologies, princess, I’ll let ya die next time.”

She pulled herself off him, and he took a shuddering breath as he forced himself to his feet. Below them, Griff had begun moving backwards, toward the gate. The bear and the wolf alike followed him, snapping and clawing at him, but he moved with an almost horrifying efficiency. The monsters tried to circle him, but he would move beneath one, using their own bulk to prevent them both from attacking him at once.

Soon, Griff brought the fight directly underneath them, and Reyland steeled himself. It was time.

He grabbed one of the handles of the oil pot and heaved, testing it. It budged, rolling a few inches, but no more. One half of the wooden frame that supported it was broken, and trying to get it to tip proved harder than it looked.

“Maeve!” Reyland yelled. “I need some help!”

She rushed to his side, and he could see in her eyes as she pieced the whole plan together.

“Take one end,” she said. “I’ll push from this side!”

Working together, they began to tip it closer to the edge. Reyland looked below them, waiting anxiously for Griff to get into position.

Below, Griff was nearly in the gateway itself, using the narrow walls of the entryway to funnel the beasts down to single file. In between dodging swings from the bear and wolf, his blade would shimmer as he cut down a smaller beast that lunged for him, or deflect the attack of another.

“Griff! We’re ready!” Reyland shouted, hoping the man could hear him over the roar of battle.

Then Griff moved back a bit more, and the direwolf lunged.

“Now!” Reyland shrieked. Him and Maeve pushed, and his ribs screamed in protest at the force. But the pot began to tip, more and more, until…

Crack.

The wood frame splintered on the other side, and Reyland barely managed to step back before the cauldron broke through its holding and fell towards him. It struck the floor with a resounding crash, nearly crushing Reyland’s legs in the process.

“Shite, shite!” Reyland spat. He looked over the edge. The wolf was right under them, perfectly positioned, but the cauldron was now practically embedded in the floor. He threw his whole weight against the handle, but without the frame to balance it, it hardly budged. The handle was awkwardly placed now, and he could barely put any force against it.

An idea came to him, and he cursed under his breath.

Reyland grabbed the end of his cloak, and wrapped his hands and arms in it as many times around as he could. Maeve’s face went pale as she realised what he was doing.

“Reyland, wait!”

“You got a better plan?!” He yelled back. “Just help me push!”

Then he braced his shoulder and arm against the side of the cauldron, and pushed for all he had. A whimper escaped his lips as the sizzling iron began to burn him through his cloak and armour, and then a scream. Maeve appeared next to him, bracing her own shoulder against the cauldron, and together, they pushed.

The cauldron tipped, wood beams crunching and snapping under it, and then fell. Not only did the oil pour from its top, but the entire iron container pitched and then tumbled off the edge of the wall.

“Arrraooooo!” The wolf below howled in pain.

Reyland pulled himself to the edge of the wall, hissing in pain as his entire right shoulder sizzled and burned angrily. Tears stung at his eyes, but he looked out with a mix of dread and hope, trying to find Griff.

The orange eye of the direwolf glared back. The oil had burned the fur and skin off half of its head, the bare skull glaring back in a few small, grotesque patches. There was a thick trail of blood pouring from a line on the top of its head where the cauldron had landed, yet still the beast remained standing.

The direwolf snarled at him, and he forgot all about the pain in his arm. Beside him Maeve had stood shakily to her feet, nursing the burns along her own shoulder, but she never made it to the edge of the wall. Reyland dove towards her in a tackle just as the stone of the ramparts buckled, the direwolf’s full weight crashing into it.

Reyland pulled them both to their feet without a moment's delay, feeling the hot breath of the wolf on his tail. He spared a glance back as he started to run, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The direwolf stood atop the wall, having jumped the full thirty feet with ease. It seemed disoriented, swaying slightly as its one giant eye searched for them. That was probably the only reason they were still alive, Reyland realised with a sickening certainty.

Its eye met his, and the wolf’s lips parted into a vicious snarl.

Reyland turned and ran as quickly as he could.

In the tower at the centre of it all, Matthaeus sat in silence. Around him the walls shook, the windows and doors vibrating with the muted sounds of beastly howls and shrieks. The servants of the keep huddled into groups in fear along with the villagers of Arcaster, or at least the few who remained. The group was noticeably smaller than he remembered.

The sounds of beasts had gotten closer as time went on. Now, they sounded like they were just in the courtyard, right outside the door. The people huddled about in small groups whispered nervously, breaking up the sounds of crying and the battle outside.

The sound of something sniffing at the door brought an end to their muttering. It was too loud, too deep to be anything small. And in the darkness, it was left to the horrors of their imagination as to just what it was.

Then the beast at the door growled, and the wooden door shook as something rammed into it. People screamed, and suddenly, there was a stampede as everyone rushed towards the stairs. Some fled to the stairs down to the basement, others upwards to the heights of the tower, but Matthaeus cried out as he was swept up in the mob, too small to resist or be noticed.

He did the only thing he could. He turned with the mob and began to run as well, doing everything he could to avoid falling and being trampled. His feet pounded up the stairs, running until the mob had thinned.

His amber eyes searched the crowd for a familiar face, but found none. As people filtered into bedrooms and storage closets, locking doors behind them, Matthaeus could not find Arthur, nor Matilda, nor even the servants who had helped him in the keep. Soon enough, he was left nearly alone in the hallway, only a few people leaning or sitting against walls as they shook with fear.

Something stirred in his chest, and a sudden feeling he could not describe came to him. All the sounds of the battle below now faded to the background, and his head began to spin and grow hazy.

Thoughts of frozen lakes, glowing trees and black eels filled his mind, and he began to walk.

He tread slowly, peacefully through the halls, up stairs and around corners, never knowing where he was going. His mind was elsewhere, thoughts of the monsters outside far from his concern.

Something from deep within was drawing him forward, and it would not be ignored.

As he crested the top of another flight of stairs, his eyes were drawn towards a lone doorway at the end of the hall. He walked through it, barely registering the lavish drawing room, all of his attention on the large, glassless window on the far wall. His boots crunched through broken glass as he approached, coming to stand at the windowsill, overlooking the back of the keep.

Why? Why am I here? He wondered faintly. He could still feel something drawing him, tugging him forwards, guiding him up…

A deep breath broke the silence, and his suddenly wide eyes turned upwards as he leaned out the window. There, claws digging into the stone right above him, was a wyvern with scales black as night, and glowing eyes staring straight down at him.

A moment of total silence passed as they stared at each other, Matthaeus’ heart slowly beating harder and harder in his chest.

“Kkrrrrrr…” The wyvern purred, its long neck winding down to bring its face closer to his.

Its chin was so close now that Matthaeus could touch it if he stood up in the window sill. Yet, the wyvern did not strike. Its head cocked to the side curiously, staring at him with eyes larger than his entire head.

That unknown feeling stirred in him again, and Matthaeus realised what it was. A wondrous sense of beauty and fear, all at once. But something about it still felt strange, almost foreign.

Then the door behind him burst open loudly, breaking the silence.

“Matthaeus!” Matilda called out in panic. “We…”

She stopped as she saw the head of the wyvern filling the space beyond the window. Then, she screamed.

“Krrruuuooah!” The wyvern roared back, all semblance of peace gone in an instant. Its head reared back as Matthaeus’ heart spiked in warning, and he dove to the side right as the wyvern struck. Its head burst through the stone like it wasn’t there, cobble flying through the air as the wyvern’s whole head entered the room. It shrieked again, painfully loud, and ripped its head back outside. Matthaeus felt a quivering in his chest and he dove to the side again, barely dodging as the beast’s head came straight through the wall where he had been.

Matilda yelled something again, but Matthaeus wasn’t listening. His eyes were on the head of the beast, and the violent glare in its eye.

With a panicked gasp Matthaeus got to his feet and ran, the jaws of the wyvern snapping shut just at his heels. It shrieked in frustration as he evaded, pulling its head back outside, but Matthaeus knew it would strike again. He could feel it.

He ran to the shaking Matilda, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. Behind him he heard the wyvern cry out in rage, the walls of the tower shaking around them, and he pushed himself to run faster.

And all along, that strange, foreign feeling lay in his chest, thrumming along to the howls and cries of the beasts outside.