Chthox the Bloody

By Vincent N.  Darlage

            The sun shone brightly upon the Lamapachan town of Curragraigue.  A displaced Drychtnothian knight of Olanigan, well known for his bravery in the wars against the Elves in the northern realm of his birth, danced lightly with his wonderful bride, a Lamapachan maiden named Layoine, on the lawn of his host's château. 

            Layoine was a pretty young commoner, a sparkling brunette, with melting dark eyes, a profusion of the most beautiful raven hair that cascaded over her alabaster back and shoulders, cheeks tinted with the softest blush of the rose, a pert little nose, full lips, and was well remarked for being uncommonly cultivated, elegant, and gay for one not of the noble class.  She was often coquettishly dressed, with some of the most charming little hats in all the world, in full petticoats that she made herself.  Her figure was exquisitely rounded in all the witchery of early womanhood, and its undulations raised certain strong desires in men's hearts to be better acquainted with its beauties.

            The retired knight, Chthox the Bloody, had fallen in love with this girl, Layoine.  Although he was one of those who lay great stress on the conventional proprieties which regulate modern society, he yet was powerfully acted on by the attractive character of Layoine's voluptuous nature, yielding himself without reserve to the sweet influence of her girlish charms.  He had come south from his lands in Drychtnoth and came to Lamapacher to visit his host, a friend of old.  He stayed now to plead his love and seek Layoine's hand in marriage.  He neglected no opportunity to win the confidence and secure the affection of the lovely commoner. 

            In due time, Layoine found that she loved him in return, and the wedding was arranged.  After the proper period of courtship, the wedding was held, and people from all over the city-state came to attend. 

            Almost against his will, Chthox's eyes lifted from his bride's darling face to the dark and brooding Old Fort and its sinister fences of thorny bushes that sat on a far hill like a dying vulture.  During the courtship, he learned much of the land his betrothed grew up in.   Together, they rode all over the city-state.  Many times they passed what was called then the Old Fort, an old ruin of indeterminate age.  The Old Fort was regarded as haunted, and men would not go there.   Huge fences of high bush surrounded the fort, grown by the Lamapachans to keep people from the fort, and to hide the lands from the evil they supposed dwelled within.  He wondered why the Old Fort attracted his attention just then.  A flitting shadow, a brief glimpse of something, but nothing seemed amiss now.   His bride faltered in her dance step and his attention returned to her, drowning in her emotional eyes as she laughed at her misstep.  Hand in hand, they departed the wedding, dancing to the wedding bed, leaving the guests to themselves.  At the door to the room, she asked to be admitted first, so as to make herself ready.  He caressed her cheek and waited without for her.

            The guests, left to themselves, were soon drinking to the prosperity of the bride and bridegroom.  As they drank their toast, they were startled by the appearance of the knight himself rushing onto the lawn with anguish in his looks.  

            "Oh!" cried he, "Layoine is carried away by the fairies!  There is no more sign of her there than if she never was born." 

            Great consternation prevailed, a great search was made, but no Layoine was to be found.  After a night and day spent in misery, the poor bridegroom laid down to take some rest.  In a while he seemed to himself to awake from a troubled dream, and look out into the room.  The moon was shining in through the window, and in the middle of the slanting rays stood Layoine in her white bridal clothes.  He thought to speak and leap out of the bed, but his tongue was without utterance, and his limbs unable to move.  

            "Do not be disturbed, dear husband," said the appearance; "I am now in the power of the Elves, but if you only have courage and prudence we may be soon happy with each other again.  In three days, the whole court of Elves will ride out of the Old Fort after midnight.  I must be there along with the rest, as they intend to take me to another place where I am to be made their servant in revenge for your brave wars against them. Please fight them!  Please help me!  Until they ride out, you cannot gain access to their palace.  Until then, you must have some food for me every night on the dresser, for if I taste one mouthful with them, one mouthful of their food, I will be lost to you forever."

            "Oh, no, my darling," cried he flinging aside his covers, but by the time he had slipped out of bed, there was no living soul in the room but himself.  The food was left on the dresser over night, and he rejoiced to find it vanished by morning. 

            He was at a loss, however, on how to affect a rescue.  He knew that their palace, while occupying the same space as the Old Fort, was not one and the same with the Old Fort.  Their palace would lie in Fairyland.  For all his wars against the Elves, he never managed more than a glimpse of the otherworldly realm where the Elves dwelled. 

            The town of Curragraigue had no library to speak of, but his host was well versed in archaic Elven lore.  Indeed, his host had fought alongside Chthox many times over the years.   He went to his host and told him of Layoine's visitation.

            His host said, "It is feasible.  I have often wondered at the haunted nature of the Old Fort; this explains much.  On the ordained night, go out to the Old Fort and sprinkle a circle with holy water, and have a black-hafted sword with you.  If you have courage to pull the Layoine off the horse and draw her into the ring, all they can do will be useless." 

            That afternoon he went abroad and purchased a black-hafted sword and named it Xanyn, which meant "Protector of Love" in the Drychtnothian tongue.  Along its blade he had inscribed the words, "Lam Cyamirat challix Xorxothylaymat; enermix Rinvinat Olanigan Uthix, dercyenermixat," which meant, "This glorious sword shall be the great terror of Elves; by the blood red light of Olanigan the destroyer, I swear it."

            On the third night, the knight donned his old armor, shining plate armor that he often wore in his bloody battles against the fairy folk.  A little before midnight he was at the entrance of the haunted fort.  He formed the circle, took his station within it, and kept the black-hafted sword Xanyn ready for service.  At times he was nervously afraid of losing his dear wife, and at others burning with impatience for the battle.  

            Suddenly, the Old Fort, with its dark high bushy fences cutting against the sky, was in a moment replaced by an unearthly palace and its court.  A thousand lights flashed from the windows and lofty hall entrance; numerous torches were brandished by attendants stationed round the courtyard; and a cavalcade of richly attired Elven ladies and gentlemen was moving in the direction of the gate where he found himself standing.  They seemed to glow with rainbow colors so breathtakingly beautiful that it made the colors he was used to seeing seem false.  He marveled, not for the first time, how such a race that was so superficially appealing could be so vile and hateful toward mankind.

            As they rode by him laughing and jesting, he could not tell whether they were aware of his presence or not.  He looked intent at each countenance as it approached, but it was some time before he caught sight of his bride borne along on a milk-white steed.  She recognized him well enough, and her features first broke into a smile, only to be replaced by deep anxiety.  She was unable for the throng to guide the animal close to the ring of power.  Seeing this, he suddenly rushed out of the bounds of the magic circle, seized her in his arms, and lifted her off her horse.  Cries of rage and fury arose on every side; Chthox the Bloody and his bride were hemmed in, and slim weapons were directed at his head and breast to terrify him.  Inspired with superhuman courage and force, and wielding the powerful sword, he soon cleared a space round him.  Chthox the Bloody and the Elves came together with a dazzling crack of steel, in an unleashing of hard-pent passions.   The urge to kill, loosed at last, backed every blow.  Chthox the Bloody fought with a chilling fury, but he was neither wild nor careless.  In one steel sheathed arm he held tight to his bride, and the other hand dealt death to the Elves.  Stroke followed stroke, too fast for the eye to distinguish, and as the hurricane of attack continued it grew more crafty, but not a whit less savage.

            The Elves fought with slim swords that sang their deadly art, but they found that their singing blades rarely could dodge past Chthox's guard.  The great black-hafted sword, made for smashing armor, danced in his hands like a thin rapier, nor did he tire from bearing it.  The few slashes and darts that did manage past his guard rang harmlessly against his armor.  Soon he was ringed by Elven corpses, and the host drew back from him and his bride.  He lost no time and drew his wife within the magic ring, within which none of the Elves around dared to enter.  Shouts of derision and defiance continued to fill the air for some time, and some Elves argued for the archers to be brought to bear against the bloody knight.

            Elven longbows were strung, but before the knight and his bride could be killed within their magic circle,  flights of arrows that sounded like a host of bees swarming to kill an invader shot out of the night into the gathering of Elves.   Sounds of men came from the grassy fields around them and the townspeople of Curragraigue were upon the Elves, led by Chthox's friend and ally.

            The commoners of Curragraigue, wielding hunting bows and farming tools, fought bravely, despite the terror they felt at confronting magical monsters such as Elves.  Few among them had ever seen an Elf before, but their love for Layoine, a darling always in their eyes even from her youth, kept courage at the forefront.  The Elves, outnumbered and surprised, fled from the men and never returned to the Old Fort, which the townsfolk burned the following morning.

            Layoine and Chthox the Bloody watched in amazement at the fleeing Elves, and Layoine threw her arms around her rescuer, heedless of the blood and gore that coated his armor.  He threw off his helmet, and returned the hug, lifting her off the ground.  He picked her up, gave her a lustful kiss, and swung her around.   The townsfolk gathered around and escorted the pair back to Curragraigue for their much delayed wedding night.