Isobelle dropped the scroll, racing to meet her champion as she plummeted towards the deck.
Gwen landed, staggered, and Isobelle got an arm around her to stop her from collapsing.
‘Argh,’ said Gwen, letting out a gasp. ‘My knees.’
‘They were magnificent,’ Isobelle babbled. ‘All of you was!’
Gwen regained her balance, and Isobelle reluctantly let go, reaching up to smooth a soaking lock of hair back from the other girl’s face.
Gwen touched her hand, but her eyes were troubled, and she moved gingerly to grip the rail at the edge of the deck. When Isobelle joined her, it was in time to see the stump of the severed tentacle subsiding beneath the foaming, turbulent surface of the sea.
‘Did you kill it, Sir Gwen?’ came a quavering voice from their left. They both looked over, and saw Henry, still crouching behind the wheel.
‘No,’ said Gwen slowly, her eyes scanning the surface of the water, her lean body tensed and ready for action.
As if the cursed thing had heard her, the coral-red tentacles erupted suddenly from the water, two of them encircling the ship in a timber-creaking bear hug, another flailing furiously at the torn sail.
And yet another came swinging straight for them.
Gwen shoved Isobelle clear. As she sprawled on the deck, Isobelle’s skirts wrapped themselves around herlegs as if determined to make her fight her own tiny battle.
She thrust her way free of them, scrambling down the length of the deck on all fours, snatching up the scroll before the wind whipped it off and into oblivion. Grabbing at the rail, she ducked as another tentacle swung overhead.
It grabbed Gwen, sweeping her up into the air once more, and this time, in its fury, the monster showed itself in all its full horror.
A huge dome of angry crimson and coral rose from the sea, streaming water. The colours swirled inside its skin, dizzying, as beautiful as they were sickening. Isobelle heard it roar – no, that was the ship, its timbers groaning like a dying man as the monster squeezed it.
The thing moved, its head tipping back as it rolled, revealing a horrific pit of teeth, a yawning maw opening directly beneath Gwen.
The eye nearest Isobelle opened, bright gold, with an alien slash of black laid across it.
It fixed on Gwen.
Gwen started to swing her sword and then froze, staring down into the creature’s massive eye. Her body stiffened – her strength seemed to drain out of her.
Something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
Isobelle only had time to register that thought before watching, in frozen horror, as Gwen’s sword dropped from her nerveless hand, turning end over end as it fell.
Perhaps, dear reader, now is the appropriate moment to explain to you how our heroes find themselves in this less-than-ideal position.
Let me assure you, I do not pause the narrative here in order to torture you, or to build dramatic tension; I am far too skilled a storyteller to resort to such cheap and manipulative tricks.
It is, quite simply, imperative to see the road Gwen and Isobelle have travelled in order to fully understand what is now taking place. There is more afoot than meets the eye.
Our story truly begins a few weeks earlier … well, more properly, it began months ago, in a little county in Englande called Darkhaven, but with that you are familiar.
Gwen, our lady knight. Isobelle, our knight’s lady.
They fight monsters, and they’re in love.
Well, they fought a dragon, once. And while they are in love, they haven’t discussed that fact with each other, and neither one wants to be the first to bring it up.
So let’s go back a little ways, and see what Lady Isobelle of Avington and brave Sir Gwen have been up to, since last we saw them …
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Touched by destiny, kissed by fate
