Page 44 of The Knucker King

The Knucker spasmed. He tossed out every single fibre of his glimmering magic. The threads, like a hound of the hunt, sought every speck of iron and oil.

Bit-by-bit he drew the poison in. With each fragment, his agony increased ten-fold. White-hot and raging, it burnt through his body as he absorbed it.

He writhed, knotting and unknotting his coils. Finally, he opened his mouth and roared as the suffering brought forth memories he had tried to forget.

Trewoofe and his soul-bound, Lindana, had taken their Knuckerlings out of the protection of their hill. It was the first time they guided Dalinda and Branna from the shelter of their protective magics to play in the surrounding forests. They helped their offspring descend the steep side of the mound, each carrying one, and the four of them slipped in between the trunks of the blossoming trees.

They found a small clearing. An emerald carpet accented with sweeping brushes of wildflowers. Spring was wearing her lovely colours, and the Sun above warmed them from behind the thin grey clouds.

Trewoofe had felt it was safe enough to leave his family so he could hunt, while his girls basked and played in the Sunshine. It was his honour to provide for his soul-bound and their Knuckerlings, and he was excited to bring them something delicious to feast on.

He was gone for such a short amount of time, but long enough for it all to go wrong. The synchronised thudding march of dozens of footfalls pierced his ears.

Shouts.

Screams.

Roars.

“TRE—”

He galloped back through the woods, to the spot where he had thought his family would be safe. The scene that met him would be etched into his mind forever. His precious daughters ripped and scattered, their silver blood staining the flower petals.

His beautiful Lindana had been trapped underneath an iron chain net. The metal had scalded her crimson scales, pinning her beneath its weight. Her throat must have been hacked moments before he barrelled into the clearing, as a quicksilver waterfall still cascaded from the gash.

“NO!” Trewoofe roared.

He dove into the fray, too late to save his family but bent on revenge. He tore apart the men, the horses, and the hounds. His fangs, talons, and goring horns found each and every one of them.

No one but him made it out alive.

The overwhelming rage Trewoofe felt covered the pain of the iron sword in his belly. It ran from his chest to just above his seam.

He was lucky it did not gut him.

He wished it did.

Trewoofe flung his eyes open.

The last threads of his magic pulled every single drop of the poison from the healing waters. His power had netted and pulled it all into his body. If the Knucker was honest with himself, he had not expected to survive. The iron scorched its way through every vein, muscle, and tendon. Even his gums writhed with agony. Trewoofe hoped if he died, his body would sink so far into the bowels of the Underneath, that the poison would remain locked with his flesh, and keep his Faeries safe.

Now that he had survived, it was essential for him to remove it from his Kingdom and find somewhere to dispel it. Trewoofe needed help. Whoever aided him needed to be immune to iron, otherwise they would be similarly inflicted.

Avice.

He struggled to the surface, pushing his muzzle to the air above. The Knucker closed his gills and opened his nostrils and lungs, managing to take a shallow breath. It was clean, warm, and unmistakably his Kingdom.

Muscles burning, he forced himself to the bank. Trewoofe lunged out, using his talons to hook into the earth and haul himself out. He checked the river. He chuffed as he saw the shimmer had returned. He splashed the very end of his tail into the water, and he had never been so happy to hear the chimes.

“I need to get above,” he grunted.

The Wulver had not yet emerged, and he hoped they did not. His nose wrinkled at how he reeked of iron. He did not want his Faeries anywhere near him, in case they became infected.

Crawling at an infuriating pace, he dragged himself out of Wulver-led, each step more difficult than the last. He went down into the tunnel that led to his nesting chamber, so he could call for Avice.

Foolish Knucker. You made her that pendant so she could call for you, and now you are going to beg for her help.

Scales ripped out of his belly as it dragged along the ground, his normally impenetrable hide now vulnerable to every rock and divot beneath him. The iron had weakened the very flesh on his bones. Trewoofe hissed in agony as each one tore. He glanced over his shoulder and saw he had left a river of silver in his wake.