‘But what will I name this tale?’ I thought to myself. My tale still needed a name. Although we had only just started the adventure, I couldn’t help myself. I am not one to ponder ‘pon a rock after the action is over; I find my greatest inspirations on the journey itself.
While the rest of my folly fretted over the dark and eerily silent labyrinth we found ourselves in, I, Chrisander, was far too busy in a mental maze of what I’d sing at the taverns when we came out victorious, the head of a minotaur swinging at my hip.
‘A Minotaur’s Lament sounds fitting,’ I smirked, already imagining the tall, muscle-bound warrior sliding his axe through the beast’s neck as though it were nothing more than a stick of butter. No, as though he were butchering a hapless fowl.
I, nor fair lady Hlenwade, knew where the fearless and straight-talking barbarian came from. Without even a greeting, he accompanied our scrappy Dwarf, Goodard, one day. I’m beginning to think the brute, upsettingly named Gerald, came straight from the pages of a fable. And there I was thinking Goodard couldn’t read.
Gerald’s mystery origins never seemed to bother Hlenwade, however, who hadn’t been removed from his indifferent side since he arrived. Goodard never bothered to say where he fetched his mighty hero from, and everyone had been so in their heads about the mission to think to ask. That, or the mystery was its own attraction to the clerical elf. One she didn’t want to spoil. A poet such as myself never fails to spot romance, no matter how bloomed or budded it is.
I was distracted from my lofty thoughts by a crossroad. The daunting and dank walls imposed upon us once more, confining my mind merely to what was in front of me.
Goodard broke the safety net of our silence.
“So, which way will it be?” his gravelly voice bounced off the stone around us. He looked up to Hlenwade, his dark eyes gleaming in her light, even in the near-pitch darkness.
“Labyrinths are supposed to be continuous,” she claimed. Her brow was furrowed, irritated by the poor craftsmanship of the deathtrap we stood in. A look to Gerald smoothed out her face.
Gerald simply looked to the left, over Goodard’s thick and scruffy hair. “That way,” he uttered, his voice an undercurrent. Deep, smooth, and mystical.
After a slight tilt to see Goodard, the dwarf shrugged, and led the way. Gerald immediately followed. Hlenwade didn’t look back at me as she rushed to walk next to the bundle of muscles. I spared a chuckle, one everyone was used to hearing.
Our torch spluttered against the walls, revealing slight changes of texture. The labyrinth was very smooth. I couldn’t help but wonder how Vul knew of this place. The classic esoteric wizard had sent us on a few errands since we met him last winter. He was always so thankful to see us when we could spare the time.
I couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have Gerald pop up right before Vul sent us on this quest. We likely would have turned it down, otherwise. The last we saw him, he looked rather grave. Contours wrapped his face as gauntness dragged down his skin. As though a tree that had seen far too many years.
A few theories spun in my mind, before I pounced on all the others with my thoughts.
“Who reckons ol’ Vul is ill?” I suggested. Quizzical gasps and grunts were my first response. It’s always best to disregard those.
“Aye, he didn’t look good,” Goodard rumbled from the front. I felt his stout words in my feet before I heard them. “He is pretty old, though,” he followed. Practical as ever.
“After we slay this minotaur, I’ll see if I can’t help,” suggested Hlenwade. “I always do love lending a hand,” she drew, gazing at Gerald’s bulging forearm.
Goodard saw what I’d seen, and blurted, “Ha, yes, you’re always so considerate. That’s one thing I like about you, Hlenwade.” Her name left his mouth almost involuntarily. His head snapped back to the front.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “The amount of times I’ve had to lend you my gift, Goodard, I’m unsurprised it’s something you’re grateful for.”
Oh, the venom.
Gerald’s head slid like stone to look at the elf. She met his eyes sweetly, but there was no reflection. The brute looked forward.
“Here,” Goodard spluttered,”let me hold that for you.” He outstretched his arm to receive the torch she was holding. She’d still have to bend down to give it to him. Not that she did, opting to ignore his offer instead.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered.
We walked and walked and walked, weariness grappling our minds. I was beginning to think starvation would claim us before we even saw any minotaur. We proceeded in complete silence.
After even more trekking, Goodard stopped. Going prone, he planted his hairy ear on the floor.
“It’s coming.”
After so much walking, my spirit was spent.
“It’s not too late to bale, is it?” I asked. Not that I meant it.
Gerald was the first to draw his axe. He took a defensive position around Goodard, circling him in a high stance. Hlenwade clenched tightly at her amulet that began to glow. I drew my sword. It’s a good thing I left my lyre with Vul.
I could hear it now. The devastating pounding that shook the walls. Not that they’d show their tremors. I backed up close to Gerald, not wanting to be in the front lines by any means.
Goodard made an effort to break free from Gerald’s pacing, wanting to stand his own ground. The warrior let him go, but I could have sworn I saw a shade of concern wash over the void of his eyes.
The minotaur charged closer. With the echoes, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Until it unleashed a mighty roar.
Hitting us, the roar sprung Gerald into action, as he jumped again in front of the dwarf. “Get away from me!” the dwarf ordered, looking frantically around. Gerald wouldn’t let up this time, insisting with his body that the tiny terror be behind him at all times. “Stop it!” the dwarf yelled.
The minotaur advanced, but Goodard and Gerald found themselves in their own fight.
“I’m warnin’ you!” Goodard growled. He raised his blade: a warning. One which Gerald did not heed.
The towering hunk of a man finally deigned to speak, “I must protect you, Goodard.”
“That’s not what you’re here for!” the dwarf spat.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Gerald said, a hint of humanity almost present in his tone. It was enough for myself and Hlenwade to turn around, distracted from our impending doom.
“No, you’re not!” cried Goodard as he shoved Gerald out of his way, his pride guiding his barge.
Not expecting the hit, Gerald tumbled backwards, knocking into Hlenwade. Such a brute was he, that his push knocked the pale cleric into the wall, by the way of his hard elbow to her head.
She crumbled to the ground like a discarded towel, red staining both sides of her head. I rushed to her side, but Goodard beat me to it. With a wail, he descended upon the stricken elf, his grubby hands feeling around her head.
Hlenwade breathed, but lightly. Her eyelids drooped and she scarcely had the strength to keep herself up. Gerald was somehow even mightier than he looked.
Trying to ignore the minotaur that was still on its way, I looked to Gerald. His attention wasn’t on Hlenwade, but rather Goodard. The dwarf fretted over Hlenwade’s body, crying and sobbing.
“Stay with me!” he choked, “I need you, oh, how I need you!” But her only response was a raspy exhale. Red ran down the smooth contours of her face, an alarming texture on her impossibly smooth skin.
Gerald crouched down, and put an arm on Goodard’s convulsing shoulder. Not that it was welcome.
The dwarf pushed Gerald away before standing up, his tears still streaming. Before Goodard could say or do anything, however, Gerald simply uttered, “it’s here.”
I spun around.
The minotaur stood before us, its tangled chest heaving a weight more burdened than all of us combined. The flicker of our torch, which had rolled away from Hlenwade’s slackened grip, barely illuminated above its torso. Although the minotaur’s absorbing black gems didn’t need light to be seen. No, felt.
Goodard was the first to move. With a battlecry that echoed from his very soul, Goodard leapt past Hlenwade’s dying body. But not before getting grabbed by Gerald and tossed behind him. I was next, caught off-guard by his unnatural strength.
The minotaur let out a deafening roar, before going what I can only describe as berserk. Its muscle-bound arms slammed against the walls as his hooved legs stomped and dug into the ground.
Its first target was its closest one: Hlenwade. Gerald held Goodard back as the beast grabbed her body in a crushing grip, before jamming her into its mouth. It was a gruesome scene that sent my stomach into my mouth.
Goodard did everything that he could to get out of Gerald’s grip while watching the minotaur chomp and rend Hlenwade’s corpse.
“Stop,” Gerald said, his efforts being no strain on his voice. “I know what I must do.”
With one final effort, Gerald launched Goodard toward me, sending us tumbling to the floor. At the same time, the minotaur began a charge, once again, aiming straight to who was closest. Gerald.
Sheathing his axe, he merely stood still as the minotaur surged toward him. We were barely back on our feet by the time the minotaur’s grizzly hands clasped around Gerald. In one fell swoop, it plunged him into its wide maw.
But as it bit down, Goodard clasped his hands over his eyes. And for good reason.
A mighty explosion sent the minotaur reeling back. My sight escaped me as I felt the cold, hard floor fly up to meet my head.
By the time my vision returned, I was slack on the stone. All I could see was a cavern of thick, dark-red blood. And in the middle of it, Goodard standing before the colossal carcass. He was still, and clutching the head of Gerald.
The sight again lurched my stomach, until I got closer. There was so much blood around us, and none of it belonged to Gerald. He was a man not of flesh. But of metal.
“I made him, you know,” Goodard mumbled. He took my stunned silence for an answer. “Spent a long time on him. But the closer I got to completion, the more I wanted him to look less like a pile of walking scrap. And more like a being of flesh and blood.”
“I guess I made him a little too real,” he lamented. He dropped Gerald’s head, and it hit the ground with a heavy thud. “The moment I saw Hlenwade’s eyes, I,” tears brimmed his own, “I knew it was a mistake.”
He didn’t say anything more.
We walked the way back in a different kind of silence. Every step cemented our misery and grief. The minotaur was dead. And so was Hlenwade.
After a long while, we made it back to the beginning of the labyrinth. No gold we get from Vul will ever justify this outing.
Before we could quite make it outside, we were stopped in our tracks. Vul was there, waiting. His face shallower than ever, screwed into an expression only a deep sadness could begin to explain.
Without a warning, he pointed his staff toward me. I was sent flying through the air, where I crashed into a stone wall. My vision sparkled and skewed, my head pounded. I was stuck there, crushed against the stone. My chest was so pressed, I could barely cry out.
“This is your fault, you know,” Vul said, malice painting his pointed words. “I saw through your magical and mechanical marvel.”
“Vul, what is this?” Goodard asked with calculated restraint.
“You didn’t have to make that brute of a thing,” Vul continued, his face warping with spite as he stepped closer and closer. “I saw how it had her ensnared by your spell.”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort!” Goodard protested.
“I know you did!” Vul snarled, his pace quickening. Goodard drew his sword, but it was swiftly sent from his hand with nothing but a flick of Vul’s staff. “You were supposed to die in here, dwarf. And now you will.”
Another jolt of Vul’s staff sent Goodard reeling to the floor. I had to watch in horror as Vul beat Goodard, over and over again. Each strike falling harder than the last.
“You did this!” Vul cried as he came down on Goodard without restraint. “You couldn’t have her, so you sent your foul machination to get her for you!” Tears flung from the wizard’s screwed face as he wailed on the battered dwarf.
His fury was unrelenting, growing with his crying and despair. Vul didn’t stop battering the dwarf until his tough skin was rendered purple, pink, and blue.
The wizard stopped only when Goodard was beaten to death three times over. His breathing was more ragged than his robes as he turned around and hobbled to the light. I was still trapped, squeezed tightly against the labyrinth’s walls.
I couldn’t cry as he became a silhouette just moments before the door closed.
And here I stay, slowly starving to death. There will be no tales, no songs. There will be no adoration, no spectacle. Just a bard lamenting his final thoughts away.
Alas, this is no ‘minotaur’s lament.’ It is my own.
This is my entry for Sunshine & Zombies’ January 2026 Challenge. We used a randomizer to come up with the following prompts, which we had to abide by and craft a story around:
Genre – Fantasy
Setting – Expansive (Ocean, Space, Underground, etc)
Perspective – 1st
Min. No. of Characters – 5
Clichés – Love Triangle
Insert/Modifier – Make a character an android
I had a lot of fun writing this story! If you want to see how a fellow writer interpreted these prompts, you can check out A Tight Squeeze.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
