The Knight Who Sought a Crone

I watched the fire crackle beside the damsel’s body. The bark of a tree scraping against my back as she huddled within my cloak, laying her gritty blonde hair against my boots. I couldn’t sleep. The dream repeated. Or was it a vision? It was the same dream I had before – a sword shattered in many pieces, scattered to the winds never to be reformed and behind it, a pitch banner blowing in the winds of battle adorned by a blood-red sigil painted in viscera in the shape of an eight-spoked sunwheel. I didn’t know what it meant but when it happened, the rune tingled. The first time was in battle. Amidst the mire of blood and stained sweat, I smelled fear and death. It stung at my nose like a sour, burning wood. Seuverat was lost. The Magi pushed more Knights to war to supplant the armies of Rykana reclaiming their once grand territory. It was a call to arms of which only the Magi could order.

I lost friends and brothers. Who knew a Knight could die? I did. The enemy fought with a madness I could not describe. Souls to feed the sword, I heard them shout. Blood to dawn the Apophadi others chanted, whatever the fuck that meant. Those we captured continued their raving psychosis, shouting to us about our deaths by their king. A king not yet born and whom they called Apophadi. We heard them blaspheme our gods, the Magi and the Knights claiming the lands to be scorched in his mighty name. They became martyrs to their senile cause as our armies pushed harder in futility. We lost more than we could replace and the Knights were called back leaving the Rykanian armies to fend for themselves. They didn’t last more than two months before losing Seuverat.

I couldn’t count the losses. Ten, maybe twenty thousand Rykanian regulars and nearly a hundred Knights. In one battle I saw ten of my fellow brethren fall to a madness inflicted by raging forces. I can still hear their screams like a pack of wolves come to feast. The enemy brutalized our numbers. The fire in the eyes of my enemy still burns mine. Enrages me. I saw it again in the tavern as I looked upon the horrors of the skirmish. Shrieking madmen chained by an ethereal force still yet to be summoned into this world.

Rysa ruffled in a dream, shifting her head around as she turned her body to face me. Watching her sleep lulled me to slumber as I set my weapon from my back and crossed my arms in front of my neck with the hilt clearly in my view. I couldn’t fight the instinct any longer. The fire sparkles blurred in my vision to the sounds of eased relaxation.

I awoke to the screams of Rysa’s struggles and the strain of a large burlap blanket pulled like a noose around my body. The bark of the tree cut into my backside with the successive pressure of pulled grunting. I struggled to breathe through blurred vision to see Rysa being pulled away with her arms behind her back as she fought her attacker only for him to punch her and throw her down into the foliage. I couldn’t feel my sword between my arms, instead I felt the blunt of the alloy pommel strike across my jaw, sending my face to jerk to the right side. My lips tasted of copper. Laughter followed.

1…. I counted silently. My wrist began to burn from my rune.

Another hit on my right jaw. Just wait fucker.

2…. I felt a burn across my wrist building from within. The burlap pulling tighter upon my body. Straining tightness against my body binding me to the bark of the tree. I looked to see a man striding over Rysa, fighting with her to strip her.

3…. The pommel hit my gut. I wanted to puke. I coughed. I spit. I could smell burning from the burlap now. Strands of fabric frayed away causing a reaction to the rest of the restraint. I heard the pair of men behind me fall backwards as a burning singe consumed a slice of the tarp in front of my arm. Freedom.

I needed my weapon. I jumped to my feet with the last strands of burlap burning away and with a quickened leg, kicked the thief in front of me upon his ribcage. I imagine it hurt him worse than what he tried with me. Reeling backwards, he dropped the scabbard on its way to the forest floor as I ripped it from the air with my left hand. With a reflex of my right, I twisted the hilt and released the lock from the sheath. The sword whistled from its home and with a quick swipe, his torso split in pair before he could reach the ground. Blood ripped through the air to paint the ground in his viscera.

I listened for the blades to remove from the men behind me as I paid attention towards the man standing over Rysa. I could see his fear trickle down his pant leg before the steps of men behind me reverted my attention. I turned to face them. A pair of scrawny miscreants with wolf tattoos on their forearms; taking the bounty from their rivals. Their friend’s corpse hadn’t hit the ground before they charged at me. Scabbard in my left hand and sword in my right, I blocked the man on my left as he swung downward. The man on my right swung wide, my sword easily countered.

I slipped from them, hefting their weapons to slide upward along my own, twisting around and cleaned the rib cage through to the man on my right. His friend beside him didn’t wait, swinging wide to his right attempted to clean my head from my neck. Unlucky bastard. With ease, my sword cleared the bone and muscle along my assailant’s chest, heaving a large bulk of flesh in an arcing momentum to splatter into the face of my attacker. Without pause, my sword severed his left arm along a slant on his torso, cleaving his upper neck away from his chest. The rest of the body fell in front of me.

An axe swung for me behind my neck. I ducked, slipping away to my right as the inertia of the blade carried the handler to stumble. He regained footing with a quick double step. Blue eyes shone through his red beard. I could smell his fear stain the ass side of his pants. He gripped his axe with one hand close to the blade, the other at the bottom of the handle and struck towards me like cutting firewood. I blocked his blade with my own and jammed my scabbard into his throat reeling him backward. He dropped his axe, stumbling into a tree behind him, gasping for air through his collapsed air passage. The last sound he heard was the whistle of my sword shrieking through the air cleaving his neck in a swift strike and cleaning the cut of the timber. His head collapsed to the left, the tree fell behind him, away from myself and Rysa.

I glanced at my blade, clean. No stains. A testament to its mystical crafting. Sheathing it and placing the weapon upon my hip belt, I ran to see Rysa lifting herself to stand and scraping grass and dirt from her clothing.

“Are you hurt?” Her skin exhibited a roughened beauty.

“No,” she shook her head, “just sore.” She wriggled her jaw as a small welt grew. “You saved me twice.”

“It’s my vow.”

“Your vow?”

“To Undonus. The goddess sees all women sacred. Givers of life. Protectors of the unborn, something to that accord.” I fixed my clothes to alignment and reached to the ground to grab my cloak and lifted it over my shoulders to cover me.

“But what of the Magi? The story I told you? My village was destroyed; men, women and children. Do they not hold the same vow?”

“A Magi made a call to dispose of apostates. Neither men nor women are immune. Our only vow is to the gods and in turn their vicars on this world. We protect them from your people and we protect your people from them.”

“Would your Magi do it? Have women killed?”

“Maybe he already has.”

Rysa’s mouth dropped. I didn’t waste time entertaining her questions as I furiously worked to cover our camp. The whinny of a nearby horse lifted my spirits.

“We need to move fast. Looks like our friends left us some horses. We’ll ride on one, lead the other two for a while then let them go. Anyone on our trail will be misled giving us time to get away.”

“Why would he order Knights to kill women?” She wouldn’t drop the discussion as I prepared the sturdier animal for our ride.

“If they oppose Magi,” I talked through my task paying attention to tightening the saddle and inspecting the stirrups, “All die.”

She persisted rather eloquently with her inquisitions before my annoyance exasperated with a heaving anger, “Look,” I poked her between her buxom chest against her exposed skin above her blouse, “I fought women on the battlefield in Seuverat. Driven by a madness like the men beside them. I took no mercy and clearing them from this mortal world. They spoke of damnations and curses and my sword brought them all mercy. If you knew what I saw, you’d kill too.”

I could see she was moved by the anger I displayed, “You fought in Seuverat?”

“Yes. It was a bloodbath. Brutal. Many losses. I saw Knights die. Friends.”

“Condolences for your losses.”

“No need. It was our duty,” I lifted onto the saddle and offered my arm to her aide. She lifted behind me onto the back of the horse as I guided the ride to the other horses and gathered their reins.

“What happened in Seuverat?”

I shook my head to her question, ignoring the pain she boiled inside me. Her empathy manifested within her as she pulled herself around my hip to lean her head against my backside as we led the horses through the forest.