by Royce Day
Demon Eyes
Royce Day
Cover by Naziha E. Zahed
Copyright 2011 Royce Day
Kiel scanned the road ahead of her. Though astride her warhorse she was nearly twice her normal height, this would not aid her on her patrol of her liege's road today. Mist had risen from the ground this cool morning, blocking her vision beyond perhaps six armspans. So far there had been no sign of the sun, but the day was early yet. Behind her, she could barely hear the lonely lowing of cattle in the fields.
She was a woman of average height, but of greater than average strength, a necessity when one considered the weight of the chain mail armor that she wore. At the moment she was more aware of the quilted shirt underneath it, which was aiding her in warding off the chill. Nearly hidden under her brown cloak was her tabard, which was decorated with the colors of her liege laird. Her dark brown hair had been braided and coiled underneath her helmet, giving her an extra bit of padding for her head. At twenty‑two, she had been a knight in the service of her laird for nearly five years, ever since earning her spurs.
She guided Biter down the road. The lands bordering her laird's had been quiet, and she expected them to remain so. Winter would be coming on soon, and there would be many months of peace before the snow would melt and old animosities would be given their head. Nevertheless, she did not shy away from these patrols, no matter what the season. God favored the wary.
A sound, unnaturally loud in the still morning air, came to her ears. Ahead of her, someone was scraping a stick in the dirt of the path. As she focused her attention, Kiel could now hear a person humming, trying to keep in time with the stick as it bounced and made an irregular rhythm in the dirt. The knight let her hand drop down to the hilt of her sword and waited.
The figure of a young woman, perhaps three years younger than Kiel, appeared out of the mists, staff in hand, walking along the road toward Kiel and her mount. She was modestly dressed in a homespun skirt and blouse, and wore a cowhide jacket lined with lambswool to ward off the cold. On her back was a well loaded traveling pack, and Kiel glanced down to see that she wore sturdy boots that showed evidence of much use and careful tending. Clearly this was a woman who was no stranger to long treks. Then she looked at the woman's face and finally saw why she scraped her staff along the side of the road.
She had bright golden hair, which was drawn back in a simple ponytail. She was smiling slightly as she hummed, but beyond that Kiel could make out little of her expression, for a blue bandanna covered her eyes completely. It was plain that she was quite blind.
Biter snorted a challenge, his breath condensing in the air, when the woman came close to them. The traveler halted, a frown crossing her face, and gripped her staff with both hands, holding it at the ready. "Who is there?" she called out, her head tilting back to catch any sound that might give her a clue as to what confronted her.
"I am Dame Kiel Tellis, liege‑woman to Laird Dougal McVey, whose road you travel," she told the traveler formally. "Who are you and what brings you my laird's lands?" She dismounted from Biter and gave the stallion a sign that meant "stand still." The beast cared little for anyone beyond Kiel herself, and she did not want him frightening the woman.
"Well met, Lady Knight. I am Bard Leena," the woman answered, her melodious voice confirming her claim. "I come in the hopes of earning some coin, and my keep for a time, by entertaining your laird." She relaxed her grip on her staff and rested it on the ground.
"Well met, Bard. Your songs and tales will be welcomed, I am sure," Kiel said, her tone softening slightly. Traveling bards were rare enough on the Borders. When they did appear, Laird Dougal was always solicitous, being eager for the news they carried. "If you require it, our physician will see to your injury as well," she told Leena.
The bard cocked her head to one side in puzzlement. "Injury? Oh, you mean my eyes." She touched her free hand to the bandanna and shrugged. "My sight was taken from me quite some time ago, Lady Knight. There is nothing your physician could do to correct my loss, but I thank you for your kind offer nonetheless."
"As you have refused one offer, may I make another?" Kiel asked. "It will be midday by the time you reach my laird's castle if you continue on foot. If you wish, I can take you there myself. It would be less wearying."
"Again I thank you and again I must refuse," Leena said regretfully. "You ride a warhorse, yes?"
"I do. Biter is his name." Kiel patted the thick neck of her mount. Bred for conflict, her muddy brown stallion would never be called beautiful or graceful, but she was fond of him nonetheless.
"I thought as much. I mean no offense, Dame Kiel, but again I must refuse. I am sure he is well trained, but I would not wish to disturb him by carrying an unfamiliar passenger. Also, I much prefer to walk my path. Given my condition, I find it more pleasant than dashing from one place to the next, with little idea of how I got there."
Kiel nodded in understanding, then chided herself. The bard would hardly be able to see her gesture. "No offense is taken," she told Leena. "I will continue on my way then and I hope to see you at my laird's table tonight. Good day, Bard." She stuck her foot in Biter's stirrup and remounted.
"Good day to you, Lady Knight," Leena replied. She waited for a moment, listening as Kiel guided Biter around her and began to trot away.
Kiel glanced behind her, watching as the bard disappeared once again into the mists.
"What ails you, Kiel?" Thomas, her squire, asked. Though he was her elder by a decade, he was content in his position, and had never desired to complete his training to become a full knight. He had been her mentor's squire before the man's death in battle, and had appointed himself to be hers. A keen observer of his knight's moods, he had spotted her discontent the moment she had rode over the drawbridge into the castle.
He walked with her toward the stables, letting her keep Biter's reins, having learned through painful experience that the creature wouldn't abide anyone's guidance except Kiel's.
"I met a bard traveling along the road this morning to the castle," she said. "Did she arrive safely?"
"The blind woman? Yes, she came after the noon meal," Thomas said. "The Laird and Lady welcomed her and made certain she was given a room at the Rose." This was the Rose and Thorn, the tavern that served the village below the castle. "She seemed pleasant enough. She said she had met you on the road and that you were as chivalrous a knight as she had ever met. Laird Dougal seemed quite pleased." They entered the stables, and Kiel was quiet as she removed Biter's tack and handed it to Thomas to stow. She then removed her sword belt and began to unselfconsciously strip out of her armor and padded shirt. Thomas was faithful to his wife and family and she knew he saw her simply as the knight he served, nothing more, nothing less.
She pulled the woolen tunic Thomas handed her over her head and began to speak again. "I find her curious. She is blind, and she is a woman not trained in the arts of war. Yet she has traveled the roads for quite some time unmolested. How is that possible?" Kiel picked up some clean straw off the floor of the stable and began to rub Biter down, while Thomas inspected her armor for rust or other corrosion.
"She is a bard, she has immunity," Thomas said equitably.
"Immunity is to keep bards from being slain by hot tempered lairds who don't take a liking to their faults being ridiculed. It is no protection from the bandits that infest the roads, especially here on the borders."
Thomas shrugged. "Perhaps she is a mage," he guessed.
"A blind mage is as helpless as a blind bard, Thomas. If she cannot see her attackers, how is she supposed to defend herself?" Kiel objected.
Thomas rolled his eyes. He did not share Kiel's determined nature. It was another reason why he chose to remain a squire while she had gone on to knighthood. "I d
o not know, m'lady. Perhaps she is watched over by the angels."
"Perhaps," Kiel answered. But she remained unconvinced.
That evening, Leena played and sang in the main hall for the folk of the castle. Her well trained voice had no trouble cutting through the bustle and noise of the hall and she played her gittern with dexterous hands. Laird Dougal, a bearish man with bright red beard and hair, smiled broadly and laughed when she sang a bawdy song ridiculing the neighboring lairds. Then she moved the entire hall to tears when she sang songs of love, despair, and loss.
Sitting at her laird's table, Kiel plucked at her trencher with her eating knife and listened well to the bard's songs. She had to admit the young woman was skilled. Her audience was completely charmed by her and oblivious to her lack of sight once she began to play. But Kiel sipped lightly at her wine while she ate, and did not lower her guard.
"Kiel! Kiel!" Thomas urgently whispered, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up, before Laird Dougal throws you out of bed himself!"
"What's wrong?" Kiel shook off her sleep and pushed herself out of bed. The only light in her chamber came from the candle in her squire's hand. She stumbled over to the shutters and swung them open. Outside, the horizon was pink and the sky still flecked with stars.
"A cowherd came runnin' up to the gates. Say's someone has been slaughtering the Laird's cattle in the night."
"God," Kiel said reverently. Those cattle were what fed the people in the winter, when the fields were under snow and the grain in the stores either running low or becoming fodder for the rats. She began to dress herself hurriedly as she heard men moving in the courtyard and horses being saddled. Thomas helped her slide her chain mail over her head and she buckled her sword belt around her waist. Then they both rushed out of the building and over to the stable, where Biter was already awake and champing, upset by the activity around him.
When she had saddled Biter and led him out of the stable, she found Laird Dougal already waiting atop his mount. His mouth was clamped in a tight line, a disturbing contrast to his wide smile the evening before.
"My Laird," Kiel greeted. She looked around. Several guardsmen had been rousted, but neither of Dougal's sons were in evidence. "Where are Duncan and John?" she asked.
"Keeping watch over their mother and sisters," Dougal answered. He nodded over to one side where the cowherd stood, wringing his worn woolen cap in his hands and looking scared. "Whatever happened frightened that man to his bones. I'll not leave the castle unguarded while we look into this."
"Aye, my Laird," Kiel answered. She turned to the cowherd and asked, "What did you see?"
"I didna' see nothin', me Lady!" the herder cried. "I swear by God that I didna' see nothin'!" The man began to shake. "My cot's just on the other side of the field's wall, me Lady. I thought I woulda' heard sumpthin' but I didn'. I jus' got up an' walked out to the field and there they were! I swear!"
"Calm yourself, man," Kiel said firmly. "We'll see into this." The herder still shook where he stood, but at least he was quiet.
She mounted Biter and followed Laird Dougal as he rode out of the castle gate, the guardsmen trailing behind. In a little while they rode through the gate at the fence of piled stones that marked the field. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, bathing the carcasses in the field with a bloody red light.
The dead cattle were strewn all over the field. Five bodies in all lay at various points, their throats ripped out, stomachs disemboweled. Two more had been crippled by whatever had attacked them, their legs broken, their pained cries echoing over the field. Laird Dougal quickly ordered for the poor beasts to put out of their misery and two guardsmen moved over to them to slit their throats. The cattle that remained alive, perhaps twenty‑five in all, wandered about the field in oblivious stupidity.
"God," Kiel said again, when she had dismounted and examined the beasts. Whatever had attacked the cattle had been very hungry indeed. Little was of them except their bones.
"What could have done this, Kiel?" Laird Dougal asked her, his voice soft with controlled anger. Seven out of thirty cattle wasn't a disaster and they could salt the meat of two they had slaughtered themselves. But it was still going to make the winter that much harder. "Bears, perhaps?" he ventured.
Kiel shook her head. "Bears would be asleep for the winter by now, my Laird," she said. "Wolves might have done it, except even a pack of them couldn't eat all the meat off of five cattle, and they couldn't have broken the legs of the two we killed ourselves."
"And there's no track to follow," Laird Dougal said. "Not with all of these stupid beasts wandering about the field."
Kiel took off her helmet and scratched the side of her head. "With your permission, my Laird, I'll break the men into pairs and have them search the edges of the field. They might find something."
"Do that," Laird Dougal said. His frown deepened and he looked directly into Kiel's eyes, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "Hear me, Dame Kiel. I charge you with finding the beast that did this, and ridding my lands of it. We cannot afford to lose more of our cattle to this creature, whatever it may be."
"I accept your charge, my Laird," Kiel said softly.
It was mid‑afternoon before Kiel finally called off the search in frustration. No sign of the creature had been found, beyond the bodies it had left behind. No track was found either, except for the cattle's hooves. She returned to the castle and made her report to Laird Dougal. He was displeased, but he at least had the dignity of not blaming her personally for the lack of progress.
Kiel was resting on her bed, trying to catch up on lost sleep, when there was a soft knock at her door. "Who is there?" she called out.
"Leena, Dame Kiel," the bard's voice answered. "May I speak with you?"
"You may enter." The door opened and the bard slipped inside, one hand held out in front of her to feel for any furniture that might be an obstacle. Kiel rose and took hold of the woman's elbow, gently guiding her down into a chair.
"Thank you, Lady Knight," the bard said when she had been seated. "I fear I wish to impose upon you. May I ask what happened this morning out in the fields? None of your laird's soldiers seem willing to discuss it."
"They are not speaking of it because Laird Dougal bid them not to. As he bid me as well," Kiel told her. "I know it is your task to spread the news, but in this case, idle rumors may spread fear that will obscure the truth and cause injury." Kiel didn't care to imagine what would happen if a group villagers decided to go after the creature themselves.
"Oh, I see," Leena said, disappointment visible on her face. "Then perhaps you would be willing to speak to me for a time concerning your knighthood?" she asked. "I have traveled the roads in the inner kingdoms for quite some time and I confess I've never met a female of a knightly order before I entered the borderlands. Surely you must have done a deed or two worthy of a song."
"I fear I haven't done much that is worthy of a bard's recognition. Though it's not such a surprise that you haven't met a lady knight before," Kiel told her. "After all, it has barely been a century since King Nolan knighted Saint Tabitha and set the precedent. We are few and far between, especially in the inner kingdoms."
"But the population there is much more dense than at the borders, Dame Kiel. I would think that lady knights would be more numerous," Leena said with curiosity, her eyebrows rising above her blindfold.
"One would think, but it is not so. Life in the inner kingdoms is gentler than here on the borders and much more fixed to tradition. If one is displeased by the idea of a girl asking to be a squire, one need not worry about reducing their forces by turning her away. There will always be two boys to take her place. But here on the borders, every hand is needed. If a woman wishes to stay shut away in her chambers and do her sewing, that is no dishonor. But if she wishes to take up the sword, neither is that a dishonor. My Laird values skill. The sex of the one that possesses it is of no concern to him."
"Your Laird is a wise man," Leena noted with
a smile.
"That he is," Kiel agreed. She cocked her head to one side and asked. "Now that I have indulged you curiosity, would you be willing to do the same for mine?"
Leena shrugged. "Ask your questions, Dame. I have no secrets to keep."
"You intrigue me as well, Leena. If you are willing to say, how did you lose your sigh and then become a bard?"
Leena was silent a moment, then said, "My sight was taken from me when bandits attacked my village, Dame Kiel. The menfolk were defeated quickly and the women they didn't slaughter, they raped. I was just young girl, but I struggled as hard as any of the other women. This displeased the bandit that... took me, so when he was through he cut out my eyes and left me for dead.
"It was a full day after the bandits left that anyone else dared to come near the village. A trapper came out the woods and found me where I still lay. He cared for my wounds as best he could, then took me to a monastery of the order of Saint Farell. The monks took me in, raised me, and encouraged my gift for music. When I chose a secular path to follow, they let me leave with their blessings. I like to think that is why I run into so little trouble when I travel, though I am alone."
Kiel was quiet for a moment. Despite her neutral tone, Leena's jaw was working back and forth as she pushed the memories of her blinding back in her mind. The knight silently cursed herself for her curiosity.
"I owe you an apology, Bard," she said softly. "I did not mean to bring forth things you might prefer be kept away."
Leena shrugged, having quickly regained her composure. "There is no harm done," She reached out to pat the knight on her arm. "I must face those remembrances every dawn, when I feel the heat of the sun, but see no light. The pain does not last overlong."
That evening, Kiel called forward Laird Dougal's soldiers to gather in the courtyard of the castle. Whatever had attacked the cattle had been hungry. If its appetite had not been sated, there was a good chance it would strike again. Kiel wanted to be ready for it.
