Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4)

by Cassandra Gannon

  Trystan stabbed a finger at him. “You will not discuss this ludicrous treasure map with anyone. Understand? If they are dumb enough to believe it’s real, they will want to kill you and take it for themselves. It isn’t safe.”

  Silence.

  Trystan turned to look at Galahad. “Understand?” He demanded again.

  “Well, about that…” Galahad began in a cautious tone.

  “Lyrssa save me.” Trystan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You already told someone.”

  “Well, before you came along, I had met these five ex-knights from Camelot. It seemed like such a lucky break. They’d never gone home after the War. They said they were exploring Lyonesse, just like me.”

  No. Not like him. “Exploring Lyonesse” clearly meant “looting and killing” to those not gazing at the world through a prism of eternal optimism.

  “And they had supplies for a journey in the desert. I didn’t have supplies, because I was --like I said before-- broke. So we made a deal. I would lead them to the treasure and they would share their supplies and we’d split the gold.” Galahad shifted uncomfortably. “But then we had a difference of opinion and I left them. I never showed them the whole map, though, so…”

  Trystan cut him off. “Explain the difference of opinion.”

  Galahad hesitated.

  “Recall that you live a life of truth.” Trystan reminded him pointedly.

  Galahad made a face and relented. “A few days later, another guy showed up. I didn’t know that he was the leader of the group. He was one of my former soldiers, before he deserted.”

  Trystan snorted at that. “Disloyalty is the worse offense a warrior can commit.”

  “You think so?” Galahad asked quietly.

  “One of them, anyway.” Trystan believed that like holy truth. “So this failed soldier returned to the group of wingless and remembered you? I take it they weren’t fond memories?”

  “No, they weren’t.” The knight cleared his throat. “Things ended on bad terms. And now he’s apparently become a dealer in consumer magic, so there was that issue…”

  “He and his friends tried to murder you.” Trystan translated. It wasn’t a question.

  Galahad winced slightly.

  Trystan could feel the foggy mask of the eagle begin to form over his features, the gryphon in him wanting to hunt down and destroy his new enemies. He didn’t question the force of his anger. It was simply there and he embraced it.

  “I’m okay.” Galahad assured him. “For a few minutes, though, I was afraid I would have to kill them. I don’t want to kill anyone else, Trystan. Not ever again.” Wide blue eyes met his, all sorts of idealistic thoughts reflected in their depths. No one should have eyes like that. “Luckily, I dealt with them nonviolently.”

  That sounded dubious. “How?”

  “They doused me in magic that didn’t really work. Then, I escaped.”

  Trystan snorted. “This is not “dealing” with anything. This is delaying it. These men will be back.” It was obvious to anyone with a functioning brainstem. “They did not get the map, so they will return for it. And for you.”

  “No, I don’t think…” Galahad stopped talking, which was a sure indication of trouble.

  Trystan followed his gaze and spotted the problem. A small being with an ancient gun was hiding in the scrubs along the side of the road, ready to ambush them.

  Lyrssa save him from idiots.

  “Try it and I will kill you where you stand.” Trystan snapped at the creature, in no mood for more stupidity.

  The small being ignored that excellent advice. It fumbled its way out of the bushes, the gun weighing down its hand. The would-be robber was a young ogre, with matted blue fur and ragged clothes. “Give me all your money!” It squeaked.

  Like all gryphons, Trystan treasured children… but that didn’t mean he was putting up with a lot of shit. “Get out of my way, boy.”

  “I’m a girl!” The robber gasped, like he had grievously wounded her. “I’m the most famous highwaywoman in Lyonesse. And I’ll shoot you if you don’t give me all your money!”

  “No, you won’t.” Trystan kept riding forward, giving the girl no choice but to step aside.

  Galahad looked perturbed. Odd things seemed to disturb the man. “We should give the child some money.” He whispered at Trystan.

  “No.” Was the knight insane? Well, obviously he was, but still… “I do not like being robbed. Especially, with guns that will not even fire.”

  “It will so fire!” The ogre cried, hurrying alongside the horses, the broken gun waving around in her hand. “I shoot people with it all the time.”

  The odds of that were minimal, seeing as how it was a rusted mess. Trystan sent her a skeptical look and then went back to glaring at Galahad. “This is your fault you know.” He declared, because it was true.

  Galahad was outraged. “How is it my fault?”

  “Your men no doubt left that gun here during the War. This is the result.” The irresponsibility of the wingless was a constant source of consternation to Trystan.

  “That gun isn’t from the War. At least not this war. This is a Model kf-2802 revolver, most likely from fighting the Harpie Invasion, eighty years ago.” Galahad gave it an admiring glance. “It has the original sight too. Really, it’s a nice piece.”

  “Hand over the gold or I’ll shoot, right now!” The girl warned, interrupting them.

  Trystan’s attention flicked back to her. “Then shoot.” He challenged testily.

  The girl swallowed… and lowered the gun.

  Pitiful.

  “You are a terrible criminal.” Trystan informed her, because she really should know. “If you wish to be a thief, you must practice far more at your craft. Why are you not wearing a mask? You should have a mask on, yes? And use a functional weapon. And this is a horrible spot for a trap, you need far more cover. Did you think of these things?”

  The girl hung her head, which meant that she hadn’t thought of them.

  “Trystan, just give her some gold.”

  Galahad’s commanding tone surprised Trystan enough that he actually paid attention, his face swiveling around. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Interesting that this would be the moment the man pulled it out for use.

  “I thought you did not wish to argue, knight?”

  “Look at her clothes.” Galahad continued quietly, leaning forward on his horse so the girl couldn’t overhear. “You know how many orphans the War made. She is hungry and alone. This is all she can do to survive.”

  “If I give her money, it will encourage her.” Trystan stressed. “If she is to succeed as a highwaywoman, she needs to be taught how to do it properly.” It was important to educate children. The knight’s TV show had done a piss-poor job of imparting useful information, but Trystan was better at building young minds. “Otherwise she will die doing this work.”

  “She needs food, not criminal mentoring lessons. Give her some gold, so she can eat.”

  Why did the Butcher of Legion care so much about helping a child? What was he plotting? It would be a bad idea to underestimate the knight. Trystan had fought Camelot’s forces to a standstill, again and again, but Galahad had never been as predictable as the rest of Uther’s men. That made him the most dangerous. Very, very dangerous and very, very…

  Gods, his eyes were blue.

  “You’re a Good man, Trys.” Galahad said quietly. “I see it. Help this little girl.”

  Those damnable eyes met Trystan’s, the color of them so saturated they were nearly purple. The intense, vibrant shade of the heavens at twilight, when the pinks of the setting sun met the blues of fading daytime. The result was an illuminated lavender hue that made you believe in the vastness of the sky and the magic of… everything.

  Something strange happened inside Trystan’s chest. Something that made it hard for him to breathe and robbed him of rational thought. It sent him sliding into stupidity. Mutt
ering a curse, he dug coins out of the pouch on his belt. “I will give you some of what I have, girl.” He grudgingly decided. “Not all.”

  “Really?” She blurted out, her lips parting in surprise. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting to succeed. Nor should she, considering her abysmal lack of talent.

  “Really.” Trystan counted out the money and handed it down to the astounded child. “You will use the gold to go that way.” He pointed east. “Walk until you reach a phone. Then, you will call the castle at Camelot. Give them your location and tell them Trystan says they should come get you. You will go there and live.”

  Galahad beamed at him like he’d never been prouder of anyone.

  Trystan ignored him.

  “Really?” The girl said again and huge eyes began to fill with tears. “You’ll help me?”

  “Really. Princess Avalon will tell them you speak the truth, if anyone doubts it. My niece knows everything.” He impatiently snapped his fingers and held out a palm. “And give me the gun. I do not want you holding up anyone else and getting yourself killed in the process.”

  She obligingly handed it to him and then stood there like she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “Well?” He gestured down the road. “Go. Now.”

  The girl took him seriously. She ran off at top speed, tripping over her own feet.

  “Thank you.” Galahad said softly.

  Trystan shrugged, irritated at the world. “Caring for the young is the duty of us all.”

  It would be wrong to leave the ogre girl to fend for herself, considering she seemed dedicated to stupidity. She would do far better in Camelot. Children needed guidance and nurturing. Even the felonious ones. Especially the felonious ones. That was why he did this. Even if the gryphons had no children of their own, they still had a stake in the future.

  “Here.” Trystan tossed the useless gun at Galahad. “Hold this, so no other child finds it and gets themselves in trouble.”

  Galahad caught the broken revolver, absently examining it. “I can fix this, you know.”

  “For what? So you can not shoot it? It already does that.”

  Galahad shoved the broken gun into his waistband. “Is it really so wrong to think there’s a better way than killing each other?”

  Trystan’s jaw ticked. Galahad had to be tricking him. Had to be. Legion had been a smoldering crater when the King’s Men were through and Galahad had been in command. Now the same man wanted to talk of peace and help children? No. Something was wrong here.

  Trystan reigned in his horse. Determined to prove himself right, once and for all, he turned the animal around, drawing up beside the knight.

  Galahad looked baffled. “What’s the matter?”

  Trystan’s hand whipped out, catching hold of Galahad’s chin and tilting his head so he could stare directly into his face. The knight automatically tried to jerk away in surprise, but Trystan wouldn’t let him go.

  He saw the pulse in Galahad’s neck increase as he was held in place, but he didn’t seem frightened. Any creature with sense in their heads would panic when a gryphon seized them, but the knight stared up at Trystan without even a flicker of genuine alarm. Instead, violet eyes met his, full of curiosity and virtue.

  Trystan stared back at him, momentarily hypnotized. Trying to recall what he’d been planning to do. Why wasn’t the knight frightened about being captured, and tied to a saddle, and manhandled? Why didn’t Galahad see him as a threat? Everyone saw Trystan as a threat. Aside from his clan, there was nobody alive who felt safe alone with him. Trystan had never even slept with anyone who wasn’t a little wary of him. He’d thought that was normal.

  But Galahad didn’t seem apprehensive. Instead, he watched Trystan with… interest.

  Trystan frowned. There were few beings on the planet he couldn’t cow into submission, but Galahad appeared to be one of them. For some reason, the idiot’s idiotic fearlessness was arousing to him. It put many thoughts in his head that he did not want to have.

  “Explain what happened at Legion.” He demanded and he felt Galahad flinch at the unexpected question.

  “I don’t want to talk about Legion.” The tone was quietly and inflexibly stubborn. “Ever. Whatever you heard, the reality was worse and I don’t want to remember it.”

  “So, the same man who led troops to slaughter innocent people, throws away his weapons? Allows an ogre girl to rob him? You expect me to believe this?”

  “I told you, I’m not the same man I was during the War.”

  “Bullshit.” Trystan intoned. “No one changes that much. Certainly not a monster who burned children and old people in the grasses at Legion.”

  Galahad shoved his hand away. “The darkness is still inside of me.” He snapped. This subject clearly upset him. “But, I now fight it. Every day. That’s what changed in me.”

  Trystan sat back in his saddle, regarding Galahad thoughtfully. He didn’t see any darkness in the knight. No deception in his face or evasions in his tone. Either Trystan was reading him completely wrong or Galahad was telling the truth. And Trystan didn’t often read people wrong. What was happening here?

  Galahad stared up at him, breathing hard.

  Trystan stared back.

  Long seconds ticked by.

  “When I left Camelot to search for you, Avalon told me you were a great warrior.” Trystan said at length. “Why does she think that?

  “I don’t know. Maybe she watched my television programs too many times.”

  “It cannot just be because of your lying TV show. She believes you are an actual hero.”

  Galahad sighed, sounding tired. “All the heroes are dead, Trystan. You know that.”

  Yes. He did. The War took them and nearly everything else. But, Avalon claimed Galahad was the “best knight ever.” The ultimate warrior of his people. Worse, Avi had then linked his name to the ya’lah.

  She didn’t fully understand what the word meant, but Trystan did. He knew all of the gryphons’ myths. And he knew that connecting this man to any of them was preposterous. Fisher had said no one was the ya’lah. Trystan doubted the old man’s sanity on many topics, but on that one they agreed. The ya’lah was a legend. Nothing more.

  And even if the tales were somehow true, Galahad of fucking Camelot would certainly not be the ya’lah. Anyone else in creation made more sense. Literally anyone.

  …Except Avi had insinuated that this man with innocent eyes, who’d slaughtered countless gryphons for his genocidal king and whose smiling face was on a goddamn postage stamp, was the champion Trystan’s people had been waiting for.

  And Avalon was always right.

  Chapter Three

  The graal was given to the gryphons’ before all history began. Where it came from is lost now, but we have devotedly passed along the two very simple rules for its care:

  It can never be used as a weapon.

  It can only be used for the Good of all.

  If we abide by this, the legends say that the graal will save our people, one day.

  And so we followed the rules, year after year, century after century. It was our honor and duty to protect the graal from misuse, until that prophesied time arrived. With this in mind, our ancestors hid it in the most secure location they could imagine

  They hid it within the Looking Glass Pool.

  How the Wingless War Happened

  Skylyn Welkyn- Gryphon Storyteller

  Lyonesse Desert- Forbidden Stone Ruins

  Trystan leaned against the pommel of his saddle, looking arrogant and unsurprised and maybe a little pleased by Galahad’s predicament. “I told you so.” He announced with an awful lot of satisfaction for someone born without emotions.

  Galahad unfolded his map, ignoring all the negativity aimed his way. Trystan enjoyed saying “I told you so.” In the few days they’d been riding together, Galahad had already heard it dozens of times. He tuned out the newest round of pessimism, like he’d tuned out the others.

  “There’s nothing
here, knight.” Trystan reiterated, because he didn’t like being ignored. No doubt he wasn’t used to it, since he was stunningly beautiful, and carried an axe, and had gigantic wings. All of that tended to draw the eye. “I told you this detour was a waste of time.”

  “What I’m looking for is here.” Galahad squinted down at the map and then up at the aptly named Forbidden Stone Ruins. “Someplace.”

  Trystan sighed loudly, still not bothering to get off his horse.

  Galahad ignored that, too. The map showed a mass of badly drawn circles in rough piles. He was pretty sure that was supposed to represent the Forbidden Stone Ruins. The mountainous sand dunes were dotted with at least six-hundred piles of rocks. Big, small, intricate, simple, made from every color and shape of stone imaginable. It was kinda beautiful. He wished he had the time to study them all. Mazes of cairns were spread out like a spider web all around him.

  Yeah… this was going to take a while.

  Trystan didn’t seem inclined to wait. Uther had called him a demon, but the man looked like an impatient, pissed-off angel, most of the time. “Why can you not admit that your map is wrong? Whatever you are searching for is gone. Probably, it was never here, at all.”

  Galahad started forward, pushing over the cairns as he went.

  Trystan’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he wanted to ask what the hell Galahad was doing. He probably thought showing any interest would interfere with his “I hate Galahad,” badass, grouchy exterior.

  …Or possibly he was just a grouchy badass who hated Galahad.

  Galahad continued toppling the rocks, although he felt kinda bad about it. Some of the piles were exquisitely arranged. Destroying small works of art went against his entire worldview. At the moment, he didn’t have a choice, though.

  “I lived in this land, once.” Trystan said after a while. “I know it well. These cairns have been here for centuries.”

  “Yep.” Galahad agreed and knocked down some more.

  Trystan’s fingers began to drum. Seriously, shouldn’t someone without emotions be a little more patient? “So many rocks, from so many places, were brought here. They could only be some sort of offering. This must have been a religious spot, for people long ago.”