by Adam Wallace
Lightning cried out and charged in but was knocked aside by one of the zombies, who bashed the horse on the side of the head, leaving Lightning unconscious on the ground.
Sir Mountable also charged to Pete’s defence but there were too many against him, and he had no chance. He was overwhelmed and knocked off his feet. Pete cried out, his mentor knight in trouble. He stomped back, the move that had worked on Smithers, but there was no foot to stomp on. He realised, when he saw an armless zombie knight kicking Sir Mountable, that he was being held only by arms and nothing else. He cried out again and used all his strength to run backwards, smashing the arms against a tree, shattering the bones within.
It knocked the wind out of Pete too, but he would not be stopped. He rejoined the battle, firing arrows as he ran. Once out of arrows he swooped down and picked up his dagger on the run, leaping into the fray, swinging his arm left and right, slicing zombies, desperate to save his mentor. The Black Knights turned on him, a semi-circle of nine-and-a-half knights. Yes. Nine-and-a-half. One had no arms, Sir Charge was standing over Sir Mountable, and Sir Vyvor stood with the horses, watching.
Pete hesitated and backed off a little. He saw Lightning slowly getting to his feet. He saw Sir Mountable on the ground, blood pouring from his wounds. The zombie knights closed in. One of them even licked its lips. Pete shuddered. He grunted as he backed into a tree. The semi-circle tightened. Pete flashed his dagger, but they continued to close in.
‘LEAVE HIM!’
The two most beautiful words Pete had ever heard, even though they were spoken by the grossest thing he had ever seen. It was Sir Charge. The other zombie knights halted, confused.
‘I have been told of the flower’s location,’ Sir Charge said. ‘We leave now. The boy is nothing. Leave him here.’
‘I am not nothing, foul one! I am a great knight.’
‘Be that as it may in your own head, if not in reality, we require the flower and nothing else. The Black Knights ride.’
And so it was over. The knights, grumbling and mumbling about how hungry they were and how they just wanted a little taste of Pete’s brain, went and mounted their horses and rode off.
Pete ran over to Sir Mountable, livid that the flower’s location had been revealed, but devastated at the injuries the old man had suffered.
‘Lean in close, boy.’
Pete did so, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t need to.
‘I gave them my house as the flower’s location. It will not stall them for long, but it will stall them. You have a day. Perhaps two. You must warn your mother and you must warn the King.’
The knight caught his breath as a surge of pain rushed through him.
‘I am not long for this world, boy, but I will say this. I have fought with great knights. I have fought with knights I regarded as heroes. You fought as well and as bravely as any I ever shared the field of battle with. You fought with heart, and skill, and I am so proud of you.’
Sir Mountable swallowed, tears of pain and loss flowing freely.
‘I had a son once. I loved him more than anything in the world. He too was a knight, and he had the potential to be a great one. I lost him many years ago, in battle, and I shut myself off from the world. You have opened it up to me once more.
I see so much of him in you, even though you are your own man. In this you have given him life, and in doing so you have given me life. I am not your father, but I think of you as a son, and it is a great honour for me to do so.’
Tears sprung to Pete’s eyes. He knew that another’s opinion of him was not his goal anymore, but to have earned Sir Mountable’s respect and love meant more to him than he could have imagined.
‘We shall fight together again,’ he said to his mentor, his eyes blurring. ‘We shall defend the town together. You and me. You can’t leave me. Not now. Who will train me? You will survive.’
Sir Mountable shook his head, wincing at the effort it took.
‘No, boy. Your journey must continue without this grumpy old man.’
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then stared straight at his trainee.
‘Listen closely. We have spoken of this often, and you know you do not need the title of a knight, however you are Sir Pete McGee. The name fits. Wear it with pride. Act with honour, act in service to others … and one more thing.’
He gestured for Pete to lean closer. Pete did so, crying openly now. Sir Mountable had never called him anything but boy before, so the knight using his name for the first time had set the tears in motion. Sir Mountable reached up and grabbed Pete’s collar with a shaking hand.
‘Win, Pete McGee. Defeat the Black Knights. Your exile is over, for others are in danger. Go to King Rayon. Warn him. Gather others to your cause and defeat the Black Knights!’
The effort to speak took too much out of the old man. He lay back, eyes closed, a smile on his face.
‘You will win,’ he said, the words barely audible, a breath of sound. ‘Of this I am sure. You will win, my son.’
A short breath, caught. A slow hissing as the breath was let out and Sir Mountable, Pete’s mentor, his teacher, his friend, was dead.
ete McGee buried Sir Mountable himself, using the knight’s helmet as a headstone. He wished he could do a better job, something more appropriate to celebrate the life of a great knight.
He stood there for a while after, shoulders hunched over, staring at the mound of dirt. It had happened again, just like Smithers said. Someone close to him had died, and it was his fault. It was always his fault. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He felt so responsible.
Images flashed through his mind, real and imagined. Marloynne and Ashlyn, about to be married. Sir Mountable, saying how proud he had been of Pete, how he thought of Pete as a son. The black zombie knights, dead and yet alive, astride their gross horses. King Rayon looking over his town, destroyed by the rampaging evil. His mother, standing in front of the Wilderene Flower, protecting it, the zombie knights advancing.
Pete leapt to his feet. His mother. Part of him longed to rescue her, take the Wilderene Flower, and run. Just get away from everything, let the others take care of themselves. He knew that wouldn’t be the end though. He knew the zombie knights wouldn’t rest until they had the flower in their grasp.
Then maybe he could run without the flower. Just leave it and all its problems behind. He had seen the knights. He had fought the knights. He did not know if they could be stopped, and he was scared out of his mind.
To run was not the way of a knight though, scared or not, and it was not the way of Sir Pete McGee.
‘You will do what you know is right,’ his mother had said.
He knew he must face the doubts and he must face them head on. A knight must protect those in danger. Regardless of how the town had treated him, it would be his actions that would define him. That was what Sir Mountable had worked so hard to teach Pete, and he would not let his mentor’s death be in vain.
Sir Pete McGee wiped his face with his sleeve. His eyes, still damp, went hard and focused. He strode over to where Lightning was standing. The horse’s ears pricked up as it sensed the change in the air, the change in Pete as he walked. Lightning whinnied and moved towards Pete, who walked over and pressed his forehead against Lightning’s.
‘Okay, boy. It’s almost time. I must prepare now. You relax. You will know when I’m ready.’
Lightning whinnied again and trotted over to his favourite tree. He stood there, his eyes never leaving Pete.
Pete went over to where his and Sir Mountable’s belongings lay. He took out his arrows and sharpened the ends until they gleamed. He shined Sir Mountable’s helmet until he could see his face in the metal. He held it up to the sunlight and then placed it back at the end of Sir Mountable’s grave.
He sat for a while then, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing, slowing it down, trying to sense everything around him. Again, images flashed through his mind. His mother, last of all, crying ou
t for his help as the Black Knights overwhelmed her.
His eyes snapped open and he stood.
‘LIGHTNING!’
His horse cried out in reply and galloped towards Pete, who ran, picking up his quiver and crossbow as he went. Lightning stopped and bowed low, and Pete swung aboard on the run. One last ride before the battle. One last ride for fun. Then they would see what those knights were made of. (Well, I can tell you … they’re made of blood and guts and skin and bones, just like you and me. It’s just that theirs are more visible. Okay. Enjoy your dinner!)
The Black Knights rode fast, following the route given to them by Sir Mountable. They were close now. The flower was almost theirs. They could smell it … well, they would have been able to smell it if they weren’t so smelly themselves. But they could sense it, at least. Their destiny was at hand.
Pete breathed in deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs, every nerve tingling. Lightning galloped faster than he ever had before, eyes gleaming. The air rushed past Pete’s face as he rode with his eyes closed, at one with his horse. His mind was clear now. This was a moment for him and Lightning to enjoy.
Lightning suddenly stopped as they neared the campsite. Pete’s eyes flashed open. In an instant he drew his crossbow and fired three times at a tree, all three arrows thudding into the trunk within centimetres of each other. Lightning galloped over to the tree and skidded to a halt. Pete jumped off and sliced the three arrows through with his dagger, sending the ends flying to the ground, the heads of the arrows staying embedded in the tree.
The boy and his horse walked over to where Pete’s pack lay. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. His hand slipped subconsciously into his inside jacket pocket, where it held the tiger eye crystal for an instant, and then the note from his mother. Her image flashed into his mind once more. He gripped the note, the words in his mind, the paper scrunching between his fingers. Sir Pete McGee’s face went hard. He let go of the note. He was ready. He walked back over to Lightning.
‘This is it, boy. This is our time. This is everything we have worked so hard for, and I tell you this right now, we will not back down. We will not surrender. Let’s do this. Let’s kick some gross, stinky, rotten, knight butts!’
Lightning reared up on his hind legs, kicking the air. He landed and bowed low. Pete bowed in return and then mounted his horse.
‘YAH!’
Sir Charge was not happy. Not happy at all. The old man had given them the long way home. They had finally arrived at the run-down shack and there was no Wilderene Flower to be seen. The knights tore the place apart searching for it. Nothing. NOTHING! Sir Charge screamed in anger, smashing his fist through the wall of the house. The town would pay for the old man’s deception.
Lightning flew. Pete sat low on his back, the wind bringing tears to his eyes, but he would not slow the horse down. It was as if Lightning knew exactly what Pete was thinking, and needed no directions. And it was as if Pete knew exactly how Lightning was going to move, and although he held the horse’s mane, he didn’t need to. He let go at one stage to let his hand rest on his dagger, reassured by its coolness. He had a full quiver of arrows, and his crossbow was at his side. Nothing would stop him.
King Rayon stood before the knights and their trainees. He was in full battle gear.
‘We have news,’ he said, keeping his voice strong, although there was fear behind it. ‘We have news of an attack. Bandragon did not fall, but it lies damaged. The Black Knights head for us. We must defend our town against them. We, the knights, are the first and last line of defence. Though you trainees are young, you are skilled and you are brave. You will do me and your mentors proud. We must stand firm. We must not let our town fall.’
The knights cheered, except for Larson Smithers, who knew exactly what they were up against, and who knew exactly why the Black Knights were coming. But he said nothing. King Rayon continued.
‘No-one knows where these renegade knights come from. No-one knows why they are destroying towns, why they act against everything a true knight stands for. No-one knows what their intentions are.’
‘I KNOW!’
Everyone turned to the entrance of the great hall. They saw, standing next to his mighty steed, a young man with determination written all over his face. (It wasn’t really. Pete hadn’t been to a carnival and got his face painted. It’s just a figure of speech. You probably knew that. Okay, I’ll be quiet now.) Pete patted Lightning and left him at the entrance, walking towards the knights.
‘McGee!’ Smithers, who had actually been feeling hugely guilty about pointing Pete out to the zombies, tried to cover up with his usual bullying. ‘You aren’t meant to come anywhere near this town, let alone address the King. Get lost. We knights have work to do.’
He was silenced by a glare from the head of the guards, his father. Pete ignored Smithers anyway and walked straight up to King Rayon and bowed.
‘Your Majesty, I know I break a number of rules in coming here, but a knight must do what is right. It is right for me to be here, as I know of the Black Knights’ intentions. They seek the Wilderene Flower.’
A murmur went through the group. King Rayon hushed them with a gesture, then turned to Pete.
‘How do you know this, Pete McGee? How do you know of these dark knights?’
Pete swallowed. He hadn’t talked yet of Sir Mountable’s death, but he knew he must do so now.
‘Because I have fought them. I fought them with a great knight who perished at their hands. I do not seek vengeance against them for this. But I will defeat them, I can guarantee you of that. Will you fight with me?’
The King almost laughed at the boy’s bravado. He was impressed with the look of Pete McGee, the confidence. He had changed since he had been banished. King Rayon was not pleased, however, with the news of Sir Mountable’s death. He stared straight at Pete McGee, and was further impressed when the boy held his gaze.
‘How many are there, young McGee? Do you know how these knights may be defeated?’
Sir Pete McGee shook his head.
‘There are twelve, but no, Your Highness, I do not know how they can be defeated. No matter what injuries you inflict upon them, they seem to come back just as strong. And they smell rotten. Seriously. But you must answer. Will you fight with me? We do not have much time. They shall be here soon.’
The King nodded. He turned to the other knights.
‘Pete McGee fights with us. He has stood against the dark ones already, and he shall do so now with our support. Together, we shall rise in victory.’
The knights cheered again. Smithers glared at Pete, who ignored him. Instead, he gestured to the King to lean in. King Rayon did so.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty. Ummm, can I go now? The flower’s at my house. I have to get it out of there to save my mum.’
The King nodded again and Pete raced over to Lightning, who bowed low in preparation. Pete leapt aboard and they were off. King Rayon turned and gathered his troops. They were a small number, but still they outnumbered the Black Knights three to one. He only hoped it would be enough.
The Order of Black Knights rode at speed towards the centre of town, death on their minds. Sir Charge wanted that flower. The other knights wanted a battle. Sir Vyvor wanted time. None of them had what they wanted.
Sir Charge yelled and spurred his horse on to greater speeds, flesh flying from his body and face as he rode, splattering the knights behind him.
Pete leapt off Lightning almost before he stopped.
‘MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!’
Mrs McGee ran outside at the sound of her son’s voice. She had missed him terribly, missed everything about him. She ran over and held him tight, so glad he was alright, feeling Pete’s new strength as he hugged her with all his might. He quickly pulled away and spoke as he walked inside the house.
‘You have to get out of here, Mum. They’re coming. They’re coming for the flower. You have to get out of here now. Marloynne and Ashlyn too. Where are t
hey?’
Mrs McGee had to jog to keep up with Pete as he strode into the kitchen. He stopped at the jar on the windowsill. It was filled with dirt. It held the Wilderene Flower.
‘Pete, wait. What? I think they’re still at the castle, working. Who wants the flower? Who’s coming?’
Pete grabbed the flower and pushed his mum behind him, protecting her. He turned and stared straight at her.
‘Death. Death is coming.’
The sound of horses approaching told Pete that Death was not only coming, but it had arrived.
eath kept riding. Pete was ready for the attack, but it didn’t come. The horses kept on riding, right past the house and towards the town centre. Pete hadn’t breathed since he had first heard the hoof beats.
He stood at the window, his mother still behind him, and watched as the Black Knights rode by in a flash, roaring battle cries as they went. He breathed out slowly. His mum had also seen the Black Knights.
‘What were they, Pete?’ she asked. ‘What were those things?’
Pete smiled, trying to be reassuring, keeping his voice light.
‘Just some stinky old undead unkillable knights who want the Wilderene Flower and have been destroying towns in their search for it. You know, the usual old thing.’
His mum stared at him. Pete looked away, wondering what to do with the Wilderene Flower.
He couldn’t leave it here with his mother. He couldn’t leave her in danger. Even though he knew it was the wrong option, the thought of running away with his mum again invaded his mind.
Then he knew.
He had to get the Wilderene Flower as far away from his mother as he could. He had to let the zombie knights know that he, Sir Pete McGee, would defend it with his life. He carefully wrapped the flower and put it in his pack. Mrs McGee grabbed his arm.
‘Pete. No. You can’t face them alone.’
