by Jada Fisher
Until Sir Nogrund spoke. “Everyone steady, they’re coming.”
Dorrick wondered how he knew, but then he felt it. Like an itch that ran up his arms and legs, making his hair stand on edge and gooseflesh pebble his skin. There was a sense of dread that spread through him, though that might have just been him and not an actual product of the incoming spirits.
Suddenly, a small blue spirit—like a butterfly with the tail of a monkey—came screaming into the clearing. As soon as it passed the warding circle, it blazed a bright purple light and in a flash was gone, as if it had never been.
More came, and then more after that. All small spirits, so many and so fast that Dorrick couldn’t even get good looks at them before they were zapped. He still didn’t know where they’d been all this time while they’d hiked through the wilds, but they were there then, in full force and eager to kill. This was what the knights were made for: to protect humanity from the monsters and spirits of the world.
Things went very well for a while. It was almost all small spirits, instantly vaporized by the warding circle. One large spirit made it through, a dog-like thing with inky black skin and eyes that burned like hot coals. It howled a cry that was so demonic and unnatural that it made water well up in Dorrick’s eyes. A hellhound, a creature that emitted sorrow. He didn’t know they even lived in these wilds. The monster rushed them, but it was filled with rage, blinded by it. It barely saw Sir Nogrund before he slammed into it with his shield and stabbed it through the chest with his sword. It wailed one last rage-filled cry before it disintegrated.
So this was what being a knight was really about.
The spirits slowly stopped coming a few minutes later. There were only so many within the Godly Ruin’s range. Still, nothing too big, and certainly nothing like the thing described by the villagers. Perhaps it was too far away, out of range of the potion.
Dorrick almost thought that maybe they’d just go back, call it a day. They couldn’t track it to the ends of the earth, after all.
That was when it showed up. When Dorrick had foolishly let his guard down.
It came out of nowhere, somehow, despite its size, which was very worrisome. It tore through a thicket and appeared, a mass of bark and moss and dead flowers and…just an abomination. Just as it was described by the villagers, the nature spirit was a monster, something out of a nightmare.
Saying that the spirit resembled a bear did not prepare Dorrick for what he would see. Yes, it looked like a bear, but a bear with an unhinged jaw and glowing red eyes and skin that looked both to be rotting and made of soggy bark. It had bear arms and legs up until the point where the joints were. From there down, large rough eagle legs sprouted from the fur, an unnatural sight if he’d ever seen one.
In short, it was an unholy abomination. And it stared right at him.
Dorrick cursed.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the monster charged him. It bellowed, a rage-filled sound that shook the air and made his ears tremble. It was guttural and awful, a sound that grated on his very soul. For a split-second, he was frozen with fear, watching the beast charge at him, but as it got close, Dorrick snapped out of it.
He dove to his left as the spirit swiped the space he’d occupied with its talons. They were the size of daggers, and they’d mince him to pieces in an instant if he let them.
Just narrowly avoiding death, he came up in a crouch and brought his shield out in front of him just in time to block the monster’s next blow. The force of it was like being rammed by a boulder rolling down a mountain. His arms buckled, pain flaring through him, as he was tossed back like he weighed nothing. With a bone-shaking crash, he landed against a tree, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him.
With a groan, Dorrick tried to open his eyes. His vision was blurry. He’d hit his head against the tree, and the small helmet they all wore wasn’t exactly designed to take blunt blows. Still, as much as he would have preferred to just sleep, he couldn’t quit yet.
He pushed to his feet, though with the chainmail and his throbbing body, it proved to be a chore. With some concentration—and a fair amount of grimacing that bordered on teeth-grinding—he managed to get his head straight. If they lived, he was going to be very sore later.
The spirit had forgotten about him as it charged Ollo and Evan. Ollo was nimble enough to dodge the beast, but Evan barely had time to bring his shield up. The spirit barreled into him, leading with its shoulder. With a cry, Evan was lifted off his feet and thrown against a tree. He broke a branch and fell hard into a bush. He didn’t get up.
“Evan!” Ollo yelled. He raised his sword, ready to charge headlong at the monster.
“Stay steady, Ollo!” Sir Nogrund cried as he turned to block another spirit with his shield. It looked like a green, gassy mess of a bird. His shield slammed against it, staggering it before he drove his sword home.
Ollo was wise enough to heed their mentor’s words. Dorrick was closest to Evan, who still hadn’t gotten up. Thankfully, he hadn’t been thrown from the warding circle, or the spirits may have torn him apart. They were still charging the clearing, though there were considerably less of them now.
“Chella, Ollo, you two distract it! Keep it in front of you!” Dorrick called. “I’ll check on Evan!” They nodded and spaced themselves a few paces apart so they could maneuver with space and still evade the monster.
It roared and rampaged toward them, giving Dorrick the opening he needed. He ran toward Evan. Before he got there, a serpentine spirit with bright blue scales that glowed like flames pushed through the wards and launched itself at Dorrick. It was too fast for him to throw up his shield, so instead—with a yelp he wasn’t proud of—he dropped onto his rear, just narrowly avoiding the creature’s fangs.
His instincts kicked in. He knew it was about to rebound and come at him again. It was fast, too fast, but this was what he trained for. Without even looking, he slid out of his crouch and swiveled around, as nimble as a dancer. Shield first, swinging like a battering ram, with his sword following like the avenging swing of a headman’s axe.
The shield smashed into the snake with enough force to kill a mortal man, but this was no man. Then he used the “stun and sting” technique, as the move was called in training. Bash with your shield and bring your weapon down in a single motion. And so he did. As the snake crumbled under the shock of his shield, Dorrick brought his sword around and sliced clean through its neck. He didn’t wait to see it evaporate into nothing.
Heart pounding, gasping for breath, he reached his large friend. Just from first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. None of his limbs were at unnatural angles, and he didn’t see any blood, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t bleeding beneath his armor.
Dorrick jammed his sword into the ground and tossed his shield aside to cradle Evan’s head. The large brother was out cold, his mouth ajar.
“Evan,” Dorrick said. “Evan!” This time more urgent. He shook his friend’s head lightly, aware that doing it too hard could make matters worse. But if he could get him up and awake, it would do wonders, if only so Dorrick wouldn’t have to watch him and could get back into the fight.
After a few seconds, Evan’s eyes fluttered open, then slammed shut just as quick, his face twisting into a grimace.
“Ugh, that hurt,” he said.
Dorrick smiled. “Everything okay? Does anything hurt?”
Evan still didn’t open his eyes, but he shook his head. “N-no, just my head. Ringing like church bells.”
“That’ll pass,” Dorrick said with a grin. He stood and retrieved his sword and shield. “Take a breather, regain your wits. Then join the fight, but only if you’re able.”
“Aye, thanks.”
The younger Vane turned from his friend and looked to rejoin the others. From the looks of things, the fight was going fine. Marcella, Ollo, and Sir Nogrund had the spirit surrounded on three sides, spaced equally apart, all trying to keep its attention. The rest of the barrage of minor s
pirits appeared to have ceased, which was a relief.
That still left one big problem to deal with.
Their distractions worked, until it crashed down in an instant. Marcella moved to her left, while she slammed her sword against her shield to keep the spirit’s eyes on her. However, she didn’t notice the large root beside her until it was too late. Her foot caught under it and she clattered to the ground, her sword and shield dancing away from her.
That was all the opening the spirt needed. It focused its wrath on her.
Dorrick was too far away to do anything. He put an arm out helplessly as the beast whirled on her, standing monstrously tall on its hind legs. “No!” he screamed.
It brought down its talons with a roar. This was it, he was about to lose his best friend, the only person that made the rigorous life of training and lectures worth it, made it bearable. She was about to be killed, and on their first mission no less, their chance to finally prove themselves and earn the ranks they’d strived so hard to accomplish.
What kind of sick joke is this? he asked himself, dread weighing heavy on him, making his heart feel like it was made of lead.
Just as he thought the end was there for her, Sir Nogrund came to Marcella’s aid and tackled her, shielding her body with his own. The spirit’s talons raked across his back, tearing through the chainmail like it was nothing. He and Marcella fell to the ground, he on top of her, both disarmed and dazed. Alive…but not for long.
Snap out of it!
Dorrick shook his head and made his feet move. He couldn’t afford to freeze, not in the heat of battle, not even when a comrade was about to die. Any hesitation could mean death, for him or his friends. He couldn’t do that.
Sword tight in his grip, he summoned all the courage within him and yelled at the top of his lungs. It succeeded in getting the rogue spirit’s attention. It turned to him, its smoldering eyes glowering at him, unhinged jaw working a growl. But that didn’t matter, Dorrick had to keep it away from the others.
He gulped, said a silent prayer, and charged the abomination.
Was it bravado? A death wish? He didn’t know. All he knew was he couldn’t sit still and not act. He dropped his shield and gripped his sword in two hands, so that his aim was sure and his arms firm and strong. He ran straight at the beast. It was confused for just a moment before it bellowed again, the sound booming through the forest. He could have sworn that its jagged, nightmare of a mouth smiled at him.
Look at this idiot, it was probably thinking. Did spirits think? He knew some did, but this one struck him as too wild to have any form of rational thought in its mind.
But who was he to talk of rational thoughts? He was charging an enraged nature spirit the size of a house with just his sword and his courage. That wasn’t the pinnacle of human rationality, but it may have been a peak example of their sometimes-unearned sense of bravado and arrogance.
That was all he needed on that day.
The spirit bounded toward him on its unnatural avian legs, him on his two little human ones. They met in an instant. The thing swung at him, but its claw passed through empty air, because with a cry like a barbarian, Dorrick dropped into a slide and slid beneath the spirit. As he did, he brought his sword up and sliced it from its stomach to what passed for the spirit’s crotch.
Dorrick screamed the whole way, heart pounding, the slick grass carrying him surprisingly fast. Before he knew it, he was staring at open air again, the beast behind him. He gasped in shock at what he’d just done. But was it enough?
There was no time to waste. He hopped to his feet and whirled around, ready to face the monster again, to do whatever it would take to keep it from his friends. But when he turned, he found the monster staggering, eyes on him. It groaned—no, more of a mewling whine—as it took one step forward, then another, before it disintegrated into black flakes that disappeared into the air.
And just like that, it was gone.
He’d done it.
He threw down his helmet and ran his gauntleted hand through his thick blond locks. Holy hell, I did it!
Though it was gone, Dorrick didn’t take the time to dwell on the enormity of what he’d just done. He went to the black Godly Ruin crystal that was still pulsing, still drawing in spirits, and smashed it with his sword. It was no longer needed. When the shattered pieces hit the grass, it returned to liquid form and seeped into the earth. The air instantly felt lighter.
With that done, he made his way to where Marcella and Sir Nogrund still lay. Marcella was struggling to stand, though she seemed okay. Sir Nogrund, however, was not as well. He groaned and lolled about the ground, blood running along his chainmail from where the monster had cut him.
Dorrick rushed to his side while Ollo went to help his brother. Marcella knelt beside their captain and rolled him onto his stomach.
“Help me undo his armor,” she said, voice firm. Dorrick didn’t argue.
Sir Nogrund winced as they did their best to get his breastplate and chainmail free without hurting him too much. But still, he groaned and cursed.
“So sorry, sir,” Marcella said, her brows furrowed with concern and concentration. “We’ve almost got you out. Then I’ll bandage you as best I can and get you back to the village.”
He pinched his eyes closed from the pain, his bald head shiny from the sweat. He smiled. “Sounds good.” Then he bit on his lip as Dorrick and Marcella finally got the last of his armor free. Marcella, who was the best out of them at first aid, started cleaning and bandaging the wound. From what Dorrick could tell, it didn’t appear too deep, but they had to be cautious. No telling what the scratch from a wild spirit could do.
As she did her best, Sir Nogrund craned his neck to look at Dorrick. He smiled. “Y-you did good, young Vane.”
Dorrick went rigid from the praise. “Thank…thank you, sir.”
Sir Nogrund chuckled, then winced immediately. “That was the stupidest move I’ve ever seen, but sometimes a knight needs to be brave and do what needs to be done.”
“I’m sure glad it worked.”
“Agreed.” Sir Nogrund gritted his teeth and put his head against the grass, eyes shut again. “Your father…will be proud.”
Dorrick didn’t say anything to that, but it made his chest explode. He felt light as a feather. Warmth spread thought him. My father? Proud of me? He smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever see the day.
He wiped the sweat from his brow. He’d done it. First mission: accomplished. They were alive, the beast was dead, and Dorrick Vane was the crazy soon-to-be-knight who slew it and saved his friends.
7
Dorrick
Once Sir Nogrund’s wound was dressed, Ollo and Evan, who was feeling a lot better, helped carry him back to the village. They received a hero’s welcome, lots of applause. It was a long hike back, slow going since they had to be careful with the captain, so it was sunset when they arrived. Marcella and what passed for a doctor in the village did what they could with Sir Nogrund. They cleaned the wound again, careful to make sure that there was no poison or infection, then he was stitched and bandaged and given a painkiller potion that must have cost quite a pretty penny.
After that, the village threw them a feast. They all drank mediocre wine and ate bread and roasted bird, though Dorrick was unaware what kind of bird. It seemed that even the villagers were unsure. But that hardly mattered. It was a night of celebration, which Dorrick enjoyed like he’d never enjoyed anything in his life.
They stayed the night with one of the families. They had to sleep on the floor, but none of them minded. Dorrick was just happy that everyone was alive and relatively well. His head still hurt on occasion and his limbs were sore, but otherwise, he was fine. Same with Evan, though he probably had a concussion. Marcella and Ollo were perfectly fine, which was good news.
The next morning, they bid their good-bye to the grateful villagers and left. Dorrick hoped that they would stay safe, away from the wrath of any future angry spirits. Traveling throug
h the wilds though, he had his doubts.
Though still banged up and hobbled, the troupe was in good spirits as they trekked west back to the city. They had to stay on their guard, since you never knew what the wilds would throw at you, but they stuck to the road and nothing eventful happened.
Dorrick did notice that since they’d defeated that giant spirit, the wilds had returned to being…well, wild. Birds, insects, and all manner of creatures chirped and made their calls, filling the morning air with a cacophony of songs. They no longer walked alone, as small sprites of varying colored lights bounced between the trees along the road, whispering in their indiscernibly high-pitched language. He even swore he saw one of the tree folk hanging from a branch, gold-green eyes staring intently, but when he looked again, nothing was there.
Best to be on the lookout, he thought. Tree folk weren’t usually hostile, but he knew that they weren’t fond of knights.
They all breathed a collective sigh of relief when they arrived at the waystation. Their steeds were all in the stables, looking clean and fed. Sir Nogrund paid the stable boy and the station master well, as those helping the knights was always given just rewards.
The group mounted up. Dorrick and Ollo had to help Sir Nogrund onto his horse for he was still too weak to really exert himself. Maybe he could have, but it was best not to push it too hard if it wasn’t necessary. Dorrick went to his horse, a speckled mare with plenty of white spots on brown and a shaggy blonde mane.
“Hey, Lucille,” he said with a smile, stroking her snout. Lucille huffed and gave him a light neigh of appreciation. He put his forehead against hers. “Glad to see you again, girl. I almost died in there.” Her response was another huff, which just made him smile wider.
He unhooked his sword belt and packs and placed them on her saddle before he climbed atop her with a sigh. It was time to head back.
