Death Knight

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Pray tell us your tale, Welf,” she said.

  “I cannot, milady,” said Welf, “for he is a knight-errant.”

  “‘Tis no matter. This is my hall…” Lady Pavia coughed into a ham-like fist. “This is my husband’s hall, I mean. You may speak freely, Welf.”

  The old baron nodded in agreement.

  “I object!” said Sir Hunneric, rising to his feet. “Yonder man is no noble, but a mere forester. Who is he to speak ill of Sir Gavin?”

  “Listen to his tale, good knight,” said Lady Pavia. “Then dare to speak well of your chivalrous knight, if you still can.”

  “Gavin,” hissed Hugo, “what are we going to do?”

  Gavin fingered his sword’s hilt, wondering upon the ways of mercy.

  The forester told his tale to the shocked crowd. Many threw murderous glances at Gavin, while Ullrick grinned and whispered to Josserand. That one’s blank face never changed.

  “And after I freed myself,” Welf said in conclusion, “I wondered upon the knight’s strange advice. Thus, I gathered three stout lads and we dared the swamp. Nowhere did we find sign of swamp dwellers, although we found signs of struggles. Soon, we fled the swamp, for it no longer felt…well, it no longer felt natural. If you know what I mean?”

  Welf bowed and sat down.

  Ullrick rose slowly. He plucked at his massive beard, his face unreadable. “You speak harshly, fellow. How do we know if it’s the truth or not?”

  “Ask your knight-errant,” suggested Lady Pavia.

  Ullrick thundered his bushy eyebrows. To ask a knight if a baseborn fellow’s words were true concerning your un-knightly actions…it simply wasn’t done. He glanced at Gavin.

  Gavin rose, his hand on his hilt. “The forester speaks the truth.”

  Angry murmurs arose. Ullrick sat down, grinning at Josserand, whispering into his ear.

  “Wait!” shouted Swan, standing. “Lady Pavia, do you recognize me?”

  “Of course I do, child. You’re Sir Bremen’s only daughter, may his soul rest forever. Let us first settle this matter, however, and then—”

  “Milady!” said Swan. “I speak exactly to this matter.”

  “I see,” said Lady Pavia. “Baron Barthek is your liege.” She fingered her necklace, make of square cuts of gold that clattered whenever she moved.

  “Baron Barthek is no more,” said Swan. “He, like the swamp dwellers, has been captured by the creatures of Darkness, captured by Old Father Night.”

  The devotee of Hosar cried out at that evil name.

  Swan, with her bearing intent, began to tell them about her visions, about Leng and Zon Mezzamalech and what had occurred in Baron Barthek’s Great Hall. Then she told them about their escape through the swamp and how she had gained many terrible visions.

  “O my lords and ladies,” said Swan, “this vicious evil is what we must destroy. We are here as crusaders to root out this ancient and wicked malice. The darkspawn have cleared the swamp of its men and women. That is what Sir Gavin wages war against. Now it is true that Sir Gavin of Ulm ignobly stole Welf’s horse and sword. Nor do I say that it was right to commit wrong for a just cause. But I do ask that you forgive Sir Gavin his crimes so he may yet use his silver sword against the enemy. I tell you, we must drop our old grudges to unite against this horrible enemy. Otherwise, we are doomed. Otherwise, we will all march in the Horde of the Damned. Otherwise, Erin will sink into depravity and degradation as one fortress after another is stormed and its inhabitants turned into darkspawn.”

  Swan then collapsed onto her bench, sipping at a goblet of wine poured her by Hugo.

  “You speak well,” Lady Pavia said into the silence.

  Swan rose again. “Not well, milady. I speak the truth!”

  “Truth?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “As you know in your heart that I speak,” said Swan.

  “Those are bold words. Wait! Hear me out,” said Lady Pavia. “I, after all, listened to you.”

  Swan nodded, sitting back down.

  “I know you, Swan,” said Lady Pavia. “You grew up in your father’s tower, which is less than five leagues from here. I must admit, I never heard of your speaking abilities then. Tell me, child, when did you start to see visions? Was it after your father’s death perhaps? I heard he died under a Cragsman’s spear, and that he died in front of you. That is a terrible thing for a child to see. Tell me, did you begin having your visions then?”

  “Not then, milady,” said Swan.

  “No?”

  “No, milady. The first vision came the night Leng led Baron Barthek into the dungeon and lifted a long hidden grate.”

  “A hidden grate, you say?”

  “That led into a deeper dungeon, milady. There, hidden under rubble, from underground vaults that had long ago collapsed—it took many nights for my baron to find the unholy amulet.”

  “Come now, child. Be truthful with us.”

  “They stirred an ancient evil, milady. I remember it well. I knelt in the castle’s chapel, praying that Hosar bring me deliverance.”

  “Deliverance from what?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “First, that he deliver me out of Baron Barthek’s hands, milady,” said Swan.

  “He was your liege, child.”

  “‘Tis true, but he was an evil man, nevertheless.”

  “Child, it is not right to speak ill of your sworn liege.”

  “My father swore to him, milady. But I never did.”

  “Then you were doubly wrong.”

  “Wrong, milady?” asked Swan. “Wrong when Baron Barthek sent me to the dungeons for naming Leng a sorcerer? Wrong when it was he, in his lust for power, who dug up the amulet of Zon Mezzamalech and began this whole horrible tragedy? No, milady, I was not wrong. While I do not claim to be without flaw, I can recognize evil when I see it. Baron Barthek was an evil man, vile. You know it, milady, as anyone here does who knew him.”

  Brawny Lady Pavia appeared thoughtful. The priest tried once more to whisper into her ear. She pushed him away, causing her golden necklace to clank and clatter. “What you say is most incredible, child… No, you are a child no longer. You are Swan. You have the makings of a Wisdom, I think.”

  “No!” shouted Hugo, as he leapt to his feet.

  The old, one-eyed squire didn’t stand tall the way Ullrick or Gavin did. He was simply a gnarled old soldier with a seamed face and a black eye-patch. His fingers were crooked, and his right leg was no longer able to straighten all the way. Everyone recognized him for what he was, and thus he astounded the assembled with his words.

  “I’m no speech-maker,” Hugo said. “But I’ll tell you this. This lady is a seer. She is one who sees with Hosar’s light, who hunts for facts no matter where they lead. Sir Gavin and I found her in the dungeons, singing. Aye. Her sweet voice guided us to her, and since then she’s guided us to safety. No Wisdom. The lady is a seer! She’s our only chance for defeating the darkspawn.”

  With that, Hugo abruptly sat down.

  Gavin put a hand on Hugo’s trembling arm. His squire gave him a nervous grin.

  “What do you suggest we do?” Lady Pavia asked Swan.

  “Have the King’s scouts returned from the swamp?” asked Swan.

  “No. No word since they crossed the toll bridge.”

  Swan nodded. “I think we must march on Castle Forador, but only with horsemen who can ride fast in and fast out. Bold warriors will be needed, milady, well armored and ready to deal death.”

  “What will you find?” asked Lady Pavia.

  “I do not know, milady, although I think that Zon Mezzamalech and Leng are no longer at Castle Forador. They have left a sentry, that I know, but it is a strange sort of…” Swan shook her head. “Whatever we do, we must do quickly.”

  Lady Pavia nodded before eyeing Gavin. “Would you pay restitution, sir?”

  “I would,” Gavin said.

  “And take me with you?” asked Welf.

  “Why, man?” asked Gavin.<
br />
  Welf looked abashed. “No one fights like you, milord. I would have you teach me better swordsmanship.”

  “Done!” Gavin said.

  Lady Pavia slapped the table, her necklace clattering. “Then let us plan.”

  ***

  Swan wanted volunteers. She wanted no cowards. Thus, only fifty-three warriors knelt in the chapel the next morning, taking oath to Swan as Seer. They swore to obey her and help obliterate the darkspawn.

  Soon thereafter, fifty-three horsemen clopped over the drawbridge. Gear rattled as the men spoke in hushed whispers. Thunder rumbled in the cloud-heavy sky and a chill wind bade the horsemen to keep a tight hold of their cloaks. Somberly, they rode over the toll bridge and into the forest. With bowed heads, they endured a downpour. Soggy clothing did nothing to cheer a cheerless enterprise. When the sun finally shone before dusk, Swan called a halt and ordered fires made. There, the warriors hung their garments on long sticks to dry. Early next morning, they edged to the swamp, a vast sea of grasses and muddy slime and sometimes knotted cypress trees with eerily hanging mosses. The trail was a dirt causeway, a snaking path several horsemen wide and three or four feet higher than the surrounding terrain.

  “Ride fast,” said Swan.

  In a long file, eyes peeled and nerves taunt, the horsemen rode. They heard splashing at times, but couldn’t see what caused it. Then strange barks and growls made heads whip about. Hisses made their skin crawl while clouds grew darker the deeper they plunged into the swamp. Bit by bit, the grasses grew less, the slime more and then more cypress trees pressed together.

  “By Hosar’s Beard!” roared Ullrick, pulling up.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Gavin.

  The Banfrey champion had gone pale. “Those trees yonder, did you see?”

  Gavin eyed them. They were bent old things. Their branches were more crooked than usual and the leaves much too dark. A sinister aura hung about them, as if spilled blood lay nearby.

  Ullrick shook his head. “This place gets to you.”

  Swan bid them move. To the castle and back before dark, that was the plan.

  They rode warily and the trees seemed to grow worse. After another mile, it was obvious. The trees had become twisted things with black leaves, while the grasses were rusty and vile-seeming, although still resilient.

  “This is an accursed place,” muttered Welf.

  Later, when the trees seemed to sway when there was no wind, and as dark clouds turned the day into seeming evening, men balked. Before it could turn into outright rebellion, Gavin called a halt. Men dismounted, and some kicked together stray wood and crouched around a fire. Others ate cold meats and cheese. There was mumbling and hard looks at the black sky.

  “What was that?” shouted Osric, a muscle-bound man, one who had been acting as scout.

  “What?”

  “Over there! I saw movement.” Osric, a Wyvis thegn, pointed his spear Never Miss at some trees. “Come on, lads.” He jumped down the causeway and splashed through the slime, others reluctant to follow him. He must have felt it, for the thegn looked back and found that none had joined him.

  “Osric! In front of you!”

  The thegn whirled around, and those on the causeway shouted oaths and curses. For shambling out of a stand of trees and at the thegn was a tall, long-limbed creature wearing rags. Its arms and legs seemed rubbery, and even in the gloom its skin was clearly mottled, diseased seeming. It had no hair and where the nose should have been were twin slits in its skull-like head.

  The thegn stared at the thing in shock.

  “Kill it, Osric!”

  Osric moved at the last moment. He tried to bring up his spear Never Miss. The creature, a gaunt, knocked it away with a swipe of its long arm. Then it lurched at the thegn and picked him up, squeezing.

  Osric screamed.

  As Gavin and Josserand jumped off the causeway, swords drawn and running to the man, the gaunt bit the thegn’s face. The thegn thrashed and squirmed, but the creature proved stronger. Then the gaunt bit again and gnawed on Osric’s face as his thrashing grew less.

  “Beast!” roared Gavin. Josserand’s dark eyes gleamed.

  The screaming quit, and the creature dropped the dead thegn with a splash. It turned to face them.

  On the causeway, a bow twanged and an arrow sprouted from the gaunt’s shoulder. The creature, as if picking lice, plucked the arrow from it, looking at it and then pitching away the arrow. Two more arrows hissed, one hitting the creature’s chest—to no effect.

  “Weapons can’t harm it!” wailed a man.

  Gavin and Josserand slowed, glancing at one another.

  Hugo, who splashed through the slime after Gavin, slid to a halt, bent to one knee and aimed his heavy crossbow. The bolt smashed into the gaunt’s forehead, knocking it down as it squealed.

  Everyone one the causeway expected it to rise and shamble away. It didn’t. The creature lay there, unmoving.

  Hugo rose, madly cranking his crossbow, dropping in another bolt.

  Warily, Gavin and Josserand neared the creature. Behind them, more men jumped down from the causeway.

  “It’s dead,” Gavin said, poking it with the silver sword.

  “So is Osric,” said Josserand.

  As the men hurried to them, Gavin eyed the High Priest’s knight. “You’re supposed to murder us in the swamp, aren’t you, sir? That’s why the High Priest sent you.”

  Josserand’s face went blank as his eyes took in Gavin’s drawn blade.

  With it, Gavin pointed at the gaunt. “He was a man once, probably a fisherman or a woodsman. They turned him into that.”

  Josserand said nothing, merely stared at Gavin.

  Gavin sheathed his weapon and squatted, lifting the gaunt’s head, with Hugo’s bolt sticking out of it. “Take a good look, sir. It’s what either of us might become if we fail.”

  Josserand gave him the barest of nods, then stepped aside as the others rushed near.

  Gavin shouted orders, and teams fanned out, looking for more of the creatures. They didn’t find any and soon they stood back on the causeway, drying their leggings by the fires.

  “This is an evil place,” said many.

  “We’re fools to ride on,” said others.

  If anything, the men looked more rebellious now than before the halt.

  Swan formed them into a circle. Hard-eyed and scared, they studied her. Lightning jagged just then. Heavy, accompanying thunder filled them with fear and almost spooked the mounts.

  “We are the crusaders!” shouted Swan. The cold wind whipped her hair. Her mail and fearless expression gave her a martial air. She, noble-born and bred, handled her mount with ease. “I dare to ride against those who would turn us into darkspawn,” she said. “What of you warriors—what do you oath-takers dare?”

  Few met her gaze, although one man shouted, “Osric dared, and he’s dead.”

  Swan nodded to Hugo. He went to his mount and drew a long pole, twisting the wood to unfurl a triangular-shaped banner of blue silk. It had a yellow silk flame in the center.

  “That was given me by the Matron Innocence of Banfrey,” said Swan. “It was taken out the holy place of the Shrine of Tulun. The Matron Innocence told me that as long as it was aloft the archenemy of Old Father Night would aid us. Think on that. Hosar hates Darkness. He will guard us from the spells of evil. And lo, I name you Hugo, Standard Bearer of the Banner of Hosar!”

  She gazed upon the men. Some doubted. Others watched with interest. Many had fiery eyes, blazing with wonder and hope.

  “Shout!” she told them. “Let them know the crusaders are coming.”

  Sir Hunneric raised a mailed fist. “We are knights of Hosar!”

  “Aye!” bellowed Welf.

  Gavin studied the warriors as they shouted. He looked to Hugo, his old and grizzled companion. He thought he had understood his friend, his boon sword brother. No speech in Muscovy had ever moved Hugo. Yet there Hugo stood: his one eye shining and his mouth
agape, cheering with the rest of these easily led louts. Gavin shook his head, wondering why he didn’t feel what these men did. He saw only death ahead, and more death. Some of these brave warriors would be changed into darkspawn. He and Hugo knew that. Perhaps his bitterness was at the loss of his squire. Hugo was Swan’s now. He should have seen it coming.

  Then, because it wasn’t wise amongst warriors to be the outsider, Gavin yelled with the rest of them.

  ***

  So it was that Swan under the Banner of Hosar led them through the evil swamp, the corrupted land, and brought them to awful Castle Forador. It sat like a rock in a bog. It was a fortress of stones piled one atop the other, with turrets, a raised drawbridge and dark, moss-lined walls. No lights shone from the castle, although darkness in places seemed thicker than elsewhere, and from those spots… Someone or something watched them. They all felt it. They felt hatred, a yearning for blood—theirs—to be sucked out of them until they were lifeless husks.

  The horses whinnied in terror, their ears lying flat.

  “Dismount!” shouted Gavin.

  Under his direction, they formed a shield wall, a circle, with the horses in the center together with Swan and the Standard Bearer.

  Black leaves rustled in the gloom. A chill wind, heavy with the feel of rain and malice, threatened to turn dusk into watery night.

  Gavin nodded to Josserand, and together on foot, they scouted around the castle. They found deep pits filled with bones and gory rubbish, and they hurried across oddly sticky ground. Josserand paused, touching the soil, crumbling the dirt with his fingers.

  “Blood,” he said. “Much spilled blood here.”

  Gavin shuddered. They increased their pace, their armor jangling. Gavin tested the postern gate. He pushed it open, although neither of them walked through into the courtyard.

  “Something is in there,” whispered Josserand. He seemed tense, like a bent sword under tremendous pressure.

  Gavin squinted into the dark courtyard, but saw nothing moving. Still, a bad feeling worked up and down his back, like a hairy spider crawling across his skin.

  They retraced their path to the shield wall, grim-eyed men studying the castle and the swaying trees.