Knight Purged

by Jason Hamilton

  Rage finally entered Guyon’s heart, rage at seeing his shield that he carried with him for so many years broken to pieces, rage at the sight of the Faerie Queen’s face a mangled mess.

  He set his jaw and readied his weapon, staring into the faceplate of this Otherworld knight. His arm had gone partially numb from the impact, but he managed to keep his sword steady.

  “That was a mistake,” he said, raising the sword and pointing it at Pyrochles.

  “Yes,” said Pyrochles, advancing. “But not mine.”

  With great, heaving motions, Pyrochles directed his sword at Guyon, who continually backed away. He was fortunate that the land here was relatively flat with few obstacles apart from the one, now ruined, tree.

  Without stopping to think, Guyon weaved this way and that, barely avoiding Pyrochles’s attacks, and continuing to retreat. Several times, the man came close to striking him, but Guyon’s training was what saved him in the end. His agility gave him the edge he needed to stay just out of reach.

  “You expect to play games with me and live?” said Pyrochles.

  “Well it’s worked rather well so far.”

  “It will do you no good. My power increases the longer I stay in this form. I will crush you and bring your corpse to my mistress.”

  Guyon wondered if he meant Acrasia or Duessa, or perhaps both. It was clear he served the Sins, and given the fact that he was in Anglesey, that suggested he was currently in the service of Acrasia. Perhaps that could give him some advantage.

  “Acrasia will not help you,” he said as he dodged the next attack. “We already know how to defeat her.”

  Unfortunately, his taunt didn’t appear to do much. Pyrochles didn’t so much as hesitate before executing his next attack and saying, “You know nothing of the Sins. They cannot be defeated by conventional means.”

  “Well then it’s a good thing we’re unconventional.”

  This time, Pyrochles did hesitate. He took a step back and glanced backward near the tree where Una lay, still unconscious.

  “Yes,” said Guyon, following the man’s gaze. He had been referring to the amulet they were seeking, but it was plain the black knight saw Una as the true threat. “Yes, she has powers you cannot understand.”

  “She is lucky that we have orders not to permanently harm her,” said the knight. He turned his head back at Guyon. “We have no such orders for you.”

  With that, he swung at Guyon again. But Guyon was ready. Pyrochles’s attacks had begun to grow more sluggish. He was tiring, and now he had lost his concentration due to their little conversation.

  Guyon feinted, dodged the oncoming attack, and brought his sword down with all the strength he had left onto the man’s sword arm.

  16

  Pyrochles cried out as Guyon’s sword slipped beneath the cracks in his armor, but the damage was not as severe as Guyon hoped. His blade did not slice through flesh as it had with the horse.

  Before he could recover his stance, Pyrochles backhanded him.

  His helmet flew off his face, and Guyon staggered backward. He fell on the ground, and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid another strike from the huge beast of a man. The sword stuck itself in the earth right where Guyon had been a moment before.

  Lying on his stomach, Guyon could now see his helmet lying a few feet away. It had partially bent inward from the force of the man’s blow. Indeed, Guyon felt the side of his face beginning to swell a bit, and there was the taste of blood on his tongue.

  He had to end this. Trying to wear the man down was not working, or at least, it wasn’t working as fast as it needed to. Guyon was running out of stamina faster than his opponent, and if he did not act fast enough, he would not outlast the knight of the Otherworld.

  He needed help, he needed an ally, but unfortunately, all of his potential allies were unconscious. Una would be the best help, if she could use her magic. But the others would be useful as well, even though they too were part of the Otherworld. But seeing as they were defectors of sorts, Guyon could respect their desire, even if he couldn’t approve of eating the poor squire.

  Pyrochles swung at him again, and Guyon rolled out of the way once more, this time pushing upwards so as to roll onto his feet.

  Then he ran.

  He and Pyrochles had taken their battle rather far from the others, thanks to Guyon’s constant retreating.

  But he managed to cover the distance rather quickly. Archimago was checking on the two Otherworld fugitives, bending down to feel their pulses. But as Guyon came charging forward, Archimago caught sight and hastily backed away, fishing in his pouch for something, undoubtedly more darts if he had them.

  Guyon raised his sword and roared, making it seem like he truly was coming for the magician. And either the man was not as powerful as he appeared, or the sight of Guyon approaching him like a madman was enough to rattle his nerves, for he didn’t do anything but retreat. Yet he did manage to produce a dart and throw it at Guyon, badly.

  Guyon didn’t have his shield, but the dart was not aimed at his neck or any other exposed area. It bounced harmlessly off his breastplate.

  He reached Una first, near the tree. Beside her knelt the squire, who Guyon had all but forgotten about.

  “Is she alive?”

  “She’s alive,” said the squire. “I’ve been trying to revive her but…”

  “Keep trying,” said Guyon. If the squire had been trying to revive Una with no success, there was little chance he would be able to do so in the time it would take for Pyrochles to follow. Already he could hear the heavy footfalls of the man’s approach behind him.

  He kept running until he reached the bodies of Furor and Occasion. Archimago had backed off, but was still watching in the distance, now that he knew Guyon wasn’t after him directly.

  Guyon slid to the ground once he was close enough and didn’t wait to see if the two were conscious or not. He pulled the tiny darts out of their necks and slapped them both soundly on the face. The wild Furor was the one he wanted, but it seemed he could do nothing without the direction of the old hag. So he slapped them again and began shaking them both. “Get up!” he yelled.

  But he could not wait to see if his actions had done any good. Pyrochles was already on top of him. He sprang to his feet just as the man arrived, but he could not dodge the man’s kick.

  The force sent Guyon crashing backwards and left a dent in his breastplate. He staggered onto his back in the soft grass, even as the knight stepped forward to finish the job. He tried to get out of the way, but this time Pyrochles put one armored foot on his chest, rendering him immobile.

  Guyon’s eyes widened. Was this it? Was this his time to meet his maker, to discover what happened beyond the great barrier of death?

  He spared a glance for Una and the squire, some distance to one side. She was still unconscious, and would be no help to him now. No, he could not fail Una, he could not fail the poor women, children, and men who suffered at the hand of Acrasia and the other Sins. He would not.

  Bringing his sword up, he jammed it between Pyrochles’s footplates. It was awkward bringing a sword up against such a close target. A dagger would have been better. But he didn’t have a dagger, so the use of his sword would have to do.

  Immediately, the pressure on his chest lessened as Pyrochles recoiled and lifted his leg up. For a moment, Guyon thought he had his chance to escape.

  But then the foot came crashing back down again, right onto Guyon’s exposed face.

  Stars erupted in his vision, and he was nearly swallowed up in blackness. His already bleeding nose flared in intense pain as it was hit again. This time Guyon felt something give way, and he knew his nose was broken.

  The pressure on his chest returned, but this time he could barely see well enough to do anything about it. Was the sword even in his hand anymore? He honestly couldn’t tell through the daze. Pyrochles may have kicked it away.

  Blinking, he did his best to clear his clouded mind and stare
upward at the shadow standing over him. Yes, perhaps this was the moment his life would end.

  A second shadow joined the first, and Pyrochles yelled as a huge shape wrenched him backward.

  Guyon blinked as the pressure on his chest left him. Something had grabbed Pyrochles from behind. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, something that took far more effort than was normal.

  The new assailant was Furor, and not too far away stood Occasion, the hag. She stared at the ongoing battle with great intensity, as though she was partially controlling it, which she undoubtedly was.

  Pyrochles was now fully engaged in battle with Furor, and both of them were every bit as ferocious as they had been fighting Guyon. Pyrochles attempted several times to slash or pierce the wild man’s skin, but to no avail. As Una had predicted, Furor could not be killed by conventional means when the old woman was involved.

  Something moved out of the corner of Guyon’s eye, and he turned his head to see Archimago approaching the hag from behind. He was going to attack the old woman. Guyon didn’t have much time.

  He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the dizzy spell that came over him and launched himself at the old woman. For a moment, she looked at him, her eyes widening as though she thought he was attacking her.

  But then he threw himself into the air, barely catching the dart that had been headed straight for the woman’s neck on his breastplate.

  His armor crunched as he fell to the ground beside the woman. She spared only the briefest of glances for him before her attention went back to Furor and Pyrochles.

  Guyon picked up the fallen dart, then threw it back at Archimago. The dart hit him squarely in the knee. Archimago gasped and immediately plucked the dart out.

  Guyon smiled, but even as he did so, Archimago began weaving his hands and muttering something under his breath. But the effects of the dart were already beginning to take hold. Archimago stumbled backward, barely managing to keep himself on his feet. He looked at Guyon, and there was hatred in his eyes. But he continued to mutter some incantation that Guyon couldn’t hear, and it seemed to be enough.

  Guyon wasn’t overly fond of magic. Its users tended to be imbalanced. But he had to admit, it had its uses. He could have used some of that healing magic right now, or whatever Archimago had used to rid himself of the poison. It looked like he would have to deal with the magician another way. Yet even as he thought it, Archimago began taking steps backward, away from the battle.

  A man’s scream came from behind him, and he looked to see Furor literally riding atop Pyrochles’s back, with his hands pressed against the man’s helmet. The compressive force must have been what caused Pyrochles to cry out.

  A low muttering came from the hag. She too was weaving her hands as Archimago had done, though it looked different somehow. Guyon knew little about magic, but he knew enough to recognize that this was not a healing spell she wove.

  Her incantation rose to a crescendo, and she put her hands out in front of her, palms facing the battling pair.

  The two hands Furor kept clamped around Pyrochles’s head suddenly burst into flame. Pyrochles’s screams intensified, and yet the fire seemed to do nothing to Furor. He only pressed on further.

  Pyrochles fell onto his back so that Furor was underneath him. But the impact was not enough to release Furor’s grip. He still held Pyrochles’s helmet, his hands still covered in hot flames.

  Guyon swallowed. What would he have done if the woman had used that same spell on him while he was fighting Furor?

  Pyrochles thrust his head backwards, trying to head-butt Furor, but it was no use, and it wouldn’t be any use even if he did manage to strike the wild man.

  But then, Pyrochles pushed upward on his helmet and wrenched it off his head, sliding himself forward as he pushed against Furor. He scrambled back to his feet and bent to pick up his sword.

  The move took Furor by surprise as he looked about to see what had happened to his prey. Pyrochles staggered backward in exhaustion, his face fully exposed. Now Guyon could clearly make out the same features he’d seen in Medina’s court, though his face had been covered with a cloth mask of some sort at the time. But the man’s hair was dark black and came down to his shoulders. Dark eyebrows framed deep green eyes, and there was stubble on his face, yet his cheeks were red from the heat of Furor’s flaming hands on his helmet.

  He glanced at the hag, then back at Furor, likely realizing how futile it was to fight Furor without going after the hag first. Guyon quickly reached for his sword that still lay on the ground, then went to stand in front of the hag, clearly indicating that Pyrochles would have to go through him if he tried attacking her. Pyrochles could probably do it, even in his present condition, but not before Furor would be on him again. And Pyrochles knew this; Guyon could see it in his eyes.

  But Pyrochles’s hesitation cost him. Furor barreled into him, grabbing him by the waist and throwing him down to the ground once more. Then Furor placed his hands on Pyrochles’s head, and the flames returned.

  Pyrochles screamed, and this time it was the scream of death. The man’s hair went up first, consumed by fire.

  “Wait!” Guyon called, waving at the hag. “Stop.”

  The flames in Furor’s hands extinguished and he stood still.

  The old woman was looking at Guyon, curiously. “He will come for us if we let him live.”

  “I don’t need to spare his life,” Guyon clarified. “Though I am no judge, this man has done terrible things and is in the service of people who do terrible things.”

  “Then why?”

  Guyon met her eyes. “I need answers.”

  17

  The hag regarded Guyon for a moment, before nodding. He nodded back appreciatively and turned to walk towards the place where Furor crouched on top of Pyrochles. At Guyon’s indication, Furor retreated just slightly, and Guyon placed his boot on Pyrochles’s armored chest, just as Pyrochles had done to him earlier.

  Looking around he saw no sign of Archimago. Perhaps the man had run off, and wisely so. Forgetting about the magician, he turned back to the man beneath him.

  “You are a servant of Duessa,” he said. “Do you also serve Acrasia?”

  Pyrochles’s face was a mess. There were burns all over his head, and faint trails of smoke rose from what hair remained. He coughed, and stared Guyon directly in the eyes.

  “I can have Furor continue if you want.” said Guyon, casually.

  A scowl twisted Pyrochles’s face. “I serve the Sins. Duessa is their queen, and I go where she dictates.”

  “Your appearance and strength are greater than before, why is that?”

  “This is my true form,” he replied. “At times I am told to become...weaker, to interact with you humans.”

  Interesting that he did not include himself as a human, but Guyon ignored the statement. “So one moment you’re on the Holy Island, trying to gain power there, and the next you’re hunting deserters?”

  “When you showed up on the so-called ‘Holy’ island, I knew my efforts there would be wasted. I returned to the Bower and received new orders to come after these two.” Pyrochles glanced at both Furor and Occasion, his face twisted with disgust.

  “How did you get to the Bower so fast,” Guyon leaned in. “Tell me or I will have the hag end you here and now.”

  Pyrochles let out a deep, low laugh. “You would never survive the trip. No one can without Acrasia’s express permission.”

  “I may have heard of one method to get there,” said Guyon, carefully. He didn’t want to give too much of their plan away, but he needed to know what Pyrochles could tell him about the Bower of Bliss and how to get there.

  “The Amulet of Odysseus?” Pyrochles spat out with incredulity. “You will get nowhere with that trinket. My mistress has already secured it under her spell. It was used against her many eons ago, and it is now safe from all who would take it.”

  Guyon’s heart grew cold. No, there had to still be a way to get
his hands on the amulet. Pyrochles could be lying. In fact, that was very likely. He couldn’t trust the word of a man whose best interest was to keep the amulet out of his hands.

  Increasing the pressure under his boot, he asked one more thing. “Why?” he said. “Why does Acrasia spin her webs to take all the men away from their wives and families? What does she want?”

  Pyrochles sneered at him. “What all of us want, to establish hell on Earth. To gather our forces and bring our greatest champion to your realm. To kill all who would oppose us.”

  “And Acrasia does that by luring away the men?”

  “In this particular age, most battles are fought by men,” said Pyrochles with a shrug. “We seek only to turn that threat to our advantage.”

  A soft groan came from behind Guyon, Una’s voice. Guyon twisted to see her rising to a sitting position, the squire there to help steady her.

  “Una,” he said, softly.

  But in the next instant, something grabbed his leg and jerked it to the side. He fell, and at the same moment, Pyrochles twisted underneath him and rolled to his feet.

  “Get him!” Guyon yelled at the hag. But before the old woman or Furor could react, Pyrochles was running faster than humanly possible away from all of them, north towards the coast in the far distance.

  “Furor!” yelled the hag. “Come or he will never leave us be.”

  Furor ran to the old woman, picked her up like she weighed nothing, and together they ran after Pyrochles, though even Furor’s terrifyingly large gait was not enough to catch up to the man so quickly. Yet Guyon had no chance of stopping them. He was beyond running at this point.

  He had no serious injuries that he could see, other than a broken nose and the fact that his head still swam a bit. But those would heal with time. He needed some water and some rest. It was hardly mid-day yet, but something told him they would need to camp here for the rest of the day and the following night.

  He pushed himself up on his arms and knees. Una was sitting up now, massaging the back of her head where she had fallen.