Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  The light elf also had logical reasons to back his decision. The young Mana Knight and the boy were probably hungry, and they would find difficulty in finding food or hiding in a charred and empty village. Moreover, the Mana Knights had probably seen the signal fire at Cape Caipora and sent reinforcements, so time was of the essence. Of course, he would have some explaining to do about raiding a village without Malus’s approval, but the reward for capturing or killing the boy would far outweigh the consequences. Malus would soon see that.

  This is the best course of action, he told himself.

  ‘Captain Hargonnas, I bring news.’

  The fair-skinned elf looked down at the scout below. A lithe, young man. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The boy and the knight have been sighted entering the village. It looks like they plan to stay the night in the barn. Shall we attack now?’

  Hargonnas smiled, adjusting his helmet that was crested with raven wings, his leather outfit creaking in the process. ‘Not yet. Let’s give them a few hours to settle in for the night.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  This is the best course of action, Hargonnas told himself again.

  He hoped he was right. He’d show them. But first, it was time to let his men have a little fun.

  * * *

  ‘My name is Farina,’ said the girl, who appeared just a little older than Kairos. ‘And this is my little brother, Henrik.’

  Kairos noticed that the girl spoke with the same lilting accent as Gulliver. The boy remained silent as his sister clung to him, both lost in grief that Kairos understood all too well as he thought of Thylar.

  After barging into the barn and realising there was only a girl, a little boy, and their horse, Kairos suddenly felt sheepish. Gulliver entered a moment later with his spear extended and the spear point glowing brightly, causing the siblings to cower. Once he identified himself as a Mana Knight, they relaxed, and to Kairos’s wonder, they looked slightly relieved. Did the people of this land look to the Mana Knights as their saviours? It seemed so, because Farina expected no danger from them, but she still seemed afraid.

  ‘Do not worry,’ said Kairos. ‘I will not let any harm come to you.’

  He felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. His face burned and he looked away, uncertain what to do; he didn’t know why he’d said such a thing. But Farina placed a gentle hand on his arm.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with a gratitude that reflected in her eyes.

  He tried to think of something more rational to say, but nothing came to mind.

  Fortunately, Gulliver broke the silence by offering to help tend to the dead first thing in the morning. He asked what had happened, and Farina told her story:

  The griffon-riders had come a day ago while she and her brother were gathering berries in the forest. They heard the screams from far away and returned to find the village in flames. Hiding in the tree line, they saw elves finishing off the survivors. After the elves looted the village, burning what they could not take, they left on their griffons. Farina and Henrik waited a long time, but the elves did not return, so they entered the village and found the only survivor was the brown mare.

  ‘Now we have nowhere to go,’ Farina said, putting her arm around her little brother. He shuddered convulsively and began to sob.

  Gulliver listened with grave concern, and Kairos clenched his fists with barely contained rage.

  ‘How many griffons were there?’ Gulliver asked. ‘Which way were they headed?’

  Farina looked puzzled. ‘I don’t really know. It seemed to me that the elves flew to the northeast.’

  ‘We can leave for Vadost in the morning,’ the young knight said. ‘There is nothing here anymore, and it is too dangerous for just you two.’

  Farina and Henrick nodded.

  Gulliver looked around the barn. ‘We will stay here for tonight. Is there any food left?’

  ‘I have these.’ Farina pulled out the nuts and berries she and Henrick had gathered earlier. When Kairos held out his hand to take her offering, his gaze met with her pale blue eyes. For a moment, he forgot his anguish and stared at her in unabashed wonder. He had never before seen eyes of such a colour; Einar eyes had darker hues, ranging from brown to amber.

  He only came back to his senses when he dropped the berries she was trying to give him. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, immediately stooping down to gather them. ‘Thank you, Farina… Thank you, Henrick.’

  Despite her grief, Farina offered a wan smile. Henrick nodded.

  They all sat down on the hay-strewn floor of the barn, and as they ate, they spoke of less unpleasant matters. Farina said that their father was a miller, and she and Henrick worked at the watermill, which now lay destroyed across the stream. Their ancestors were also millers, and they had founded Milbrooke, basing the village name on their profession and the stream running through the centre. Henrick listened in silence, watching Kairos and Gulliver, as Farina explained how they had never travelled beyond Gersholm.

  ‘I’m eager to see Vadost,’ she said. ‘We have nothing left here.’

  Throughout the conversation, Kairos watched Farina, and he often found her looking back at him. Despite the grief that contorted her features, she was extraordinarily beautiful. She wore a green kirtle over a white dress and brown leather boots. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was pulled back with a matching green headband, and the flowing locks reminded Kairos of Vay, the golden orange moon. She looked completely different to any Einar girl Kairos had ever known; much fairer. He wasn’t quite sure how to put it into words, but this girl had something that was lacking among the women in the warrior race – a sort of delicacy that was lost amongst women who also trained for battle.

  ‘Kairos has also lost his family from Malus’s army,’ Gulliver explained.

  Farina shot Kairos a look full of concern, something else that was rare in Kairos’s world: compassion. The only two people who had ever given him the same look were Thylar, and their mother when she was alive. Farina was about to speak, but stopped, placing her hand on his instead, her eyes welling up with tears.

  ‘Perhaps the Knighthood can find the three of you a home,’ added Gulliver.

  ‘I can help you and Henrick,’ Kairos offered, brightening at the idea of being with Farina. She, too, was lost in a grief that he understood all too well. His heart ached for her and Henrick, and he wanted to cheer them up.

  Farina’s eyes met with Kairos’s. ‘I would like that.’

  Gulliver saw the exchange and cleared his throat. ‘We should get some rest, so we can move out before sunrise.’ His gaze flickered over to the open doorway to the outside as if expecting danger. ‘The sooner we get to Vadost, the better.’

  Everyone agreed. They finished eating and Kairos joined Farina and Henrick in rearranging the straw they gathered into makeshift beds, all the while stealing glances at Farina. Henrik was not oblivious to the attention his older sister was attracting, but clearly did not know how to stop it. Instead, he scowled at Kairos in silence.

  As the night carried on, a light drizzle began to fall. Kairos was thankful for the meagre shelter the barn provided. There were many leaks, but they would remain dry tonight. Farina shared more of the berries and nuts foraged from the previous day. Her hand brushed Kairos’s when she handed them over, and their eyes met, causing his heart to flutter and his ears to burn. His brief encounter with Farina brightened the clouds of despair that had overshadowed his whole journey.

  They readied to sleep, and Gulliver agreed to take the first watch. They finished the remaining food, and Henrik complained of being thirsty. Farina found a wooden pail and stood up to get water from the stream, but Kairos offered to go in her stead. The stream was on the other side of the settlement, and Kairos did not want Farina to venture out into the dark.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘It’s not safe at night.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Kairos brandished the dagger for extra show. He felt brave inside the barn, but once he ventur
ed out alone, into the settlement that smelt of death, his courage withered away with the drizzling weather.

  He went down to the stream to wash himself as best as he could. The bitterly cold water soon made his hands numb. He splashed the icy water on his face to remove the dirt from the days of travel. Now that he’d met Farina, he suddenly felt conscious of his appearance. He felt a strong urge to protect her, help her. In his dark world of violence, he would never forget that kind look she gave him. It was genuine, warm, and caring. So different from how the Einar women treated him.

  Kairos had not been away for long, when he heard a shout and a scream pierce the night air. He jumped up and ran back. To his horror, he saw torchlights ahead and as he drew closer, he saw the armoured men swarming the barn.

  The flickering light from the torches within illuminated a nightmare scene. He saw two men straddled over the struggling form of Gulliver. The torchlight made their faces distorted, monstrous, but Kairos realised that they were the griffon-riders – elves – with skin the colour of scorched wood, working on Gulliver’s body with their knives. As Kairos watched in horror, one of the elves sawed at the knight’s hand, then held up a severed finger in triumph, a look of malicious glee on his face. Gulliver screamed and thrashed, but the elves held him down.

  Kairos looked towards the other side of the barn and saw Farina. She was pinned down against the ground by a grey-skinned elf. He held a dagger in one hand, and her long blonde hair in the other, as if preparing to saw away at her. She struggled against her captor, but the elf slapped her hard, and a trickle of blood poured from her lip. That was when she noticed Kairos.

  Henrik cowered, wide-eyed in the corner of the barn. The brown mare was gone.

  The elves had not yet noticed Kairos. He could have run. Escaped. It was his chance to evade his captors, and the Einar were depending on him to return. This land was lush and rich, perfect for the continued survival of his people. But was fleeing to survive a warrior’s way? Gulliver had risked his life to help Kairos. Farina shared her food with him. Was this how he would repay them? By leaving them to a grisly fate?

  Farina’s eyes pleaded with Kairos. Tears streaked her face, glistening in the firelight. Gulliver’s cries of pain filled Kairos’s ears. The elf over Farina lowered the blade against her, muttering something in his language. She clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to shut out what was happening.

  Kairos thought of Thylar. His brother had tremendous strength, and had used it to crush his enemies and protect his little brother, not to thrive on violence against women and children. Not like these elves.

  He could not allow this to carry on. He would never be able to face Thylar in the afterlife if he ran away and did nothing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself. Thylar had seen something in Kairos, enough to force Karthok to take him along for this voyage – an expectation to be a great warrior? If he was to live up to that expectation, be worthy of his brother’s praise, Kairos had to act now.

  Without hesitation to consider the consequences, he stepped into the barn, drawing the dagger he had found in the caipora’s den. In his haste, he did not see the two elves waiting inside the doorway. Too late, Kairos realised it was an ambush. What a fool he had been! Of course they’d know he was coming. The two elves reached for him and almost seized him, but he twisted away and charged at the elf standing over Farina, and lunged. The blade plunged into the side of the elf’s grey-skinned neck, and Kairos slashed it outwards, tearing through flesh. The elf grabbed at his throat and made a gurgling sound as blood poured out of the gaping wound. One of the elves holding Gulliver down stood up to face him. Kairos felt the air around him change and knew it was magic. He had to act quickly.

  Before he could do anything further, Kairos felt a jolt of pain tear through his body, followed by something crashing into the back of his head. His ears rang and his vision blurred. He fell onto the straw, struggling to get back to his feet. His blurry vision caught the shapes of several elves surrounding him. A swift kick to his side left him gasping for air. Another kick struck him full in the face, sending him onto his back. He tried to get up, but an elf kicked him back down and punched him in the face. He knew he was going to die, but at least he’d taken one of them with him.

  ‘Look at me,’ said the elf atop of him.

  Kairos opened his eyes and saw the blurry vision of a blade levelled at him, the tip poking into his throat. The elf appeared to be the leader, judging by his wing-crested helmet, and he looked like a dark warlord death-bringer woven from a bard’s story of nightmares.

  ‘You killed one of my soldiers. Now I’ll kill you.’

  ‘No!’ Kairos heard Farina yell.

  Shaking free of her captors, she jumped onto the elf, knocking him off Kairos. A brief struggle ensued, but it was over quickly. The elf overpowered Farina and, in his rage, stabbed her repeatedly. Farina clutched her midsection where a crimson stain was growing on her kirtle. The elf stepped back as she crawled away from him, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. Kairos tried once more to rise, but another unseen kick to the head sent him back to the ground.

  Farina crawled towards Kairos, and their eyes met. As his vision faded, his last thought was of her – and that he had failed her.

  Chapter three

  Gersholm

  D’Kari, the nation of the foul dark elves, and Salforia, the nation of the benevolent light elves, have been geographical neighbours from time immemorial. The dark elves are saturnine and glowering, aloof, and quite conceited. The light elves are pale of skin and fair of hair, quick with a laugh and very receiving of this scholar. Curiously, though diametrically opposed in everything, they have enjoyed a lasting peace. The light elves maintain this through military might, and the dark elves do naught but maintain neutrality. Although this scholar has yet to uncover the reason for it, this policy of neutrality has begun to shift in recent years.

  Elven Culture and History: Vol. IX, Lysandofer Galatius

  T

  he next morning, Kairos awoke in agony. It was still very early, as the sliver of dawn was lighting the sky, and he was surprised to be alive.

  He ached all over, his head pounding from the blows he’d received. His ribs felt cracked, broken, even. Each breath caused him pain. He could not move his arms much either, and realised they were bound behind his back. He slowly worked his way into a sitting position. There was a wall behind him, which he leant on. Straw, blood-soaked, was on the ground, and was wet from the morning dew. He looked around the barn and immediately saw the elves. Some were sleeping. Two were on watch sitting by the doorway. Then he found Farina.

  She was dead. Her mutilated corpse was unrecognisable save for her bloodied clothes, and someone had scalped her beautiful golden hair.

  Kairos squinted his eyes shut, trying to cast the ghastly sight from his mind. But he couldn’t. Even with his eyes closed, he could see her dead, unseeing eyes staring at him. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, he leant over on his side and vomited.

  He didn’t have long to recover, because the elf with the wing-crested helmet marched into the barn holding Gulliver’s mana lance and yelled something in a language Kairos didn’t understand. It sent the other men into a flurry of activity. One elf prodded Kairos with a boot to get up. No amount of prodding could get Gulliver up, and when Kairos took a look, he gasped and saw why. The knight looked dead, his face plastered with blood, but the elves continued riling him and he eventually stirred. The elven captors lifted him up roughly and steadied him with strong arms.

  Kairos’s entire body ached, but he knew his pain was nothing compared to the knight’s. Gulliver’s eyes were swollen shut, his face coated in dried, congealed blood. Remembering the events of the last night, Kairos looked down at Gulliver’s hands. He was missing the fingers of his right hand, crimson-soaked bandages covering the stumps.

  The elves marched them out. Kairos chanced one last look at Farina. Tears flowed unchecked as he etched the ghastly sight forever int
o his memory.

  * * *

  Later that day, Kairos found himself backtracking through the same forest he and Gulliver had just crossed. The young Einar walked morosely along, lost in a daze, tied to Gulliver and Farina’s little brother, Henrik. He wished the elves had killed him. He could not understand why he lived.

  Bruises covered his entire body. The back of his head seared with pain if he moved too quickly, and breathing still caused him to wince, although these wounds did not bother him as much as the wounds of his soul. He thought of Farina. Perhaps if he had submitted to the elves from the very beginning, they wouldn’t have killed her. Had he caused her brutal death?

  Such thoughts kept him silent and obedient throughout the day.

  By the evening, the elves set camp in a small clearing in the forest. They tied Gulliver and Kairos to a tree and set a guard a few paces away. Most of the griffon-riders had flown on ahead while the small squad traversed the forest. Some, including the leader, stayed behind with the prisoners in the camp. It became evident to the prisoners that the only reason they travelled by foot was because there was no room for them to ride on the griffons. The elves deemed their griffons too good for the likes of humans.

  ‘What’s happening to us?’ Kairos kept his voice low so only Gulliver could hear.

  ‘We’re their prisoners,’ answered Gulliver, his swollen, unseeing eyes facing straight ahead. ‘I think they plan on taking us to Malus. They probably have their ships moored at Cape Caipora, so I reckon we’re going back there. I don’t know what will happen to you. As for me, I’m a Mana Knight. Low ranking or not, they’ll have me tortured and executed…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘And Henrik?’ asked Kairos, looking towards campfire. The elven leader put a collar and leash on Henrick and made the boy sit next to him. Unlike Kairos and Gulliver, Henrick appeared unharmed.

  ‘He’s young enough. They’ll probably enslave him if he’s lucky. Or unlucky… I’ve heard that certain elven lords pay good money for human boys.’