Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  ‘You mean Malus’s army.’

  ‘Yes,’ the boy answered with a glint of anger in his eyes. His fists clenched on the table, more words flowing forth from the open wound. ‘First we fought the dwarves. We would have won, but then those beasts – those griffons, as you call them – took to the air, and the elves used something we haven’t seen before. It was loud, bright, and deadly, and it destroyed all of our ships. I understand that part of fighting is to die, but what happened was a massacre without glory.’ Kairos had lowered his voice, and Galen leant forward in his seat despite himself. ‘Most of my people drowned. Those who didn’t were slaughtered… I was the only who escaped.’

  Galen lifted the wooden mug and drank, using the ale as an excuse to keep silent until he had regained control of his anger. It was a tragic story, one he had seen time and again. This poor boy was very much like the countless others. Malus’s army attacked all humans in their path, wantonly killing them, seldom taking prisoners, and those who became captives often suffered a much worse fate. Some said that the dark elf’s objective was the genocide of the human race. Others claimed he wanted to collect the godshards, and humans just happened to be collateral damage. Either way, Malus left behind death and destruction, and the survivors carried nothing but painful memories from their devastated homes. Few of them were able to rebuild their lives. Most either resorted to drinking to dull the memories or ended up as street beggars in the cities. Some couldn’t drink enough to forget, and killed themselves from the insanity. This boy was just another victim who had to bear that heavy burden.

  There was yet a chance to help him. Besides, there was something mysterious about this boy, but Galen could not quite place it. Malus was pursuing him for a reason. The dark elf did not waste time attacking rural settlements unless he had an objective in mind – though many others might disagree with Galen on this thought.

  Something else this boy said bothered him: The elves used something we haven’t seen before.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Kairos asked, taking Galen’s silence for scepticism.

  ‘My belief doesn’t matter. You’ve seen what Malus’s army tried to do to you.’

  ‘Will you and your men do the same?’

  The older knight laughed, but stopped immediately and cleared his throat. ‘Of course not! We are Mana Knights. Our mission is to defend justice and protect the innocent. We strive to be honourable, unlike Malus’s men who murder innocents.’ Kairos said nothing, only listened. ‘We also take quests to purge the land of evil,’ Galen went on, biting into a piece of cheese. ‘Beasts, fugitives, or searches and rescues... But the most important thing that Mana Knights do is preserve the godshards.’

  ‘Godshards?’

  ‘The crystallised essence of the fallen gods. Have you not heard? Everyone knows about them. That is what I believe Malus is after. He craves power.’

  Kairos shook his head, becoming more confused. ‘Fallen gods?’

  ‘I see we’ll have to work on your education.’ Galen was becoming more confident that the boy did hail from across the sea. Even bumpkins from the most rural of farming hamlets knew of the godshards. ‘I’ll explain more at a later time. Are your people familiar with the gods?’

  ‘Back in Logres, we worship Rudras,’ Kairos said proudly, but the mention of home caused tears to well up in the boy’s eyes. He angrily cuffed them away.

  ‘Do you?’ Galen said, impressed. ‘I have heard of Rudras, though he is rarely mentioned in the texts. Very interesting. But enough about gods. We need to discuss your fate.’

  ‘My fate?’ Kairos blurted out.

  ‘Yes. If you are from across the sea as you claim, then have you thought of what you plan to do from here?’

  The boy shrugged as if he hadn’t thought much of it at all. ‘Go home, get more of my people, and take revenge on Malus and his army.’

  ‘That sounds grand and all, but how can you get home without a ship or a crew?’

  The boy had no answer.

  ‘Even if you did have one, no one here has ever been across the sea,’ Galen continued, talking through a mouthful of cheese. ‘Even Malus, as far as I know, cannot cross it. Those sea serpents you have mentioned tend to destroy any ship that dares. They are attracted to our mana and attack without fail…’ Galen saw the puzzled look on the boy’s face and stopped. ‘Why don’t you accompany me to Vadost for now? The lands beyond here are wild and filled with monsters. I cannot force you, of course. It is your choice.’

  Kairos didn’t quite understand the offer. ‘I cannot accept charity,’ he said. ‘My father said it’s shameful to beg help from others, and it leaves you in their debt.’

  ‘It’s not charity,’ Galen said briskly. ‘I have a blacksmith friend who could use an extra pair of hands, and you can stay with him in exchange for work. I also have many questions about Malus’s army, and perhaps you have answers. You’ve fought them. Been around them. We can help each other. Besides, any boy who has the courage to take on Malus’s soldiers is a friend, in my eye. I’ll get you a place to stay in Vadost until you can get your bearings and figure out what you want to do. In the meantime, I can try to enlist you into the Knighthood. We knights are fighting Malus, and could use another brave soul among our ranks. Gulliver says you killed an elven warrior with a dagger. That is impressive for one as young as yourself. I can only imagine what your potential could be with the proper training.’

  Kairos contemplated Galen’s words. ‘And if I don’t want to go with you?’

  ‘Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here in Gersholm, keep the locals company.’ Galen shrugged. ‘They can use another hand in the fields. Or perhaps help with the livestock. If that doesn’t suit your fancy, the nearest settlement from here – excluding Milbrooke – is almost a week’s journey by foot. You’re sure to meet a hill giant on the way, or maybe a tribe of hobs. The wilderness here is not a place you can easily survive.

  ‘And no, Kairos, I’m not trying to change your mind,’ Galen interrupted himself, seeing the young boy scowl in anger. ‘I am telling you the facts. The reality of your situation.’

  Kairos looked down glumly at his food. ‘What about my home? My clan? I need to go back.’

  ‘I will help you with that in due time. The Knighthood may be able to help, as well.’

  ‘But I need to go back soon,’ Kairos replied. ‘The Blight–’

  ‘Like I said, that’s not likely to happen without a ship,’ Galen said gravely.

  ‘How do I get a ship?’ Kairos asked, the pitch of his voice getting higher as he became more agitated.

  The knight did not immediately respond, but took a swig from his tankard and leant back in his chair, watching the boy with pity. He has lost everything, Galen said silently. Family, friends, his people. There is nothing for him here, and there is no easy way to return. The boy looked so lost that he wouldn’t last a few days outside of Gersholm alone. Even if a wild beast or starvation did not kill him, the madness of desolation would consume him in the end. He needed help. A purpose to his life; something besides revenge – which would also destroy him. The Knighthood would provide that sense of purpose for a while. The training and discipline would be the shield that would protect this fragile boy, shelter him when he was weak or weary. Or the Knighthood might become the sword that cut him, leaving him bleeding out and broken. Galen wondered uneasily if he was steering the boy on a path towards an early death.

  ‘Why are you staring at me like that?’ Kairos asked.

  ‘I was thinking that you need a great amount of wealth,’ Galen said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You need a sack full of gold to buy a ship, and even more to hire a crew for such a dangerous voyage.’ Galen then added, ‘but you can acquire a ship by becoming a knight and rising through the ranks.’

  Kairos glared down at his bread, which sat uneaten in his hand. ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘It can take years at best.’ There was no sense lying to
the boy.

  ‘And I can fight Malus’s army in the meantime?’ he asked without looking up.

  ‘If the tasks demand it,’ Galen answered. ‘Though new recruits do not engage in such tasks early on.’

  The boy lifted his head and his eyes made contact with Galen’s, filled with a burning passion that was lacking in most youth. ‘I will go with you to Vadost, then.’

  The knight nodded and set the tankard down. Reaching out across the table, he clasped the boy on the arm. Kairos flinched at the touch and started to pull away, but Galen held on firmly.

  He didn’t like to be touched, Galen realised, but he wanted the boy to understand the gravity of his words. ‘Listen to me, Kairos,’ he said, and Kairos stopped squirming and held still. The boy saw the intensity in the older knight’s eyes. ‘I’m going to be straightforward with you. The Knighthood will not be easy, nor will it solve your problems. It will test the limits of your courage, your resolve. Many people have tried to become knights and failed. Those that pass take on new problems, new pains. You will run towards dangerous situations that sane people flee from. You will take on incredible burdens that others abandon. Despite all of this, you may become a knight and never get a ship. Becoming a knight requires a lot of self-sacrifice.’ Galen paused, tightening his grip on the boy’s arm to emphasise his point. ‘The Knighthood will try to break you down. The training is brutal. The leaders are strict. Those that are brittle of heart will break off and leave. Those that endure are rebuilt to become stronger and more resilient. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ said Kairos with solemnity.

  ‘One more thing.’ Galen still held the boy’s arm, affixing him with a firm gaze.

  Kairos did not move, only stared back transfixed.

  ‘Do not tell anyone else that you come from across the sea. Do not tell them about Logres, the Blight, or about your people.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just don’t,’ Galen said, squeezing the arm and causing Kairos to wince slightly. ‘At the very least, some will think you are either lying or mad. Others, like Malus and his army, may try to harm you. Promise me that you won’t tell anyone! Not for now.’

  ‘Okay. I promise.’

  ‘Truly?’ Galen released his grip.

  ‘Yes,’ Kairos said, holding his arm, but meeting Galen’s eyes resolutely. ‘I promise.’

  The knight nodded, satisfied. ‘Now do you have any questions for me, Kairos?’

  The boy hesitated, not out of reluctance. He was wondering how to phrase his thoughts. ‘I saw you kill those elves. Will the Knighthood teach me how to fight like that? I would like to fight like you. Can I?’

  Galen frowned, thinking of his own daughter who had also said something similar. ‘That depends,’ he answered. ‘Not everyone can use powerful spells. I don’t know how your people are–’ He focused on the boy, who suddenly looked down, as he said this– ‘But it all really depends on how well you can hold yourself in battle, I suppose. Learning magic takes time. Some study and practise their entire lives and barely improve. Others just seem to have the gift.

  ‘Everyone starts out as a squire,’ the knight continued, seeing that the boy was still listening intently, even if he wasn’t making eye contact. ‘After a year of intense training, you take a test. Those who are not strong or practical enough fail. Some even die during the testing. The road is not easy. Those who pass must commit their lives to the Knighthood to become full-fledged knights. Even then, it still takes years of training and discipline to wield powerful spells.’

  The boy’s face contorted as if mulling over a very serious matter. ‘What if…’ He stopped.

  ‘Go on,’ Galen urged.

  ‘W-what if I can never cast those powerful spells?’ Kairos asked, actually sounding afraid. ‘What if–’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself with ‘what ifs’ and such,’ Galen interrupted. ‘If what Gulliver claims is true, the Knighthood could use a warrior such as yourself. There is more to the Knighthood than slinging spells around and commanding power.’

  Kairos nodded, looking very serious, as he levelled his eyes with Galen. He now looked determined.

  ‘Now, Kairos,’ said Galen, thinking back to the one troublesome thing the boy had mentioned. ‘I have a question for you. Besides wanting to earn a ship and fight Malus, why do you want to become more powerful?’

  The candlelight on the table glistened in Kairos’s eyes. There was no hesitation in those dark grey eyes, only resolve. ‘I’m tired of being weak and helpless. I want to become stronger to help those around me, and,’ he made a fist and gazed at Galen fiercely, ‘and make each and every one of those elves and dwarves pay for what they did.’

  Galen, unable to hide his surprise at the vehement tone, looked closely at the boy to see if he were jesting.

  Kairos was serious.

  The older knight gave an involuntary shudder, wondering if he was making the right decision by taking the boy back to Vadost.

  * * *

  Malus sat behind his desk in his elegant quarters in the Kinclaven Citadel. Though not as sumptuous as his home back at the D’Kari capital, the dark elf’s chambers in the citadel were large and comfortable, containing a private bedroom, sitting room, dining room, and an antechamber for his secretary. The view from any of his rooms was magnificent, and he could look down upon the entertaining execution yard, one of his favourite pastimes. Gazing farther off, he could see beyond the walls of the citadel, into the forested countryside that stretched into the craggy mountains.

  This morning, the dark elf’s gaze was lowered, his eyes, if not his thoughts, on the execution yard. The executioner was providing a spectacular show of chopping the heads and limbs off of the convicted criminals – as if aware his most enthusiastic audience member was watching from above – thus he put on a dramatic show, ensuring that the screams of the guilty resonated longer and louder than usual.

  It was, indeed, a gory day, and the main source of entertainment was a rotund Mana Knight, reportedly captured at a lighthouse, who was much larger around the waist area than any prisoner that had come before. He wore a brown, tattered robe, and was covered in cuts and bruises, and approached the chopping block sobbing and begging for mercy, much to the jeers of the members of Malus’s army watching in attendance. No one felt sorry for him – elves especially detested obesity since most were slender. The executioner’s axe bit into the big man’s belly, and his guts spilled out onto the platform like a ruptured sack of slithering eels. The man wailed pitifully as the soldiers hooted and cheered.

  Not so Dark Lord Malus. The executioner could have disembowelled a dozen Mana Knights for all the dark elf cared today. Or, Malus could have cancelled the executions indefinitely and sent most of the soldiers off on holiday. In fact, such would have suited his mood as he returned to his desk and sat down. His long, dark grey, bony fingers fidgeted over the desk, grabbing the quill pen, putting it down, pushing the ink jar, shuffling parchments, or rearranging the candles. It was his only outward sign of displeasure or frustration, for Malus’s face was as impassive, his regal manner as composed as ever. The two armoured figures, Captain Hargonnas and Sergeant Selkis, standing silently before him, however, noted this fidgeting and knew the dark elf was in a foul mood. More so, when the red eyes caught sight of the Captain’s tight black leather outfit – the very outfit he was told not to wear again –and narrowed slightly, causing the blond elf to wince.

  The dark lord’s hand suddenly slammed down on the oaken desk. ‘I’m trying to comprehend,’ his voice was tinged with a lethal edge, ‘why it is that you, a so-called elite with your enormous magic powers, cannot bring in one boy!’

  Captain Hargonnas and Sergeant Selkis turned slightly toward each other, exchanging worried glances. Then they faced Malus and the captain, his hands clasped before him, spoke. His strained and conciliatory tone contrasted with the stoic marble features of his face.

  ‘I seek your pardon, my lord. If this boy were a no
rmal human, we would have no trouble finding him. The fact that he is god-cursed makes it difficult. He has no mana for us to trace his location.’

  ‘I know that!’ Malus bellowed. ‘That’s why you use your damned eyes and ears.’

  ‘We have, my lord,’ Captain Hargonnas dared to say. ‘Our griffon squadrons scoured the land, and through due diligence, we had captured him. But Sergeant Selkis here–’ the Captain gestured to the now horrified dark elf next to him, ‘botched the job and left the men to the mercy of a regiment of Mana Knights, led by none other than the great Galen Avenal, himself!

  ‘Now the boy is in the company of Mana Knights,’ continued Captain Hargonnas, cutting off the sergeant’s protest with an irritated wave of his hand, ‘who now populate the Caipora region like ants pouring out of a disturbed anthill. The boy hides among these powerful men, whom we cannot approach without the risk of incurring casualties, and unlike other humans, we cannot trace him due to the lack of mana in his body.’

  ‘Pfft!’ Malus snorted. ‘Excuses, excuses. Can’t you use that filthy necrotic magic of yours to seek him out?’

  Captain Hargonnas inhaled deeply, as though suppressing irritation. When he spoke, his voice was low and clear, a bad sign to those who knew him, as evidenced by Sergeant Selkis’s greying face.

  ‘My lord, the art of necromancy is attuned to the mana within the living and the dead. Those using the art, such as myself, can move among the people, casting out strands of magic as a fisherman casts a net. Whenever any being with mana – live or dead – comes within my range, those strands quiver with mana. This provides me the essential information about that being: such things ranging from their demeanour to their basic intentions and emotions.’

  Malus rolled his eyes, and snorted again.

  The Captain clenched his jaw, causing the sergeant to flinch involuntarily, uncertain what his superior might do. Though most ranked members of Malus’s army were trained with strict discipline that encompassed more years than a human’s lifespan, the Captain was known to speak his mind and lose his temper. Judging by Sergeant Selkis’s discomfort, he would not have been surprised if the captain unleashed a barrage of magical energy that would vaporise the room like morning dew in the hot summer sun.