Death's Knight

by Jena Rey

  This was the question all potential Knights knew and feared. A simple question, but one which required soul seeking. Answering without total honesty and openness would result in death. Darian met the eye sockets of the skeleton that stood before him with a steady gaze. “Initially, my motivation was simple duty. I was following in my mother’s footsteps, knowing how much she did to make life better for others. Like her, I felt a duty to protect the people of this land…then my convoy of friends and fellows was destroyed, and I burned with sorrow and guilt. The need to revenge my fallen comrades.”

  He glanced to where he hoped Ephema was watching, even if he couldn’t see her. How could he explain everything that had happened so few weeks? “Now? Now my motivation is simpler. My motivation is to follow the will written on the surface of my heart. I am to guard she that could bring peace to our world, and through my life or death, ensure she is kept safe from all harm along her path whatever that may be. So my motivation is duty, a passion to protect, to do the will of our Lord, and to free our people from the tyranny of the Lich.”

  The last word echoed through the chamber, and Darian felt magic infuse his being, a scorching power that dove deep into his soul, examining him with holy fire until he felt he might come apart. He shook so hard he nearly dropped his mace, and it was more than a full minute before the voice rose again. “So you are judged.” The voice was quiet. The eight skeletons stared at Darian for a long time, unmoving; then, as one, they fell to one knee, a pose of respect. “The applicant is found…”

  Darian held his breath, his fingers flexing inside the unfamiliar gloves. The muscles of his thighs spasmed, and he wanted desperately to just sit in the sand and recover.

  “Worthy.”

  At the last word, the skeletal knights exploded, sending a shower of bone flying through the air. The bones circled Darian in an ever-tightening whirlwind, blue tendrils of magic arcing between the fragments. Lances of light shot out of his armor, snagging bone out of the air and pulling it in where it fused to the metal plates.

  Smaller bones reinforced joint pieces and lined the edges of smooth plates. Larger bones spread across wider sections which were vulnerable to attack. Stretched kneecaps appeared high on his shoulders, and a large skull wrapped itself around Darian’s helmet, dropping around his face to form the protective visor of a fully sworn Knight. Bone ringed Darian’s kite shield, a pattern of knuckles embedding themselves around a thick spike.

  Darian held out his right hand with the mace grasped firmly in it. The runes that Ephema had etched in it pulsated in time with the magic around him. To his amazement, the head of the mace melted away, the molten slag simply vanishing into the sands. Tendrils of magic snaked out of the runes nearest the top of the weapon and darted down into the sand, raising another skull.

  The skull was screaming, its jaw hung slack, open and dripping with a mixture of blue and white eldritch energy. Deadly spikes grew through the skull at regular intervals, and the runners of magic wrapped around the bone securing it to the mace’s hilt, seating it with one last flash of white energy. The magic began to withdraw, and Darian felt a surge of warmth move into his hand and through his body, filling him completely, taking away his pain and weariness. He had only a moment to realize he’d never seen another knight leave his ceremony healed. It usually took days for them to recover.

  With his weapon and armor now formed, the ceremony wound to its end.

  “Make your oath!”

  Darian stripped the glove from his right hand as the main pillar rose again from the floor. This time there was no bone, but a carving of the complex sigil of Osephetin. It was ornate, but compact, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He took a deep breath and covered the carving with his hand. It flashed with blue flame, and his skin burned. The pain he’d known up to this point was nothing compared to the searing of his skin and soul.

  “I…so…swear.”

  A door opened in the far wall, and Darian strode out, confident his greeting on the other side would be a warm one. His helmet hung on a hook at his waist, making it easier to see. Knight Tabor and Knight Proctor Lauret approached with Ephema between them. Tabor smiled widely upon seeing Darian, and he strode forward, gripping Darian’s hand firmly. “I knew you’d make it, my friend. Never had a doubt.”

  “Thank you. I mostly worried about that last question.” Darian smiled gently at Ephema. “That one actually turned out to be the easiest.”

  Ephema’s answering smile was small, but warm. “You have a good heart and know your duty. Now everyone else knows that too.” She shook her head. “Though I’m not sure I would ever want to watch that again. It was not comfortable.”

  Lauret chuckled. “Osephetin’s ways take some getting used to for outsiders, I will admit that.” She joined Darian, kissing his brow. “I know you had it in you. Your father is very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

  “I know.” Darian went to say something else, but his stomach chose that moment to gurgle as the waning stress of the trial eased. He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. There’s not much eating during meditations.”

  “Just like your father, stomach forward.” Lauret shook her head, but smiled fondly on her son. “Come on, Knight Darian. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ephema made her way back to her small room at the Temple, feeling slow and heavy with too much food in her belly. She’d tried something Alloyna called hard cider, and even though she’d only had a few sips, it’d left her head feeling odd. Ephema couldn’t say she had enjoyed the evening at the inn. It was too crowded and loud. She was certain Darian had a good time though, and that ultimately was what mattered. He was well known and loved by many in the city despite his time away training, and they were excited to see him take this step in his Knighthood. Ephema was…she paused to think about it. Proud was as good of a word as she could think of to describe her feelings. She had been certain Osephetin wouldn’t reject Darian as a Knight. He was devout and dedicated and brave, all the things a good Knight should be.

  He'd been in his element at the inn, juggling many conversations and giving time and a share of his attention to everyone. Ephema had watched from behind the bar, where she’d found some level of safe haven from the noise and the crush. So many people together set her on edge. She could feel them breathing, the blood racing through their bodies, the sounds of life adding to the chaos. She remembered sometimes feeling this way before, but it had never struck her as much as it did here and when it had been the worst, she had been able to retreat to her cave until it went away. Here there was little respite.

  Darian had tried to draw her into the excitement of the evening, but she felt uncomfortable being in the middle of things. His family had wanted his attention, and she knew it was the right thing to let them have him. Privately, she admitted she didn’t care for some of the attention he got from the girls who worked at the inn, especially the one who kept sitting on his lap. He didn’t look comfortable with her, but it irritated Ephema all the same.

  She sighed and sat on her cot, tucking her feet up under her. She was tired and yet wide awake all at once with an ache behind her eyes that promised to become a headache. With a little adjustment, she turned so that her back rested against the wall, and she wouldn’t fall over. She didn’t think she could lay down without triggering the threatening pain. She took off her necklace and cradled the globe in her hands, resting them in her lap. Ephema breathed in and out, closing her eyes and opening herself to the peace of her own breath and heartbeat.

  Her mother had never taught Ephema formal worship, fearing it might bring unwanted attention, but this contemplation came close. It was all about calming yourself and opening your mind to the living world around you. With so many changes in her life, it had been too long since Ephema had really had much of a chance to even think about such things. Usually, her winters were full of time to connect with herself and the Goddess, but here it didn’t
even snow and life tumbled on at a breakneck speed.

  She rubbed her fingers along the silken stone, slowly turning the globe as she cleared her mind. She reached out, feeling for the life around her. She saw the twitching noses of the tiny mice that crept through the walls of the temples and felt the tapping legs of creeping spiders. On the rooftops, she heard the sleepy sighs of nesting swallows. She felt the whispering steps of the priests as they went about their duties, and the soft breath of those who slept. In the heart of the High Temple, the Eternal Flame called out to her, burning with a life of its own.

  The globe between her fingers came to life, filling the room with white light and rising until it hovered a few inches above her hands. At first, the light was gentle, white ribbons caressing Ephema’s skin and darting about the room, but it didn’t stay that way. Her brow furrowed as the light grew hot and painful, and the calm of her meditation exploded with images she couldn’t control. Soft whimpers escaped her lips, followed by screams.

  Darian awoke from disturbing dreams he didn’t remember to Tabor standing at his bedside. When Tabor spoke, his voice was deep and concerned. “Dress quickly. We are needed at the High Temple. Something has happened to Ephema.”

  Darian was up and moving before Tabor finished speaking. It took him a moment to get into the unfamiliar armor despite it being designed for quick donning, but Tabor helped him with the more unwieldy pieces and soon enough he was ready. He picked up his mace and grimaced. The runes on the mace glowed fiercely, light shining out of the eyes of the skull. “That’s new.”

  Tabor shook his head, barely sparing a glance for the enchanted weapon. “It is touched by both the Goddess and by our Dark Lord now. I do not think we can guess how it will react to anything.” He pushed the door open, the only other sounds in the inn the tick of shifting walls and the snap of the banked fire. Darian wondered briefly where Tabor had come from and how he’d gotten into the inn, but that seemed a foolish question right now. Tabor waited until they exited the building then broke into a trot, which was impressive for the large man, much like watching a draft horse gallop.

  Darian kept pace easily, his new armor already starting to become comfortable and familiar. Osephtin’s will reduced the weight of the armor, but it still was an adjustment. He couldn’t fight the worry that surged through him with each step. “What happened, Tabor?”

  “No one knows.” Tabor kept up the pace, the High Temple a good distance from the inn even without the daytime crush of people and animals. “Priestess Sian heard her screaming. Now she will not wake.”

  Darian’s gut clenched and he nodded, dropping the conversation so they could run faster. What few people were out this time of night gave the two Knights wide berth; it was obvious they were in a hurry, and it was never wise to step in front of an armored Knight at full steam.

  When they arrived at the High Temple, the doors were already open for them. An acolyte stood by the door, waving them entry. Darian didn’t so much as glance at the man as he pounded up the stairs, overtaking Tabor and passing him. He knew the way to the room where Ephema was housed, and Tabor would catch up.

  Kadama stood by the door to Ephema’s room, holding it open as Darian approached. He didn’t stop until he stepped inside, skidding to a halt. Sian knelt by the bed, trying to rouse Ephema, but every time she touched the unconscious woman a bolt of white magic arched into her, making Sian yelp with pain.

  Ephema’s hands were closed into fists, her body twisting and writhing as though she were possessed. Though she was unconscious, she spoke a steady stream of words barely above a whisper, the words in a language Darian did not understand. Her face twisted into a contorted expression that was a combination of concern, pain, and fear. The orb that normally rested calmly around Ephema’s neck hovered in the center of the room, nearly touching the ceiling, casting a pale white-blue light over everything.

  Tabor stepped in after Darian, frowning at what he saw. “We need Adaman.” The words were spoken only loud enough for Darian to hear before the Knight turned and left.

  “Why do we need…” Darian turned, but the man was already gone. “Adaman. Priestess Sian, do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  Sian took in a deep breath as she rose and stepped back from the cot. “I have never seen anything like this, but I have seen priests in communion with our Lord Osephetin and there are some similarities. If it is the Goddess trying to tell her something, the message is not clear. She is hurting, and I fear for her. Perhaps this is what the beginnings of her Goddess’s madness looks like.” She paused, rubbing her hands together, the skin red and raw from her attempts to help. “Fetching Adaman may be a good idea. He has experience with Osephetin’s visions and interpreting dreams.”

  “Madness. No, it can’t be that.” He looked up at Sian. “How long has she been like this?”

  A look of shame touched the older woman’s face. “Too long. Hours maybe. When I found her, she was screaming, but it had been so long she was hoarse and soon after she lost her voice. The whispers are all she has. The High Priest sensed there was something wrong and sent word, but it was not acted on quickly enough.”

  Darian crossed the room and sat beside Ephema, careful not to touch her. The globe flashed, its light warming faintly as the frenetic spinning slowed. Ephema’s muttering continued, though he thought he heard her speak his name at least once.

  Sian peered at the globe with interest. “It changed when you approached, that has to mean something. Careful. Don’t touch her.”

  Darian nodded, slipping into silence as he watched Ephema’s struggles. Though it seemed like an eternity, it wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall again, and he looked up as Tabor reentered the room, breathless.

  “Did you find Adaman?”

  Tabor was saved from answering the question by Adaman bustling into the room after him. The priest looked disheveled, dressed in a plain tan tunic and brown britches without the robes of his office. His white hair tangled around his face and shoulders in a way that made him look like he’d been struck by lightning. He pushed his way around Tabor and stood in front Sian, staring at the odd scene. “Oh my. Yes, this is a problem.”

  Darian stood and took three steps forward, stopping under the hovering globe. “It is, yes. Tell me what I can do to help, and I’ll do it. But hurry, this has gone on long enough.”

  Adaman shook his head. “There is no hurry with such things as this. We do it right, or we don’t do it at all.” He turned his attention to Tabor and Sian. “Dear lady, we will need food and water for when she wakes. Bring a cold compress for her brow and a glass of wine…for me.” He touched her hands, looking at the little blisters there. “See to your hands, and then bring those things back if you’d be so very kind.” He waved toward the door. “And you, oh oak tree, take the door. No one interrupts until someone from this room tells you we’re done. No matter what happens.”

  Tabor’s brows rose at the last statement. “No matter what happens? Adaman, that is never a good warning with you.”

  “It may be loud, possibly with a light show. It will all be all right. This is the Dark One’s will, and maybe the Goddess’s too, but I can’t speak for her in the same way, at least not yet.”

  Tabor snorted and gripped Adaman’s shoulder for an instant before he turned away, leading Sian out. He moved Kadama out of the way of the door. “You heard the man. Priestess Kadama, I’d suggest you go gather some folks and see if you can put together the food, some sort of bandages and herbs, maybe a room to put that all in.”

  “Yes, Knight Tabor.” There was a sullen note to her voice, but Darian ignored her. Kadama got along well with his brother, but didn’t seem to care much about anyone else.

  Tabor took a position just outside the door and pulled it shut. Darian took in a deep breath. No one would move Tabor until he wanted to be moved. It was now up to Adaman and himself.

  Adaman rubbed his hands together, his long fingers almost spider-like
in the motions. “You may want less armor for this, Darian. It may take a while, and it’s going to get warm.”

  Darian wondered how Adaman knew, but he just nodded. “As you say.” He removed his armor, setting the plate against the wall as the things Adaman had already said rang through his thoughts. Light show. Noise. No matter what happens. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but his worries were all secondary to helping Ephema. Darian knew he had to do anything he could to help her. He hadn’t misspoken when he’d sworn his vows. He would keep her safe by any and all means necessary.

  He just hadn’t expected to be tested so soon.

  Adaman pulled a couple of stools up to the bed. Darian didn’t remember the stools being in the room, but he hadn’t really looked and wasn’t going to question where they’d come from. He sat on one, watching Ephema with a sense of dread.

  The globe above them continued to spin, sometimes so fast he could barely see it. When it slowed, sparks would fly. Throughout, Ephema continued whispering. Adaman smoothed the blanket near her, but went out of his way to avoid touching the woman. “To reassure your worries, I do at least have an idea what is happening. She is, for all intents and purposes, a creature of magic tied together in the body of a woman. Priestess for a mother. Knight for a father. The only living Daughter of the Goddess we’ve seen in a century. It’s a wonder nothing has gone wrong before now.”

  Adaman continued, “I’ve been doing a bit of research, and Daughters draw their power from the life around them. Unlike a vampire that steals life from the living, a Daughter just kind of, well, she picks up what we cast off. The more intelligent and bigger the creature, the more magic we’re talking about. So spiders, not so much magic, at least not in the household variety. People, we’re big old pools of magic. That magic is what the divine touches when you make your oaths.