Blackest Knights

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Well you did, and you can’t take it back.” She echoed his thoughts. “Especially since you brought me a second time. Feels like this is our lovers’ rendezvous. Only you had a run-in with my father.” She reached up to touch his injured face.

  He flinched away. “Don’t. Please.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “I heard it said that touching the Spark can transform a normal person into a Plainswalker.” The emphasis on “normal” didn’t escape his notice. He’d grown accustomed to being viewed as different; he no longer understood normal.

  “Why would you want to? Sounds like a horrible trade,” Captain Haines said. He blushed, though it looked more like a bruise and bowed his head. “No offense.”

  “To be immortal,” General Louis said.

  “Not immortal,” Warrick said, sharper than he intended, “just live too many lives, see too many people you love die.”

  “The power to save them, make them like you,” General Luis said, a jab at him, Warrick was certain.

  “I wouldn’t wish this life onto anyone, not even him.” He motioned to Captain Giles. “Seeing is a burden—”

  “You don’t have to tell me about my death.” She frowned, and her dark eyes widened, a deep purple in the In-Between light, a chasm he could never breach. “I saw it in your face. You do what you must. Just make it quick when you have to do it.”

  She walked ahead, giving Warrick no chance to reply. Captain Haines left his side, leaving Warrick alone, surrounded by survivors of a When that may cease to exist.

  Warrick traced a gateway in the lavender-grey dirt. It was much easier to exit the In-Between than enter—the place desiring to expel them like rotten meat. He opened the wound in his palm and dripped blood on the dirt. Electric steam rose from the ground, and he thrust his hand into it, the familiar vibrations trembling through his bones, and ignited the gate. Stone-faced soldiers and nervous horses passed through, uncertain of what to expect on the other side. They were three leagues from the Broken Mountains, the brunt of the Wraith army overrunning the remaining men at the front another ten leagues to the south. The place he led them to was the burnt fields outside Civitas Ignis et Lux, City of Fire and Light. Here they would find the Spark.

  “It will be at the center of the city,” Warrick said. He’d seen it carefully tucked into the hand of a statue at the once illustrious gardens. All life died when the wraiths arrived. Entire sections of walls were reduced to rubble, which would make it easier for them to enter the city.

  “How heavily guarded?” Captain Haines asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Warrick said.

  “The Plainswalker and fifty foot will follow me inside,” General Louis said. “Keep the remainder of your horse back and cover our flanks. I don’t want these dead motherfuckers killing us before we have a chance to die inside the walls where it’s more comfortable.”

  Captain Giles moaned and struggled to sit up. He nearly fell from the horse and had to be helped down by a couple of men.

  “Look who returns from his sleep,” Captain Haines said.

  “Where are we?”

  “Alive,” Warrick said, “for now.”

  “No thanks to you,” Captain Giles muttered.

  “Actually,” General Louis said, “he saved us by creating the gate to the In-Between. Would have saved more, but your dumb ass knocked him down before he could open the portal. Who knows how many would be alive if it weren’t for your actions.”

  Captain Giles hung his head.

  “I would hang you myself if we didn’t need every hand to help us get the Spark from those wraiths before we all blink out of existence.” General Louis grabbed Giles by the scruff and yanked his head back. “I strip you of your command and place you on my personal staff. Your new role being my piss-pot holder. Since I’m all out of piss-pots, this knife will have to do. Use it to cut, stab, maim, or kill anything other than undead, and I will cut off your head and make it my new piss-pot. Do I make myself clear?”

  Should kill him anyway, Warrick fingered his dagger. It wouldn’t solve anything. He has his duty, just like we all do.

  “Loud and clear, sir,” Giles said. He gave a salute, but the open disgust was more like she shoved his face in shit and told him to eat it. He refused to look at Warrick, watching his bonds get sliced and then taking the dagger by the handle from General Louis. He held it for a moment, knuckles white, and Warrick prepared to strike a killing blow. Then Giles tucked it into his belt.

  “We have our orders,” General Louis said. “Let’s be quick about it and be back for supper before the sun sets. I don’t want to be caught dead in there at night.”

  The space to the walls was barren, leaving them exposed for longer than Warrick desired. They doubled up on horseback, Warrick riding behind General Louis. Arms wrapped around her armored midriff, hair smelling of sweat and hints of rose water, he couldn’t hold back the images of their bodies tangled, hands stroking her nipples while strong thighs gripped him, slowing his eagerness so they climaxed together. A shout went up.

  “Worms!”

  The ground shook, and dirt sank in, carrying a few horses and riders down. Blood sprayed out in a great spurt. Hideous black, segmented creatures, twice the size of their prey, crawled out. On their back were smaller, humanoid shapes. Empty sockets told Warrick they were less human than the skeletal rouges who attacked them on the road. Three wraith worms slithered along the rough ground, moving faster than their horse. The angle they took proved they were going to cut them off from the walls, box them in, and devour them like mulch.

  Another cry came from behind Warrick.

  “For the dead and destiny!”

  Captain Haines headed the thousand remaining horsemen, splitting into two groups to engage the worms. Arrows launched, striking the shiny crustaceous shells. The worms squirmed along, redirecting to their new quarry. A large, O-shaped mouth lined by rows of teeth sharp as daggers, buried into the side of Captain Haines’s horse. He went down, crushed beneath the black segments. Two other wraith worms bowled over more riders, leaving behind broken bodies before the riders rallied and hacked the worms into pieces.

  “There.” Warrick pointed. “That opening. It’ll be closest to the Spark.”

  They dismounted, and Warrick looked back over the field. All the wraith worms had been killed, those sections still wiggling were being hacked apart by the soldiers. Bodies heaped about the barren field, feeding the thirsty soil with their blood.

  “Nothing we can do,” General Louis said, touching his shoulder.

  Giles sneered at him and spat.

  They entered Civitas, spreading out to cover what remained of the buildings. Beautiful marble and stone crafted homes were nothing more than cracked rocks. Dead vines crawled up the ruins, thorny and poisonous flowers waiting to be touched by the foolish living. They moved across cracked cobblestone streets, winding around rubble blocking alleyways. They reached the outskirts of the gardens. Warrick heard rattling of bones, like hallow wind chimes clanking together.

  “We have company,” he said to General Louis. They crouched beside a broken colonnade once supporting the Flowery Arch. There, a thirty-foot tall statue of Peytro the Giver, stood, right arm stretched to the heavens as though offering a gift. That gift being the Spark. The Spark was made of crystal, a rainbow prism effect created from the light drawn through it. Around the base of the statue stood a single wraith and its pet undead. It must’ve heard the commotion outside, and it surrounded itself by a dozen undead while more lurked about the broken gardens.

  “Draw them away while we climb the statue to get the Spark,” General Louis said to a man, who relayed the information to his comrades. “Giles, Warrick, with me.”

  A whistle sounded. The wraith’s cowl jerked in the direction of the sound, a long sword slid from its scabbard. A dozen soldiers rushed the courtyard, decapitating the nearest creatures before running off, chased by the slacking bones.

  “Damn it.” General
Louis snarled. “Wraith didn’t take the bait.”

  Warrick knew it wouldn’t. The undead warriors may have had their brains rotted away, but wraiths maintained their cunning beyond death. Which made them dangerous, since killing something already dead was a real challenge. Common weapons poked holes through the fabric and not the thing beneath. Only one weapon could kill a wraith, and that was the sword Warrick carried. When he drew the two-handed broadsword from its sheath, it gave a purple glow. His mentor said it came from the In-Between, like the Sparks. All life sprang from the darkness, as did the means to end it.

  “You ready?” General Louis asked.

  “How the hell am I to face that with only this toothpick?” Giles asked, holding up his knife.

  “Like this.” General Louis grabbed Giles by the shoulder and spun him to face the gardens. She lifted a boot, planted it in the middle of his back, and kicked him so his arms pin-wheeled while he stumbled over debris. Even then he couldn’t hold his balance, skidding to his knees ten feet from the wraith. Giles tried to scream, but his mouth was caught in a tight-lipped horror, so the air came out in a squeak. The wraith was before him, lifting Giles from the ground as easily as a child lifted a doll.

  Warrick moved to attack the distracted wraith’s exposed flank. It must’ve spotted him because it threw Giles. Warrick sidestepped, spun as Giles hit his left shoulder, and brought his sword up in time to deflect a blow to his head. The wraith was quick, each cut a potential killing blow. Warrick matched him, the purple blade singing through the air, catching each strike and turning away harmlessly. They danced a few turns, when something whistled through the air, passing under his raised arm and striking the wraith in the chest. Warrick used the momentary distraction to thrust his blade into the empty hood. A cold screech blasted out, knocking Warrick down. The wraith stumbled, the blade stuck where its head should be, and collapsed, shriveling like a plum in the hot sun, until it imploded, leaving behind a dark, scorch mark where the wraith once stood.

  Pebbles rattled to the ground beside Warrick. He looked up and saw Louis climbing the statue. She was halfway to the Spark.

  “Louis!” Warrick said, gaining his feet. “Don’t.”

  She paused, a hand wrapped around Peytro’s waist.

  “I have to,” she said and began climbing again.

  Warrick leapt at the statue and scaled it as fast as his fingers could find holds. His wounded palm burned, and blood made the marble slick, but he had nearly reached her foot when she reached for the Spark. Then he lost his grip and slid down to Peytro’s hip where he latched onto the sculpted scabbard.

  “Don’t touch it, Louis,” he shouted, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

  “I love you,” she said.

  And he’d believed her more than anything else he’d ever heard. Louis reached out, fingers grasping the crystal and carefully prying it from its hold.

  “Don’t speak those words.”

  Light exploded outward, and Louis lost her hold on the statue. She was falling past him when he caught her arm. The Spark was cradled against her breast. She wanted to be like him. To share everything he had experienced, but the only thing he knew she could share was her death, a thousand times a thousand deaths. He began to slip down the statue, shoving off the side before they reached the base. Warrick bent his knees and planted his hand on the ground. Louis landed on her bottom not far away.

  She held up the Spark, eyes wide and glistening in its light.

  “Give it to me,” Warrick said.

  The light began to travel down her arm and she gasped. It was so bright, Warrick covered his eyes. He knew what would come next. His Seeing told him. And there was nothing he could do, but let it happen.

  A figure loomed above Louis. He had Warrick’s sword. The purple blade thrust down, piercing her breast. Warrick felt the blade. It hurt him beyond her mortal wound. Pierced his heart as well as hers. He wanted to fall over, give up. The Spark’s light faded, and it dropped from her collapsed hands. Louis crumpled in on herself, hugging the blade. Giles stood over her. His ruined face, a crimson mask of rage and triumph.

  “You loved her once, didn’t you?” Giles tried to tear the blade free, but it was stuck. “I’ll end you just the same.”

  Warrick drew his dagger and charged Giles. Before the former captain could react, he slashed Giles across the throat. Giles released Warrick’s sword, hands reaching for the flap in his throat. He looked at Warrick, tried to say something, but blood bubbled on his lips, and he fell over. Warrick tore his sword from Louis, nearly taking off her left arm, then brought the purple blade down on Giles’s neck, sending his head spinning across the ruined gardens.

  The Spark rested at Louis’s feet. He stared at it a moment, wondering if he might just leave it there. A dead stone in a dead city guarded by his dead lover. Then he sheathed his sword and bent down next to Louis. Her face was pale, twisted not in pain like many in death, but complete rapture. She had seen what he had seen. Life eternal. Infinite possibility. Unlike him, she embraced it. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should have helped her become a Plainswalker. She might have done better than him.

  Warrick kissed her forehead and picked up the Spark. Enough blood had been spilt here for him to open his gateway to the In-Between.

  “I love you,” he said to General Louis. “Until we meet again.”

  He bowed and passed through the gate, hoping the next When will be more pleasant. Knowing it probably wouldn’t be.

  The King and the Witch

  By Frank Martin

  The mouth of the cave was more hideous than I remembered. I had ventured out here once before, far behind the castle to the north end of the Twisted Forest. I was a boy back then. Nothing more than a shy, young prince eager to impress his older brother on a dare. But Dante was dead now. Perished in the same shipwreck that killed father several months ago. I’ve returned to this spot for an entirely different reason, and this time I would actually have to step inside.

  Everyone in the kingdom knew the Black Witch made this cave her home. Rumor had it she was a hideous old hag more ancient than even the castle itself and dined on nothing but raw rodents and berries too poisonous for a normal human to consume. Our people were left to guess what she was like because nobody had met her in person. At least, nobody who returned to speak about it. Voyeurs only caught sight of the Witch from a distance, and fearful imagination filled in the rest.

  Wearing a pristine coat of knight’s armor the castle blacksmith made for me as a gift, I cautiously roamed the cave’s tight tunnels as they twisted and turned downward. Oddly enough, a steady wall of torches lit the way, as if the Witch were not only expecting me but inviting me into her cavernous abode.

  It wasn’t bravery that drove my armored legs forward. Lords knew I was scared out my mind. Rather it was love that brought me to this place and a necessity to uphold my duty not as a king…but as a man. That was why I instructed my personal guard to remain behind. They insisted on accompanying me on this quest, decrying that the Witch was just too dangerous to face on my own. But I had to. Because if I couldn’t protect those I cared about, then I had no business wearing the crown in the first place.

  To be honest, I had no interest in dealing with the Black Witch during my reign. Some might see glory in finally vanquishing the aberration that inhabited our forest, but my family had a long history with the Witch. For generations, we upheld a truce that allowed each other to live separate existences devoid of interaction. When I took the throne, I hoped to continue this trend, and the unspoken peace lasted for a while. Until tonight. When the Witch abducted my bride on the eve of our wedding.

  The marriage was arranged between my court and an elderly duke who planned to make his adult daughter my queen. Her name was Grace, fitting given her unrivaled beauty and charm. She owned my heart from the moment I first saw her, and I would follow Grace to the ends of the earth if it meant keeping her safe from harm.

  I couldn’t define the tumultuous wave
of anger and fear I felt when she went missing, and the scouts reported a black hooded figure heading north in the Twisted Forest. I knew exactly what happened, too. For centuries the Witch had waited for an opportunity to strike against our kingdom, and she found one in a ruler like myself. Someone weak and easily manipulated. She wanted to hurt me by hurting the woman I loved. Now it was my job to show her that she made a mistake, and I was determined to rid the forest of her presence once and for all.

  I trained my entire life for a moment like this. When we were growing up, father had brought warriors from all over the land to teach Dante and me the art of mortal combat. His reign was a peaceful one, so my brother and I never had the chance to test our skills on a battlefield. But the lessons the instructors drilled into our heads were still there. The sword in my hand and the shield latched against my arm felt like a natural extension of my body. So even though my nerves were rattled, I still felt prepared to meet the Witch head on and face whatever dark wonders of magic she threw at me.

  From the large, jagged opening at the mouth of the cave, the tunnel had shrunk into a passage just wide enough for me to walk through. The path continued this way for a while until I eventually spotted a beacon of light in the distance. As I drew closer, the light danced along the cave walls like that of a flame. I soon spotted the large fire it originated from just beyond the tunnel’s end, inside an enormous chamber so expansive the light failed to penetrate the darkness engulfing its walls and ceiling.

  It appeared as if I was alone, but only the immediate area outside the tunnel was illuminated by flame. Who knew what horrors waited for me deeper inside the hollow. I tried peering into the void but saw nothing beyond the light’s reach.

  “Welcome,” greeted a course, raspy voice.

  It seemed to emanate from out of nowhere. I circled around the fire, hoping to catch a glimpse of my host. There was no one to be seen.