Blackest Knights

by Phipps, C. T.

  Xaxar dismounted his massive timber wolf and dropped to the frozen ground. The grass under his knees shattered. He waited patiently, knowing his goddess had directed him to this place, and his enemy was near.

  Lightning slammed a priestess to his right, and she burst into flames. Her screams filled the wind with her zeal. Xaxar sprawled on the ground, his unseeing eyes staring into the sky. The vision was upon him, and the clergy surrounding him screamed and frothed for his vision to aid him…

  Havoc knew the darkening sky spoke of a sandstorm. Braison, the warrior of Bluxho, was approaching. Havoc began his prayer as dust rose over the desert’s horizon. “Great and merciful Cor-lyn-ber, I come to you humbly asking for your strength and your will to work through me. Help me defeat my foe. Bring me one step closer to my son.”

  He began his Song of the Wars, a special prayer, unique to each holy warrior, the story of that warrior’s own battles.

  With the mask on his face, Havoc could see nothing at all. The sandstorm would be disorienting. It would render him unable to see anything but flying sand and shadows. He did not need his sight.

  Havoc pulled his cloak tightly around his mask. In the roar of the sandstorm, he would be unable to hear the movements of his enemy. The thick cloak would dampen all sound. He did not need his hearing.

  When the wall of sand had nearly reached him, Havoc rose from his prayers. He broke into a furious run to the gut of the storm.

  Braison’s soldiers died as Havoc entered their midst. Cor-lyn-ber did not waste a single thrust as Havoc drove his deadly knife into a throat, then a heart, then a lung, then a head. Each mortal wound was precise.

  Havoc chanted a single prayer over and over in his mind. “I am a blade that need not see. I am a blade that need not hear. I am the blade at peace in the hand of its wielder. I am your weapon, almighty Cor-lyn-ber.” Havoc moved with perfect accuracy with only the guidance of his god.

  When he reached the priestess, Havoc stopped. He spun her to look at her commander, Braison, whom she had served her entire life, and Havoc broke her neck. He laid her down, gently whispering a prayer to Cor-lyn-ber that her soul meet Bluxho.

  Havoc leaped.

  Braison flew through the air three feet above the ground. Sand rose in furious gales from under him and swirled out across the desert.

  Havoc landed with his knees deep in Braison’s back, driving him to the ground, silencing his prayers and ending the sandstorm. Havoc rolled to his feet, his prayer still on his lips. The sand fell like a curtain to the desert floor, and the army of Braison came to a jogging halt.

  Braison struggled under the sand before rising with a roar. Sand exploded off him, and he jumped to his feet. He spit sand and wiped grit from his eyes. He scanned the silent army for the one who had hit him. Standing calmly in their midst, Havoc waited.

  “Take off that mask and meet my eyes!” Braison commanded.

  Havoc loosened his hood and released the mask. It fell down around his neck.

  “Who are you? I would have your name before I send you to the goddess of nature’s destruction.”

  “I am Havoc, son of Cor-lyn-ber, and I have come to you on His will.”

  “I know of no dispute between Cor-lyn-ber and the great Bluxho.”

  “I am here, challenging the commander of sandstorms to battle, nonetheless. Will you meet my challenge? Or send me away unsatisfied? It is the will of my god that I find you in battle.”

  “Know I you from another time? Another place?”

  “I am unknown to you. My motives are my own,” Havoc said.

  “I will honor your challenge. None will fight you save me. Your remains will be sent to your god.” Braison screamed out his prayer to his goddess, and the sands around him lifted into the air. He closed on Havoc.

  Braison pulled two canes that had been tied to his back. They swung through the air, flying sand scraping across their surfaces as they spun and whirled. Havoc pulled his mask to his face and dove away from the swinging canes. He pulled his hood tightly around his head and was again in quiet darkness with his god.

  The canes whipped fast and hard at Havoc, but he easily ducked each as he shifted from one foot to the other and dove out of the way. He kept up his prayers, and he waited for his god to tell him to strike.

  Braison screamed, and sand flew at a blazing speed, grating away Havoc’s mask and his cloak. He would soon be exposed. Still, he waited for his moment, and he sang his song of faith in the guidance of battle. Peace radiated through him as he prayed to Cor-lyn-ber and ducked Braison’s blows.

  When the moment for striking came, Havoc stepped forward. Guided between the spinning canes, he slit the warrior’s throat. Havoc was on a knee praying by the time the sands fell to display him the victor. “Wise and powerful Cor-lyn-ber, aid this soul on his way to his goddess. He met me with honor and fought well. Thank you for deliverance in this battle.”

  When he took off his mask, the army around him did not stir or speak. They stared at their fallen leader, stunned. Havoc’s heart broke for their loss. Would they now lose faith in their goddess? Havoc prayed for the souls of the army.

  The few remaining priests closed on Braison and lifted his body.

  “What will become of him?” Havoc asked.

  “We will take his body to the Temple of the Four Winds out in the very center of the ocean, where the perpetual storm ravages the world. We will toss him to the whirling tempest, and the winds will rend his body. His soul will join the Great Storm and will strengthen its heart.”

  “I will pray for him tonight. I will pray he is well received by his goddess.”

  Havoc closed his eyes and spoke to his god. “This is one more life I had to take to purge myself of my great sin. The death of this man adds to my burden.”

  Xaxar stood. “We are being hunted by a man of faith,” he said. His head ached, and he was unsteady on his feet.

  His high priest stepped forward. “What god would send a warrior against the all-powerful Bluxho?” The disbelief in the man’s words sent a stream of rage coursing through Xaxar. He flexed his fist, and a bolt of lightning slammed the ground twenty feet from where they stood. The high priest cowered.

  “It is as I saw it!” Xaxar said, stepping up to the high priest and leaning down to eye level with the small man. “I know you are not questioning my vision.” Xaxar’s voice challenged the old priest, who stepped gingerly back and gathered himself.

  “No, of course I would not question the vision. How do you wish to proceed, High Marshal?”

  Xaxar gazed down the frozen field to the abandoned town as his army slowly crept into the farming village, searching every house and building. He reached out to an apple tree beside him and broke off an apple. He held it absently in his hand. He squeezed it, and it shattered from the cold. The cream-colored pulp of the apple hung in the air for a bit before drifting away in the bitter wind. His beloved goddess had led him to this city. For days, his prayers had given him a vision of this place.

  His men raised his flag in the center of the town. He called to the cavalry behind him, and the riders began to crunch slowly forward. The fields had been ripe and ready for harvest when the storm had come and bit down on them. Each step crushed frozen vegetables and wheat. Pumpkins popped and cornstalks snapped as the riders pushed forward and into the town.

  Xaxar cast his head backward into the wind. He raised his arms to his sides and embraced the cold. Sensing his enemy nearby, a growl rose from his bare chest, pouring out onto the wind. The massive wolf he rode upon howled with him, and a volley of howls from inside the city lifted. The weather originated in his mind and heart, his love for the goddess fueling the tempest. Inside the city, his men snapped to attention as his wolf snarled past them.

  In the center of the town, a circle of massive timber wolves who served as his officers looked around to one another. They stood eight feet at the shoulders and were ten feet long.

  “You have secured the city as I commanded?”
Xaxar asked.

  The largest of the wolves spoke, “We have searched all but one of the buildings in town. To our knowledge, the population fled the storm.”

  The wind picked up speed, and the sky rumbled with thunder. “All but one? You have not secured the city, and you rose my flag?” Lightning struck outside the town, and the wolf flinched.

  “High Marshal, we did not search that building there.” He bared his teeth in the direction of the village pub. “We have never seen anything like it.”

  Xaxar slowly glanced around the town and the thick ice that encrusted everything. His eyes fell on the pub, and he felt his first pang of fear in years. The wind died down to a gentle breeze.

  The modest pub wore no ice. The shutters did not stir, and the ground around the building was green and vibrant. Vines climbed the side of the building, with delicate white flowers budding in them.

  Xaxar’s mount whined slightly.

  Xaxar could not contain his anger, rage throbbing in his body. He lowered his head in the direction of the pub and slowly gazed up through his unruly hair, growling as he did. The wind climbed in ferocity, and the buildings nearby creaked. Lightning cracked the sky and slammed into the building beside the pub. The ground surged and shook as the roof exploded and that building burst into flames. The temperature dropped five degrees, but the flowers on the pub did not stir.

  The door opened, and warm light poured out. A silhouette filled the doorway. He was a large man with no visible weapon or armor. He stared at Xaxar before slamming the door again. Xaxar stared at the closed door with growing dread. It was Havoc; he had no doubt.

  Xaxar dropped from his wolf and outstretched his hand to his squire, who slid him his war axe. Xaxar hefted the massive weapon and took a step toward the pub.

  The door opened again, and the figure tossed something out. It slid across the ice, coming to rest at Xaxar’s feet. He glanced down, and his head began to swim with confusion. He bent and lifted the medallion.

  “What is it, High Marshal?” the largest wolf growled.

  “I know this medallion. This is the crest of the Army of Night,” Xaxar said. He examined the medal further. “This is the medal of the commander.” His fist squeezed tight around it. “This belonged to my brother.”

  Xaxar fought to hold his emotion in check. Three bolts of lightning, fueled by his rage, streaked the sky and slammed the fields in a tight grouping outside the town.

  Xaxar ripped the medallion off the chain. He pressed the medal to his stomach right above his belt, and the skin below his hand crackled. When he pulled his hand away, the medal was frozen to his skin.

  “Raging Goddess of Nature’s Wrath,” he screamed to the sky. “This man of faith has killed Braison, and he has killed my brother. Not one of your horde, but dear to me nonetheless. Why, Horrible Mother, has he set himself against me? This goes beyond any quarrel of the gods. This is personal!”

  Xaxar’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground. He fell to his hands and knees, still gripping his mighty axe, and the world spun around him. His eyes sprang open, and he roared. A vision was upon him…

  Havoc stood in the small fishing town waiting for her. Cor-lyn-ber had warned Havoc of the attack in time for the city to evacuate. The citizens would be safe, but their town was doomed.

  In three hundred years, Asrais had left no town standing.

  Havoc’s black unruly hair blew violently in the growing winds. His leggings were black linen. He wore no shirt. An anxious energy gripped him when he saw her priests in the harbor. Havoc reached down and stroked the knife he carried. “I implore you, Mighty Father of Honor and Hope, be with me in this battle, as you have been with me in all things. I fear this foe. I fear her power and faith. Deliver me from fear so I may serve you in this battle.”

  Seven boats bobbed in the boiling waters outside the town, each with a member of Asrais’s clergy. They stood in the boats, yelling prayers with frothing mouths. Gibbering to the darkened sky, their zealous tongues flapped madly, eyes crazed, clawing fingers grasping at the clouds.

  The sky was the color of a painful bruise. The clouds hung heavy and black, boiling with the storm they held. Rain came in thudding drops. Lightning sliced through the clouds before slamming the water, webbing arcs across the surface of the surging waves.

  Asrais flew above the water. She gathered speed as she traveled, no more than a blur when she passed her clergy. The boats lifted to the top of the three-hundred-foot wave that followed her.

  Havoc prayed again as the wave rose, angry and loud, over the village.

  When she reached the town, she came to a sudden stop, and the wave rushed through her. The buildings nearest the shore burst apart. Lumber and stone became part of the tidal wave, and broken beams and ripped walls pelted the town.

  Havoc stood amazed, farther up the hill and safe from the first wave. He fought back panic as the wave destroyed the fragile town, buildings popping like wooden bubbles.

  Asrais rose up with a spray of foam. She flew over the destruction. Arching back over the ocean, fury overcame her, and she raced over the water, bringing a larger second wave. The waters did not reach Havoc until the third wave hit the dazed town. He ran toward it, prayers on his lips.

  Havoc’s fear melted away as he began to run, bringing a surge of light and peace. The water bowed out away from him. A wedge broke the onslaught of the tidal wave, and walls of water stood on all sides of Havoc. He stood in a circle of dry land and waited for his opponent.

  Asrais dropped into the gap. She hit the ground raging and ran across the dry land. She was beautiful in a vicious way. Black hair fell in cords to her hips. Clumps of seaweed riddled her hair and clung to the sides of her face and neck. Barnacles covered her body. Her skin had a dark blue hue, pearlescent teeth in her snarl. She was a creature of the sea, a race hidden from the eyes of land-walking man.

  She pulled out the cutlass tucked into her rusted chain belt. The ravages of the saltwater had gnawed her weapon. The chipped blade was two feet long and crusted with rough minerals. Coral grew on the bell-shaped guard.

  Asrais stomped forward.

  She was a bit unsteady on the dry ground. Her first swipes were comical, and Havoc knew he was not fighting her fairly. He blocked her attacks and waited for them to become more intense. He would not win by default. He would not dishonor the warrior of another deity.

  It did not take her long to adjust to the ground. She dipped her blade in the wall of water, and it sprung a leak. A stream shot from the wall, invading Havoc’s ground.

  Asrais saluted Havoc before she moved in on him. Her first strike opened his breast. The moment her blow landed, another leak sprang from the wall, and the dry land they stood in quickly began to fill.

  Havoc let her move in on him and took a few steps backward, the water now halfway up his calves.

  Asrais stepped back and raised her sword arm in the air. Her anger and hate slurred into a scream Havoc eventually recognized as a prayer. The walls of water receded, and he braced himself, the wave building again. He dropped to the ground and began to pray.

  “Loving and honorable Cor-lyn-ber, bearer of hope and light. Be with your servant now. In the face of my enemy, let me have no fear, for you are beside me. Your love will be my shield.” Havoc stood as the wave slammed forward, carrying debris from the wrecked village. Wood and rock shot through the wall, flying at a crushing speed.

  Havoc remained on his knees. The debris splintered and cracked when it hit him. He stood and stomped back into battle.

  “Why, Xaxar?” Asrais hissed. “Why have you deserted the Mother of Storms and come to wage war on me?” Hate dripped from every word. Betrayal contorted her face. “You were my commander, the High Marshal of Storms, the most beloved by the mighty Bluxho.” She surged forward and struck out hard at Havoc’s face. He threw himself back, narrowly escaping her blade. “To think I laid with you. I gave myself to you in the midst of the Great Tempest.”

  She elbowed Havo
c in the chest and lifted her hilt to slam him in the face. His face ripped open, and he stumbled back. Asrais lowered her blade to his staggering body and screamed. “Look at me!”

  Havoc towered over her, standing nearly seven feet tall. His thick black hair beat the wind wildly. His bare chest spoke of many wounds and many battles. His ice blue eyes looked into her with pity.

  Asrais stumbled back. “You!”

  Havoc lowered his head.

  “I will enjoy this, Havoc the Cleanser. I will tell him of your defeat, and we will drink to your death.”

  Havoc raised his head and set his jaw. Slowly, the cut on his face drew closed and healed. “Warrior of Bluxho, you will not find me so easy to kill.”

  Asrais took another step back, and Havoc closed his eyes in prayer. She rushed toward him, and Havoc spun to her right, sliding his blade deep in her chest. He pulled his knife from the wound and stepped back, dropping into a defensive stance. He closed his eyes again in prayer.

  Asrais held her wound closed, and her breath had left her. She began to smother, and she lifted her head in prayer. Havoc stepped in on her, easily batting aside her weak sword swipe. He slipped his blade behind her thigh, slicing her hamstring and dropping her to the ground. She fought for breath. She dropped her sword weakly, lifting her clawed nails to his face. He pushed them aside. “Pray to your goddess, warrior,” Havoc said with great pity. “I will send you to her.” Asrais’s eyes rolled back in frustration with the air that would not come. She wheezed, and her chest strained. “You served her well. You will be welcome in her midst.” Tears formed in Asrais’s eyes and she closed them, beginning her prayer.

  Havoc slid his blade up and into her heart. The waters receded immediately. Havoc picked her up lovingly and carried her to the shore. Her clergy came to him, and he handed her body over. “She fought well,” he said. “When you pray to your goddess tonight,” he paused, weighing each word before settling on the exact ones, “tell her I said to send her best.”