The Knight Who Sought a Crone

Fog rolled in, hiding my fears from my own mind. Flashes of buildings filled with it, abandoned, burned or destroyed. The faces of innocents paused in suspension of activity; tanners tanning leathers, men cutting wood, children playing, cobblers cobbling shoes, maids milking cows, the faces featureless but the sense of concern rolled over them. I saw them flash briefly before me like a picture portrait on a wall, stuck in their own prior pasts as the fog rolled over the trees forming the shapes of their buildings and village before changing to a new scene of horror filling their desperate lives. Their eyes and mouths agape in gasps of frozen screams. Another image of four men clad in shadow, hefting heavy swords over their shoulders and riding into the village on fierce horses breathing fire from their nostrils.

Heads fell from necks as the horsemen forced through the village. Screams of running children being lifted by mothers filled my eardrums to the sights of their fathers cut down. Mothers and unwed girls scurried to hide only to be rounded up and assaulted of their own. They weren’t immune from the cruelest of carnal depravities as the four men took to them in gestures ungentlemanly. The flicker of the fog directed me towards a cart heading southward as two of the invaders motioned to the fleeing civilians. They chose not to pursue, barking orders pertaining to the women and girls of the village to be rounded up, men could flee it wasn’t their goal to get them.

Death soon followed, the stench of the suffering filled my nostrils as I hunched to my knees in contemplative reflection. Women and girls were strung upside down by their feet, beheaded while still alive, their heads severed to the ground. The trees in the courtyard were painted in their blood as their necks were hung to drain. Carnage consumed the village with the horrors of suffering. Stains splattered on the walls of buildings from the bloodbath as the attackers reveled in their cause.

Their weapons gleamed familiar, the whistles of their blades leaving the scabbards reminded me of my own. “Rysa,” I whispered. I heard her follow behind me as she leaned into me from behind.

I clenched my left fist now pulsing with stinging surges across my wrist. The twist of metallic alloy burned into my ears with four harmonious whistles slung from the forward distance. I turned to see Rysa’s eyes filling with fright, her mouth stuttering her whispered words as I shifted to face her same direction. Four shadows stood before me of various heights, their armor outlines noticeable in the fog as the lead man twisted his sword upon the hilt. Temple Knights. The ones Rysa described. They never left.

“The infidel comes to return the whore to her village,” a scruffy voice boomed, “Kill them both!” On his command, he pointed his sword towards us.

I yanked my weapon from its sheath with the whistling motion of its craft, “Behind me.” I pushed Rysa to my backside to protect her from their vengeance.

Three of the Knights darted towards me with a fury, I could see their eyes bubbled with an inked darkness, their faces pale through beards which hadn’t aged. I blocked the dropping attack of one and with a quick reflex, pulled my scabbard from its rest, twisting into a more suitable hold in my hand and blocked a swipe from the Knight to my left. I twisted my sword and swung towards the Knight on my right for him to block by his own blade. I kicked forward, knocking the first Knight into the upright triangle rune on his breastplate. Plavak’s rune. The rune of Fire. They all shared it.

My boot contacted into his chest, forcing him onto his back from my kick. Leaving me exposed, the Knights to my flanks both took a swipe to my body. I dodged with a backflip to find their two blades slap against each other with a tuning vibration in an unpleasant octave. I swiped the Knight to my right as he ducked, striking to attempt contact into my hidden armor with his own weapon as my scabbard interfered with his death move. The motion beckoned a twist, I revolved with a slight midair jump, swiping my legs in the air with a scissor kick and landing back on my feet and planted on one knee.

The first Knight managed to upright himself as the left Knight charged towards me. I moved out of the way and smashed the end of my scabbard into the back of his exposed neck. He collapsed to the ground, furious with his outcome. I looked for Rysa only to see her missing. Just my luck.

The Knight I kicked to the ground clenched his fist to a ball of flame. I twisted my scabbard into position and forced my weapon back, clutching the cross guards into locked position. Using the scabbard as a staff to block the attack from the Knight in front of me, my left hand filled with a gushing wind. I aimed spread fingers towards the heavier Knight with the fire hand and in a moment of opposition, the force of my speeding wind struck his flame in a whispering dissipation.

I clutched my fist again and with a rapid jerk towards the ground, the ground beneath our feet shifted, sending the standing men in my vicinity to lose footing and tumble to the dirt. I twisted my hilt and filled the air of whistling shimmer. Without hesitation, I shoved my weapon into the exposed head of the Knight in front of me. His head split with incision in a gush of showering blood. Victorious if briefly, I shouted a call to the next Knight behind him, twisting to stand on his feet as I turned the weapon back into proper form. The weapon of the Knight I killed, left his hand. An unmistakable clink of steel disconnected the blade from its hilt.

Their leader withheld his attack, watching from afar. I ignored him, only frantically turning to look for Rysa who had disappeared of her own accord. Where the fuck is she, I muttered to myself as the Knight I tumbled to the ground with my scabbard lifted to his feet and coordinating with his peer, charged on either side of me. I blocked his charge with my sword, and slapped my scabbard into his exposed neck with the squish of flesh and steel. Twisting to the other Knight, I smashed the chape into his jaw with the crunch of bone. In continued momentum, I took a swipe to the heavier Knight and shattered through his armor in a single strike. I severed into his flesh, penetrating his thickened armor. The squishing reaction of organs to my weapon stained his silver plating with his viscera.

I revolved my hilt and sheathed my clean blade into its scabbard and using it as a blocking staff, turned to the other man beside me. His clean cut head and stubble beard bruised to the shove of my scabbard into his jaw once more and with a force of my extended left hand, his eyes melted within his sockets. Clenching his oozing organs, he met the quick release of my blade with severed hands and neck in a single cut.

I turned from the carnage to see their leader ahead of me in the foggy shadow. The weapons of the slain Knights disjoined from their hilts in metallic twang.

I called to their leader, “What happened here?”

I heard no response as he lit in flame and like a blazing torch, moved towards my position in striking speed. With a rush of invisible waters, I found myself encompassed in a widening bubble as water cascaded around the outside perimeter. Appearing beside me in perfect ratio to the magick shield, Rysa kneeled in the fetal position from a ripple within the air. Her hair draped around her arms to cascade down her naked backside and thighs as she spoke no words. The force of the water wave pushed against the advancing enemy, forcing his flame to extinguish.

“Rysa,” I shouted as the slender leader continued his charge through the shield. In ear-splitting whisper, our swords exchanged attacks in a single strike. He pulled away first forming his fist into a clenched ball and sending a sear of lighting towards my position. I dodged, blocking the strike to trickle with sparking glows along the fuller of my weapon. I turned the block towards him, aiming the energy towards its source as he filled his hands with calcified rock building from his fingers permitting the bolt to strike innocently and shatter his shield.

Swords clang in the dense fog in single-handed combat. Our left hands formed with magick assaults; lightning, fire flames, blocking shields of rock or the pushing waves of ear-shattering winds. He was stronger, despite his size. The aggression on his face furrowed with cragged teeth and darkened eyes. The Knights here were maddened by a disease and he fought with the fury of a curse. I felt the darkness in Seuverat, but this was different. This was untamed, unbridled rage controlled only by his own inner fears and disillusionment.

His mastery with magick exceeded mine as he fought in blinding speeds. His sword and body formed as blurs, yet with our equal attunement to our inner souls, I managed to counter his assaults and take advantage of weaknesses in his defense. I countered, I dodged, and I slammed him with my own attacks within the bubble which stifled both of our abilities. We kicked, we twisted, countered backflips with swipes and swings to dodge attacks. Our speed was immeasurable as we leveraged ourselves with the village layout, collapsing rotted buildings and homes with our attacks and shoves. As we fought, the ground shook beneath our feet and our bodies enraged with anger. I sensed his heart racing inside his chest to each assault. Had Rysa not activated this bubble, one of us would be dead by now. And he detected it.

I moved with him, matching his lunges and parries in continual spar. He countered equally and upon gaining an advantage to a blind spot, I lost visual with him with the rune in my left hand burning with a scorching singe on par with the day I received it. I turned to see Rysa buckle with a resounding scream as the attacker’s sword plunged through her backside into the ground beneath her huddle. Splitting the incision between her breasts, she struggled to gasp as he pulled away, collapsing the water bubble with a splashing cascade.

His teeth cringed with anger towards the woman, “The whore is dead,” he proclaimed with sinister glee, “May the gods damn her soul.”

He took a charge against me. I do not recall what I did, but the fires of rage burned fast inside. I clenched my sword with both hands, channeled my anger towards my hilt igniting the sparking arcs of electrical energies, engulfing bursts of pure flame, winds of icy glaze, torrents of running waters and the momentum of shifting mountains rained across my blade sourced from my left hand rune.

He lunged, I blocked and in a force of pent-up rage, I turned his eyes to his natural hazel as they widened in fear. Pulling back, I aimed the point towards his chest plate with indignant pain and thrust my sword through his steel armor in a clean incision through his backside. I pushed through his chest, scraping the hilt upon his chest plate. I screamed into his face so he could see the ire in my stark, natural, blue eyes. His weapon collapsed to the ground as his orifices lit in flames and electrical arcs. His flesh seared from his head, exposing muscle tissue clung to his skull.

I extruded my sword from his body, turned to the blinding sears encasing my opponent and with violent flash and shattering boom, the expulsion of organs and dismembered limbs forced away from their source with damaging speeds. I collapsed to my knees, my fingers entwined loosely around my blade as it fell to the ground without my grip. Within moments, I heard the chinking steel break away from the hilt. My sword forever useless.

“Rysa,” I proclaimed through quickened breaths. I turned to her ailing body shivering and convulsing to her injury. She was alive, barely. I crawled to her, turned her over and clutched her shoulders and head within my arms. I looked upon her, her naked flesh absent blood, the incision through her chest spilling clear liquid water from her body. She raised her right hand to my face, I pulled her tighter to permit her to touch me.

“Rysa,” I called again.

“Tedarin,” she murmured, “I’m free.” She choked on her words before forming a new sentence, “I loved y…..” Her whispers fell silent in final breaths as her head fell backward. As the final grips of life exhaled from her nostrils, her body spilled in a gush of water filling my hands and drenching my arms around me, splashing onto my legs and turning the ground into a soggy mud.

“What the fuck?”

“Tedarin,” I heard a voice call behind me. “Tedarin,” the feminine voice called again. A creeping hand tickled my shoulder clothed in a cerulean, silk glove.

“Who are you?” I turned swiftly, my mind still in awe processing Rysa’s demise and what I saw I was not prepared for. A figure covered in blue robes, no flesh exposed, nor face nor eyes. She spoke to me in a voice of wailing death that seemed to comfort my heart to peace. Was I dead? I still felt my heart. I could only look upon this thing in awe as her words comforted me like an aging grandmother.

“I called you here. In your visions. In your dreams. The day you died in Seuverat.”

“Fersyn?”