The Black Knight Box Set

by Christian J Gilliland

  "So am I," the girl replied, "I died a long time ago… Do you not recognize me?"

  "Enough!" Sarasin shouted as she began to walk away from the girl. She did recognize her, but she didn't want to admit it. She did not want to validate her insanity, "You are not real. You are not!"

  "No," the girl said, "You, Sarasin, are not real. You have no concept of true reality. All you are is a shell, nothing more. You lost me when you lost Eliss… you gave me up, surrendered… you died and killed me, Sarasin, and I want to give you life once again."

  "Wherever you came from," Sarasin growled as she spun and extended a finger toward the girl, "whoever you are… go back. Do not test me. Never seek me out again. I could make your puny little commoner life a living hell."

  "Reality is lost to you…" the girl hummed curiously, "I am free from the chains of this world, free from the power you choose to exert on others. Your prisons cannot contain me; no blade can strike me down… For I am real."

  Sarasin vehemently shook her head and turned away from the girl. She stared at the buildings across the street, at the cars that drove by. She wanted to look at anything other than the child, "You are never to speak to me again," she hissed, "Never look at me again. If I ever see you…" Sarasin turned around, and the girl was gone. Once again, she was alone.

  "Fuck," she whispered as she threw her weight into the brick wall to her left. She pressed her shoulder up against the wall and rested her head. She tried to breathe, to gain control of her emotions, but only found herself digging her nails into her palms once again. It didn't take long before she felt the blood, her own blood this time. The feeling of it was tempting to her; she wanted more. She bit her lower lip, and as she looked around, she hurried into an alley.

  "Why?" she softly cried to herself as she drew a small blade from her hip. She knew she was alone; nobody else was nearby. The weight of depression was heavy on her, and she could bear it no longer. It was all she could feel. She couldn't move, couldn't think… she was bound by the depths of her emotion.

  Sarasin felt tired, angry, sad… The image of Eliss and the mysterious girl, and how they called her to God… It was all too much for her. She moved her cloak aside and slowly drug her blade across her arm.

  As her skin opened, Sarasin felt a growing sense of euphoria. She felt the feeling of the cut begin to overcome her feelings of anxiety, pain, and fear. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth into a moan as she did it again. She had gained control of her feelings by brute force; they were once again her own. She sat and bled for a moment until her NaNe closed the wound and then she sighed.

  After a few minutes, Sarasin wiped her eyes and found herself able to stand once again. Clarity had returned to her, and she was finally able to think once again. She wiped her blade on her cloak and took a breath.

  "You can do this," she told herself as she closed her eyes for a moment more, "You've got this… crazy fucked up life you live. You are in charge Sarasin." She began to walk once again, but stopped suddenly, for she saw something…

  From within the cracks on the sidewalk before her, she saw a green plant emerge. It was a very small plant with a bulb on the end, and it slowly crept toward her and curiously, Sarasin knelt down to watch as the bulb opened up into a red flower.

  Sarasin carefully reached out and picked the flower. She looked down at it and cautiously brought it up to her nose to smell it. She felt a wave of comfort come over her, and as another moment passed, she lifted her hood and walked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Crinnan VIII

  22nd of Ramlia – 346AG

  20:00 – Pado Village – Belhaasi Weald

  The light from the fireplace to Crinnan's left flickered throughout the room, glazing everything in its path with a soft orange glow. There was a certain rustic charm about the setup of the inn. All the furniture looked as if it were handmade, with not a single electronic in sight. The simplicity of it all was strangely foreign to him. It made him feel as if he were somehow transported back to the Age of Blood.

  To his right, at the opposite end of the room, was a wooden bar with a bald-headed and middle-aged Elf standing behind it. Behind him was a shelf lined with a small assortment of various types of alcohols and numerous empty containers.

  Somehow the Elf at the bar had not heard Crinnan enter. Perhaps he had been too absorbed with the cup he was cleaning, or maybe he was simply lost in thought. As Crinnan closed the door behind him, the Elf finally looked up and smiled.

  "Welcome to the Azu Acorn Inn!" he gleefully announced as Crinnan walked towards him, "It's not often that I have the pleasure of serving a stranger!"

  "Yeah," Crinnan replied. "I need a room for a few hours."

  "A room eh?" the innkeeper repeated, "Well Fyres Elf, you've come to the right place." He paused and adjusted his glasses as he raised his head and looked down his nose at his guest, "You are a soldier?"

  Crinnan quietly nodded, uninterested in conversation. The innkeeper chuckled and crossed his arms, "I was a soldier once," he proudly proclaimed as he flexed his muscles, "Long time ago, back in the days of General Laryx."

  "Laryx?" Crinnan repeated, recognizing the name, "You fought for Govia?"

  "Do you serve Govia?" the innkeeper asked.

  "No."

  "Then neither did I," he smiled and leaned against his bar, "I was with Black Knight. It was many years ago, probably before you were even born," Crinnan looked up at him with sudden interest.

  "Do you mind if I take a seat?" he asked.

  "By all means soldier," he pulled a cup out from beneath the bar, "What's your poison?"

  "I don't have any money."

  "What's your poison boy?" he repeated sternly with squinted eyes, "You look like you need it."

  "Dravink," Crinnan replied, "Do you have Dravink?"

  "Dravink…" The innkeeper mumbled as he squinted at the shelves behind him, "Not too many around here indulge in Dravink. You understand that's a pussy drink, right?"

  Crinnan smirked and nodded his head. He understood that quite well, for his squad never failed to remind him. Dravink was his mother's favorite drink while his father preferred to make his own mead. The mead tasted like liquid garbage to him, so he preferred Dravink and wine.

  "So where are you from, Fyres?" The bartender asked.

  "Canrom," Crinnan answered, "And you? Were you born here?"

  "No sir," the innkeeper passed Crinnan his drink, "I was born in Southern Kamlot, towards the Ariden Sea. On a clear day, you could see the peaks of North Barus. It was a lovely place."

  "So why are you here in these dank and depressing ruins?" Crinnan asked, "Why not go back?"

  "I tried," the innkeeper replied with a hint of sorrow in his old voice, "But sometime between my leaving for the academy and my retirement from the army, Marauders razed my village and killed everyone in it. When I returned there about ten years ago, all that was left were bones in a pit. My wife's father lives here. This is where we came, and this is apparently where I will die."

  "That's dark," Crinnan noted, "Most Black Knights serve until they die. Why did you leave?"

  "Nobody knows when they're going to die when they live a life full of fighting. I ended up deciding to retire so that I could be with my family."

  "I have heard of people doing that," Crinnan took a drink of his Dravink, "Don't you fear the Hells?"

  "Why fear something you have no control over?" the innkeeper smiled warmly, "Fighting or not, one day we will both end up there. I may as well enjoy my elder years with my family while I still have life in my bones."

  "Makes sense, I guess."

  "Sure does," the innkeeper replied as he leaned against the bar, "So tell me young one, what do they call you."

  "Crinnan… Crinnan Jamiso. And you?"

  "Jethro Lowe… you're a Jamiso eh?" the innkeeper spoke with a bit of interest in his voice, "Do you know the general?"

  "My father… yeah. I was the one that was lucky enough to inherit his n
ame."

  "I'm sure you hear all about him," Jethro chuckled, "Sometimes it's hard for sons to live past their father's legacy. In everyone else's eyes, you are who he was when they knew him. I suppose that's not such a bad thing for you. Your father was hailed the liberator of Exgrane. Mine was known as the embarrassment of Mrask."

  "I suppose I am a bit better off," Crinnan agreed, "But everyone expects quite a lot out of me… because of him."

  "Expectations are the fertilizer of maturity. Nobody wants their child to fail. I'm sure your father is proud." Crinnan nodded and took another sip of the Dravink.

  "Anyway, it's good to meet you, Jethro." Crinnan set his glass down and rested his arms on the bar.

  "So, Canrom," Jethro leaned against the countertop on his old muscular arm, "What base do you serve in? Twenty-one or Thirty-one?"

  "Twenty-one."

  "Ah, lovely!" Jethro replied, "How is Commander Emilio?"

  "Dead."

  "Oh that's too bad," Jethro frowned, "He was a good person, a model knight. Who is the Commander now?"

  "Xian Phoenix."

  "Xian?" Jethro repeated with a surprised tone, "From the top?"

  "Yes."

  "Wow. I wonder why they would have chosen Supreme Commander Xian. Or did he volunteer?"

  "He wanted to oversee Century Squad. And he wanted another Supreme in Redodra," Crinnan answered, "And since Century's home is Twenty-One, that was where he went."

  "Very interesting," Jethro muttered.

  "Vice-Commander Card was in line to take Emilio's spot," Crinnan continued, "But Card didn't want the job. He said he was content with the duties of a Vice-Commander and that it was a greater honor to serve under Xian."

  "Ah, Lord Card," Jethro shook his head, "Such an interesting fellow. I heard him speak at a sword technique assembly in Base Eleven. He certainly does have the gift of the silver tongue. One Hells of a swordsman as well."

  "True," Crinnan took another sip. The fire popped, and he glanced over at it. Seeing the flames flicker in the darkness reminded him of the last moments spent with his squad before he went out on patrol. They had been in the caverns around a fire, Crinnan remembered sitting next to his friends Alec and Elia. He wondered where they were and hoped they were okay.

  The front door opened, and Crinnan glanced back. He watched as Freyja walked in with a blank expression and approached the bar where Crinnan sat.

  "Is… he with you?" Jethro asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Yeah," Crinnan sighed, glaring at the boy, "He won’t leave me alone." Jethro grinned and poured the boy a glass of milk.

  "Here you go son," He set the glass down on the counter in front of Freyja, "You look like you need this."

  Freyja snatched the glass and spilled a bit of the milk in doing so. He slurped it down quickly, not breathing as he did. When he was finished, he slammed the cup down on the bar and stared expectantly at Jethro. Jethro glanced at Crinnan and then poured Freyja another drink.

  "So what brings you to my fine establishment?" Jethro asked as he put the milk away and stepped back from the bar, "It's not every day that a Black Knight strolls in here you know."

  "It is a long story," Crinnan shook his head.

  "Well, what better time to tell it than now?" Jethro asked.

  Crinnan thought for a moment and nodded, "I was separated from my squad sometime late last night. From what I remember, I was knocked unconscious, and carried some distance by a group of Toraan. Early this morning, a crazy forest hermit found me. Now he’s taking me back to the Izla’Axi Caverns, to reunite me with my squad."

  "Well you're only twenty or so miles away from the caverns," Jethro raised his eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the front door, "a four or five hours walk. Tell me, what sort of squad are you in? You're built like a recon boy."

  "Century Squad," Crinnan confirmed. Jethro raised his brow again and let a small grin go.

  "You don't say," he marveled as he smiled widely, "Now that's a feat indeed. Tell me, how did you manage to get into such a celebrated team of fighters?" Crinnan groaned at that question, for his entrance into the squad was unlike that of any of the other more decorated members.

  "There's a new training program that was designed by Captain Bran and his Sergeants Mace, Marka, and Kavin, I’m sure you’ve heard of them. The program is tailored to groom soldiers into becoming perfect Centurions. I was a part of it from ages seven to nineteen. When I turned nineteen, I graduated, and was put into Century as soon as an opening was available."

  "As soon as a Centurion died," Jethro corrected. Crinnan hesitated for a moment but nodded.

  "Yes…" Crinnan uncomfortably admitted, "Davies Renlo was the soldier whose spot I took. He was cut in half four years ago. These are his bracers; I wear them in his honor… I was the last of my friends to get into Century."

  "My oh my. So I bet you're damn near ready to find them again, eh?" Crinnan nodded his head.

  "I mean no offense, but I’m damn tired of these woods," He sighed. Jethro belted out a single syllable laugh and leaned in closer to Crinnan.

  "Between you and me," he said in a hush-hush voice as he motioned the boy closer, "So am I."

  Crinnan had enjoyed talking to Jethro. The innkeeper was the first person he had actually got along with during the whole time he had been away from his squad. He enjoyed the company of a fellow Black Knight, but he also felt that he liked Jethro because he seemed to be a rational fellow, and not an eccentric forest hermit or a sociopathic teenager.

  "Another," Freyja announced, pushing his glass toward Jethro. Crinnan shook his head and snatched the cup.

  "That's enough, kid."

  Freyja snarled, baring his teeth and Crinnan rolled his eyes, "Go sit down somewhere. You don't scare me." Freyja's snorted and turned away.

  "So I'd probably be correct in assuming you didn't come here just to shit around with me, am I right?" Jethro asked as Freyja sat down at a table in front of the fire. He turned around to a rack of keys. "Didn't you say you wanted a room?"

  Crinnan got off his stool and nodded, "Yeah I did. I will only be here for a few hours though, as I want to leave as soon as possible."

  "Well then," Jethro tossed a key to Crinnan, "Don't trash the room, and be out of here in a few hours. We won't have to worry about the bill." Crinnan caught the key and nodded his head.

  "Thank you," He said, "Where is the room?"

  "Number four… at the top of the stairs, take a right." Jethro instructed, "Last room on the left. We have running warm water in that one; it's our suite." Crinnan nodded his head again and walked over to the aged stairs. He was grateful for Jethro's hospitality. For the first time in a while, he felt good. The little chat he had with the old Elf was rejuvenating. It encouraged him to keep going.

  "Come on kid," Crinnan called out to Freyja. The boy hopped up and silently followed.

  ***

  "He is close…" Cade muttered to himself as he crunched through the foliage of the Belhaasi Weald. He stared down at his hand-held computer and could see that the blip marked "Crinnan" was only a couple hundred yards away. He stopped for a moment and waited.

  "Why am I doing this?" he whispered to himself, "After all these years in the shadows." He sighed and put the computer in a pouch on his belt. "I could ruin everything by doing this. After investing so much effort in remaining neutral. One slip up…" He grunted as he reached up and grabbed the limb of a nearby tree.

  "Nida, I am on the outskirts of the village," he said into a communicator, "Standby." He flipped the communicator shut, and slid it into another pouch.

  He thought to his last conversation with his secret lover and felt his heart drop. He had not meant to be so short with her, so hurtful. He knew he had crossed a line and lamented it.

  The fact that she was carrying his child made it all the more upsetting. He wanted to be good to her, to keep his anger at bay and to be a good father. From time to time he thought about asking her to marry him but was conf
licted by both his position in his company and the social ramifications of marrying a commoner.

  "What does it all mean?" he asked himself as he climbed the tree, shifting his thoughts, "How did Crinnan get into so much trouble?" He pulled himself up and started to scale the tree limb by limb, "What does Govia want with him so badly?" He left his mind to dwell on that thought for a moment, as he found his balance and perched himself at the end of a branch.

  "None of it makes any sense," he continued, "Not a single bit of it. Why Crinnan of all people and why now?" He unslung his rifle and shouldered it, looking through the scope at the small village ahead of him.

  He pressed a small button on the side of the scope, and through the cylinder, the darkness was illuminated. He could see everything.

  "Where are you…" he mumbled, as he scanned the village, "Me and my damn obligations… me and my curiosity…" he zoomed in on a building and checked the windows. He saw a dirty male thrusting wildly into a female. He zoomed in closer.

  "At all hours…" he smirked and moved on to a different building, 'There we go." He saw his target walk through a door on the second floor and sit down on a bed. "Gotcha."

  ***

  The door shut behind Crinnan and Freyja, leaving them alone in the room. It had been a strange day, to say at the least, and processing everything was a bit overwhelming. His head felt heavy, so he walked over to one of the two beds and took a seat at the foot of it. Freyja hurried to the other bed and made a sound of pure delight as he buried himself in the comforter. Crinnan grinned at the sight, and shook his head.

  He breathed in the air and exhaled a long drawn out sigh. The silence of the room amplified the thoughts in his head. It did not take long for him to feel like he was sitting in a crowded room surrounded by dozens of voices that sounded like his own. He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair

  "What is all this?" He asked himself, as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs. He buried his face in his hands, and as he closed his eyes, he tried to think but only heard questions. 'Will I see my squad again… Why are the Govians after me… What were the dreams that everyone had but me…' These thoughts filled his mind and thrust everything he knew into a pitch black labyrinth. All he could do was feel along the walls and hope to find the exit.