Edna closes her eyes and raises her head, deep in thought.
“That man is no normal man. He has no land, yet carries much power in the south. He is known only as The Necromancer. He is evil incarnate.”
“What reason would he have to kill my father?”
“Think hard. Hector was involved. He was always a little ‘off’ as you know.”
“As well as jealous. He believed his father was supposed to be the rightful King, but when he learned that uncle had conceded the throne to father, Hector grew contemptuous and...” Morion trails off.
Edna smirks.
“Hector’s father died rather recently, did he not? And last night, Hector and his ally murdered your father.”
“Hector struck a deal with this ‘Necromancer’ to help him remove all obstacles and take over father’s kingdom?”
“Your kingdom, Morion,” Edna corrects with a swift glance.
“Yes. I suppose so. Which means I am the only one in Hector’s way of fulfilling this plot.”
Edna leans toward Morion as if about to whisper a secret.
“Think hard... was there nothing else that happened, Your Highness?”
“Father had said to go find ‘Him,’ just before the Necromancer attacked,” Morion recounts with a glint in her eyes.
Edna thinks for a moment, then her face reveals revelation.
“Oh! The Black Knight! It’s been a long time since there has been news of him. Even longer since he was seen.”
“Nonetheless, I have to find him. He is the only one that can help me,” except even as Morion says this, her eyes fill with defeat, “but I have no idea where to start looking for him.”
Edna stands up and walks over to a bookcase full of old tomes and volumes.
“Luckily for you, I at the very least have an idea of which direction to go. Ah! Here we are.”
Edna removes a massive, and very old looking, black leather bound book. She walks it over to the table, dropping the book with a thud, spewing dust over Morion. Edna retakes her seat and throws the book open. The book is filled with page after page of maps, alongside hand written text. Edna finally finds the page she is looking for.
“What do these maps show?” asks Morion. “I cannot read the writing.”
“This book was made long ago. It is a... well, census guide of sorts, I suppose, of all the lands that were at one time part of a much older, much larger kingdom.”
“How does that help us find the Black Knight?”
“You know the stories of the Knight as well as I do, better maybe as often as your father recited them to you. The stories tell that he lives in an ancient castle deep in a dark forest.”
“Yes...” Morion lies, still not following.
“Do not be so dense, child! He is a legend! It only makes sense that the Knight’s castle would be somewhere within the territory of the old kingdoms. Somewhere that no one would think to look, or if they did, would be too afraid to go.”
“Oh.”
“Now, if I were a mythical hero desiring a place of solitude,” Edna says as she runs her finger over an invisible route on the map, “where would I roost?” Edna’s finger stops on the outskirts of an unnamed forest range. She taps the forest range for Morion’s sake, ensuring that she sees it.
“Edna, how can you possibly know if that is where he is?”
“It is unnamed! Mapped forests never go unnamed! He has to be there!” Morion smirks at Edna’s eccentricity, but the advisor ignores it. “Not that it matters. You have to trust me. Go east toward that forest, and eventually you may discover more.”
“I have always trusted you. It is just that...”
“You are afraid. I know. You would have to be insane not to be at a time like this.” Morion looks down at her chest, a pendant much like her father’s hangs around her neck. “Besides,” Edna continues, watching Morion hold and caress the pendant, “that necklace you wear all but ensures that you will find the Knight, does it not?”
“One would hope.”
“Well, we have to get you ready then,” Edna says as she stands up, walking to a closet. “You cannot go around with nothing more than a nightgown now, can you?”
Edna rummages through the closet until she finds a set of clothes made from heavy cloth and leather, along with a riding cloak. The outfit of an adventurer. Morion stands and accepts the clothes from Edna.
After changing, Morion ties back her long dark brown hair and pulls the hood of the cloak over her head. Edna cannot help but smile at the sight. She hands Morion a small dagger, which the Princess unsheathes, checking the edge. The blade itself is rather plain, but the construction is second to none. Morion sheathes the dagger again, securing it on her belt, under the cloak.
“So, I just wander east until I learn the whereabouts of the legendary Black Knight. Sounds simple enough”
“More or less,” Edna says with a frivolous wave of her hand, “but do not forget: you are now a Queen, the Queen of this Kingdom. The Queen of Halvard. You will undoubtedly find that you have very little influence in the towns and lands outside Halvard’s limits and, as such, revealing your name and position would be most unwise.”
“Any other words of advice? You are officially my advisor now, I suppose.”
“Just one: be wary of taking any companions on your journey, should you come across any. I would go so far as to say accept no help but that from the Knight himself, for he would reveal himself more openly than one might think.”
“Sage and oddly specific advice, Edna.”
“I have engaged in my fair share of quests,” Edna says with a wink. “Now, you must leave, well, pretty much right this moment. I already prepared a pack for you.” Edna walks again to her pantry, retrieving a full and carefully loaded travel pack. “This pack should have enough to last a few days. Mostly food, a few medical supplies. No extra clothes I am afraid.”
Morion takes the pack, and the two exit the house. Standing at the ready in the garden is Morion’s horse, already properly saddled. Morion secures the pack to the saddle then mounts the horse.
“Morion, please be careful. I dare not think I need to mention what might happen if you fail.”
“No, you do not. I will return with all possible haste.” Morion brings the horse around and begins to ride, but a sudden thought grips her mind. She turns back to Edna. “Why do you call him that?” She calls out.
“What do you mean?” Edna asks, completely oblivious to Morion’s meaning.
“The Black Knight. You simply call him ‘The Knight.’ Why?”
“Old habit, more than anything. And it is easier to say.” Morion nods and, as she is bringing her animal back to the road, Edna shouts out: “When you find him, tell him hello for me!”
“As you wish!”
Morion sets her animal onto the road, whips on the horse’s reins and it quickly reaches top speed, galloping away into the east.
~-~~-~
Hector paces about the throne room, which has become full of mercenaries, cutthroats and other various shadowy figures of moral ambiguity. All have come from the south lands. The Necromancer enters the room silently. At the sight of him, the men line up in rows as if expecting inspection. Hector quickly comes to the Necromancer’s side, the two walking between the rows of men.
“These are the best you could find?” the Necromancer asks, unimpressed.
“They are the absolute best at what they do, I assure you.”
“I highly doubt that,” the Necromancer retorts with a sneer, which fades away to a dark smirk. “You hire who you see fit. I have my own... well, let us call them ‘friends,’ for this sort if work.”
Hector watches uneasily as the Necromancer leaves, laughing to himself lightly.
Chapter Two
The First Dream
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After riding for unheeded hours, Morion eventually enters into an ancient forest, with trees hundreds of feet high, and girths nearly as impressi
ve; ages old trees that none could cut down even if so inclined. The canopy of leaves blocks out the sun almost completely, save for the occasional shaft of light which pierces through the dense foliage like a spear through chain armor. Oddly, Morion moves through this forest slowly - not because the going is difficult, but because she finds herself drawn to the place, fascinated by the feeling of safety the trees afford.
When night falls, Morion brings her first day’s journey to a halt, camping at the foot of one of the massive trees. She decides to start a small fire for warmth, using some of the tools and items given to her by Edna. Propped between the fire and the tree, she quickly falls asleep, unwillingly into the clutches of a dream.
~-~~-~
Morion finds herself back in her room overlooking the castle garden, where she sees the Necromancer, Hector and her father again. There is a bright flash of lightning, and the scene transforms - her father is no longer there, but replaced by another man, no more than fifty years old, perhaps younger even, but prematurely aged by worry, with a short beard and wearing fine black linen. Morion struggles with the face of this man. His face is familiar, but it is shadowy. Her mind cannot focus, so she moves her gaze away, trying to push through the darkness and confusion.
She looks again to see that Hector has changed as well, wearing a cloak similar to that of the Necromancer. The bearded man looks up at Morion with tears in his eyes just before the Necromancer plunges his blade into the bearded man’s heart. The Necromancer roars with nefarious laughter as the man falls to the ground. The laughter echoes throughout the entire castle and grows in intensity until the very walls shake. Morion has to cup her hands over her ears as the laugh grows and grows. The sound causes the ground in the garden to crack and move. Under the ground, a red light glows, and Morion can see molten rock. Accompanying the sight is the scent of brimstone.
From the molten earth rises a red figure: shaped like a man with the features of a dragon. As it enters the world, it stretches its limbs and flares its wings. The Necromancer and Hector bow in reverence to the dragon. The dragon slowly stalks over to the fallen man, a disdainful growl rumbling from deep in the dragon’s gullet at the sight of him.
Abruptly, another creature swoops down from the skies striking the red dragon. Morion watches as this second man-dragon, black as onyx and full of wrath, lands with its eyes focused upon the red dragon. The black dragon circles the red one and moves to the fallen man. The red dragon allows the black dragon to pick the fallen man up carefully in its large, taloned hands. The Necromancer raises his blade in defiance, but the red dragon snorts in denial, chiding its servant. The Necromancer lowers his weapon, reluctantly withdrawing behind the red dragon. The black dragon sneers at the Necromancer, then takes the fallen man away, setting him amid a bed of flowers in the corner of the garden. The black dragon sheds a single tear, which lands on the man.
The black dragon spins back to the red dragon, teeth bared.
The two dragons leap at one another, clawing and biting ferociously. They wrestle, but the battle is a stalemate - neither gains or losses ground to the other. Amidst their conflict, the Necromancer steps out, looking Morion in the eyes, ignoring the two dragons. The Necromancer reaches out his left hand, and Morion finds herself pulled forward. Not her, she realizes, but rather the pendant around her neck. Morion struggles against the Necromancer’s power. The Necromancer doubles his efforts and Morion is nearly drawn out the window. She continues to fight, despite the Necromancer’s disgusting smirk. No, she fights in defiance of it. The black dragon takes notice, pushing the red dragon away from him so that he may soar over to the Necromancer.
The black dragon’s actions are swift. Before the Necromancer can react, the black dragon has caught him up in its talons and opened its jaws, preparing to bite the Necromancer. However, the red dragon has righted itself, bounding behind the black dragon and striking it, causing the black dragon to drop the Necromancer. The black dragon quickly swivels and throws the red dragon across the garden effortlessly. Upon returning his attention back to the Necromancer, the black dragon is shocked to find that the Necromancer has transformed into a near duplicate of the red dragon, but still wearing his black cloak. The Necromancer throws the black dragon to the center of the garden. The black dragon attempts to move, but he is pinned down by his wings, the talons of the red dragon keeping them in place.
Morion closes her eyes as the Necromancer begins to mercilessly attack the black dragon. She then becomes aware of a presence in her room. She faces the presence, surprised to see Hector, still cloaked, with an evil blade in his hand. He smirks, looking much like the Necromancer, before plunging the blade into her stomach.
~-~~-~
Morion awakes with a start and a scream. She looks around for a moment, expecting to see her cousin. She is calmed by the sight of the trees, and the remembering of her task. The fire has long since died and the sun pushes through the leaves. It is just past morning, dew still clinging to the plants. Morion packs up her gear, stomps out the smoldering embers of the fire and continues on her trek.
By late afternoon, Morion exits the forest. She is greeted by the sight of a huge plain; flat and grassy except for the occasional rock formations and caves. Across the plains, Morion can detect the signs of civilization: patches of deforested land and rutted paths, the telltale indicators of a logging camp. With a smirk Morion whips at the reins, pushing her horse on, cutting across the plain.
Overhead a flock of black birds keeps pace with Morion, putting her at ill ease. She cannot escape the feeling that they are watching her. The birds then surge forward to the camp ahead. Morion watches the birds for a moment, then ignores them as she yields her attention back to the plain.
Halfway across the plain, she nears what she had previously thought was merely a old, dead tree or rock formation. Morion slows and then stops as she realizes that it is in fact the ruins of an old statue, with a small shrine at its foot, long since destroyed, decayed and abandoned. The right forearm of the statue is missing, but the rest reveals a man garbed in strange armor, heroically facing south with what can only be assumed as a stance of opposition, the stump of its right arm outstretched while its left hand sits ready on the hilt of its sword. Morion admires the statue in silence, wondering at its origins. After this brief pause, she turns the horse back to her journey across the plain. Morion after only a moment forward comes to a small brook, where she stops to fill her water skin and allow the horse a short but well deserved reprieve.
The wind changes without warning, carrying a deep, biting chill. The afternoon sun is overtaken by dark storm clouds but no rain falls. Morion pulls her riding cloak tighter as she remounts her horse and continues on.
By early evening she finally arrives at the outskirts of the logging camp, only to find it long deserted. Tools are scattered about rusted, wood cabins rotted with the ceilings collapsed. Morion notices, however, that the road has recent signs of travel, so she follows it. It does not take long for her to find the reason for the road being used; around a bend in the road, hidden by an outcropping of trees is a town. More of a small city in fact, made of a number of shops, various smiths, houses and inns. Most are common in shape and design, except for one building in the center of town which stands higher than the rest, more dramatically built for the sole purpose of attracting the attention of the wayward traveler.
Morion rides up to this building, quickly discovering that it is an inn and tavern, bustling with activity: loud voices, music playing and the clanking of mead mugs. The Queen ties her horse to the post outside the tavern threshold and cautiously, with her hand on the hilt of her dagger, enters.
~-~~-~
Inside the tavern, it is nearly full to capacity and busy with people eating, drinking, telling stories and being many shades of merry. Morion, who had never in her life entered a tavern, let alone been so close to so many, stands dumbstruck.
“What’ll it be there, missy?,” a voice erupts, jolting Morion. <
br />
She spins to face the voice, seeing that it came from the bartender and most likely owner of the tavern based on the look on his face. Behind him, a woman attempts to carry two trays of mead while avoiding another woman coming back with three trays of empty mugs.
“Whatever you would recommend for a weary traveler, good sir,” Morion replies with a smile.
“That’d be mead! Does a body good I say. Find a place to sit, and we’ll get to you as fast as we can. As you can see, we have a little celebration going!”
Not sure that she cares to know the reason for the celebration, Morion simply bows gratefully as she begins the daunting task of finding an empty chair. She finds one at a small round table where a man and woman sit, the two talking to one another briskly. The woman has fair hair and bright eyes. The man has reddish-brown hair with eyes to match and a pale complexion.
“Is this seat taken?” Morion asks politely.
“Hmm? Oh, no. Please do sit,” the woman replies with a smile.
“Is it always this busy?”
“Oh, you noticed?” the man asks like Morion’s question was irritating.
“Ignore him,” the woman says, casting a scolding eye at her companion. “He is just upset that someone laughed at his performance earlier”
“Performance?” Morion repeats curiously.
“You mean to say you do not recognize us!?” the man says with a tone of mock surprise.
The woman looks at him with a smirk.
“He teases, of course,” the woman begins, “we are the bards Cale and Amy. We go from town to town, reciting and performing stories of bravery and renown. Of heroes and villains. Unfortunately, our last few shows have been... well...”
“Disastrous!” Cale interrupts. “Failures of epic proportions to say the least!”
“I am sorry,” Morion says, as though she is responsible.
Amy waves in dismissal.
“Do not be. It is what we deserve for telling tales of someone so... removed, I suppose, from the minds of people,” Amy replies, glancing at Cale harshly.
Cale notices Amy’s dagger-like eyes.
“Hey, it is not my fault! The tales of the Black Knight usually go over well in towns like these.”
On hearing that, Morion becomes visibly surprised.
The Black Knight Page 2