The Black Knight

by Sean Christopher Allen

  Knight and Necromancer fight savagely, unaware of everything not in their self-contained world. Their actions and movement leave little doubt as to the fact that neither man is entirely human. Sparks fly each time their blades meet; when one moves out of distance, the other hurls bricks and stone as though they were mere pebbles, only to have them cut or swat away with minimal effort. Neither lands a blow on the other, which causes the fight to perpetually become faster and increasingly more frenzied. A voice cries out, echoing in the garden. Alastor, encountering the source, is made to freeze in his place by what he sees. The Necromancer does the same.

  “Knight!” Hector shouts, holding Morion with a knife to her throat. “If you do not want to see her neck become a fountain, you will stop now!” Hector demands.

  Alastor places his focus back on his brother.

  “Why are you doing this Lucius?” he asks in a whisper.

  Lucius smirks as he walks by Alastor toward Hector.

  “Come now, little brother. Do not be so dreadfully naive. I get enough of that from the simpletons I control.”

  Alastor stretches his sword arm out, the tip of the blade nearly touching Lucius’ back. Lucius stops, then bares his neck to Alastor’s sword.

  “What are you planning?” Alastor reiterates.

  Rather than speak, Lucius runs a finger along the sword edge. As the blood runs on the metal, it rapidly corrodes, then shatters, the shards falling apart in a cloud of rust when they hit the ground. Alastor is visibly astounded. Lucius watches his brother’s reaction with dark fascination before gesturing frivolously as one unimpressed, continuing onward to Hector, explaining as he does so.

  “Without father’s armor, you are nothing. Far too weak to save anything or anyone... least of all one woman. Or two. Or three. Aside from killing, failing the women in your life appears to be what you are best at.” Turning to Morion, he smiles at her, in a faux-handsome way, whispering to her, “If you know what is good for you, Your Highness, you would be most wise in abandoning Alastor as soon as you have the opportunity.”

  “Why is that?” she asks uneasily.

  “Well, for one, Alastor in small doses will bring no harm, but any extended exposure to him can be lethal,” the Necromancer answers in the tone of a pun, glancing at the Knight. “Right, brother?”

  Alastor’s heart grows colder than normal. He lowers his eyes, throwing down the remains of his ruined sword. Raising his eyes back up, something catches his attention. Amy and Edna are both watching him strangely. Intently. One might even see cunning. A plan. He again hangs his head, his shoulders go slack. He has accepted defeat.

  “Very well. I yield. Let her go, and you will have me without resistance.”

  Lucius and Morion watch Alastor with a sense of intrigue, like ones expecting some surprise twist to an already enthralling performance. But Hector scoffs Alastor’s offer like the simpleton he is.

  “You are in no position to negotiate, fool. In case you are blind, you are weaponless and alone.”

  “Am I?”

  What ensues next happens faster than any of them could comprehend. Mikha’el swoops down, landing beside Alastor with sword drawn. The true shock, however, comes not from him. In that same instant, Amy comes up behind Hector and throws an arm around his neck. Morion escapes her cousin’s clutches, quickly moving to Mikha’el and Alastor.

  Twirling back to face Lucius and Hector, it is Morion whom receives the biggest shock of all: Edna holds a sword to the Necromancer’s throat, but Edna has changed. No longer the old woman with white hair, she has become a dark haired beauty with pale skin, her sword a blade of perfectly clear ice.

  The Necromancer stares at her with burning eyes.

  “Morrigan!” he shouts. “And here I thought I was deceitful,” he hisses through his teeth, fearful of moving.

  Clearly, he had not expected her.

  Morrigan catches Morion’s eyes, a cascade of guilt flows in her. She smiles at the young Queen, wishing she could explain herself then and there.

  “Mikha’el, take Morion away and do not stop for anything,” Alastor orders.

  Mikha’el bares his teeth at Lucius and Hector, but he knows the priority. He takes up Morion with his free arm and flies off with all haste before the Queen can protest. Once they are out of sight, Lucius begins to laugh maniacally.

  “What is so amusing, Lucius?” Morrigan demands.

  “This whole show has been quite impressive,” Lucius says, suppressing his fit of laughter, “but for all my dear brother’s planning and foresight, he forgot one dreadfully simple principle.”

  “Which is?” Alastor asks uneasily.

  “Why, brother, you forgot how to count.”

  From one of the windows, a figure leaps out - a Blader, an expert in short sword use, stealth and, above all, assassination. He falls, plunging his swords into Alastor’s back. Alastor falls to his knees as the Blader pulls his blades from him. Before either Amy or Morrigan can react, the Blader thrusts his weapons into the Knight’s back again. Alastor tries to cry out, but no sound comes, only blood in disgusting spurts.

  Amy tosses Hector aside, bounds to Alastor, aided by her wings, and strikes down the Blader with a single fatal blow. She drops her weapon, tending to the fallen Knight. Morrigan backs away from Lucius, sword tip still pointed at him. In her free hand, she holds the red book. The Necromancer sneers at the sight of it.

  “I do believe this belongs to him, Lucius,” she tells him.

  “It will not be of use to a dead man. Besides, I got what I needed from it.”

  “The look on your face says otherwise, fiend.”

  The Necromancer merely grins.

  Morrigan looks down at Alastor, he bleeding, gasping for air.

  “Get him out of here,” the Fairy whispers to Amy.

  Amy nods, picking up Alastor in her arms with a strength belied by her light frame. With a final glance of hatred at her former master, Amy takes flight. Morrigan and Lucius stare each other down.

  “Never again will I underestimate you, Fairy,” the Necromancer says to her contemptuously.

  “Hollow words from a soulless man. Nothing more.”

  “No more soulless than Alastor was, Morrigan.”

  Morrigan sneers, but says no more, vanishing into mist. Hector’s face becomes red with anger as he stands up from the corner he was cowering in.

  “How could you let them get away!? You could have stopped them! I should kill you!”

  Lucius pivots, putting his sword to Hector’s throat.

  “Threaten me again. I would very much like a reason to peel the flesh from your bones.”

  “But we needed him!”

  The Necromancer turns his head away, looking to where Alastor had fallen.

  “It was not the man we needed, false king.”

  Hector follows Lucius’ gaze to see what he refers to: a pool of Alastor’s blood.

  ~-~~-~

  Amy flies fast and hard, but eventually she struggles under Alastor’s weight, having not prepared herself for the burden. She looks behind and, when the city is no longer visible, lands in a lightly wooded area. Mikha’el and the Queen saw their escape, within moments convening with Amy and Alastor. Amy has already begun checking on Alastor’s wounds when Morion sees them.

  “What happened!?” she demands of Amy.

  “An assassin. We were too slow to react,” Amy says, voice full of sadness and guilt.

  Morrigan then runs out from the trees, falling to Alastor’s side, she too examining him. Even with her concern for Alastor, Morion cannot help but stare at the dark haired woman. Alastor’s eyes flutter as he fights to stay conscious. Amy holds him, stroking his face delicately.

  “Alastor, look at me. You need to stay awake.”

  Alastor grits his teeth, building the strength to speak.

  “Lucius... Cain... unbind... ”

  With that, he falls out of all awareness. Morrigan stares agape as though dealt a terrible wound.
/>   “What does that mean?” asks Morion. “Who is Cain?”

  “It is a matter to be discussed later,” Mikha’el states firmly. “Getting Alastor where we can help him is now our priority.”

  Morrigan rips portions of her silken dress, fashioning bandages from them, applying them to Alastor as she speaks.

  “Mikha’el, you will take Alastor back to the keep. Amy will take Morion. I will do what I can to speed you along the way.”

  No one disputes her instruction. No one except Morion.

  “Amy has shown she can carry Alastor. I would rather go with Mikha’el.”

  Morrigan looks to Amy, but Amy is still fixed on Alastor.

  “As you wish,” Morrigan says with some hesitation.

  Amy again cradles Alastor, with care and now proper preparation, soon starting the flight to the keep.

  The Queen stares down the Fairy.

  “You have much to explain, Fairy. For too long and by too many loved ones have I been deceived. No longer.”

  Morrigan has no words, just eyes full of remorse and shame. She nods to the Queen. Mikha’el picks up Morion and follows after Amy. The Ice Fairy is left alone. She looks at the red book with a sense of relief, then vanishes.

  ~-~~-~

  Amy and Mikha’el glide on unnatural currents, the work of Morrigan. The world below speeds by at a blinding rate. Trees and grass, mountain and stream blur together, indistinguishable.

  Amy glimpses down to the man in her arms, Alastor, growing ever more lifeless and pale with each beat of her wings.

  “I am sorry, my Knight,” she whispers.

  ~-~~-~

  Morion, from within Mikha’el’s steady hold, keeps keen watch on Amy as she carries Alastor.

  “She tried to kill us, now she is helping us?” she asks Mikha’el.

  “Not quite, My Lady. She tried to kill Alastor and he alone. When they attacked, he was the one that she focused upon.”

  “Yet now she fawns over him.”

  “She was working in tandem with the dark haired one to free you, My Lady. Perhaps she has embraced our cause and now feels guilt over her previous actions.”

  “No, her eyes are not the eyes of guilt. Not over this at any rate.”

  “My Lady, the dark haired one. Is she who I think she is?”

  “She is.”

  “Really? But you spoke to her as if you knew her.”

  “I do. Or rather did.”

  “My Lady?”

  “She can change form, it would seem. She had been an old woman by the name of Edna, my father’s oracle and adviser. Not to mention the woman who effectively raised me.”

  “Raised by the Ice Fairy? My Lady, I lack the words to articulate a proper response to this information,” says Mikha’el, astounded.

  “As do I,” replies the Queen, not astounded.

  They both become lost in thought, flying on in silence. Leagues pass by. A journey that took some days on the fastest horses takes only an hour, for they soon can see the black tower rising, getting closer and closer. Mikha’el flies beside Amy.

  “There is a balcony on the western side,” Mikha’el begins to explain. “That is - ”

  “Alastor’s bedroom, I know,” Amy interrupts.

  Morion and Mikha’el are both perturbed by this. Landing on the balcony, Amy walks through the still open doors, then quickly lays the Knight down upon his bed. Mikha’el sets down Morion on the balcony and immediately moves to Alastor, checking his wounds. Alastor now begins thrashing his arms about, gasping for air, but his eyes do not open. Mikha’el is forced to hold him down.

  “Cain!” Alastor calls out before calming down. His body twitches, limbs reacting to some dark nightmare.

  “Morion,” Mikha’el calls with urgency, “go to the infirmary, bring bandages and salve.” Morion is slow in following instruction, the sight of the bloodied Alastor holding her mind prisoner. “My Lady! Bandages and salve!” Mikha’el repeats in a shout. Morion comes back to life, quickly following his command, though reluctant to leave. Mikha’el then addresses Amy. “You, go fetch some water. There is a - ”

  “Hot spring under the castle,” Amy interrupts, again.

  Mikha’el squints his eyes in suspicion.

  “How do you know that?”

  “A story for a later time,” Amy says as she leaves from the balcony.

  Alone with Alastor, Mikha’el tries to revive him.

  “Alastor, come back. What about Cain?”

  Alastor does not respond. Mikha’el places his hand on Alastor’s shoulder, but a sudden flash in his mind causes him to recoil it. A silent fear, a dark thought, but before Mikha’el can fully attack this oddity, Morrigan appears in the room, Amy flies in carrying a basin and Morion returns with the supplies. Mikha’el takes the steaming basin of water from Amy, pulling a handful of dry plants from the pouch on his hip, he crushes them in his hands then stirs the powder into the water. As the ingredients react, an evanescent mist floats just within the basin. Mikha’el blows the mist upon Alastor, calming the Knight as he breathes it. Then taking the bandages and salves from Morion, he eyes the three women harshly.

  “Go up to the Cloud Hall. I will come to you when I am done.”

  Morrigan is the first to leave, then Amy and then, against her simpler desires, Morion, closing the door as she leaves.

  ~-~~-~

  Morion takes her seat in the Cloud Hall. Amy, having lapsed back into human form, sits across from her. Morrigan paces about from balcony to balcony, looking anxiously out over the world, and the lazily setting sun. Morion stares at Amy, but cannot bring herself to speak. Amy has to look away, unable to face the angry Queen. Morrigan begins lighting the lamps just as Mikha’el steps up into the Cloud Hall, washing his hands of Alastor’s blood upon an old rag.

  “How is he?” Morrigan asks.

  “I do not know,” he tells her with an untrusting glance, walking to Morion, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What Alastor has endured would have killed an ordinary man, except...”

  “Alastor is not an ordinary man, we all know this.”

  “No, that is not what I mean. Wounds such as those suffered by Alastor would have been lethal many times over. But, even by his standards of survival, these are abnormalities.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Alastor is wearing parts of the armor,” Morion says emotionlessly, half to herself, almost trance like.

  Morrigan struggles to believe this, wheeling about in thought.

  “What?”

  “He has been wearing the bracers secretly,” the Queen reiterates.

  Mikha’el and Morrigan both lower their heads.

  “Why would he have done such a thing?” Morrigan asks herself.

  “You mean to say that you did not know?” Morion asks, looking up at the Fairy with a mingled sense of disbelief and suspicion.

  “I did not. I mean, just the other night, he... on the balcony...” Morrigan says, then fades away.

  “Then it would surprise you to know that he has worn them for some time.”

  “My Lady? How do you know such things?” Mikha’el inquires, taking a knee to come to eye level with the Queen.

  “When he told me of Judeheim, during the battle in the catacombs he went to great lengths to try and explain how he felt as he fought. Later on, when he was fighting Rennir, he revealed that he was wearing metal bracers under his leather ones. He essentially was telling me the effect they had on him, though I at the time could not understand it, even after I deduced that he in fact wore the bracers after examining the armor the night before we left.”

  Morrigan moves beside Amy.

  “What exactly did he describe?” questions the Fairy.

  “Interpreting his story is difficult, but based on what little he told me of the Black Armor, I think that just those small portions of the armor made him into an invincible warlord of some kind. No one posed a real challenge
for him, and he knew it.”

  Morrigan sits beside Amy, downcast and sorrowful, lost in thought, not paying any heed to the conversation that follows. Mikha’el shakes his head.

  “That all makes sense,” he says, reflecting.

  “How so?” asks Morion.

  “Alastor has always had doubts about being able to defeat Lucius on his own.”

  “Lucius?” repeats Morion.

  “The Necromancer.”

  “You knew who he was the whole time?”

  “Yes, My Lady. Alastor had sworn me to secrecy concerning his relation to Lucius many years ago, and even in light of the events recently transpired, he did not wish me to divulge this information to even you, not until it was absolutely necessary at any rate.”

  “So, the Necromancer... he really is Alastor’s brother?”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  “But that would mean he killed his own father.”

  “I had always assumed so.”

  “Assumed so?”

  “Alastor never spoke in much detail about the events of that fateful day, and I in like fashion never wanted to press him.”

  “He would have said nothing, even if you did,” Amy says suddenly. “Alastor keeps many secrets, some deeper than others and some never to be told to anyone. Even those he loves. Or loved.”

  Mikha’el stands straight up, becoming an imposing sight, while Morion’s eyes harden toward the pair who sit across from her.

  “Amy, now is not the time to speak about those things. There are more critical matters at hand,” Morrigan instructs. “Such as Alastor wearing the armor. I - ”

  “No, Fairy. You and her,” Mikha’el interrupts accusingly as he points a finger at them both. “You two are the matter at hand. One of you tried to kill our Knight, now acting as though you were dearest friends with him. The other has evidently proven to be quite the master of deception.”

  “All these things are complicated,” Morrigan admits. “They all tie to one another, and where one ends the other begins.”

  “Start with her,” Morion orders, looking spitefully at Amy.

  “I can speak for myself!” Amy declares.