The Black Knight

by Sean Christopher Allen

  All the more reason to do it, she thinks.

  “Father,” she can hear Alastor say.

  “Alastor, I am happy to see you well,” another voice answers, an older voice, but a familiar one. Amelia easily recognizes it as Eoin. “How did it fare?”

  “It was done. Slain to the last.”

  Amelia can hear Alastor sigh heavily.

  “Alastor?” Eoin says.

  “I cannot keep doing this, father.”

  “Son, what you have been doing is needed - ”

  “So you keep saying! But, father, it is not you doing it! Each time I am forced to kill - ”

  “They were followers of Samael, Alastor!”

  “It is always followers or worshipers or spirits sent by Samael himself.”

  “Alastor, the prophesies...”

  “Prophesy be damned, father! I am not ink and paper, written of hundreds of years ago. I am flesh and blood, here and now.”

  The library goes silent for what seems forever.

  “Alastor. Son, I am sorry. Sitting here, pouring over tome after tome, book after book, scroll after scroll... I have forgotten the burden you bare, the burden I myself have placed upon you even when I did not want to.”

  Another moment of silence passes.

  “Father, do you truly believe I am the one written of?”

  “You know I do. What brings this talk on?”

  “If it were all true, then I should not need the armor, correct?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I want you to seal the armor away, father.”

  “Alastor, why would you ask such a thing of me?”

  “Because...”

  “Yes?”

  “It has become too easy.”

  “What has?” Eoin asks , but his tone betrays the fact that he already knows.

  “The entire horde, father. I, alone, killed them. You are the one that has taught me since I was born of the blood-curse, warned me against it. What I ask of you is for the greater good. A measure of protection.”

  “You know what would happen if Lucius were to discover that the armor has been sealed, Alastor.”

  “He will not. Father, please... I do not want my life to mirror that of those before us. Should you die with the armor unsealed...”

  “I know, son. I know. My time is closing. I have spent these last years trying to make amends. With or without the armor, I will die, and I will not do so at the cost of my son’s soul.”

  Again the library goes quiet. In her mind’s eye, she can see Eoin sitting, looking up at Alastor, weighing the good and the bad. After a time, Eoin continues.

  “I will do as you ask, Alastor, when I return home. If your mother were still here, she would ask no less, I think.”

  “I doubt she would care if she were still alive,” Alastor says with unsuppressed spite.

  “She cared, Alastor. More than you could ever understand.”

  “Which explains why she is dead, right?”

  “Alastor!” Eoin scolds as only a father can.

  “Sorry, father. When will you be going home?”

  “My study here is nearly complete. When it is done, I am going to visit Gawain to give a book into his safe keeping, then home I shall return.”

  “Very well, father. What should I do now?”

  “The Council here has had no word of any more followers of Samael, so I believe you have free rein to do as you wish.”

  “If that is the case, I will leave Judeheim tomorrow. I would rather not stay too long, for fear that they will receive word of yet more evildoing somewhere.”

  “I know you Alastor. You would never be happy letting people suffer.”

  “Which is why I look for those who cannot help themselves, not who Judeheim decides is deserving of help.”

  “Quite admirable, as always. The Council will probably be upset at me for letting you go but, as much as I respect them, I will not let them dictate your life. While you are away, make sure to stay in contact with Mikha’el. I will let him know when I am done, and he in turn will tell you.”

  “Thank you, father. Until we meet again.”

  Amelia can hear Alastor ready to leave, but before she can think of moving, Eoin calls after Alastor.

  “Before you go, answer me one thing: is it true that you are traveling with a companion?”

  “Yes. Amelia of Arkelon.”

  “Frederic’s daughter?”

  “The very same. Why?”

  Amelia feels the warmth blooming in her face. Eoin’s voice changes, becoming low and removed.

  “How is she? I would gather that she is quite the woman now, being a few years older than you.”

  “She is good. Talkative, but I think I like having her around.”

  “Very nice. It is not good for a man to be alone, after all. And what of Frederic?”

  “He seemed busy with the goings on of his town. He did not care for the way I handled the barbarians.”

  “Which would be expected. Did he say anything to you?”

  “Nothing beyond those things that dealt with the barbarians.”

  “Good,” Eoin says as one relieved. “Well, I should let you be on your way. Take care of Amelia. Knowing her blood, she has a good heart, but a wicked temperament if crossed.”

  Amelia finds Eoin’s words odd. So too does Alastor.

  “Do you know who her mother is?” Son asks Father.

  “I have heard tale that she is a witch,” Eoin answers dryly. “Get going, Alastor. If you get caught up in the festival, you will not be leaving here for a week at least.”

  “Farewell, father.”

  “And you, son.”

  Amelia is brought back to reality, a sudden panic gripping her as she hears Alastor exiting the library. She presses herself into a small alcove meant for a lamp stand, hoping beyond hope not to be seen. Alastor, thankfully, does not; leaving the temple as he did when he entered: oblivious to Amelia’s presence.

  ~-~~-~

  Amy pauses to take a breath, overcome by emotion.

  “He never knew I had listened to that conversation. After that day, everything changed. He let me stay with him for as long as I wished, becoming his permanent traveling companion. He spoke much more, smiled even. I think that the talk with his father put his mind at ease, and I like to think that having me to talk to when he wanted helped just as much.

  “With each town or city we went to, I sent letters to my father, containing just enough to let father know I was well, but never more than that. What I shared with Alastor I kept to myself. I saw places I never knew existed, people strange and different. Parts of nature that you could spend days upon days looking at, get lost exploring and never have fear of; true paradises somehow ignored by the rest of humanity. Above all, though, Alastor traveled looking for people to help. Those people who live on outskirts, away from civilization. Or those too poor, or too fearful to let their plight be known. Alastor would swoop in, help someone and leave just as abrupt as he came. He hated being called a hero, and hated even more when people tried to thank him. Life with Alastor was the most incredible experience of my life, even when he grew impatient.”

  “Impatient? About what?” Morion asks.

  “Word that Eoin’s work was complete did not come as soon as Alastor hoped. Every few weeks, we would travel to a large city or kingdom, where he sat and waited for Mikha’el to come, though he did not know that I knew this. When I asked why we were doing nothing, he would say he was waiting for a sign of what to do next, which I always accepted as a fine answer. Sometimes he would even leave me to go to the nameless village himself, although he told me it was for some other reason.”

  Morion looks to Mikha’el for conformation.

  “This is true, My Lady. Alastor would come to our village on a fairly irregular basis, asking of news of his father, and then disappointedly leave. Except that this went on for nearly - ”

  “Five years,” interrupts Amy.

  “You were with hi
m for five years?” Morion snaps as she faces Amy again.

  “Yes,” Amy answers the Queen, “and I know what you are thinking. The answer is yes. I fell deeply in love with him. He of course knew this. He always knew. I never really tried to hide it once we left Arkelon. Unfortunately, his feelings for me... well, if he felt anything, he was a master at hiding them. He was kinder, more verbal, but never would you call him romantic by any stretch. Maybe he was, in his way. But now I am jumping ahead.

  “Every winter we would come here, to the tower, to rest and recuperate from the year’s journey. He would tell me stories of all kinds. If they were his family story, or just ones he picked up from other lands, I did not care. He told them spectacularly. Even if he had recited them horribly, it would not have mattered. I just liked being near him.”

  Tears begin to stream from Amy’s eyes.

  “What is it?” Morion asks, trying hard not to sound spiteful, though in honesty, she is not sure if that is still spite she is feeling.

  “If I had known what I was going to do to him, I would have gladly given up my time with him. I wish so much that I could change what happened.”

  Mikha’el sits beside Morion, the first time he has done so.

  “What happened?” he asks apprehensively.

  “In our last travels, he left me in a small city of artists at the foot of a collapsed mountain to go visit the nameless village yet again. When he came back he was giddy, smiling and laughing like a child.”

  “I remember that day very well,” Mikha’el says with a smirk. “But it did not last. The next time I would see him, it would be under far darker circumstances.”

  “Far darker indeed,” Amy whispers as she prepares to tell this most tragic part of her tale.

  ~-~~-~

  Amelia is given a fright as Alastor bursts without warning into her room above the only tavern in Sumestra.

  “Alastor!” she exclaims, “you are back!

  “Father has finally finished! He has already began the trek home!”

  “Alastor, never have I seen you so happy. Never have I thought you could be so happy!”

  “Never have I been so happy, Amelia. Gather your things, we are leaving tonight!”

  “Alastor, it is the dead of night! You cannot be serious about leaving right now. It would be dangerous to go now, so soon after your return.”

  Alastor sighs, disappointed.

  “You are right. We leave at dawn then.”

  ~-~~-~

  Amy looks from Morrigan, to Mikha’el, and finally to Morion. Apprehension fills her eyes. Her face starts to flush.

  “I was so happy for him, even though I should not have known why. But, despite everything, I made a massive mistake that night. I tried to force myself on him.”

  “Why would you do that?” Mikha’el asks with a despondent tone. “As much time as you spent with him, you never knew of his fear of fathering a child? That he would not so much as touch a woman until his family’s curse was lifted for fear of causing it to continue?”

  “I wish I had known! He never spoke of any curses, never said a word to me of what he was truly facing! It was just he and I, together with our little adventures. If I had known, life would have been much different. So very, very different.”

  “How do you mean?” Morion asks, her demeanor softening.

  “After I tried to make him bed me, he became so angry that he threw me out of his room, almost literally. I was so hurt and angry. I had spent so many years with him, told him how deeply I felt for him, but he rejected me. I went down into the tavern where I decided to drown by sorrow in mead. There was a group of travelers there speaking about the Black Knight. What exactly they were discussing, I was completely ignorant but, nonetheless, I joined the conversation. One of the men introduced himself as Rennir. He kept buying me drinks, and I kept talking.”

  ~-~~-~

  Amelia slams her pint glass down, nearly shattering it.

  “Sure, you know stories, missy, but no one knows the truth about the Black Knight,” Rennir says with a smirk.

  “I know all about the Black Knight, mister. More than you. More than anyone in this damn tavern and more than anyone in this damn city, no matter what they keep saying. Dark wizards indeed!”

  “And how does one little, frail thing like yourself learn things that some scholars have spent their lives trying to discover?”

  “I have been traveling with his son for the last five years, that is how.”

  “I have heard some tall tales, missy, and that one beats them all.”

  “It is no story. I am serious. His name is Alastor and he came in here not long ago. But, I would rather not talk about him right now.”

  Rennir and the other men stare at Amelia in disbelief.

  “Tall, dark fellow wearing black that came bursting in here and ran to the rooms?”

  “That would be him,” she says, taking another gulp of mead. “Subtly is something the Black Knight did not bother teaching him.”

  “And you have been traveling with him for five years?”

  “Give or take a month, I guess.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep.”

  “But, he is not the Black Knight now, is he?”

  “No, his father still is, apparently.”

  “I would love to meet the real Knight, but no one has seen him in, what... fifteen years?” Rennir asks one of the men.

  “Might be longer, actually,” the man responds.

  “The Black Knight has gone to his home in the east, to seal his armor or something like that. Whatever that may mean,” Amelia blurts out while taking another swig from her mug.

  “Seal the armor?” Rennir repeats. “Why would he do that?”

  “Alastor asked him to. I am not clear on why.”

  “A mystery indeed, missy. A mystery indeed.”

  ~-~~-~

  Mikha’el grits his teeth, slamming his fists on the table. He rises up from the table slowly, burning eyes, wings opening, quivering slightly. He stalks out to the balcony, where he roars at the top of his lungs to the world. He storms back into the Cloud Hall, ready to pounce on Amy, but Morion manages to hold him back.

  “You whore! You claim to have been from Arkelon, to have worshiped the nameless God, but you betrayed our Knight over a few pints of mead!? And for what reason? Because Alastor would not give in to you! I should rip you asunder here and now!”

  Amy does not flinch at these words, but looks up at Mikha’el with strength, yet tears still in her eyes.

  “I am afraid Alastor already beat you to that,” she says darkly.

  “What?” says a stunned Morion, letting go of Mikha’el, while his entire form changes at hearing Amy.

  “I was drunk. Very drunk. So much so that I forgot what had happened the night before as Alastor and I began the trip back to the keep. In a few days time, I did remember, and I kept it to myself in shame.”

  ~-~~-~

  The trip back to the keep is quiet. Alastor cannot bring himself to speak with Amelia, except when telling her that they will be stopping to eat or sleep. On the final day, as they near the home of Alastor, an unseasonable rain begins to fall. All animals go silent. Alastor brings his stallion to a halt.

  “This is not right. It has never rained here during this time of the year,” he says to himself, but so that Amelia hears as well.

  Panic grips his heart. He kicks the sides of the stallion hard, speeding homeward. Amelia has trouble following Alastor. She whips at the reins, struggling to maintain sight of him. Though she knows the way, she too grows fearful. Her secret coming to haunt her.

  The tower comes into view. Amelia can see Alastor at its foot, leaping from his steed and running into the keep as fast as he can. Amelia pushes her horse to the brink of death, but she too comes at last to the keep. Ascending the stairs with all haste, a cry stops her cold.

  “Father!” Alastor screams.

  Amelia pushes on. The stairs become a haze as she
climbs.

  There, in the armory, she finds Alastor on the ground, kneeling beside the fallen Eoin. He is long dead. No final words for his son. The assassin has come and gone. Through his tears, Alastor can see that Eoin had sealed the armor, except for the bracers which still reside on the arms of the Knight.

  “How?” Alastor whispers. “How could he have known?”

  Amelia’s very soul cries.

  “Alastor, I am so very, very sorry. I did not think when I spoke.”

  “Spoke? What are you talking about?”

  ~-~~-~

  Yet again, Amy pauses. Her guilt eating at her.

  “I told Alastor about when I listened in on he and his father, then I told him about the men at the tavern.”

  Mikha’el calms down more, folding his wings, giving Morion a nod of assurance that he would not have another outburst.

  “What happened next?” he asks.

  With a heavy sigh, she looks up into the eyes of Mikha’el, then Morion.

  “Alastor killed me.”

  The Queen and the winged one collectively gasp.

  “Killed you?” they both ask.

  “He stood up, took a sword from the wall and plunged it into my heart. His face was the last thing I saw as the life faded from me, but he was not as you might expect. I saw no rage in his eyes. He was so sad, so hurt.”

  “What would you expect after telling him that you betrayed his father, betrayed him?” Morion observes, that old spite replacing what kindness was in her voice.

  “Perhaps you should let her finish, Morion,” Morrigan tells her, “before casting judgment so easily.”

  “Very well.”

  Amy lowers her head, having to recall now an even worse memory. Morion and Mikha’el sit back down.

  “The horror I felt over doing what I did, and of Alastor killing me, came with me to the afterlife. At first everything was black. I could feel nothing. It was like being born I guess, as light began to fill the darkness, and I became aware that I was actually laying on rough ground. Opening my eyes, the world I found myself in was not that which I had been taught to expect. In my betrayal of the man I loved, I became no better than the barbarians that Alastor had slain all those years ago. I had been cast into the realm of the dishonored dead.”

  The faces of Mikha’el and Morion change. The scope of Amy’s story now hitting them.

  “And there I stayed,” she continues, “for what felt centuries. There is no concept of time there, and it is naught but the souls of the dead wailing, some resuming the sins of their previous lives. An insanity began to grow in the depths of my mind at this constant existence while I grew ever more furious with Alastor. My memories began to fade, only my rage and hate of him who damned me to that place being left to me. That is until he came.”