by Various
‘Good,’ Carl said. ‘Let’s go home.’
So, laughing and joking as if nothing at all had happened, the three brothers Gruff set off along the valley towards the open countryside and the path that led back to their farm.
In a time many thousands of years past, a king named Halfur ruled the land of Barnakadon. He was an honourable and fair king. Every month, on the day the moon became new, he held a council of the greatest and bravest lords and knights of the realm and sought their advice and wisdom.
One day, when a council meeting had been in session for several hours, the king and his knights received an unexpected and unwelcome visitor. Lord Fodon had just risen to speak about the swine fever that was affecting many farms; he wanted to discuss what could be done to help the farmers. He had barely started when there was the sound of a commotion from outside the great hall where the council met.
The members of the council all turned towards the door, wondering what the noise could be. The heavy wooden door was kept bolted while the council was in meeting, but behind it they could hear shouts and cries, and the sound of breaking glass and objects falling.
Suddenly the bolt on the door sheared away from the wood and clattered to the floor. The door itself was ripped from its hinges. The wood splintered, and the door fell into the room.
A huge figure stood framed in the doorway. From his stance and bearing, it was obvious this man was a warrior – but the armour and the helmet he wore were unfamiliar to the king and his council. The warrior’s armour was green and textured with scales like the shell of a reptile. His helmet covered his whole head, leaving only a thin-lipped mouth visible – a mouth as green and reptilian as the rest of the warrior’s armour. His eyes were hidden behind dark glass.
King Halfur rose angrily to his feet. ‘What is your business here?’ he demanded of the warrior. ‘None may enter without my permission while my council is in session.’
The warrior strode into the room. He stood centrally between the room’s two long wooden tables and looked round at the assembled knights and lords. When he spoke, his voice was a rasping hiss like that of a huge snake.
‘You rule here. I require your assistance,’ the warrior said to the king.
King Halfur gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘This is hardly the way to seek it.’
The warrior continued as though the king had not spoken. ‘My –’ he paused, searching for the right word – ‘my temple is in need of repair. It has sustained damage.’
The warrior turned slowly as he spoke, his glassed-over gaze resting on each of the council members in turn. ‘I need materials with which to make the repairs. I shall also require the help of skilled labourers – those who can work in metal, and men of learning and knowledge. You have these, do you not?’
King Halfur was stunned. ‘I am the king,’ he said, his voice booming angrily in the great hall. ‘No one may make such demands. No one may disturb my council. The penalty for your actions,’ he announced, ‘is death.’
The warrior gave a rasping hiss that might have been a sound of amusement. ‘You have rules and laws. I respect that. You are evidently a man of honour. I respect that also.’
‘Yet you smash your way into my council and make demands of me,’ Halfur said. ‘I see precious little respect there. I see no evidence of honour in your actions.’
The warrior stood motionless for a moment before replying. ‘In the interest of honour, I shall submit to your law,’ he said.
‘You would agree to your own execution?’ one of the knights asked.
The warrior turned to face him. ‘In order that honour is satisfied, I am willing to take a blow to any part of my body from any one of you assembled here.’
There was a murmur of surprise. ‘Then you will die,’ King Halfur told the warrior.
‘Perhaps,’ the warrior agreed. He lifted his hand and pointed at the king. The gauntlet he wore was more like a clamp than an armoured glove. ‘If I survive, however, you must provide the assistance I require.’
Halfur met the warrior’s masked stare. ‘Very well.’
The king was sure this was a promise he would not have to keep. In moments, the warrior would be dead.
‘Also,’ the warrior added, ‘whichever of your knights makes the blow must surrender himself to me in exactly one month and take a similar blow in return.’
‘As you wish,’ the king replied. ‘Prepare yourself, green warrior.’
There was little doubt as to who should make the blow and execute the warrior. The bravest and strongest of the king’s knights was Sirgwain. A giant of a man, it was said that his mighty sword could fell a tree. It was well known – and had been proved many times in battle – that with a single blow from his sword Sirgwain could shatter even the toughest armour and kill the unfortunate knight wearing it.
At King Halfur’s command, Sirgwain stood up and walked slowly to face the warrior. Although he was one of the tallest men on the council, Sirgwain barely reached the warrior’s shoulders.
He drew his sword from its scabbard, and the polished, razor-sharp metal glinted in the sunlight that streamed through the hall’s high windows. Sirgwain gripped his sword in both hands; it was so heavy that few people could even lift it, but Sirgwain raised the weapon as if it weighed almost nothing.
‘Prepare to meet your doom,’ Sirgwain told the warrior. ‘This is the fate of all who oppose King Halfur.’
‘Strike when you are ready,’ the warrior hissed.
Sirgwain swung the sword in a wide arc above his head and brought it crashing down on the warrior; it connected with the upper part of the warrior’s chest. King Halfur and the other members of his council knew what would happen; they knew that the sword would bite through the warrior’s breastplate and shatter his armour before smashing through to his body inside. The warrior would then crash to the ground, and his blood would trickle on to the flagstones of the great hall.
Except that is not what happened.
Instead, when the sword hit the warrior’s strange green armour, it glanced aside. Sirgwain struggled to keep his balance as his heavy sword unexpectedly changed direction. He stared in disbelief first at the sword and then at the warrior. The strange green armour was not even scratched.
For several moments, there was only a shocked silence.
Then the warrior spoke. ‘You will arrange the men and materials that I ask for,’ he said to King Halfur.
Halfur nodded. ‘That was the agreement,’ he said, his voice slightly strained as he struggled to stay composed and not show how disturbed he was. He indicated one of the men sitting close to him. ‘Tell Lord Grantith here what you require, and he will arrange it.’
The warrior turned to Sirgwain, who was now returning his sword to its scabbard. ‘I shall give this Lord Grantith directions to my temple,’ he said. ‘I expect you there in exactly one month from today, to honour the rest of our agreement.’
Sirgwain said nothing. He walked slowly back to his chair and sat down, his mind numb. It seemed unbelievable that his sword, which had never failed him before, had let him down. Sirgwain hardly even noticed as the warrior left with Lord Grantith.
King Halfur declared the meeting of the council over for the day. The lords and knights departed, but Sirgwain still sat in his place, staring across the great hall and seeing nothing except his sword glancing off the warrior’s armour.
The next day, King Halfur summoned Sirgwain. The knight presented himself, and knelt in front of the king’s throne until Halfur told him to stand.
‘This warrior is like no knight we have ever seen before,’ King Halfur said. ‘I have provided the men and materials he asked for to repair his temple. He in turn has promised to return the workers unharmed when their task is complete. But, as you know, there was another element to our agreement.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Sirgwain said. His voice was strained.
The king leaned forward on his throne. ‘No one will think any the less of you if you fail
to meet the warrior at his temple at the appointed time,’ he said quietly. ‘This warrior is not from my kingdom, that much is obvious. Whoever he is, we owe him nothing. Honour has been more than satisfied by the provision of the workers and materials he asked for.’
Sirgwain drew his shoulders back, and stared back at the king unflinchingly. ‘That may be true, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘but my honour demands that I meet him as was agreed.’
‘It was I who made the agreement, not you,’ the king told him. ‘You need not be bound by it.’
‘I am bound by it,’ Sirgwain replied. ‘Just as I am bound to you. I shall present myself at the warrior’s temple on the appointed day, as was agreed. If I am to die, then so be it. Honour will be satisfied, and Your Majesty’s reputation will remain untarnished.’
King Halfur sighed. ‘Very well, Sirgwain. I shall ask Lord Grantith to give you the directions to the warrior’s temple.’
The king stood and stepped down from the dais where his throne was positioned. He put his hand on Sirgwain’s shoulder. ‘You are, and always have been, the bravest and most honourable of my knights. I wish you well, Sirgwain.’
Lord Grantith told Sirgwain that it would take several days to travel to the warrior’s temple. It would take him to parts of the kingdom that he had never visited before, and some harboured their own dangers. Normally, Sirgwain would have relished the thought of facing and conquering such threats. But it was with trepidation that he set out this time, for he knew he was going to his death.
Much could be written of the adventures that Sirgwain had on his journey to the temple. He faced the Oberdark of Greer and survived. He encountered the Seers of Doom in their caves and emerged unscathed. He passed through the Valley of the Shadow without once hesitating or turning from his path. Finally, he entered the part of King Halfur’s realm where the warrior’s temple was located.
The night before he was due to present himself to the warrior, Sirgwain did not sleep. Instead, he lay on a soft, grassy bank beneath the cloudless sky and looked up at the stars. He felt empty and numb inside. Had his whole life been leading to this – to a final encounter with the green warrior at a remote temple? He knew that he had achieved much. He was the bravest, strongest and most trusted of King Halfur’s knights. He had a place on the king’s council. He had helped Halfur and his army defeat the forces of the Netherling Emperor and battled against the hideous Orcusts when they tried to invade from the south.
But, Sirgwain thought, as he stared up at the stars, I have never fallen in love. I have never married or had children. When he was gone, the other knights and the king would drink to his memory and tell stories of his bravery, but there would be no one to mourn him. He was, when all was said and done, just another knight.
Slowly the stars faded and, as dawn approached, the sky brightened. As the sun rose, Sirgwain got to his feet and braced himself for what lay ahead. He still had several miles to go, and set off through the countryside, enjoying the sun on his face for what he was sure would be the last time.
He passed through a small area of woodland, and emerged at the top of a shallow slope that led down into a valley. In the distance, the sun glinted on something in the same way that it glinted on the polished armour of an approaching army.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Sirgwain could make out small figures moving about a large structure that looked like it was made of metal – this was what the sunlight was reflecting off. In front of a dark opening that must be the main entrance stood another larger, distinctive green figure.
The metal building must be the warrior’s temple, Sirgwain realised. He had arrived.
He could feel the warrior’s glass-covered gaze follow him as he walked down into the valley. Despite the fear he felt, Sirgwain did his best to maintain the bearing of a knight of King Halfur; but he struggled to keep his emotions from showing as he got closer to the strange temple. This walk down to the temple seemed to Sirgwain to take longer than all the rest of his journey had.
At last, he found himself standing before the green warrior.
‘You have come,’ the warrior hissed.
‘That was the agreement,’ Sirgwain replied, aware of the slight tremor in his voice.
‘The work is complete,’ the warrior told him. ‘The men that your king provided have worked hard and well. I thank the king for his assistance.’
‘I’m sure King Halfur will be pleased that they have performed their duties so diligently,’ Sirgwain said.
‘And so,’ the warrior rasped, ‘we come to the final part of our agreement.’
Sirgwain nodded, but said nothing. He did not trust his voice to remain steady.
The warrior reached out a huge hand towards him. ‘I have no sword,’ he said. ‘Therefore I shall use the sword that you used to strike a blow at me.’
The warrior took the sword from Sirgwain and examined it. He held it up, allowing the sun to reflect off the sharp, polished blade. ‘A good weapon,’ the warrior said. ‘One I shall be proud to wield.’
‘Then get it over with,’ Sirgwain said. ‘I am ready.’
The warrior lowered the sword. ‘Very well. But first, if you will allow me, a test.’
A short way from the temple there was a single tree. The warrior strode over to it. The tree was not large, but it had a thick, sturdy trunk. The warrior examined it for a moment, before inspecting the sword again. Then he stepped back and raised the sword above his head. As it sliced down, hammering into the tree, Sirgwain shuddered. In a few moments, that same sword – the sword that had served him so well for so many years – would slice down into his own body. He knew that the armour he wore would offer no protection. The way the tree cracked, bent and finally toppled, crashing to the ground, was proof of that.
Satisfied, the warrior turned and walked back to where Sirgwain was waiting. Their work done, the men who had repaired the temple had gathered round the warrior and Sirgwain. Among them, Sirgwain recognised metalworkers and blacksmiths, carpenters and labourers, teachers and academics. All of them watched, grim-faced.
Sirgwain bowed his head slightly, unsure where the blow would fall. Perhaps the warrior would strike his head from his shoulders, or he might slice the sword through his armour and deep into his chest. Whatever happened, Sirgwain hoped it would be quick.
‘Look at me,’ the warrior commanded. Sirgwain looked up, staring back at the dark glass of the eye covers set into the warrior’s helmet.
‘I did not think you would keep our appointment,’ the warrior said. ‘Clearly you are a man of honour. A worthy opponent.’
So saying, he raised the sword again and brought it down on Sirgwain.
But it was not the mighty blow Sirgwain was expecting. The sword cut through the air, slicing down to within a few inches of Sirgwain’s chest … then it stopped. The warrior held it still for a moment before gently tapping the blade against Sirgwain’s breastplate.
‘Now,’ the warrior said, ‘honour is satisfied.’
He lowered the sword and handed it back to Sirgwain. ‘You were wise to keep our appointment,’ the warrior said. ‘Wise and brave and honourable. I salute you, Sirgwain, knight of King Halfur.’ The warrior stepped back, thumping his right fist into his own left shoulder and bowing his head slightly.
Surprised and relieved, Sirgwain stammered his thanks and sheathed his sword.
‘My temple is repaired,’ the warrior said. ‘These people have done their work. Please take them back to your king with my thanks.’
‘I shall,’ Sirgwain said. ‘But what about you?’
‘What of me?’
Sirgwain gestured to the temple. ‘There is nothing here. Nothing but your strange temple. Do you live here alone?’
The warrior gave a rasping laugh. ‘I do not live here at all,’ he said. ‘It is time for you to return to your king. It is time for me to leave.’
‘You’re not staying at the temple?’ Sirgwain asked. ‘Is it not your home?’
‘
All will become clear,’ the warrior promised. ‘My home is among the stars. Now go. Continue to live your life with honour and fight bravely with glory. Fear no one, and let everyone fear you. I bid you farewell.’
The warrior turned and walked into the temple. A metal door slid shut across the dark entranceway.
Sirgwain looked around at the people watching him expectantly. ‘We had better make a start,’ he said. ‘We have a long journey to get home.’
The workers collected together their possessions and followed Sirgwain up the sloping hill to the small area of woodland which he had come through on his way here.
It was with very different thoughts that he set out on the journey home. He had arrived with fear and resignation; he left with optimism and hope. He had expected to die; now his whole life stretched ahead of him. He would live it with honour, as the green warrior had told him.
As they reached the edge of the woodland, Sirgwain paused. He turned and looked back down into the valley. The sunlight glinted on the metal walls of the temple, just as it had when he had arrived – but there was something else. Another light, shining out from the base of the temple.
As Sirgwain and the others watched, fire erupted from beneath the metal building.
Slowly, the whole temple began to rise into the air. It gathered speed, rising higher and higher. Sirgwain watched as the warrior’s temple faded into the distance. Soon he could see only the tiniest point of light from the fire that propelled it into the sky. Just like one of the stars amongst which the warrior lived.
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