Knight Rising

by Jason Hamilton

  It didn’t help that his muscles were still protesting from a few days spent in a cell. His experience with the sword was one thing, but without a chance to stretch and warm up his muscles, his body did not react as he wished. It was the main reason why he could not switch to the offensive. All he could do was keep that curved blade from sliding across his throat.

  They fought for what felt like minutes, but likely only lasted a few seconds. Soon enough, George’s muscles began to loosen, and he fell into his stances with less difficulty, moving his feet expertly across the loose gravel that made up the floor of the arena. He was still on the defensive, but that would soon change.

  With an expert downward parry and twist of his body, he found himself on Cymochles’ side, with the man’s weapon held down by his sword. For a moment, the joyless man’s eyes met his, but in the next, George raised his weapon as quick as he could, making his first offensive strike at the man’s torso.

  Cymochles lifted his sword and barely managed to redirect George’s motion. The knight’s sword passed mere centimeters above the man’s head.

  But George pushed forward, not letting up. He was now on the offensive, and he would not let it go.

  Cymochles was good though, far better than his brother had been. It wasn’t long before he made some offensive strikes again, and the process began to go back and forth between the two, more of a dance than a battle.

  Side-step, upward parry, swing, side parry, stab, counter. George’s feet were constantly in motion, as were those of his opponent.

  After some time, it became clear that neither had a true advantage. They were evenly matched in almost every way, and that only stirred up the crowd more and more as the battle continued.

  George racked his brain for a solution. He was equally as likely to fail and die as he was to kill this man. And despite Cymochles’ aggression, he didn’t truly want the man dead. Not anymore. Though only days had passed, George was not the same knight who had killed this man’s brother. Perhaps it was Duessa’s enchantment, but he suspected there was more to it than that.

  Sure, he would kill to defend himself, but defending himself here would do little in the long run. If he won, Duessa would take away his weapon and work her magic again, turning him to a fate he did not want to fathom. What he really wanted was to escape, to run as far away from this place as he could, and never come back. He would take the darkness and uncertainty of the forest above this place. And he had a weapon now, with no restraints on his person. Would there ever be a better chance to escape?

  His distraction nearly cost him his life as he only just managed to redirect Cymochles’ sword with his own, the blade missing him by an inch.

  Was there honor in running? It went against everything he had been taught, against every value he had once held dear. But was there honor in dying, or in killing this man and becoming Duessa’s slave? No, honor was to be found in leaving with his life, returning to Una, and fulfilling the request of the Faerie Queen. He had been distracted, and even though Duessa’s spells had partially enchanted him, that did not mean he was fully free of blame. If he had kept his focus on the mission, he might never have left Una in the first place.

  He went back on the defensive again, but this time moving backwards in a slow circle so he could get a clear view of the arena. Every inch of the place was full, except for the dais, and there was no way he could make it through there without being caught by Duessa or one of her servants.

  The only clear portion of the arena were two foot paths that were used to enter, and which divided the arena into thirds.

  Consciously, he guided his steps backwards towards one of the two entranceways. Cymochles followed, a grin on his face, thinking he had gained the upper hand as George retreated.

  They reached the base of the path, and onlookers on either side leaned away from them, careful not to get caught up by either of their swords. That was good. George needed to put space between him and the onlookers.

  One step at a time, he continued to move backward up the path. People left their seats and pushed away from them, leaving plenty of room for him and Cymochles to battle.

  He spared one glance for Duessa, who was watching both of them closely with no readable expression on her face. He would not be able to keep this up for long. Sooner or later she would realize that he was intentionally trying to move up the path to the edge of the arena.

  It was now or never.

  With a few rapid steps backward, George gave one last thrust with his sword, enough to make his opponent jump backwards.

  Then he turned and ran.

  Onlookers rose to their feet and pointed as he burst past them with all the speed he could muster. Cymochles cried out, but George did not look back or see what he or Duessa were doing. He only ran, waving his sword ahead of him to encourage anyone in his way to move.

  The shock only lasted for a moment. By the time he reached the lip of the arena, some were gathering to stand in his way.

  George slashed at a man with a pig’s head, not killing him, but cutting a large gash in his arm. The thing squealed, sounding just like swine in distress, and fell back. George took several more swipes at others who came too close, but his focus was on running. He had to ignore everyone and everything around him, he had to ignore the rising strain in his thighs, or the sting of sweat in his eyes. He could only press forward, pausing only to maim those who attacked him directly, but swiftly moving on.

  This was foolish. There were enemies everywhere, he passed them on all sides. Many reached out, screeching as he stabbed at them with his sword, some losing fingers. But many simply watched him go, eyeing him curiously, or worse, amused. He did not want to know why anyone in this place might view his escape attempt with humor.

  Yet most let him alone as he moved, even making way for him as he ran towards the front gate. He did not look back to see if Cymochles or Duessa were in pursuit. He simply kept his eyes fixed ahead. His chances of escape were slim, he knew that, but escape was also his only hope. The gate should be open as it was when he arrived, inviting more and more people to come inside.

  The gate came into view, and despite himself, George ground to a halt.

  The huge monster of a man stood ahead of him, clad only in an enormous loin cloth, and wielding a club that was bigger than George’s body. It was the giant he’d seen upon entering. Orgoglio. He squinted down at George, sniffing from two slits in his face that made up his nose.

  Behind him lay the gate, and to George’s despair, it was shut. His sword dropped to the ground, and his knees shortly followed. There had been no point in trying to escape, which explained why so many of the castle’s inhabitants had made way for him. They knew he would not get far.

  “Little knight,” said the giant, a grin spreading on his face. There were no more than three teeth in that smile. “Mistress says you come.”

  George closed his eyes. Duessa had guessed. She’d known this would happen. How had he ever thought he had a chance?

  The people surrounding him were beginning to laugh, the sound filling the space all around him. The air grew heavy like their mockery held substance.

  A massive hand closed around his waist and his eyes popped open as a crushing force closed on his torso. He struggled to breathe.

  The giant had laid hold of him, and was lifting the knight to his impossibly high vantage point. His efforts were slow and clumsy, but deliberate. How did such a man even exist? The giant chuckled as he squirmed to get out of its grasp.

  “Do not eat him yet, Orgoglio,” said Duessa’s voice from not far away, the clear tones of her words cutting through the laughter of everyone else. “I have not finished with this one.”

  George twisted just enough to spot Duessa coming closer, following down the path he had taken. She was followed by Cymochles, though neither appeared to be in a rush. They had known he couldn’t escape.

  “Indeed,” said Cymochles, pulling level with his mistress. “I demand the right to finish h
im myself.”

  Duessa glanced at her protector. “He’s clearly proven himself a coward, and not worthy of your revenge. I may still have use for him, but he needs a little...softening.”

  “Orgoglio soften,” said the giant. “Orgoglio soften real nice.”

  He was going to die in this place. If this giant, Orgoglio didn’t kill him, Cymochles would eventually, no matter what Duessa ordered. George could see the hate in his eyes. And perhaps he deserved it. Not only had he killed this man’s brother, but he had done so for no reason than to protect a woman who neither needed his help, nor meant him anything but ill. Why had he been so reckless in running off like he had?

  He knew why. It was almost certain that Una’s cries had been faked, that he had left the real Una sleeping in that cave, while he went and entered the forest only to be caught in Duessa’s web. But how was he to react when a woman told him she was being attacked? He couldn’t exactly leave.

  But he could have left after saving Duessa. He could have gone back for Una, but he’d let himself become entangled in Duessa’s enchantment. Her magic had been strong, but no spell could erase free will entirely. He was still partially to blame.

  Duessa smiled at the giant. “That sounds like a great idea, Orgoglio. You may take him to your tower and deal with him as you wish.”

  Orgoglio let out a low grunt of excitement.

  “I warn you though,” said Duessa. “If he dies, I shall be very upset. Very upset indeed, do you understand this?”

  The pleased expression on the giant’s face fell a bit. “Understand, Orgoglio does. Not kill. Not...eat.”

  “Yes, not eat.”

  “So you mean to just let him live?” said Cymochles, gesturing wildly and staring at Duessa with anger in his eyes.

  She turned to meet the man, her eyes growing colder, and George could have sworn the air around them also chilled. “Do not question me,” she said. “Killing him will not bring your brother back. You’d be better served to find your third brother out in the forest, if he hasn’t gotten himself killed too.”

  Cymochles’ face had gone a little pale. “I...I’m sorry, my lady. I misspoke.”

  “Do not worry,” she said with a reassuring smile, like a mother telling her child that he could have a sweet if he did his chores. “Give it time, and this one will wish for a mercy as sweet as death.”

  George sighed inwardly. He was trapped, and there was little he could do about it. If only he could get back to Una, back to his original goal of slaying the dragon. Una had been the one to give him purpose, the crux of the Faerie Queen’s mission. He had to get back to her, to tell her …

  Tell her what? That something about her healed a wounded part of himself, that in only a short amount of time traveling together, he had grown to love her. Perhaps love was too strong a word, but it had hurt when she rebuked him for touching her. It had hurt deep.

  But returning to Una was no longer an option. He knew that as the giant Orgoglio retreated to the top of a tower he called his own, removed from the chaotic bustle of the other inhabitants of the City of Pride.

  22

  “You are the Faerie Queen?” Una asked the strange woman in front of her. To be honest, she hadn’t thought to imagine what that person might look like. Descriptions among the populous said everything from a towering giant to a tiny figure the size of your thumb, who got around with wings like a dragonfly.

  This woman was not all that different from Una. Her body was lithe, and her features sharp. The only major difference was that slightly green hue to her skin, the dark red color of her hair, and the points of her ears. Plus, there was that way her hair seemed to flow around her, almost as though she was underwater.

  “I am,” said the woman. “You may call me Gloriana. I am glad my dryads finally found you.”

  “Found me?” Una wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, all knowing here?”

  She expected an indignant response, but what she got was a look of sadness. “I no longer hold the sway over this place as I once did,” said Gloriana, staring up at the trees. “There is darkness that clouds my vision.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” said Una, remembering just how dark the forest could get, even with the sun at high noon. She folded her arms and regarded the woman. No matter how strange and mystical this being was, she was not about to be drawn in. “So, I suppose you have something to say to me.”

  “I do,” Gloriana nodded. “Come with me.”

  She turned and began to walk down a path that led to some old stone stairs. Una hesitated, and not just because the stairs looked like they were about to fall apart. She didn’t know anything about the Faerie Queen. Rumors made her out to be anything from the embodiment of good, to a servant of the devil, to entirely made up. Well, she could count out that last one, but that didn’t tell her anything about whether it was safe to follow her.

  And what if this wasn’t the Faerie Queen at all, but this Duessa person she’d heard so much about. The last thing she wanted was an encounter with that woman.

  “I need to get to Castle Silene,” she called after the Faerie Queen. “I can’t be bothered with anything extra.”

  Gloriana turned back to face her. “If you do not listen to what I have to say, you will never make it to Castle Silene, and even if you did, you would never walk out of it alive.”

  Well that wasn’t ominous at all. Still, it was enough to perk Una’s interest. Sure, the Faerie Queen could be evil, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was telling the truth, and Una needed to listen to her in order to get to Castle Silene? She seemed friendly enough.

  She let out a soft growl, soft enough to only be heard by her. She did not like impasses like this. Either she was in control of a situation, or she got out of it. That had been her rule for years, especially now that she was out of prison. The last time she had trusted someone, she’d ended up in that prison.

  But something tugged at her: curiosity. Despite herself, she wanted to know what this Gloriana had to say. If it was a trap, she would find a way out of it. She would be on her guard.

  “Very well,” she said. “Lead the way.”

  She followed Gloriana up the stone steps, which seemed to go on for a long time, and yet the trees rose with them, so that it seemed like they climbed without making any upward progress. Those trees were so thick that she couldn’t see very far in any direction, but whatever hill they were climbing, it went on for a painful amount of time.

  Finally, they leveled out at the hill’s crest, and Gloriana led her forward down a stone pathway, which eventually led them to a gorge with an enormous bridge carved out of a massive tree that must have fallen there ages ago.

  As Una began walking over the bridge, she saw that the gorge was incredibly deep, and white rushing water swept far below.

  “This is the true border of my realm,” said Gloriana as Una tried her best to keep her balance on the bridge. “No one can reach this place save by this very spot.”

  Una swallowed. The Faerie Queen wasn’t exactly making her more comfortable. If walking into a trap, she would be hard-pressed to escape if this was the only way out.

  Yet something compelled her to push forward, placing one foot in front of the other.

  On the other side, the stone pathway widened, the cobblestones growing closer together, more orderly and well cared for.

  It was only then she noticed what lay ahead of her. At first she thought they were misshapen trees, but no, they were buildings that were built out of the trees themselves, not hewn down like most would do to make a cottage. The trees that made up these structures seemed to be alive, their roots still firmly planted, but they grew in such a way that people could live there.

  A door opened in one of them, and a tall figure emerged, a man. He had the look of a knight, though his armor did not look the same as what she was used to seeing. It was heavily gilded and stylized, like one might see on ceremonial armor, but with even greater ha
ndiwork.

  “That is one of my knights,” said Gloriana as they walked. “He is of the Order of Maidenglory, my private guard, and my primary tool against the forces of darkness here.”

  “Well they haven’t been doing that great of a job,” said Una, eyeing the knight from a distance.

  Gloriana turned on her heel in one swift motion. “They have died defending this place, and by extension all the world from the evil that creeps up from the depths of the forest. They have charged into battle knowing it would likely be their last day on this earth. I will not tolerate your disrespect when it comes to their sacrifice.”

  Una nearly took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softer. “I didn’t know.”

  “Then perhaps you should listen more than you speak.”

  It was a quiet rebuke, but one that pierced Una to her heart. She looked back at the lonely knight with new eyes. Was he the only one, or were there others? The number of homes made out of the trees suggested dozens of dwellings, perhaps even hundreds. Yet she only saw the one knight, who had caught sight of them by now, his eyes slowly following the pair of them. Or was he only looking at Una?

  “Is that why you sent George his vision?” she asked as they continued on. “To make him one of your knights?”

  “In part,” said the woman, though she did not turn around as they walked. “His destiny spans more than just service to me. Though that destiny hangs by a thread, which is why I need you.”

  Curious, Una continued to follow the Faerie Queen, who would say nothing more until they reached their destination. Una was beginning to wonder if they would ever reach it.

  But even as she had the thought, the trees seemed to open up ahead of them, revealing in all its splendor, an enormous castle.

  This wasn’t a castle like Una was used to seeing. It rose higher than it was wide, with multiple towers stretching for the heavens. It had a wall and battlements like she was used to seeing around other castles or fortresses, but those paled in comparative size. Most of the towers were painted white, with green vines climbing on one side. Each one was topped with a pointed roof with wooden shingles that, like the houses they’d spied earlier, seemed to grow in the desired formation.