Knight Rising

by Jason Hamilton

  The blade sliced through muscle, sinew, and bone like it was butter. The muscles in Orgoglio’s head grew slack as the entire thing separated from the giant's body and rolled forward.

  The deed was done. Arthur immediately turned to find Duessa or any of the other onlookers. But to his surprise, all of them were gone. He wouldn’t put it past most of them to flee after seeing what he did to Orgoglio, but Duessa too? It didn’t seem like her to run off. Unless…

  The sorceress must know why Arthur was there. She wouldn’t miss the coincidence of his appearing just when she had the Knight of the Red Cross in her clutches. Had she gone back to check on him?

  Una.

  He dashed forward, through the wide-open gates into an empty city. No one dared show their face as he raced towards the tallest of the seven towers. Were they all hiding or had they followed their mistress?

  Well one thing was certain, he had left Una in a cell once before, to be left to the mercy of her captors. He would not make the same mistake twice.

  26

  Una climbed up the last of the winding steps leading to the top of the tallest tower. She’d already searched its base and found no dungeons to speak of. Perhaps there were some located in other parts of the city, but something told her George was somewhere in this tower. She’d seen enormous footprints from the giant leading to this place, and it was certainly large enough to house him. She could only hope it was the giant who guarded George.

  But if the dungeon wasn’t located underground, like hers had been in Londinium, the next obvious place was in the top of a tower, where getting out became much harder to do.

  She paused at the top of the spiral staircase to take in what was there, keeping her dagger raised high, though she wasn’t sure how much help it would be. She really should consider investing in a better weapon. Arthur had it too good.

  She kept her magic at the ready, even as the pull to use it nearly sickened her. That pull had been growing, begging her to let it out again. She hadn’t used it since her encounter with Archimago and Pyrochles.

  But she wasn’t opposed to using it again. In fact, part of her wanted to. Sure, there was something that made her ill about the way her magic behaved. She wasn’t sure how it worked, how it had tamed the lion or gotten her out of that situation with the two manservants of Duessa. But there was no mistaking its usefulness. And she would not pass up an opportunity to use it if another dire situation reared its head.

  There was nothing in this tower room but a huge table in the corner near the window and a chair next to it. It was clearly furniture meant for the giant. There was no sign of George, but there were more stairs leading upward. She hadn’t reached the top yet.

  Sighing, she continued up the stairs. It was a good thing she’d had several weeks for her leg muscles to adjust to being out of prison. This climb would have been a worse obstacle than that giant otherwise.

  At the top was a door. She tried the latch, hoping against hope that it was open. It was not.

  Cursing, she called through the door. “George, George are you in there?”

  She stayed silent, putting one ear to the door.

  There was something coming through, a muffled voice. Was it George’s?

  “George, oh please tell me it’s you!”

  This time she listened closer, and a dreary, plaintive voice responded. “Just let me die already. You’ll learn nothing from me.”

  He thought she was one of Duessa’s interrogators. Una took a deep breath. He was likely delirious, based on the sound of his voice. And there was no question he would be locked up, unable to help her. She needed to find a key, or perhaps…

  Could she break down the door with her magic? She wasn’t even sure it worked like that. Her magic had previously only influenced people and creatures. She hadn’t ever affected an immobile object before.

  Although there had been that one time with the dice landing a pair of sixes.

  “You will need a key,” said a voice behind her. She spun to see an old man, older than old. He had gray hair that hung past his waist, or what was left of hair. It was thin and most of his head was bald. He bore more wrinkles than Una had ever seen on any one person, and his jaw was turned inward, like he had no teeth.

  Yet she knew by now that appearances could be deceiving. She slipped her knife out of its sheath. “Who are you?” she asked, wary.

  “Worry not, I mean you no harm,” he said in a raspy voice. “I am called Ignaro, father to the giant Orgoglio.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared down the length of her knife. “You?”

  “Oh, I know I don’t look it. You could call me a step-father of sorts. I did not sire the man.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Me. Nothing. I have wanted nothing more than to die at my appointed time. My son serves Duessa now that we have broken free of the Otherworld. But I grow weary of seeing him torture that poor man inside. He suffers greatly. I have the key if you need it.”

  Una kept her dagger raised. “All who were trapped in the Otherworld are enemies. I can’t trust you.”

  “If only your assumptions were true, child,” said Ignaro. “Unfortunately, there are many trapped beyond this world that do not deserve it. I am one such example, but you will find others. They lie still beyond the reaches of this world.”

  “Well then, if you are not such evil, then prove it. Hand over the key.”

  The old man fished in his pockets and withdrew a ring of keys. He selected one and held it up, taking a step towards Una and offering it to her. “It is this.”

  Una tiptoed forward, keeping her knife raised. Ignaro certainly didn’t look dangerous, but she could not trust anyone in this place, not after all she had seen.

  A thousand possibilities ran through her head. Would the keys burst into some kind of enchantment the moment she laid hands on them? Or would Ignaro stab her in the back once she turned to open the door.

  Despite all that, she found herself reaching forward until her hand grasped the ring of keys.

  “As I said,” Ignaro went on. “It is not my desire to hurt you.”

  She took the ring from the old man, grasping the one key he had selected. Then, making sure to not turn her back to Ignaro completely, she placed the key in the lock, and turned.

  There was some resistance at first, but soon something massive clicked within the lock, and a tension gave way. She pushed, and the door ground open. Excitement began to build in her. The old man had not deceived her. Not in this anyway.

  With the door fully open, she could see inside. It was a circular room, similar to some she had seen alongside cathedrals. There were a few thin and open windows along the sides, letting in what small light filtered through the gray fog outside. In addition to the walls, the ceiling was supported by a secondary row of columns.

  There were steps leading downward to the bottom of the chamber, and those steps continued in a circle all the way around the room. Almost like a mini-arena, or perhaps like a study hall in a place of learning.

  At the center of room, at the bottom of the steps, was a single form. His body was naked save for a cloth wrapped around his loins, and both his arms were chained to nearby pillars so he was forced to kneel, kept upright by the chains in his arms.

  “George,” she exclaimed and hurried down the steps to reach him.

  George did not react at first. His torso was bloodied and scarred, and he hung from his cruel restraints as though he had no strength in him, held aloft only because the chains made it impossible to fully rest. But his face slowly turned in her direction, his dark hair matted with blood and sweat, his face a filthy mess of the same.

  “U...Una?” he croaked.

  “Yes, it’s actually me,” she confirmed.

  “What new trick is this? I will not tell you anything,” he groaned and closed his eyes. He still thought they were trying to extract information out of him.

  “No, it’s really me, George. Remember? We fought the
serpent together and then you tried to touch me while we made a fire, and I told you not to.”

  His eyes squinted, as though they couldn’t make her out properly. “It really is you?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” she said.

  “I…” he took a deep breath, as though talking took a lot of energy. “I have seen visions of you before, visions that weren’t you. They tortured me and laughed.”

  She felt a part of her ache. What kind of torment had they put this knight, her knight through? Everything from the physical to the psychological it seemed.

  There were other corpses in this place as well, some tied to individual pillars, others simply laying on the ground in pieces. This was a place of observation, she realized with some disgust. It wasn’t just a prison, but one where others could watch the prisoner being tortured.

  “Who is...that?” he asked, pointing behind her. She glanced backwards to see the giant’s step-father.

  “Oh, he let me in,” she explained. “His name is Ignaro. He’s the giant’s step-father.”

  George’s eyes widened.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “He doesn’t want to hurt us.”

  “You don’t understand,” he choked. “The giant’s step-father is dead.”

  Her stomach froze. “What?”

  “That’s him there,” said George, waving a finger at a nearby skeleton, one that lay against a pillar. “The giant pointed him out as he tortured me. Kept saying I would join him.”

  Una rose to her feet and rounded on the old man, who in that moment began closing the door. He no longer looked the same, but his guise had fallen to reveal the same Archimago she had met in the woods. His golden eyes gleamed as the door closed shut. In the same moment, the keys in her hand vanished. An illusion.

  “No!” she yelled and without thinking, without even considering what she could or could not do, she unleashed everything she had within her, all of that magic came bursting out, as if from a dam that had suddenly vanished.

  The door burst off its hinges, and bits of wood and metal flew in all directions. The force threw Archimago backwards down the staircase beyond.

  For a moment, her own eyes widened at what she had done. But Archimago recovered quickly. Within seconds he was on his feet again and hurried forward, even as Una ran to meet him at the opening to the circular room.

  She readied a wave of magic to attack, the same as what she had used back in the forest to keep both Archimago and Pyrochles from moving. But this time, Archimago appeared ready for her attack. He waved his hands and a burst of energy plowed into her, not as strong as what she had used to blow the door off its hinges, but enough to topple her backwards down the stairs leading to the center of the room. At the same time, Archimago’s form shimmered and disappeared.

  “You are strong,” came his voice, echoing around the room as though coming from all directions at once. “My mistress will want to speak to you personally.”

  “She will never get the chance,” Una said, raising her arms and preparing her magic once again. Stretching out, she tried to find her attacker with more than just her eyes.

  That action may very well have saved her life. Even as a sixth sense reached out, it warned her of danger. She rolled to one side just as a hand with a dagger swiped out of nowhere, right where she had been just moments before.

  Back on her feet, she reached for her magic again, though she was growing tired. The magic wanted to get it over with, to kill, KILL, and be done. Then she could toy with the magician’s body, make an example, feed on his flesh until…

  Una pushed aside the horrific notions that rose in her head. Instead, she spoke again. “If you want me for your mistress, then why try to kill me?”

  “Oh, I’m not trying to kill you, little girl,” came the voice again, still emanating from nowhere and everywhere. “But you will wish you were dead. Injured, you won’t be able to fight back.”

  Injuries inhibited magic? That made sense, but it was a good tip. Well then, she would just have to make sure that his dagger never met its mark.

  George did nothing but continued to hang in his chains. His head was down, as if he had already accepted that they had lost, and any excitement regarding his rescue had been premature. She would make sure that was not the case.

  She began ducking and weaving, keeping her movements unpredictable, always stretching out with her magic to try and feel Archimago nearby. The magic came slower, more reluctantly now that it realized she would not use it to kill or disembowel, or whatever it was it wanted to do. But that didn’t stop it from working entirely. It still needed, wanted to be used.

  She felt nothing, and Archimago said nothing. Perhaps he had left, realizing he was safer elsewhere. Or maybe that’s what he wanted her to think.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. It was all the warning she got. Ducking down, she slashed her knife backward. It caught the edge of Archimago’s leg, and he reappeared, having just swiped at her back with his dagger.

  He cried out and all invisibility vanished as he clutched at the wound in his leg. It wasn’t deep, but she’d managed to carve a fairly large gash in the thigh.

  With bloody hands, Archimago began waving in the air, chanting some forgotten language as he did so.

  Instinctively, she rushed him and clamped one hand on his mouth. Surprised by her attack, he raised up his dagger, but she kicked at his wounded thigh, and he cried out, which was just enough distraction she needed to grab his arm with her free hand and bang it against the steps. Once, twice, on the third time the dagger went clattering to the ground, sliding down a few steps, out of Archimago’s reach.

  She had stopped the magician from speaking, and rid him of his dagger, but Una was tiny, and she wouldn’t be able to restrain the man for long using her own strength. She reached in his pouch for the real keys, finding and quickly bringing them down as hard as she was physically able to onto the man’s skull.

  His eyes rolled up in his head, he wavered, and fell still.

  27

  Una pushed herself upright, pausing to consider the fate of the old man lying on the steps beneath her.

  Kill him, said a voice deep inside of her. He will always come for you until you kill him.

  She pushed down the thought. But hesitated. Perhaps she should kill him. He would kill her if ordered, even though this time he had planned to take her prisoner for Duessa. He certainly had no problem trying to injure her.

  Yes, kill him now, make him beg for mercy, strip the skin off his bones, take his…

  She shuddered and extinguished her magic entirely, pushing it back deeper inside of her. Those urges were growing stronger, almost like a voice, separate from her own thoughts. Whatever her magic’s source, it was dangerous. She could not keep using it.

  She shook her head to try and clear it. Why had such magic come to her in the first place, and where did it come from? She had never used it before escaping captivity in Londinium. Or had she? Her thoughts strayed back to that fateful night when she had been locked up, three years ago. Had there actually been some truth to their accusations? Her mind was beginning to calm down again, now that the magic had been pushed back. And she had other things to think about at the moment.

  Leaving the magician’s body where it lay, she hurried back to the Red Cross knight. Pulling out the ring of keys, she searched for one that would unfasten the shackles around his wrists that connected to the chains.

  It took several tries, but she finally felt and heard a satisfying click, and the metal clamp opened, letting the knight’s arm fall.

  Once she had both shackles removed, the knight fell to the floor with a groan. His wrists were puffy and red where the shackles had been, and she could only imagine how his muscles felt, to have been in that position for so long, finally allowed to relax.

  “It’s really you,” he said, faintly, staring up at her as she tried to roll him over, so he wasn’t facing the cold, stone floor.

  “Yes, it’s me,” sh
e grabbed one of his hands and massaged it, trying to work some life into it. It wasn’t all that long ago she had recoiled when his hand touched hers. Now she was touching his, and she found she didn’t mind so much. “I thought you had left. I’m sorry I did not come looking for you.”

  “I’m...I’m sorry,” he said, but his eyes were flickering closed. He had lost a lot of blood.

  Thinking quickly, she slapped his face, hard. His eyes snapped open and widened at the pain.

  “You can’t go to sleep on me yet,” she said, hoisting one of his arms around her shoulders. “You need to walk, can you walk?”

  “I’m not sure I can do...anything,” he mumbled.

  “That is most certainly not the attitude that will get you to walk,” said Una, feeling no remorse as she slapped him again. “Get up, I can’t carry you all the way out of the castle.”

  His eyes met hers, and something passed between them, a share of her urgency, her need for him to help. A spark of determination hardened his face.

  Stumbling and occasionally crying out with pain, George managed to get one foot underneath him, then another. Una helped, pushing upward on his arm to help steady and gently lift him to his feet.

  He wobbled uncontrollably at first, but soon seemed to gain some balance with Una’s help. He took one step forward, then another. Soon they made it to the nearest step. He cried out as the effort of climbing the step far exceeded that of simple walking.

  Worry plagued Una. They weren’t going to be able to leave the castle like this. Even with Arthur’s help at the gate, someone would see them. Maybe the giant would come back before they had time to escape. At this rate, it would take hours for George to make it to the base of the tower, and they did not have hours.

  A sound of footfalls grew louder, coming from outside the doorway. Una almost dropped the Red Cross knight in an effort to defend herself, before she caught sight of who it was. Arthur’s golden hair appeared first, then the rest of him entered into the circular room.

  Despite herself, she could not have been more grateful to see the man. “Arthur, good. Help me carry him out of here.”