The Forgetting Moon

by Brian Lee Durfee

  The Gallows Haven fellow, in a sleeveless tunic, fought well without a shield. He deftly blocked each of Mancellor’s strikes with his two-handed broadsword. He was quick with the heavy blade, yet there was ever-increasing power behind each swing of the sword. Jenko’s arms were stout and strong, muscles bunching as he launched an attack of his own. Mancellor danced away, dirty-blond braids swinging free. The Wyn Darrè bore a much lighter sword in one hand whilst wielding a thick wooden shield to block Jenko’s heavy-landing blows in the other. Just when Gault thought the Gallows Haven fellow was going to get the best of Mancellor, the Wyn Darrè struck Jenko with a solid blow to the shoulder, knocking him sprawling to the ground. Ava Shay gasped and looked away.

  “He’ll be okay,” Gault said. “Mancellor has control over his weapon. He hit him with the flat of the blade. No harm was done.” He looked to the girl at his side. Where Jenko Bruk was a tough nut, this one, on the other hand, was a lost soul. The slave mark on the underside of Ava’s wrist was still red and raw and half scabbed over. That Aeros had already bedded her tore at Gault’s heart. Not that bedding the Angel Prince was such a horrendous thing. Most would consider it an honor to sleep with their lord. But most girls Ava’s age knew nothing of such things; most girls so tender of youth only ended up in a man’s bed as one unwilling. Gault could see the torment and confusion on the girl’s face as she watched Jenko interact with Mancellor. It was clear this girl loved Jenko. But Jenko had not spoken to her since the Angel Prince had taken her into his tent. Aeros would not allow them near each other. The conflict and hurt in her eyes were infinite.

  Ava’s eyes followed each of Jenko’s moves with an aching stare. Gault knew that this poor girl needed her mind to focus on something else, if only for a moment. So he tried engaging her once again. “I have a daughter,” he said. “She’s your age.”

  “That’s nice,” Ava said, eyes staring ahead, voice laced with strain.

  “You remind me of her. Her name is Krista.”

  “Krista.” Ava looked at him in a manner completely void of life. “A pretty name.”

  “Her mother and I chose the name together,” Gault said, thinking of Avril. In Krista’s eyes he could always see her mother. After his wife had died, and before the siege of Wyn Darrè, all he could do was cling to Avril’s presence, which he saw inside her daughter. His wife’s personality revealed itself more in Krista as the girl grew. Like Avril, Krista would whisper to the trees, play with any animal she found, and drink in every moment of life she could, and also like Avril, Krista had a brooding side to her. But Gault’s love and longing for his wife and stepdaughter were betraying him in the presence of this girl, Ava Shay. Thinking back to the death of Avril, and how it still clawed at his heart, he began to realize that what feelings he had for Ava Shay were becoming too entwined with that loss. But Gault knew he needed to purge all needless thoughts and longing for the past from his head, lest he succumb to unending weakness. Still, he ached to talk to this girl next to him.

  “My wife’s name was Avril,” he said, finding her name light on his tongue. “She was my first love, my only love.”

  “And what of Spades?” the girl asked.

  Ava’s question took Gault aback. “How do you mean?”

  “Aeros made mention yestermorn that you were in love with Spades.”

  Gault’s eyes shifted from the girl to Spades, who was now teaching Jenko and Mancellor how to catch a sword blade with bare hands and wrench the weapon from the hand of one’s foe without risk of having one’s hands shredded.

  Ava continued, “Aeros said that Spades was now rutting with Jenko and that you would become jealous and perhaps kill him. You won’t kill him, will you?”

  Gault could see the despair in her eyes. This was probably the closest Ava would ever come to giving voice to her sorrow. “I’ve no desire to kill Jenko.”

  “Is she rutting with him?” the girl asked, eyes downcast.

  “You needn’t worry about Spades,” he said, instantly cursing himself for caring about this blond waif, cursing too that Aeros had accused him of jealousy concerning Spades. A real warrior was trained to resist such compassion. What was it the Illuminations claimed? The closer intimacy tries to approach, the farther the warrior must draw back. For a warrior of Raijael must act like a unfettered storm cloud, constantly adrift, always creating distance from invading softness of thought, no matter how determined it is in claiming him. Or some such—ofttimes the exact words of the Illuminations escaped him.

  The fact was, Gault knew that he wouldn’t care at all about this slave girl if she wasn’t so beautiful—the same could be said for Spades. But wasn’t that the way of it? The Illuminations said, The weak-minded soldier will behave with spineless indignity around a fetching lass. If Ava Shay were fat and homely, Gault knew that he wouldn’t give two cartloads of donkey shit about her. And if Spades were ugly, he would’ve killed her years ago. The warrior must rid himself of what tenderness may creep in.

  Gault straightened his back and resumed the proper posture of a Knight Archaic.

  It was then that he saw the Bloodwood guiding a familiar figure toward them from the north.

  Stabler.

  He was weaponless and walked as one injured. As Stabler ambled forward, he held one hand up to his battered face. His one good eye was swollen shut, and he was forced to pry it open with his fingers to see.

  “Our tracker returns.” The Angel Prince’s mocking voice sliced out into the air as he made straight for Stabler. Reaching him, he yanked the man’s hand away from the purple-swollen eye. “As I understand it, he arrives alone, minus the fifty I sent with him.”

  “With regrets, my lord.” Stabler dropped to one knee and bowed low, then stood again. The black bulbous injuries done to the side of Stabler’s face had so completely shut his eye that he was clearly unable to see.

  “You may open your eye,” Aeros said.

  “As it pleases my lord.” Stabler pried the swollen flesh apart with his thumb and forefinger again.

  Aeros motioned to Stabler’s injuries. “Dare I even ask what happened?”

  Stabler bowed again. “Got knocked in the head by a flying pony,” he said.

  Some of the knights standing around Aeros chuckled at that. Stabler smiled, but it was clear that even smiling took the man some effort.

  “A flying pony.” Aeros seemed less than amused. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, then why should any of us?”

  “Sorry, my lord.” Stabler bowed again. “But that is the truth. Even knowing the fate that would await me, I still returned, my lord. I will always choose honor.”

  “Honor.” Spades snorted, now standing beside Aeros, the Gul Kana copper with Jondralyn Bronachell’s face on it flitting between her fingers. “It’s a bloody fuckin’ travesty is what it is. The man can’t even see out of his own remaining eyeball. Imagine that, my lord. He comes back completely blinded and swordless. What shame. What shame indeed. There is no honor in this.”

  Ignoring Spades, Aeros asked Stabler, “Where are the escaped captives?”

  “I know not,” Stabler replied, his tone now grim.

  “We found twenty-five of the knights I placed under your care not one mile out of town, slaughtered by a lone man with a sword and possibly a boy with a bow.”

  “Aye, that would be where we first caught up to them and gave chase.”

  “Where are the other knights and dogs I sent with you?”

  “I thought they would have made it back here by now.”

  “Only two came back. With all the horses. Your charger, Shine, was with them. But that was all. They say you went into some mines. You must answer for the others. Where are they? Lost?”

  “I can only account for the five who went with me to the end. And they are dead. And another five fell into a chasm in the mines. The others I last saw in the mines, I gave them orders to make their way from the mines and report to you, my lord.”

  “They never returne
d.”

  “Lost, then. In the mines still. I will explain as best I can, if it pleases my lord?”

  “Continue.”

  “As you probably well know, the first man we came across held us at bay between the boulders under the switchbacks. He was sore injured already. He had help from big gray shepherd dog and a bowman on the trail above. After your Bloodwood stepped forth and killed the man, it took us almost half a day to work our mounts up the trail. Once we broke free of the switchbacks, we tracked our quarry to the abandoned mining town. I left my steed and the other horses outside the mine with two knights to watch over them.” Stabler turned to Spiderwood. “There was a dead Bloodeye horse. A mare. In a pit. A game trap of some kind. By a cabin. Impaled. Wooden stakes. We covered it with bramble sticks and burnt it.”

  “Rosewood’s Bloodeye?” Aeros asked the Bloodwood.

  “Doesn’t mean she is dead,” Spiderwood said.

  “Doesn’t bode well for her either.”

  The Bloodwood remained stone-faced.

  “Carry on,” Aeros ordered Stabler.

  “Once in the mines, there were few torches between us. Our going was rough. But our quarry left ample evidence of their passage. We came upon a vast cavern with a narrow stone bridge over a chasm. The first five who crossed the bridge were lost when it collapsed. A few of the dogs, too. Some of us lay on the lip of the abyss, examining the drop as far as our torchlight shone. It was a sheer drop, vanishing into unknown depths. Finding no way to cross, we strode to either end of the cavernous room. The great crack disappeared into the stone mountain on one side of the cavern, yet on the other side, the fissure ended in a solid but sheer wall. It took us the better part of a day to search the passages behind us, but we eventually found some tools, mauls, metal spikes, rods and irons, and old rope and the like, even ladders long enough to span the chasm. But the ladders were old, rotten, and weak and would not hold the weight of a man. We managed to chisel footholds along the sheer wall, hammering and wedging the irons and spikes into what small crevasses we could find. We rigged a rope line of sorts along the wall and inched our way around the chasm. Only five followed me across. The rest I instructed to find their way back and report to you. They had a torch, with flame enough to see them back out.”

  “Doubtless they are still lost in those mines,” Aeros said. “A waste for sure.”

  “I tracked the escapees the rest of the way through the mines. At one point, they diverted from their route and climbed some stairs. I too climbed those stairs and found an altar, its lid removed—”

  “What was the shape of this altar?” Aeros asked.

  “The shape of a cross.”

  Aeros glanced at the Bloodwood, then back to Stabler. “Was there anything of note inside this altar?”

  “I regret to say that the contents of the altar were gone. But it was clear the escapees had removed something from it. The dust was stirred round about.”

  “Do go on.”

  “Once we were outside the mines, their trail was again clearly marked. We tracked them easily enough. But then the hail started up something fierce. We had nothing for shelter and huddled together and waited out the storms as best we could. We found one of the escapees dead on the trail the next morning. A girl, young, small, a pretty thing, dark of hair, maybe shoulder length. She was frozen on the trail faceup. She held a hatchet.”

  “Do you recognize the girl’s description?” Aeros asked Jenko.

  The boy shook his head. Aeros asked Ava Shay. The girl trembled, but in a cracked voice, she told him the girl’s name: Gisela Barnwell. Aeros turned back to Stabler and bade him continue.

  “The girl wasn’t the only dead one we found. The next day there was also a fat boy with red hair lying farther up the tracks we followed. It looked like he’d taken an ax to the ribs. The wound was old, rotten. He’d also taken a knife in the heart. That wound more recent. He too was frozen solid atop a wolf-hide blanket. There were many lion tracks around about the woods, in the brush, the trees. But the body had not been disturbed. A brute of a dog guarded it. We did not bother the dog. I doubt we coulda handled it anyway. It was the same shepherd dog that helped the dead man you found at the trailhead.”

  “Do you know the dead boy with the ax wound?” Aeros asked Jenko.

  “Zane Neville,” Jenko offered. “He owned a big gray shepherd dog.”

  “That’s the dog,” Stabler confirmed. “Like I said, same dog that helped the man at the trailhead.”

  “Continue,” Aeros ordered him.

  “It was cold. Those peaks must be over ten thousand feet high. Hard to breathe the very air. But we finally came upon our quarry midway up a steep switchback. The young bowman was still with them. A good shot, that one. The others threw rocks down upon us. They even launched a pony over the ledge. That is how I got this.” Stabler leaned his head in toward Aeros, emphasizing that his hand was holding open a severely swollen eye. “I saw the pony sailing toward me. That is the last I remember. I woke alone in the darkness, blind, or so I thought. The escapees were gone, my men dead, my sword at the bottom of the hill. At that point, I gathered my blade and began my long hike down the mountain, following a winding stream until it dumped me north of town. Holding my eye open all the way, of course. Thank Raijael the stream flowed far north of those mines. I was loathe to travel back through there. Anyway. Here I am.”

  At the end of the tale, Aeros bowed to Stabler. It was a deep and graceful bow.

  When he arose from it, the Angel Prince spoke in an even tone. “Over the years you have been a stalwart and brave companion. I have watched your rise from Hound Guard to Rowdie to Knight of the Blue Sword and now Knight Archaic.”

  Gault felt the apprehension coiling within him as Aeros continued, “But you have failed me, Stabler. And you know the price of failure.”

  “I do, my lord. And in so knowing, I came back to you still. I felt it of utmost importance that you hear my tale of failure. I hope what information you glean from my disastrous journey proves useful in furthering the kingdom of Raijael.”

  “Your words are well chosen. I have indeed learned much from your tale.”

  “Then I am pleased, my lord.”

  “I allow you to invoke the Chivalric Rule of Blood Penance. If you so desire.”

  “I do, my lord. For I wish to redeem myself in your eyes. For I desire to be worthy to sit at your side in heaven, if but for a moment.”

  The Angel Prince stepped back from Stabler, speaking for all to hear. “Our brave Stabler wishes to invoke his right to atone for his failure! He can be flogged and then rejoin the Hound Guard as a squire, or he may duel to the death with a warrior of my choosing!” Aeros turned back to Stabler. “If you are victorious in the duel, you may resume your position as one of my Knights Archaic and all will be forgotten. Die and I deem your shed blood sufficient reparation. Your body will be burned on the pyre and your soul allowed to take wing into heaven, befitting an honorable death.”

  “I choose the duel.” Stabler let his hand drop to his side, and he drew his sword. “Even blind, I will kill whomever you put in front of me. I swear it.”

  “Excellent,” the Angel Prince said. “A flogging and back to a squire earns one scant respect.” His eyes lanced through the crowd; they lingered on Mancellor Allen, then passed over Jenko to Spades to Hammerfiss, landing on Ava Shay. She shrank away from his gaze. Gault’s instinct was to say something to reassure her she was in no real danger. Aeros was not about to make her fight Stabler.

  “Ser Gault,” Aeros said. “I bestow upon you the honor of fighting your fellow Knight Archaic.”

  Though the request stunned him, years of warfare had taught Gault presence of mind. He remained stoic. “An honor, my lord.” Without hesitation he bowed, figuring he knew the words to forestall the duel for a few days at least. “But I will not fight Stabler blinded as he is,” he said in a dry, brisk voice. “We wait until he is healed.”

  “You will fight him here and now,”
Aeros said forcefully. “Hammerfiss will find something to bind open Stabler’s eye.”

  “Some twine and a darning needle ought to do the trick.” Hammerfiss’ voice was laced with pleasure as he trotted off in the direction of his own squat tent.

  Gault had little desire to duel Stabler, not now, not under these circumstances, and certainly not to the death. He held no more affection for Stabler than he did anyone else in Aeros’ select group of Knights Archaic. But the man was good with a blade. It seemed a waste just to kill him. And kill him he would. Even a healthy Stabler with his own sword would be no match for him. Everyone knew this. Though Aeros’ five Knights Archaic were the best fighters in the Five Isles, they each of them knew where their skills ranked within the group; they each of them knew who was best—and that was the Bloodwood. But following the Bloodwood was Gault. Stabler, the newest of the five Knights Archaic, was good with a sword, but he was in no shape to fight. He was worn down by days spent in the mountains. And his one good eye was useless.

  When Hammerfiss returned he began poking holes into the purple flesh above Stabler’s swollen eye with a thick needle. He threaded twine of grayken baleen up and in and out of the various holes, then tied the baleen into the man’s hair, lifting the swollen eyelid up as he did so and cinching the twine tight until Stabler could see. Blood oozed over the man’s face from the stitching. But Hammerfiss wrapped a scarf around Stabler’s head to stanch the flow. The man looked a sight, black eye patch on one eye, the other sewn open with thread crafted of grayken baleen. Hammerfiss handed him a sword. Stabler readied his new weapon as Spades handed him a shield.