Knights Without Kings

by J. M. Topp

  ‘What was that all about?’ Elymiah turned to William. The confused look on his face told her everything. William hadn’t seen the faerie. Was it something only I could see?

  Elymiah looked down at his leg and clenched her teeth. She raised her sword above her head and swung it downward as hard as she could. She was surprised at the thoughtlessness of the act. She didn’t even hesitate. The lower leg fell into the grass like a carrot being cut in half.

  The sword cleaved through bone and flesh cleanly. William only grunted as he shifted his other leg for Elymiah to cut. She squinted one eye to measure the cut and then brought her sword onto the leg.

  Kthump.

  The amputated leg rolled on the grass next to the other one. Elymiah turned to William and saw tears trailing down his face. His eyes were set on the stars twinkling above.

  ‘Gwendylyyn, where have you gone?’ William whispered and sobbed quietly. Elymiah understood at that moment that the pain he felt in his legs was overshadowed by the loss of his queen—by the loss of his wife. He had truly loved her. Elymiah cleaned her sword on the grass beside her and sheathed it.

  A faerie zipped directly in front of her. This time, it had friends. They sparkled as they flew, and they were pointing at Elymiah. She looked around her and realized that there were thousands of lights in the fields of grass beside them. Fairies shone through the tall grass of the fields as they danced around each other. Some of the fairies zipped over the creek, seemingly wanting to know who the faster faerie was. She looked up at the skies to see even more of the fairies swirl above them. They didn’t seem to know of or care for the travelers that had encroached next to their bridge.

  ‘Knight-Captain, if you please…’ William’s voice brought Elymiah back from wonder. She pulled the cloak from underneath him and tore it in two with her hands. She wrapped the ends of the amputated leg and tightened them as much as she could. This time William shouted and covered his mouth. Instantly, the faeries, startled at the shout, disappeared into the fields. No more light came from them. Elymiah finished tying the amputated leg and stood still. Something might have heard that. She craned her neck to listen but eventually decided that they were safe. She finished wrapping and bandaging the other leg. Elymiah heard movement beside her and instinctively placed her hand on her sword. Joan shook her head and squinted her eyes through the darkness. ‘By Oredmere, I overslept,’ she said, clearing her throat.

  ‘We have to move,’ whispered Elymiah, making sure that the knots were tightly wrapped around William’s leg stumps. ‘We have a long road to the Kingsoul.’

  Joan stood up and bowed before William.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘Don’t trip,’ warned Elymiah.

  Joan stared at the severed limbs of the monarch as William climbed onto her back. She stood up and nodded to Elymiah.‘I am ready.’

  Elymiah picked up the bundle of bear fur and caressed the babe hidden in her arms. The babe still didn’t open its eyes, but it had what looked to be a smile on his face.

  If only you knew, sweet child.

  Elymiah walked along the creek, careful not to slip on its sandy surface. She didn’t notice a tiny sparkle of light emanate from within the bundle of fur.

  ELYMIAH CHOSE TO camp beside the creek several times. At first, Elymiah didn’t think it was wise to build a fire. She didn’t want to attract attention of stray daemons that surely were following them, but after two days of walking down the creek without any sign of pursuit. Elymiah decided to build a small campfire. Elymiah began to falter in the remaining armour she still had on her. It was beginning to weigh too much. With a sad heart, she had to leave her greaves, gauntlets, and shoulder plates in the soft sand. Elymiah hoped that she would be able to get more from the Iron Aegis. When she arrived, she would certainly apologize to Andre for losing her halberd and her armour. Elymiah kicked herself—not for the last time—for leaving it behind.

  Camping beside the creek did have its benefits, however small. The snows had mysteriously ceased to fall, and even the sun was out more than it had been the farther they traveled from Weserith. The waters of the creek were even bearable, despite the chilling season. Joan and Elymiah took a bath together while William held his child in his arms along the banks of the creek. Elymiah scrubbed her arms and legs with a piece of cloth torn from her shirt. There wasn’t anything they could do for soap, but even the slightly chilled waters felt good to soak in. It was a mystery, adding to the countless mysteries Elymiah was experiencing. It was certainly the dead of winter, but one could say it was feeling closer to the beginning of spring. Elymiah’s brown hair was matted with blood, and it was a relief for her to wash it off. Her bones and muscles ached, but there was not much time to spend resting. After her long sleep, Joan seemed to be doing a little better. Sometimes, however, Elymiah would notice Joan cradle herself, whispering hoarsely.

  Elymiah dried herself off by the banks and stole a glance at William subconsciously. He wasn’t looking at her, however. William was looking a long way off, not even aware of his son in his arms. Elymiah shook her head and glanced at Joan, who was also drying off. Her close-shaven head made it so she didn’t have to deal with long hair. Elymiah almost envied it—the simplicity of it all. But then, she loved her hair. It was a compliment she received from most people, especially men. Elymiah sighed as she looked along the banks of the creek.

  William needed a bath too. Elymiah gave Joan the baby, and she lifted William into the waters. He grimaced as the waters invaded his body. Elymiah unwrapped the crusted bandages and made sure to hold him above the waters. The creek flowed around them, carrying the grime and blood encrusted on William’s body and clothes away with the current.

  ‘Just…’

  ‘What?’ Elymiah strained to listen to William.

  ‘I said…just let me slip beneath the waters,’ he said, looking at Joan. ‘She wouldn’t care. I am not Aivaterran.’

  ‘You are my king.’

  William laughed softly. ‘Daemons chase us, and we likely will not find the others at the Kingsoul, if we get there. We are lost.’

  ‘There have been no signs of them. They may have followed the others, if they made it out.’

  ‘Those things are out there; you can be sure of it. It’s only a matter of time.’

  Elymiah wanted to tell him to simply keep silent, but how could she do that? William stopped chuckling and buried his face in her back.

  ‘When you experience pain like I have, you will wish for death’s sweet kiss. I hope you, too, don’t get it,’ said William. Elymiah didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. Something moved out of the corner of her eye beneath the water. Instinctively, she began to back away. Bubbles rose to the surface of the creek.

  ‘Joan,’ Elymiah called out with warning.

  The first thing Elymiah saw were the colours red and black. The body rose through the surface of the water, with three quarrels in the back. Elymiah stared as the body floated past her and the king. She looked upstream as more and more bodies could be seen floating their way. Blood blanketed the crystal waters around the corpses.

  Hurriedly, Elymiah pulled King William from the foul waters, fearing infection. William merely stared at the carnage floating by.

  ‘That should have been us,’ said William. The bodies became more numerous, but before Elymiah realized, they were gone, floating further along the river.

  Elymiah dried King William off and reapplied bandages to his legs.

  Though Elymiah missed her armour and weapons, she loved how quiet and strong she was without them. When looking for food, she felt so light moving through the woods. When they made camp, she felt like a predator, as prey—mostly squirrels and small rabbits—didn’t know she was there until it was too late. Joan was surprised at how well-fed they were able to stay without a bow. Elymiah would stay in the shadows, only moving when absolutely necessary, positioning herself beside the creek or a bush. Though Elymiah would be gone for hours at
a time, she was always able to return to the camp with food.

  William didn’t speak as much after the bodies floated away. Sometimes he would ask where they were, but nothing much more than that. Elymiah didn’t try to make conversation with him, and neither did Joan. He was mourning, though. It was obvious by the look on his face.

  Joan hadn’t slept much since the first night at Rokiev Bridge. She would often cradle herself and whisper. She stared at the creek suspiciously, almost as if expecting a daemon to spring from the waters. Elymiah could tell that she was having a hard time coping. How am I doing it? Maybe it was the thought of having to be strong for someone else that was keeping her going. Elymiah had to be a strong leader. Without her, they wouldn’t make it very far.

  ‘How do you do it, Knight-Captain?’ Joan asked once, as she bit into the soft-cooked rat meat. Elymiah glanced at her, as if afraid that she was thinking out loud.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Stay so…strong. I can’t get their screams out of my head. Weserith—’ Joan said as she swallowed and took another bite from the meat before her. ‘The daemons are real, and they are dangerous. You were at the gate, same as me.’

  ‘They are real, indeed.’

  Elymiah cradled the small child in her arms. The baby had opened his eyes finally. His dark green eyes stared up in wonder at the world around him and the knight who carried him. He seemed so precious wrapped up in Elymiah’s cloak.

  The child wouldn’t cry, but when he was hungry, he would give Elymiah a look and almost seem like he were pouting. Elymiah would nurse him to keep him fed, but she was certain that only mothers could produce milk. Her being a virgin, Elymiah thought it odd that she could lactate. Then she remembered that night in her bedchambers in Weserith. No, that can’t be it. Perhaps it was Oredmere providing for the small babe, allowing her to be able to make milk. She nodded her head, smiling, knowing that it had to be true.

  Elymiah turned her attention back to Joan. A look of concern clouded her face.

  ‘Daemons are the direct enemy of our god, Oredmere. If they are real, then that is also the physical manifestation of Oredmere. When I see one, my heart goes to our god, and He gives me the strength to fight. If they can exist, so can He.’

  Joan looked at Elymiah in wonder. She touched the tattoos beside her head and rubbed them, lost in thought.

  ‘I am glad you’re my knight-captain, Knight-Captain,’ Joan said finally. She put the rat meat to her mouth and took another bite from it.

  ‘Oredmere inspires that much confidence, does he?’ sneered William.

  Elymiah craned her neck to the crippled king, who was sitting with his back to a tree. When it came to William, Elymiah didn’t know what to think. Ever since the bridge, he had not even asked how his son was faring. His eyes were steeled onto Elymiah.

  ‘He certainly does, Your Grace.’

  ‘Tell me; why did he allow the Dark to enter our land?’

  ‘He didn’t. He simply…’ started Elymiah, but she was interrupted by William.

  ‘Does he not control the borders of his realm?’

  Elymiah shifted uncomfortably. Joan glanced at him in surprise. Aivaterrans never talked like that. None of them, except for Robyn. She wasn’t used to this line of questioning, but this time it came from her king. How could she tell him to keep quiet?

  ‘He does, Your Grace, but I believe that He allowed them in for a reason.’

  ‘To kill your queen? Because that is what happened, Knight-Captain.’

  ‘Your Grace, do you have a problem?’ asked Elymiah, unsure of what to say.

  ‘You mean, besides having my fucking legs cut off and my wife having been murdered? My city razed twice, once by my lover’s armies and then by a daemon army? Which one are you referring to?’

  Joan shifted once more and stood up. ‘I need to piss.’ She walked away from the small camp in silence.

  ‘Answer me, Elymiah. Your god is responsible for all of this, isn’t he?’

  ‘Your Grace—’

  ‘Don’t you “Your Grace” me.’ William’s eyes bored into Elymiah’s. ‘There is a reason we abandoned our gods. Perhaps you should do the same to yours. You will be better off, trust me.’

  William rolled over to his side and closed his eyes, leaving Elymiah speechless. The hairs on the back of her head stood on end, and her ears felt red hot.

  Heresy.

  But she couldn’t say that to her king. She rested in the fact that he wasn’t Aivaterran. His saving grace was in ignorance. Perhaps one day, he would see the light.

  By the time Joan returned, the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. When asked where she had gone, the soldier only replied that she was simply wandering, trying to clear her head. She looked sad, but Elymiah didn’t ask. Joan lifted William onto her back, and Elymiah carried his son. They walked along the banks of the creek for what seemed like miles upon miles after that, in silence. But just before the sun was going down once more, Elymiah’s ears perked up. The sound of roaring waters passing at incredible speeds reached her ears. Adrenaline raced through her legs, and she broke into a run.

  Could it be? The Kingsoul River?

  She reached a bend in the creek, and sure enough, it opened up to the tumultuous waters of the Kingsoul River. But that wasn’t what made her heart jump. An encampment rested upon the banks of the roaring river. It had Aivaterran flags displayed from the tops of the dozens of pavilions.

  We made it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Malice or Mercy

  BENDRICK STEPPED ON loose straw that was strewn across the barn floor like a giant brown carpet. The horses whinnied as he approached them, wary of his presence. Ayda walked beside him, staring at the weird insignia on her chest.

  ‘This power was within you?’ said Ayda.

  ‘It was, but I didn’t choose it.’

  ‘Why not? It’s kind of badass.’

  ‘It’s no laughing matter. The power you have within you is very real,’ said Bendrick as he approached the horses, petting one’s mane. Even though the power was intense and more than anything Bendrick had ever seen, he wasn’t jealous, but more relieved. Maybe it was the fact that the daemon was no longer inside him. Bendrick glanced down at his chest. The scar was still there, but no glow came from it. He shook his head as he untied the reigns of the horse from a wooden beam. Bendrick merely glanced at the halfling as he set a silver coin on the post beside the other horses.

  ‘We must go to Weserith,’ said Bendrick.

  ‘The Harlot Queen controls it,’ Ayda said, shuddering. ‘I heard she was hanging people on a whim.’

  Bendrick mounted his horse and held his hand down to Ayda.

  ‘What, I’m not getting my own horse?’

  ‘Do you have a silver coin? That’s about the price of one of these steeds.’

  ‘Coin? No, we steal it.’ Ayda dropped her eyebrows low, looking up at Bendrick. Her colour-mismatched eyes sparkled in the moonlight from a hole in the roof of the barn.

  ‘Stealing is wrong,’ said Bendrick.

  ‘Stealing is wrong?’ Ayda stared at Bendrick as if he had just insulted her ancestors. ‘You realize there is a war going on, don’t you?’

  ‘What evil has the owner of this horse done to you?’

  ‘What kind of old man are you?’ Ayda wrinkled her nose at Bendrick. ‘You’re not my father.’

  ‘Thank god for that,’ mumbled Bendrick.

  ‘What did you say?’Ayda’s eyebrows flew up. Bendrick grabbed Ayda by the scruff of her neck and lifted her onto the horse before him.

  ‘I see,’ said Ayda with a huff as she sat in the saddle. ‘You’re replacing her.’

  Bendrick guided his horse from the stables and out into the darkness of Duren. Bendrick closed his eyes, hoping for Ayda to keep her tongue to herself, but she didn’t.

  ‘Your daughter—the one you buried—you’re replacing her with me, aren’t you? You lost her, and you need someone to look down on and boss around. I
didn’t ask for your help,’ said Ayda.

  Bendrick lowered his head as he exited the stables. ‘You couldn’t replace her. She was smart and kind. She also knew the difference between right and wrong, and she knew when to cross the line. Don’t forget, you chose this. While you’re with me, you do things my way. If you don’t like what I offer or how I do things, jump off. I’m sure the town guard will welcome you back to Duren.’

  Ayda’s face went red, and much to Bendrick’s relief, she didn’t say any more. The sun was beginning to come up once more beside darkened clouds.

  I spent too much time in Duren.

  Bendrick kicked his horse, and they sped over the dirt roads. They passed under the shadow of Uredor castle as they headed further west. Bendrick closed his eyes, hoping never to return to that cursed castle. The next stop in their journey would be the Greenwood River. Bendrick wanted to avoid Rovulgad Bridge in the north, and Rokiev Bridge would be a better place to cross. Bendrick nodded in silence as he guided his horse down the road to Rokiev Bridge.

  After a few hours of hard riding, Bendrick relaxed his urging of the horse. He sat lazily in his seat.

  ‘What will we do when we arrive in Weserith?’ Ayda asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Are we sneaking in or going through the main gate?’ She grinned.

  ‘I don’t know,’ responded Bendrick, not realizing that he hadn’t thought of how exactly to get into the city.

  ‘For a wise man, you sure don’t know a lot of shit,’ grumbled Ayda.

  Bendrick bit his lower lip. But then, she was right. He didn’t know what lay ahead. He didn’t know how the events at Estia Fortress had ended up. They would by passing very near to the fortress. Bendrick shuddered as he remembered the Minotaur—how it rose from the pillars of fire, angry and hungry for blood. There was no way the Weserithians had been able to fend off the daemon army. His mind went to Ayland.

  He had been doing very badly when Bendrick left.