Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  The archers continued to loosen more arrows into the sky, but the remaining beasts flew out of range, and a faint glow began to radiate from each rider. Kairos knew what was coming next and he needed to act.

  As the archers on his ship made one last futile attempt to shoot down the flying enemies, Kairos drew his seax and leapt across onto the larger ship’s deck just in time to avoid the explosion that rocked the Grenda. The concussion of the blast knocked him off his feet, and debris flew past him. Before he could rise, Kairos knew that the Grenda had been destroyed. Kairos had no time to think about the fate of crew left aboard either ship. He stood up and went to join his comrades on deck, but as he looked around, he found that many of the Einar were dead or dying. There were many dwarven casualties, too, but Kairos stared in paralysed horror as the enemy moved in for the kill.

  Mad Mavos was right, after all.

  The Einar continued to resist, Karthok being one of them. The large man continued to wreak havoc around him. He did not rely on the shield wall, but charged the dwarves, shield slamming one way and his sword bringing death in the other. At one moment, he was overwhelmed by the dwarven warriors, but there was a shriek of fury, a clash of metal on metal, and Karthok came out of the mass of men, his blade red and swinging, looking for more men to kill.

  The other Einar held out as best as they could, but they had learnt that the dwarves, too, could fight. The shield walls had dissolved into an all-out melee. Kairos looked for his brother in the chaos. No one took notice of him yet, a small boy standing on the edge of a vicious battle. Then he heard the familiar war cry. Thylar was fighting two dwarves near the mast, his sword and mail covered in blood. He raised his shield just in time to catch an axe coming down on his head. The axe embedded itself, and Thylar pulled the shield, dragging the dwarf, who foolishly held on to the axe handle towards the other dwarven opponent. Thylar thrust his sword low from under the shield, catching the dwarf on his thigh, and brought the weapon upwards to cut into the groin. The dwarf screamed a terrible scream, like a woman in childbirth, and Thylar was attempting to pull his sword out when the other dwarf lunged.

  ‘No!’ Kairos screamed.

  The axe came down onto Thylar’s left shoulder – his shield arm. His brother let out a howl of fury and swung at the dwarf who attacked him. It was a good slice, across the neck, and the dwarf pulled away, taking the axe with him. Blood poured out of Thylar’s wound, and more dwarves swarmed in, and Kairos saw his brother fall under the mass of bodies.

  ‘Thylar!’ Kairos cried, his heart lurching in his chest. The one person closest to Kairos had now fallen. Cheerful Thylar, who always cared for him.

  With tears blurring his sight, the battle lust finally filled Kairos, he charged at the dwarves surrounding his brother, swinging his seax at the nearest dwarf, slicing through the leather padding and into his arm. Kairos followed with another swing, but the dwarf instantly turned and parried the blow with his sword, not looking the least bit hurt. Kairos soon saw why. The padded leather armour took the brunt of Kairos’s attack, and the wound was barely a scratch. The dwarf, wearing a helmet with a skull face-piece, drew back for the killing stroke. Seeing he was fighting a mere boy instead of a grown man, he paused and laughed. Kairos was pissing himself in terror, but he launched himself at the dwarf again anyway, slicing at the neck, which the dwarf parried with ease, causing the seax’s blade to bend. The dwarf saw this and laughed even more, then punched Kairos in the head, sending him sprawling onto the deck in a daze and landing in a wet mess of gore and entrails of a nearby corpse. The dwarf stood over Kairos with the tip of his sword pointed down at his chest. He paused as he stared down at the boy. ‘Sorry, lad,’ he said in a heavy accent and a remorseless tone. ‘There is no glory in killing a boy, but Malus says that you lot cannot reach our shores.’

  ‘Malus?’ Kairos asked in a daze. He tried to focus, but his head seemed to explode in pain.

  ‘Besides, no one cuts me and lives to tell about it.’ And the dwarf raised his sword for the killing blow.

  At that moment, lightning flashed in the dark clouds above, illuminating everything like daylight, including the interior of the skull’s face-piece. Kairos could see the cold, dark eyes beneath that fearsome helmet that bore into his soul, filling him with fear. He knew that an Einar was supposed to stay and fight until the very end, but he also knew that this was a futile fight. This dwarf scared him, much more than his father even. Kairos howled the Einar war cry in a broken voice that sounded like a desperate shriek and threw his bent seax at the dwarf, who nimbly swatted the weapon aside, causing it to clatter against the deck and slide overboard into the sea. The boy scrambled to his feet, hoping that he was quicker, and did what few Einar would do: he ran.

  He did not get far.

  Something flashed from above, striking Kairos straight in the chest, knocking him onto his back. He screamed in pain as the electricity jolted his entire body. He could not move. Every muscle contracted and pain consumed his every thought, surpassing even the most severe beatings he received from his father. Then the pain suddenly stopped. Kairos realised that he was still alive, and better yet, he could move again. But he did not. He looked up and saw the dwarf standing over him, sword at his side.

  This is it! Kairos thought. He’s going to kill me.

  Instead, the skull face was looking up at the deck, the source of the lightning. ‘I didn’t ask for your help, Captain,’ he yelled at the tall figure standing on the deck above. ‘We can win this fight without you elves and your bloody magic!’

  ‘Then finish him off,’ came the reply, ‘or I will.’

  Before the dwarf with the skull-faced helm could react, a vicious roar cut above the melee behind him. It was Karthok. He had left a pile of corpses behind him and was charging towards the dwarf standing over Kairos, who turned to face his new opponent in surprise. Kairos was surprised, too, because he didn’t know that his father cared about him.

  ‘Run, you stupid boy!’ Karthok shouted, charging towards the dwarf with the skull-faced helm.

  As Karthok neared his opponent, a crackle of energy struck him from the deck above. Even Kairos felt the shockwave of the blast, and as the blinding light subsided, he saw his father lying face down on the deck and unmoving.

  He did not wait. He took advantage of the dwarf’s distraction and scurried to his feet, breaking into a run towards the starboard side of the ship. The dwarf took a brief moment to react, allowing Kairos a slight head start. But he recovered quickly and anticipating the boy’s move, rushed to finish Kairos off, but he stepped on a corpse’s spilled intestines, causing his right foot to slide sideways and his sword thrust to miss. While the dwarf was unbalanced, Kairos ran and leapt over the side of the ship, landing into the tumultuous waters. For once, he was grateful that his father did not allow him to wear armour, because he was able swim though the treacherous swells. He looked up at the ship and saw the dwarf pointing and screaming in frustration. Another taller being ran next to the dwarf, and traced a pattern with his hand. Kairos saw flickers of orange light and knew, this time, what was coming. He took a deep breath and dived under, swimming as far as he could. He felt the water around him tingle as the magic spell narrowly missed him, and he swam until he thought his lungs would burst. Fear and adrenaline kept him going, propelling him as far away from this nightmare as he could manage.

  He emerged, gasping for air and choking on some water. When he was no longer coughing, he managed a look back and saw magical flares raining down upon the area he had just been moments ago. He dived under again and swam further away. He continued doing this until he could no longer see the enemy.

  Kairos struggled to stay afloat in the storm. He escaped one danger only to face another: drowning. He prayed to Rudras for a miracle, not really expecting one.

  But a small miracle came.

  It drifted nearby in the form of what remained of the Sea Serpent. Or what he assumed was the Sea Serpent, for it could have been the Grenda, such
was its condition. It was a good chunk of the port beam, overturned and bobbing on the crest of each swell. Kairos used the last of his strength to swim to it. A portion of the rower’s bench remained with a length of seal-hide rope attached, and Kairos found that he could hold onto it and ride the waves, giving his worn-out muscles their much needed rest as he caught his breath and waited for the enemy to come and kill him. Even at this distance, he could see some of the flying beasts and their riders gliding over the waters looking for survivors. An occasional burst of magic over the water showed that they found a few.

  He waited for them to come. He was too tired to care if they killed him now, even welcomed it. He preferred death by them to dying from what awaited him at sea.

  The rain continued to pour, but no enemy came. A large swell tipped over the broken aft that Kairos was on, but he held onto the rope and pulled himself back onto the rower’s bench. The minutes flowed into hours, and after what seemed like an eternity, the storm finally abated during the night.

  As he floated on the open sea, Kairos did not see any signs of the enemy ship, nor traces of the other survivors. He could only see the stars above, and the occasional flickers of lightning in the far off distance. Away from the danger, he was able to calm down and consider his situation. He thought of his brother and fellow Einar who were aboard that ship.

  Dead. Everyone is dead.

  One minute, they were all sailing together, and the next they were all gone. He would never see Thylar again. He would never hear his laughs, or that warm booming voice as he rambled on about women and battle conquests. Kairos did not have many friends, and he did not like his father much, but now that they were gone, he truly felt alone for the first time in his life. He began to sob as grief and self-pity consumed him. He was glad no one was around to see him now, whimpering like a weakling, his tears falling into the endless sea.

  Kairos drifted in the darkness, waiting for the end to come.

  * * *

  Stretching languidly from performing the Meditation of Mana, Malus smoothed his black robes, and walking to the window of the Kinclaven Citadel, stared down at the execution yard far below, his grey lips pursed, his brow frowning. As if aware of the dark elf’s stark scrutiny, the black-garbed executioner looked up at the Citadel window from the platform of the chopping block and nodded, then resumed running a whetstone against a massive axe.

  Malus looked at the prisoners in the queue for the chopping block, their wrists bound by manacles, shackled to each other in a line – a long line, prodded along by soldiers in dark-plated armour. The prisoners faced their punishment in front of a mixed audience of dwarves, elves, dark-elves, gnomes, and a few odd humans. One of the prisoners, a human, followed the executioner’s gaze to the where Malus stood, and he spat. Malus’s frown deepened in annoyance. A Mana Knight, he thought. He would watch this man’s fate with immense satisfaction. He hated all Mana Knights, especially those who dared to venture into his realm to commit espionage, and most of all, one who dared spit towards him. Fortunately, the wait would not be long. There were only two men before the knight.

  Not all of the prisoners had death sentences. The first man in line, an obese dwarf, committed the petty larceny of a cask of ale, so he was to lose his right hand. The rotund dwarf cajoled and pleaded as he was removed from the line, but the guards shoved him forward and bound his arm to the block. The axe came down, and the dwarf gave a high-pitched shriek as he clutched the bloody stump where his hand used to be. The executioner kicked the pudgy, lifeless hand off the platform and called forth the next criminal, causing Malus to chuckle in glee.

  It was a very short elf – almost as short as the dwarf – with chestnut hair and a squinty face. The elf was naked. Malus’s lip curled in disgust, because he knew why. The elf’s charge was forcible defilement of a young maiden, and he was going to lose something more valuable and painful than a hand. The elf sobbed for mercy, but one of the guards kicked him, while the other grabbed him by the hair and led him towards the block. There would be no mercy for him today. Even the executioner seemed to cringe at what he was about to do.

  A soft, self-deprecating knock interrupted Malus as the executioner raised his axe, causing the dark elf to look away from the window towards the door. ‘Enter,’ he said in a mild, pleasant voice, though he heaved a sigh immediately after, scowling as his glance went to the window. He’d missed it. The elf was already doubled over, clutching himself and making the most pathetic of squeals.

  The scowl was gone by the time his visitor appeared in the doorway. The light from the window flashed off the man’s black leather outfit, gilt in silver and designed to adhere tightly to the contours and bulge of the male form. Leather creaking as he stepped into the room, a pale-skinned elf with hair of flowing gold, bowed in greeting from the open door. He then shut it carefully behind him, crossed the floor and stood before the dark elf, cradling his wing-crested helmet in his left arm. ‘Captain Hargonnas of the Grimaldi Flying Squadron, my lord,’ he began with a flourish, ‘I’m here to report–’

  ‘Wait,’ Malus said, glancing out the window just in time to see the executioner bring his axe down upon that accursed Mana Knight. ‘Ha! Serves you right, you fool. See if you ever spit towards me again!’

  Captain Hargonnas, unaware of the execution, looked at the dark elf in confusion. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’ he murmured.

  Malus waved a dismissive hand, and poured himself a glass of wine, offering none to the visitor – a lethal insult in all elven cultures. ‘Don’t worry about it. You were here to report something, correct?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Captain Hargonnas bowed again. ‘I am here to report another battle.’

  Malus sighed in exasperation. ‘Let the generals handle this matter. I do not have time to meddle with every minor skirmish–’

  ‘I again beg your pardon, my lord,’ interrupted the elf, taking a step forward in his earnestness, ‘but it was not the Mana Knights this time.’

  Malus stared intently at the man’s face and noticed, for the first time, the serious and solemn intensity. His expression grave, the dark elf set the glass of wine down on the desk and gave the warrior his full attention. ‘Proceed, then.’

  ‘We engaged an enemy’ – the captain hesitated, appearing to brace himself for the reaction of the dark elf – ‘who came from across the Dark Sea itself.’

  Malus regarded the captain in silence, his face darkening. Captain Hargonnas, a man not easily cowed, licked his lips nervously in the presence of the unpredictable dark elf. He had witnessed Malus at his worst and shuddered at being on the receiving end of that anger... and power.

  ‘What happened?’ Malus asked.

  ‘It was as you foretold, my lord. Humans came from across the sea and arrived in the waters off Cape Caipora where we had one of our ships waiting,’ the captain replied. ‘We meant to attack them first, but to our surprise, they sailed their three ships toward us, boarded our ship, and fought like demons, matching the ferocity of our dwarven warriors with shield, sword and spear. They might have emerged victorious had my griffon squadron not been there.’ Captain Hargonnas laid emphasis on mention of his squadron in hopes that Malus would notice and recognise his use.

  Instead, Malus’s frown deepened. ‘Humans attacking dwarves with sword and spear,’ the dark elf muttered, clenching and unclenching his grey hand, a habit he had. The captain, having seen it before, was always reminded of a falcon seizing its prey, and he involuntarily took a step back.

  ‘Yes, my lord. It was human shield wall against dwarven shield wall. Neither my men, nor the dwarves, have ever seen anything like it. They were large and powerful humans, with strength to rival a well-trained dwarf.’

  The brows eased, the displeasure receded somewhat. ‘Did they use magic?’

  The captain paused in thought for a moment. ‘No, my lord. I do not believe so.’

  The dark elf frowned again. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Captain Hargonn
as hastened to assure him. ‘As a matter of fact, these humans seemed shocked when we used magic on them.’

  Malus raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’

  The captain nodded and continued, ‘They stared at our spells like a herd of hobs watching a light orb.’ He wiped more sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘But what happened when our spells hit them surprised us, too.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Malus was fascinated in spite of himself.

  ‘They resisted our magic!’ the captain said in awe. ‘Lightning bolts that should have killed them only stunned them. Flames that should have charred their entire bodies merely singed them. Our magic only provoked their anger, and they fell upon us. If my griffon squadron had not destroyed their ships with half of their men on them, the battle may have not gone in our favour, my lord.’

  ‘So our men were victorious, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. But the dwarves suffered heavy casualties. More than half. And I lost three griffons and their riders, and another two were injured–’

  Malus waved his hand in dismissal. ‘What about the enemy? Any survivors?’

  Hargonnas bridled. ‘Possibly, my lord.’

  ‘What do you mean by ‘possibly’?’

  ‘We captured two who were severely wounded, but they may not live for long.’ The captain saw Malus narrow his eyes and hastily added, ’the others fought to the death, and it was only because these two succumbed to their injuries were we able to capture them at all, my lord.’

  ‘Just how severe are their injuries?’ Malus’s voice grated.

  ‘One has been disembowelled, and I fear the healers aboard cannot do much for him. The other is still unconscious. He has lost a lot of blood.’

  The dark elf swore, causing the captain to flinch and stare at the floor with a clenched jaw. If Malus saw the small act of defiance, he made no mention of it. After a long, tense pause, Malus asked, ‘Where are they now?’