Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  Althea hated him. She and several of the other recruits had nicknamed him ‘Flower Flain’ from the rumours of his large flower garden he secretly tended. An oddity for such an angry man.

  Now he stared at Althea with an expectant look, waiting for an answer to his question.

  She glared back at him and yelled as loudly as she could, ‘No, Sir Flain! I slipped and fell.’ She tried, with limited success, to clean the mud out of her eyes.

  ‘So you decided to soil my beautifully and finely crafted mud pit with your presence? This is unacceptable. Remove yourself from my mud pit and return to the obstacle's starting position. And if you leave any personal articles in my mud pit, I will personally see that everyone here is punished on your behalf. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Flain.’ She managed to crawl out of the mud pit and climb the stairs to the first platform. Kairos stood on the other one, waiting to swing the rope to her. His eyes held the only compassion she would find on the obstacle course.

  Sir Flain wasn't done humiliating her yet. ‘Everyone pay attention! Squire Avenal will now demonstrate the Academy-approved method of traversing this obstacle.’ Laughter and eyes aimed in her direction. Kairos swung the rope to her again. Althea reached to catch it.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Althea saw Nacole grinning in anticipation. She was enjoying this, she wanted her to fall again. Althea wrapped her hands tightly around the rope and clinched the knot with her feet as she began her second attempt. She was determined to not humiliate herself again.

  She barely succeeded in crossing the mud pit and moved, with the other recruits, to the next obstacle. Sir Flain always seemed close by, yelling words of encouragement along the way.

  ‘Why are you lagging, Squire Avenal?’ he bellowed. ‘You are softer than a boot full of puppy shit!’

  No amount of verbal abuse could hasten Althea on to the worst part of her day: the run to Banshee’s Lookout. The ruined fortress loomed upon a distant hill, daunting and foreboding.

  Althea had heard stories of Banshee's Lookout from her father. Long ago when soldiers garrisoned the fortress, a large and powerful dragon came and attacked it. The soldiers retreated, save for one young man who happened to be trapped in the east wing, after the corridors collapsed from the dragon's initial assault. His young wife – her name long forgotten – pleaded with the Knighthood to save him, but to no avail. They were no match for the dragon and refused to help. She set upon the fortress alone to find her lover, and soon afterward, her screams could be heard throughout the surrounding area. The screams eventually stopped until one night, a heavy fog enshrouded the land. A high-pitched, lamenting wail pierced the night, and no one saw the dragon again. Now on dark, moonless nights, some claimed to hear a keening sad song from the fortress. The Knighthood had classified the interior as off-limits, and only those associated with the Knighthood were even allowed to approach the vicinity.

  Unfortunately, the squires were associated with the Knighthood, and running up the steep hill, circling the fortress, and running back were all part of the training.

  The exercise not only took its toll on Althea, who collapsed halfway up the hill on the first day and vomited, but it frightened her very soul. Whenever she limped, exhausted and footsore, up the hill, the entire atmosphere darkened as she neared the fortress, as if a ghost’s presence lurked nearby. She could almost hear a woman’s whisper echoing from the crumbling walls. No matter how hot and sweaty the run made her, Althea would shiver uncontrollably. Even after two weeks or running to and from Banshee’s Lookout, the feeling did not dissipate, and she begged Kairos to slow his pace to accompany her.

  Sir Flain seemed to enjoy spending his time with stragglers, berating them for their incompetence. Although Althea found herself, more often than not, one of the laggards, she wasn’t the worst. Four other recruits could not make the run to Banshee’s Lookout at all, and their limitations drew Flain’s attention off of her back - until they dropped out of the Knighthood after the first week. Her only saving grace was Squire Shah.

  Barnaby Shah liked to ask questions a lot, much to Sir Flain’s ire. He failed miserably at the obstacle course, always falling into the mud pit, and always getting lost on his run to Banshee’s Lookout. According to Sir Flain, Shah must have been dropped from the tallest mountain in the Gloaming Peaks as a baby and struck every jagged rock headfirst on the way down, because he often made poor decisions, such as trying to enter Banshee’s Lookout seeking a shortcut, or stumbling into a bear’s den off the beaten path.

  Because of his inept behaviour, Shah required Sir Flain’s attention to avoid dangerous or fatal accidents.

  Today, however, Althea fared worse than Shah, who managed to miraculously cross the mud pit and stay on course for the run. She had not even reached the top of the hill when her breathing became painful. She bent over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

  ‘Why are you stopped, Squire Avenal?’ Sir Flain seemed to materialise behind Althea, causing her to jump. ‘You’re not thinking about quitting, are you? Because if this is the effort you plan on giving, you may as well go home. Don’t think I’m going to cut you any slack because your father is a Dragon Knight. You disgrace his good name.’

  Althea was tempted anew to quit. Her easy life would return. She could sleep in a nice soft bed again, and enjoy Stella’s cooking over the bland food in the mess hall. Her father wouldn’t mind, either, because he had always tried to talk her out of becoming a Mana Knight anyway. She would miss Kairos, of course. Being around him daily was the only reason keeping her going in this awful place, but he could always visit her.

  The thought was increasingly tempting… But Sir Flain’s words stirred an anger inside her that she didn’t know existed. With a firm resolve, she clenched her jaw and continued up the path.

  She did not want to be like those four failed recruits.

  * * *

  Several more weeks passed, and the training and classwork continued relentlessly. The temperature plummeted further, and a thin blanket of snow covered the land, the classrooms providing a warm respite from the cold. Even Instructor Jomur broke down and cast a fire spell into the fireplace, pleased to show off his meagre talent as he bored the students to sleep with his lectures on theories.

  Today, however, the squires did not have Instructor Jomur’s class. Instead, they stood out in the field in front of Valour Keep, wrapped in their cloaks.

  Kairos stretched languidly, eager for today’s practise. He, along with the rest of the recruits, could execute the manoeuvres blindfolded now, and was hoping for something new. Althea huddled miserably next to him, very close, but not so close as to draw Flain’s ire. Displays of affection were forbidden in the Academy, and neither of them dared to encourage the ribald conversation among the other squires. Some had already speculated, but they were keen to keep the comments to themselves. They had heard stories of what happened to Vaughn.

  Sir Flain came today with the cart of wooden spears. Seeing the paladin in the distance, the squires assembled into formation, and Sir Flain nodded in approval. ‘You rotters are learning. Now come and get your damned spears.’

  The squires retrieved their spears in an orderly fashion and returned to their respective places among the ranks.

  ‘So who here has killed before?’ Flain asked the class. ‘And I’m talking about battle, not murder confessions.’

  The recruits exchanged uneasy glances. Only Kairos, Vaughn, and Claudius raised their hands. Vaughn’s eyes met Kairos’s, and their gazes locked for a moment.

  Sir Flain raised an eyebrow at the three. ‘Oh? Who were you fighting,’ he asked after a pause, ‘a pack of drunken gnomes?’

  ‘Brigands,’ Vaughn said, exchanging knowing glances with Claudius. ‘We had to kill two of them, Sir Flain. And the third surrendered.’

  Kairos looked at Vaughn and Claudius with newfound admiration. He had heard about Vaughn’s talent for magic, but did not know that he and Claudius
had fought brigands before.

  Sir Flain did not look impressed, he glowered. ‘And you?’ he asked Kairos.

  ‘It was an elf, sir,’ Kairos answered, his face grim. ‘A soldier from Malus’s army.’

  Flain grimaced and spat. ‘A bloody elf and some cowardly brigands! Bloody easy to kill, they are!’ He pointed at Kairos. ‘You, come here.’

  Kairos did as he was told and stood in front of Flain, who hoisted a wooden spear for himself.

  ‘We’re going to spar today,’ he explained. ‘Squire Azel and I will demonstrate, then the rest of you pathetic lot will follow. Prepare yourself, Squire Azel.’

  They proceeded to have a practise fight where Flain quickly overwhelmed and knocked Kairos into the ground, leaving a welt on his forehead along with an aching head. The paladin stood over him, spear levelled at his throat. ‘Guess what – I’m no bloody elf, you maggot!’ he snarled, kicking Kairos in the midriff for good measure.

  The Einar heaved and slowly rose to a sitting position, taking care not to smile. He liked Sir Flain even more.

  Each squire found a partner and sparred. Each developed cuts, scrapes, bruises, and welts. One squire quit after falling and breaking his wrist. Sir Flain cast a healing spell on it, but the wounded boy decided that there were better things in life than standing in a cold field and getting yelled at and whacked with a spear.

  Kairos fought a variety of opponents, none posing much of a challenge. Cassie’s moves were predictable. Shah defeated himself, tripping on the butt of his spear and tumbling onto the padded point of Kairos’s. He faced down Claudius, who fought back viciously, and Flain called an end to the match before either could gain the upper hand. One opponent Kairos did not tackle was Vaughn, and he suspected that Flain did not want them to stir up any bad blood again.

  Althea fared almost as poorly as Shah, losing all of her matches to everyone else.

  When Kairos faced her, he stifled the power of his attacks. Whenever Flain was watching, he pretended that Althea struck him a powerful blow that would make Jace Dubose proud. He wanted Althea to succeed, but her delayed reactions and stiff movements proved she was no warrior. He also saw something else in her eyes: fear. She flinched away from the padded spear, even though it was a harmless sparring prop. At the end of their match, it became evident to Kairos that Althea would die if she found herself in a real fight. He was doing her no favour.

  The sparring matches continued every day for several more weeks. Flain mediated, interrupted, and taught a few more moves, pivots, and attacks. He berated them relentlessly, and two more squires quit, until only twelve remained.

  Kairos enjoyed Sir Flain’s harsh training. His physical prowess gave him the upper hand over the other squires. Though he was a runt among the Einar, he excelled among the Ordonians. Even Flain muttered a comment about Kairos having the strength of a griffon and Kairos’s opinion of the paladin improved even more.

  He couldn’t say the same for the other staff. Instructor Jomur continued to demonstrate how much smarter he was than his pupils, while Professor Bumbershoot became ill – much to the delight of everyone since they found the legalities of the Knighthood as almost as boring as Jomur’s lectures. Professor Argent was a very capable teacher, but Kairos was only learning glyphs he couldn’t use, and he always left the class feeling like a failure, despite the professor’s praise of his ‘resourcefulness.’ The curse of the gods always weighed heavy on his mind. Would the others find out? It was his biggest fear. He considered himself unlucky, not resourceful.

  He also grew more concerned for Althea.

  She was becoming more and more withdrawn. She was often the last person to stumble into each class (only followed by Shah) and her eyes were frequently downcast. She cheered up slightly whenever she was near Kairos, but mostly she slogged through the day carrying a look of profound sadness with her, like a hound separated from its master.

  Kairos predicted she would drop out soon. The thought appalled him, and he immediately felt guilty for thinking it at all. But her suffering also caused him grief. He felt so helpless watching her struggle. He wanted to be near her, but he reasoned that she would be better off going back home to Stella and her father. Judging by the way she fought, she would be killed in a real battle. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

  He would have a talk with her, he decided. It would be for the best.

  * * *

  ‘Are you sure it was him?’ Hargonnas asked eagerly.

  The rotund dwarf glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping. ‘Aye. I’d never forget this one.’ He moistened his lips with his tongue. ‘He’s got quite bigger since then, but there’s no doubt it’s him.’ The dwarf grinned, combing his chestnut hair with meaty, dirt-stained fingers. He was balding, Hargonnas noticed, and constantly brushed his hair forward to cover the thinning patch at the front.

  The light elf disliked the dwarf. He smelled like a rancid mixture of a horse stable, acrid body odour, and ale. Hargonnas recoiled when he saw him pull a louse from his beard, study it for a moment, and then flick it away. There was also a sly nature about the dwarf that he found particularly disconcerting, as if he were plotting against Hargonnas while pretending to work for him. But the dwarf was instrumental to retrieving the boy – alive rather than dead – and while they were deep in enemy territory, Hargonnas would take all the help he could get.

  He had greatly underestimated the young Einar and the Mana Knights, and by Dia’s golden hair, it wasn’t fair!

  Hargonnas visualised the ambush over and over again in his mind. He had been careless and over-confident, his own arrogance and premature celebration leading to his downfall and demotion. He should have kept Sergeant Selkis and the griffons around, but he’d sent them ahead, thrilled at capturing the boy – and Henrik, who would have been his first slave! He was so sure the Mana Knights would blunder in far behind like they always did, but they had despatched a Dragon Knight, of all people, and struck quickly. Hargonnas had barely escaped with his life, lost favour with Malus, and so his position as captain of the Grimaldi Flying Squadron, and now he was reduced to living incognito here. The elf clenched his fist, nails digging into flesh. Rage burned through his veins, stoking the heat of his mana. He was destined for greatness; he would rise above his parents’ meagre status, above a commoner. But first he would destroy Kairos.

  A curse on that Einar boy. He had caused Hargonnas so much misfortune, ruined everything for him. But he would soon feed Kairos’s charred body to the griffons, and again take his rightful place as captain… or perhaps higher.

  ‘Did anyone see you?’ he asked now.

  ‘No,’ replied the dwarf. ‘I have always remained hidden amongst the brambles and rocks. I have been careful. For a time, I watched the class train in the fields, then I returned here. Nobody saw me.’

  ‘Excellent. Well done.’ The elf handed him a purse filled with silver crowns. ‘There is much more than this when you succeed. We shall strike soon.’

  Hargonnas stared back at Valour Keep, dreams of death and vengeance burning in his eyes. He did not see the dwarf shudder at the look on the elf’s pale face.

  * * *

  Kairos cleared his throat and pulled at the side of the collar where it rubbed his neck. He wrinkled his nose and scratched at his arm. He didn’t like it. But it was the dress uniform for the Mana Knights, so there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

  The squires all wore the deep blue woollen uniforms of the Mana Knights. The sleeves and legs were unhemmed. They hadn’t completed training yet, but he and his class were being fitted with the uniforms they would wear for graduation. A swell of pride and accomplishment burned within him. He really felt like he belonged in the Mana Knights now.

  Stephon, the tailor, measured them, calling out numbers to his assistant who wrote them down as each squire stood at attention in front of him. He marked the material with a bit of chalk so he could finish the sizing and tailoring later. It was almost Kairos’s
turn. He had already seen Stephon glancing at him. No doubt the elf would have some disparaging comment.

  ‘Stephon,’ whispered Althea from behind Kairos, when the elf approached.

  He beamed at Althea and bowed with a flourish. ‘Althea! A pleasant surprise to see you.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Althea whispered back as loudly as she dared.

  Stephon covered his mouth, which hung open in mock surprise. ‘Oh? You haven’t heard? The Knighthood happened to notice my booth at the marketplace, and they offered me a contract. They have good taste, after all.’ The elf’s gaze moved from Althea to Kairos. ‘With an exception, of course. It seems like you still keep boorish company, Althea. I say, he will burden you. Mark my words, darling.’

  ‘Just measure me and get a move on,’ Kairos said.

  ‘You will be silent!’ shouted Jomur, pointing an imperious finger at Kairos. ‘Maintain your bearing, Squire Azel, this is not a rainbow ice social!’

  Kairos didn’t know what that even meant, but he cleared his face and stared straight ahead. He seethed with frustration and embarrassment, but barely let it show. Jomur never let a chance to humiliate Kairos pass him by. He even invented them, as necessity dictated. Now, he noticed Kairos’s frustration and smirked. So did Stephon.

  The moment was broken by a soft fwoosh and a startled scream. Glancing back, Kairos saw that Shah had somehow managed to set his uniform on fire. The too-long sleeves and legs flapped like broken wings as he ran around screaming. The flame wasn’t bad, but Shah was going to make it so, fanning it like he was. Other squires were diving out of his way as he ran through the ranks.

  Jomur’s smirk changed to a look of horror as he shouted, ‘Squire Shah!’ What are you doing? Stand still! Someone stop him!’ His voice rose a few octaves in his near-panic.

  He pushed through the feeling squires, hurrying over to Shah and began casting glyphs. Even Kairos could tell he was doing it incorrectly. Jomur may have meant to conjure water to put out the flames, but he transposed the water and fire glyphs. Several instructors shouted for him, also, to stop, but it was too late. A stream of scalding water jetted out of the glyph, parboiling Shah. Jomur had managed to put out the flames, at least, and later he would say it was part of his plan, interrupted before he could finish. Still later there would be some idle speculation on whether Jomur’s plan was to kill Shah. No one reached a definitive conclusion.